The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 296: Director, where is the camera?

The sound of the wind and the roar of the pine forest fell completely silent at this moment.

Everyone in the film crew, including those rough men who had just wiped away their tears haphazardly with their sleeves, instinctively tensed their bodies.

The lingering sorrow on their faces was instantly frozen by those two words, then ignited into a kind of neurotic fervor.

There was no ceremony with tedious formalities, not even a single morale-boosting speech.

Jiang Wen threw out two words, turned, and walked away.

His strides were huge. Only when he was almost at the vehicle,

did he stop, turn back, and roar at the stunned crowd:

"What are you all still standing around for! Do you all fucking want to spend the night here? Pack up! Get in the cars! Move to the next location!"

The entire crew became like a precision machine wound up, quickly packing the equipment and rushing towards the convoy.

Sun Zhou fumbled nervously as he carefully wrapped that shiny brass suona horn in cloth,

stuffed it into his backpack, and jogged to catch up with Jiang Ci.

"Bro, we're... starting filming just like that?" His voice was weak, his mind still caught in the aftermath of the emotional storm just moments before.

Jiang Ci didn't answer, only turned his head and took a deep look back at that silent cluster of tombstones.

The convoy kicked up a cloud of yellow dust as it advanced along the rugged mountain road, heading towards the even more desolate border.

Finally, the convoy stopped in front of an abandoned border guard post.

Peeling plaster, rusted-through wire mesh, a lonely two-story building,

stood silently amidst waist-deep wild grass.

Behind the post was a depression.

In the center of the depression was a huge, deep pit. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

The pit was filled with dark brown muddy water. The stench of rotting plants and fermenting sludge assaulted the nose,

with even the corpses of dead insects floating on the water's surface.

All the actors were ordered to stand by the edge of the pit.

Jiang Wen pointed at the stinking mud pit, his gaze sweeping over every person before him.

His words were short, but they cut deeper than the border's cold wind.

"Get in."

Everyone was dumbfounded.

"Anyone who doesn't want to act, get the hell out now."

The faces of a few young featured actors instantly turned deathly pale.

They stared at the black water churning with murky bubbles in the pit, their stomachs churning.

This wasn't filming; this was torture.

Among the crowd, restlessness and hesitation began to spread.

Lei Zhong stood to the side with his arms crossed, his look of watching a spectacle now gone.

Wu Gang still stood straight as a bayonet, looking at the mud pit like a silent mountain.

Jiang Wen's gaze patrolled the crowd, carrying undisguised contempt.

Right at that moment, Jiang Ci moved.

He didn't even look at Jiang Wen.

He bent down, carefully placing that well-thumbed, dog-eared script on a clean rock.

Then, he took two steps back, made a running start, and leaped.

"Plop!"

A dull thud, black mud splashing skyward.

Jiang Ci's entire body plunged straight into the waist-deep, foul-smelling muddy water.

Sludge smeared across his face from his hair, leaving only a pair of eyes that shone terrifyingly bright under the overcast sky.

He wiped the mud off his face without a care, stood in the center of the pit, looked up at the tall figure on the bank.

"Director Jiang, where's the camera angle?"

This jump, this question, made the faces of everyone hesitating on the bank burn with shame.

All affectation, cowardice, and hesitation were shattered to pieces by this one leap at this moment.

The faces of those young actors turned from white to red, from red to ashen.

Lei Zhong looked at the figure in the muddy water, covered in filth yet with a spine held straight,

a look of true gravity appearing in his turbid eyes.

Jiang Wen's face was expressionless. He only lifted his chin, gesturing towards Lei Zhong's direction.

Without a word, Lei Zhong threw his jacket on the ground and jumped down too.

With the example set, the remaining people had no way back,

jumping into the mud pit one after another like dumplings dropped into boiling water.

Sun Zhou stood on the bank, watching this insane scene,

wanting to rush over but not daring to, could only clutch the hem of his shirt tightly.

According to the script, this was a "beast fight" within the drug dealer group.

The newcomer had to prove his worth in the most primitive way.

Jiang Wen spoke only one word into the walkie-talkie.

"Fight."

No choreography, no demonstration, only the most savage law of the jungle.

The mud pit instantly became an arena.

Lei Zhong, playing Cha Cai, as the leader, grabbed Jiang Ci by the collar and slammed him down hard.

Jiang Ci's back hit the pit wall solidly. His Body of Steel absorbed most of the force, but that dull pain was still piercing.

He was pushed into the muddy water, choking on several mouthfuls of the foul-smelling liquid.

He didn't struggle, just glared at Lei Zhong.

In those eyes was no fear, only the ferocity of a beast pushed to the brink.

Jiang Wen sat behind the monitor, his face showing a manic excitement, the veins on the back of his hand gripping the walkie-talkie bulging.

He forgot to call cut.

Or perhaps, he simply didn't want to call cut.

The expressions on the faces of the staff on the bank gradually changed from excitement to horror.

They watched that slender figure,

being thrown down again and again, being pushed into the muddy water again and again, staggering to his feet again and again.

He was like a dying stray dog in a mud pit, but those eyes never dimmed.

Only when Jiang Ci's movements truly began to lag, when his body's swaying was no longer acting,

did Jiang Wen seem to jolt awake from a great dream. He grabbed the walkie-talkie and roared in a hoarse voice:

"Cut!"

Several stuntmen immediately jumped down and dragged Jiang Ci up in a flurry.

He was laid on the ground, like a lifeless clay statue, only the weak rise and fall of his chest visible.

Sun Zhou hurriedly rushed over, wiping his face frantically with a towel.

"Bro! How are you! Bro!"

Jiang Ci lay on the ground, breathing heavily, coughing up several mouthfuls of black muddy water.

He waved a hand, indicating he was fine.

Then, under Sun Zhou's astonished gaze, he propped himself up on the ground, slowly sat up, and reached out a hand towards Sun Zhou.

Sun Zhou was stunned for a moment, then understood. He fumbled nervously in his backpack, pulled out that huge army-green thermos cup,

unscrewed the lid, and handed it over.

Jiang Ci, using Sun Zhou's hand, gulped down several mouthfuls of scalding hot water.

The sweetness of goji berries and red dates diluted the foul taste in his mouth, a warm current rising from his stomach.

He let out a long breath of white air, emitting a satisfied sigh.

Then, holding the warm cup, he stared vacantly in the direction of the mud pit,

muttering softly to himself:

"...So filthy."

That evening, at the guesthouse.

Jiang Ci was bare-chested. Sun Zhou was carefully applying medicine to the bruises that were starting to turn purple with a cotton swab.

"Bro, maybe... we should talk to the director. Don't go at it like this tomorrow. It could kill someone."

Jiang Ci remained silent.

Looking at the crisscrossing blue and purple bruises in the mirror.

Right then, there was a knock on the door.

It was the screenwriter, Yan Zheng.

After Sun Zhou opened the door, Yan Zheng walked in, his face now etched with gravity.

He didn't beat around the bush, directly handing several freshly printed pages of the script to Jiang Ci.

"The scene for tomorrow has been changed."

Yan Zheng's voice was a bit dry.

"Director Jiang has gone mad."

He looked at Jiang Ci, enunciating each word clearly.

"He wants to use 'the real thing' on you."