The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 259: That ruthlessness is just like it!
Hanging up the phone, Jiang Ci clutched his mobile.
He turned and walked back into the film set.
The crew of "The Lurker" was racing to film a night scene.
It was a scene where Shen Qingyuan's identity comes under suspicion, and he is "tested" with torture by Major Takahashi in an interrogation room.
Hou Hsiao-hsien's film set was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.
The makeup artist was applying the final touches to Jiang Ci's injury effects.
Intricate whip marks crisscrossed his chest and back,
with special materials creating the visual effect of torn, flayed skin at several key points.
The makeup artist unscrewed a spray bottle, spritzing a mixture of glycerin "sweat" onto his forehead.
Beads of liquid slid down his tense jawline, disappearing into his tattered white shirt.
Jiang Ci sat motionless in the chair, eyes closed, his breathing long and steady.
At the entrance to the set, a slight commotion broke the silence.
Producer Zhang Wang, hunched over with an almost fawning smile on his face, led a group of people inside.
The man at the front was around sixty, with a lean build, yet his posture was ramrod straight like a pine tree.
He had a square face, his brow and eyes bearing the righteous aura accumulated over years.
He was Yan Zheng.
Behind him followed two young assistants carrying briefcases, their expressions respectful.
Hou Hsiao-hsien sat behind the monitor, not even lifting an eyelid, his pupils focused solely on the light and shadow on the screen.
Zhang Wang didn't dare disturb him, only guiding the visitors to a spot a few steps behind Hou Hsiao-hsien.
"Teacher Yan, look, that's Jiang Ci," he whispered, pointing towards the figure in the light and shadow.
Yan Zheng followed his pointing finger, his gaze sweeping over that figure. The polite smile that had been on his lips immediately tightened into a thin line.
He had reviewed the materials before coming.
The "Bad Ending Aesthetics Master" from the trending list, the "funny guy" waving a water gun in variety shows.
These frivolous labels were utterly incompatible with the weight of the hero in his heart.
Could this young man truly bear that name?
Hou Hsiao-hsien finally looked up from behind the monitor, casting a glance at Yan Zheng as a form of greeting.
Then, he picked up the walkie-talkie.
"All departments, get ready."
"Action!"
The already tense air in the interrogation room was instantly sucked dry.
A glaring spotlight shone directly on Jiang Ci's face, illuminating the subtle twitches on his cheek.
Watanabe, playing Major Takahashi, wore a cruel smile reminiscent of a cat toying with a mouse.
He paced over to the brazier, using tongs to pick up a branding iron glowing red-hot.
Sparks danced on the iron, the heat waves causing the air in front of the lens to shimmer slightly.
"Mr. Shen, my patience has its limits."
Watanabe's Mandarin was deliberately stiff, adding to the brutality.
"Tell me, who is 'Abyss'?"
Jiang Ci, tied to the interrogation chair, struggled to lift his head,
his sweat-soaked black hair plastered to his pale temples.
He didn't answer.
Takahashi walked over slowly, bringing that branding iron closer, bit by bit, towards his chest.
As the iron neared, the muscles in Jiang Ci's body began to twitch uncontrollably,
the tendons on his neck standing out starkly.
He stared fixedly at the iron, getting closer and closer, hot enough to sear through flesh.
He was calculating the physiological price he needed to pay to buy the other party's psychological trust.
Behind the monitor, Yan Zheng's previously casual stance vanished.
He instinctively took half a step forward, his eyes fixed on the close-up of Jiang Ci on the screen.
"Sizzle—"
The branding iron pressed against his chest.
Smoke controlled by the props team billowed up, accompanied by the horrifying sound effect of scorching.
Jiang Ci's body instantly arched like a bow, a muffled groan, suppressed and distorted, forced its way from deep in his throat.
The intense pain caused his muscles to spasm violently, cold sweat soaking through his back.
But that was only a momentary physiological reaction.
The next second.
A mocking smile stretched across that face, twisted by agony.
He lifted his head, looking directly into Major Takahashi's stunned face, and whispered in clear, deliberate Japanese, word by word.
"Major, the heat..."
"is too much."
Watanabe's movements froze. Looking at this young man's reaction, a chill shot up his spine to the top of his head.
On the monitor screen, that face twisted in agony yet smiling,
gradually blurred in Yan Zheng's eyes, overlapping with another, completely different face from the depths of his memory.
Twenty years ago, in a drug lord's lair in the Golden Triangle, over a dozen guns were aimed at one man.
That undercover police officer, codenamed "Bedrock," after a cigarette butt burned a blackened hole in his forearm, had smiled just like that and said.
"Boss, your cigarette... lacks punch."
The faces were different, the eras were different.
But that same ruthlessness, treating oneself as a tool to be discarded at any moment.
That same absolute determination seeping from the very marrow of one's bones.
It was a direct inheritance.
"Cut!"
Hou Hsiao-hsien's voice shattered the suffocating atmosphere.
"It's a wrap."
The tension on set, stretched to its limit, finally snapped.
Staff immediately stepped forward, untying Jiang Ci and offering him water.
Jiang Ci didn't take it.
He stood up from the chair, his body staggering slightly. Someone nearby moved to support him, but he waved them off.
The costume designer brought over a large military overcoat, draping it over his shoulders, covering those terrifying "wounds."
Jiang Ci shook his head, as if trying to shake off the pain belonging to Shen Qingyuan that still clung to him.
He regained the quiet composure belonging to the actor Jiang Ci, draped in the military overcoat,
and walked straight through the crowd, carrying the bloodstains and the chill of the interrogation room.
Everyone's gaze followed him.
He walked towards the group of people behind Hou Hsiao-hsien.
He stopped in front of Yan Zheng.
Behind Yan Zheng, the younger assistant instinctively held his breath,
his gaze glued to those patches of flayed skin, unable to look away.
The other one seemed pushed by an invisible wall, taking a weak, half-step back on unsteady feet.
Jiang Ci ignored them.
He looked at Yan Zheng, at that face full of righteous dignity.
"Teacher Yan?"
He looked at the other man calmly, his voice slightly hoarse from the performance.
"My mother is easily frightened. Don't go scaring her in the future."
"If you have something to say, say it to me."
Producer Zhang Wang's smile froze on his face, the on-set atmosphere plunging to an icy awkwardness.
Yan Zheng, however, waved his hand, signaling the people around him to step back.
He wasn't angered by Jiang Ci's bluntness.
Instead, he examined the young man before him with an almost scrutinizing gaze, taking in every detail.
After a long while.
A smile slowly spread across Yan Zheng's face.
"Alike."
"Goddamn alike."
"Not the looks."
"It's this kind of drive, this willingness to do anything to protect what you care about. That's what's alike."
Jiang Ci didn't speak, a flicker of wariness passing through his eyes.
Yan Zheng also stopped beating around the bush, getting straight to the point.
"The country is making a film about 'Operation Thunderbolt.'"
"As a tribute film for Police Establishment Day."
Operation Thunderbolt.
These four words pierced through Jiang Ci's heart.
The codename Lin Wan had mentioned on the phone was now spoken from the mouth of someone completely unexpected,
in an utterly solemn manner.
He had acted in so many tragedies of others.
Now, the greatest tragedy of his own life was to be put on the silver screen.
Seeing Jiang Ci's immediate shift into a somber state,
Yan Zheng continued, "A project jointly produced by over a dozen units, directly supervised by the Film Bureau."
"You understand its weight."
Jiang Ci's breath hitched for a moment.
Of course he understood.
The highest level of resources, the strictest scrutiny, and the most authoritative official significance.
Yan Zheng looked directly at Jiang Ci, at that face that appeared even paler against the backdrop of bloodstains and wounds.
Word by word, he dropped a true bombshell.
"I am the screenwriter for this film."
"I want to invite you to play your father."
