The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 258: His tragedy was innate
"Cut!"
Hou Hsiao-hsien's voice shattered the silence of the film set.
He didn't immediately stand up to give notes as usual.
Instead, he fell silent for a full minute, the entire set deathly quiet.
Finally, he picked up the walkie-talkie and uttered just one sentence: "That's a wrap. Cleanup crew, come in and deal with that fish."
As his words fell, the invisible high pressure finally began to ease.
Jiang Ci exited character quickly.
He took off the white shirt with bloodstains on its cuffs and handed it to the costume designer, who was avoiding eye contact.
That elegant yet bloodthirsty, bone-chillingly terrifying special agent from moments ago,
instantly transformed back into the quiet, reserved actor Jiang Ci on set.
He walked to the rest area, took the warm water Chen Mo handed him, and sat down quietly.
The film crew staff watched him from a distance, whispering among themselves, but no one dared to approach him.
Just then, the phone in Jiang Ci's pocket suddenly began to vibrate.
Not the short vibration of a message notification, but the continuous pattern of an incoming call.
He took out his phone. When he saw the character "Mom" flashing on the screen, his heart inexplicably skipped a beat.
His mother was someone with an extremely regular lifestyle.
She knew he was busy on set and would never call at this time.
Unless... something had happened at home?
The nerves Jiang Ci had just relaxed after exiting character instantly tensed up again.
He walked to a relatively quiet corner and answered the call.
On the other end, Mother Jiang's voice carried a hint of barely concealed panic and hesitation.
"Xiao Ci... are... are you busy?"
"Not busy, Mom. What's wrong?"
"It's just... the day before yesterday, a few people came to the house."
Mother Jiang spoke quickly, sounding very nervous.
"They were all wearing black suits, and their accents weren't from around here. They said they came from the capital."
"They... they wanted to learn about your dad's past."
The relaxed expression on Jiang Ci's face instantly vanished.
His back subconsciously straightened. The weariness that had belonged to actor Jiang Ci just a second ago was rapidly cleared away.
That cold instinct of "Shen Qingyuan" to assess threats in a perilous environment,
at this moment, uncontrollably spilled over from the film into reality.
His father, Jiang Yanjun, was a martyr in the fight against drugs.
Although his file had been declassified, many details involved remained extremely sensitive information.
A group of strangers suddenly showing up from the capital, bypassing all official channels,
directly harassing the widow of a martyr.
This crossed Jiang Ci's bottom line.
Jiang Ci's voice, however, instantly calmed down, carrying a reassuring power.
"Mom, don't panic. Speak slowly. How many were there? Did they bring any equipment? Like cameras or such?"
"Three people. No cameras. They just asked about your dad's past work and about your childhood... I didn't dare say anything in detail."
Mother Jiang's voice still held lingering fear. "I just felt something was off. The more I thought about it, the more uneasy I felt. That's why I wanted to tell you today."
Jiang Ci's mind was racing.
Not media. That ruled out the possibility of paparazzi.
Not official. Otherwise, they would have gone through the community or his unit and presented credentials.
"Mom, listen to me." Jiang Ci's tone was steady and clear. "From now on, no matter who comes, don't open the door."
"If they are official personnel, they will have formal documentation and will contact the local police station to accompany them."
"If they are media or anyone else, you don't need to say anything. Just call the police directly."
"Okay, okay, I understand."
"Did they say anything else? Did they leave contact information?"
"They did." Chu Hong seemed to remember something.
"The leader seemed quite polite, didn't look like a bad person."
"He said he was also in the cultural arts field. He left a business card, said he was... a screenwriter. Named... Yan, right, Yan Zheng."
Yan Zheng?
Jiang Ci quickly searched his memory for this name, and his heart immediately tightened.
A titan of mainstream patriotic-themed works in the country, a figure whose pen is mightier than a gun.
His works were even used as internal study materials by certain units.
A screenwriter of such high standing, with connections reaching the heavens,
who wanted to learn about a martyr's life, had countless official, proper channels he could take.
Accessing archives, interviewing comrades-in-arms, contacting relevant departments... Any of these would be more legitimate than "privately visiting a martyr's widow."
Why would he bypass all the "bright" paths and choose this "dark" method most likely to cause misunderstanding and alertness?
Unless what he wanted to know were things that wouldn't even be recorded in the official archives.
The light in Jiang Ci's eyes completely chilled.
"Mom, take a photo of the business card and send it to me. Then don't contact them again, block their number too. I'll handle this."
"Okay, okay. Xiao Ci, don't worry about things here. I just wanted to tell you."
After hanging up, Jiang Ci looked at the photo of the business card his mother had sent to his phone screen.
Simple black text on a white background, with just a name, title, and a mobile number.
He walked to the mirror in the rest area. Looking at his slightly pale face in the reflection, an inexplicable irritation rose from the depths of his heart.
His father was the purest, most untouchable corner of his heart.
He didn't want anyone, for any purpose, especially not a curious, creative gaze, to disturb those already dust-covered memories.
Just then, his phone rang again.
This time, it was Lin Wan.
As soon as the call connected, Lin Wan's signature, crisp and efficient voice came through,
but this time, her tone carried an unprecedented seriousness.
"Jiang Ci, a screenwriter named Yan Zheng contacted the company through the Film Bureau's connections."
Jiang Ci's heart sank.
So it wasn't a coincidence.
"He wants to meet you."
Lin Wan continued, her voice dropping even lower.
"And... he inquired with the company about your father. He mentioned an operation codename... called 'Operation Thunderbolt'."
The air solidified.
"Operation Thunderbolt" was the official codename for the mission during which his father, Jiang Yanjun, had sacrificed his life.
Lin Wan on the other end paused, as if organizing her words. "Speaking of which, you've never told me about your family situation. I only knew you were from a single-parent home..."
Jiang Ci was silent for a moment before finally speaking.
He had rehearsed this countless times.
During his school years, every time he needed to fill out a "family relations" form,
every time he faced curious inquiries from others, how to summarize his father's brief yet heroic life in the most concise, objective language.
Just like reciting a line of dialogue he knew by heart, belonging to someone else.
"My father, Jiang Yanjun. First-class Heroic Model, former Deputy Captain of the Anti-Drug Task Force, Nancheng City Public Security Bureau."
"Fifteen years ago, during 'Operation Thunderbolt,' aimed at capturing the largest transnational drug trafficking syndicate in Southeast Asia, he drew enemy fire alone to cover the retreat of undercover colleagues and was shot and killed."
He used the calmest tone to state the most tragic facts.
On the other end of the line, Lin Wan fell into a long silence.
She understood everything now.
The source of that innate Broken Feeling and tragic aura surrounding Jiang Ci.
Why this young man could portray those self-destructive characters so breathtakingly.
The underlying tone of his life was, from the start, a tragedy script.
After a long while, Lin Wan's voice sounded again.
"They are already in Hengdian."
"They'll be at the set in half an hour."
Lin Wan's voice paused, dropping extremely low, as if whispering right by his ear.
"Jiang Ci, this matter might be more complicated than you imagine."
