The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 299: Did He Do X for the Sake of Filming?

Lei Zhong's words fell heavily into the air.

Jiang Ci did not make a sound.

He only stuffed the last bit of the sausage in his hand into his mouth, chewed it carefully, and swallowed.

Then, he lifted his face, smeared with mud, and spoke very seriously to Lei Zhong.

"Uncle Lei, thank you for the sausage."

Lei Zhong looked at him, then fiercely patted Jiang Ci's shoulder, saying nothing more.

The most grueling scene of the entire series arrived right on its heels.

Undercover police officer Jiang He, in order to gain the core trust of the drug cartel, is forced into drug addiction and struggles painfully through withdrawal.

From that day on, Jiang Ci completely disappeared from the film crew's dining table.

Sun Zhou first noticed something was wrong on the third day.

Carrying a thermal lunch box containing black chicken soup he had specifically asked the kitchen to prepare, he knocked on Jiang Ci's door.

The room had thick curtains drawn, airtight.

Jiang Ci was only wearing a pair of shorts, sitting cross-legged on the floor, an open criminal investigation notebook placed in front of him.

He seemed to have had all the color drained from him, his skin an unhealthy waxen white.

"Brother, have some soup. You haven't had a proper meal in two days."

Sun Zhou placed the lunch box on the table, his voice full of unconcealable worry.

Jiang Ci turned a page of the notebook and spoke calmly.

"No need. Take it away."

"But..."

"Character needs."

Jiang Ci cut him off.

Those four short words shut down everything Sun Zhou wanted to say.

He knew he couldn't persuade this madman.

He could only secretly fill Jiang Ci's army-green thermos cup with warm glucose water every day.

One week later.

When Jiang Ci appeared on the film set again, everyone was so shocked they took a step back.

That lean, upright young man was gone.

The young man before them was emaciated, his features almost unrecognizable.

He wore loose clothes that made his frame seem as thin and fragile as a withered leaf in the wind.

His eye sockets were deeply sunken, his high cheekbones protruding sharply.

His lips were dry and cracked, peeling, and he exuded a gloomy, sinister aura.

Several set assistants even instinctively avoided his gaze.

Lei Zhong had just lit a cigarette. The moment he saw Jiang Ci, the lighter in his hand clattered to the ground.

Jiang Wen looked up from behind the monitor. His square face showed no emotion as he stared fixedly at Jiang Ci for three seconds.

Then, he grabbed the walkie-talkie and roared into it.

"What the hell are you all looking at! Clear the set! Everyone who isn't essential, get the hell out!"

The scene was a disgustingly filthy toilet stall built by the crew.

The walls were covered in yellowish-brown stains, the floor was slippery and sticky,

and the air was thick with the pungent, nauseating stench of ammonia mixed with disinfectant.

Jiang Wen's voice came through the walkie-talkie.

"Action."

Jiang Ci huddled in the filthiest corner, his back pressed tightly against the tiles.

His entire body began to tremble uncontrollably. Cold sweat soaked through his thin clothes, clinging to him stickily.

He hugged his knees, curling his body even tighter, as if that could ward off the chill seeping from his very bones.

The [Micro-Expression Control] skill activated quietly.

He didn't need to "act."

He only needed to amplify the body's most genuine hunger sensation by ten thousand times.

That agony of having his stomach hollowed out, every nerve screaming for energy, was the best catalyst.

His teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, emitting a light "clack-clack" sound.

The muscles in his cheeks began to spasm, and his pupils, in the dim light, dilated into two unfocused black holes.

On set, silence reigned.

Everyone watched the figure writhing in agony on the monitor.

Jiang Ci's body began to convulse violently.

It was as if an invisible hand was pressing him to the ground.

The back of his head thudded against the grimy wall again and again, making dull "thump-thump" sounds.

He opened his mouth, but no cry for help emerged from his throat, only suppressed, guttural growls.

"Hah... Hah..."

His fingers began to scratch frantically at the rough tiled floor.

The sound of his nails scraping against the ground, "screech—screech—", was sharp enough to make one's scalp crawl.

That sound, combined with the suppressed breathing from his throat, created a terrifying resonance.

Every vein bulged beneath his deathly pale skin.

In the midst of this extreme torment, his movements suddenly stopped.

Those unfocused eyes stared fixedly at the empty air before him.

As if he saw something.

He slowly reached out a hand towards that void.

His cracked lips trembled, and a tear-streaked smile slowly spread across his face.

That smile contained the ecstatic joy of seeing an old friend, and an unspeakable guilt.

That smile was more heartbreaking than any gut-wrenching wail.

"Stop!"

A furious roar exploded across the set.

Everyone was startled.

In the corner, the narcotics consultant the crew had specially invited,

an old police officer with graying temples, shot up from his chair.

The color drained from his face, replaced by sheer terror.

Without waiting for anyone to react, he charged towards the toilet stall like an enraged leopard.

"Hurry! Call a doctor!"

The old officer's roar was full of panic, his tone commanding.

"He's really having a withdrawal episode!"

The set instantly descended into chaos.

"What?"

"Is it real?"

"Oh my god, did he take drugs for the shoot?"

Jiang Wen was also frightened by this sudden turn of events,

jumping up from his director's chair, the walkie-talkie in his hand falling to the ground.

Two nearby set assistants, caught up in the old narcotics officer's reaction, instinctively rushed in as well.

The old narcotics officer firmly restrained the still-convulsing Jiang Ci,

his movements professional and forceful, gripping his shoulders tightly as he roared at the people outside.

"Hold him down! Don't let him hurt himself!"

Amidst the chaos, only the system's prompt in Jiang Ci's mind remained clear.

[Ding! Detected group panic-induced heartbreak! Heartbreak Value +98!]

[Intense empathy-induced heartbreak! Heartbreak Value +125!]

Pinned to the ground by two grown men, Jiang Ci's body still trembled slightly from extreme hunger.

With great difficulty, he lifted his head. His face, pale as paper, was covered in sweat and tears.

He looked at the old officer, whose face was full of terror, and mustering all his strength,

he squeezed out a few weak, fragmented words from his throat.

"Um... Officer..."

"I... I didn't take anything..."

He caught his breath, continuing in that faint, threadbare tone.

"I'm just... hungry."

The entire set fell into a silence even more eerie than before.

All noise ceased abruptly.

The old officer's hand, still pressing on Jiang Ci's shoulder, froze.

He stared blankly at the emaciated young man on the floor,

then looked at his own hand, trembling from the exertion.

Hungry?

After the misunderstanding was cleared up, the old narcotics officer watched as Sun Zhou frantically helped Jiang Ci up

and poured most of a cup of glucose water into him. He himself remained unsettled for a long time.

He walked over, looked at the deathly pale young man,

and his lips trembled for a long moment before he found his voice again.

His eyes reddened uncontrollably.

"Too similar..."

"It's really too similar..."

He turned his head and spoke to Jiang Wen, who also looked dazed, enunciating each word clearly.

"In my life, I've personally arrested at least eighty, if not a hundred, drug users. I've seen countless people having episodes, all kinds."

"You just now... the way you looked just now, that look in your eyes... it was exactly the same as theirs."

The old officer's words carried immense weight.

Everyone present felt their hearts gripped tightly.

Jiang Wen walked back behind the monitor without a word and picked up the walkie-talkie from the floor.

He pulled up the playback of the previous scene and watched it over and over.

He grabbed the walkie-talkie and issued an order to the entire crew.

"This take, don't cut it."

"Not a single frame."