The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 301: Follow Uncle, and You’ll Get Meat

Outside the circle of light, Lei Zhong walked slowly, the silk of his robe rustling softly as it brushed against itself.

In the center of the light, Jiang Ci remained seated on that solitary wooden chair, wrapped in a blanket.

Lei Zhong stopped at the edge of the light, not moving any closer.

He looked down at the gaunt figure on the chair, the ruthless severity still etched on his face.

The pressure on the film set was so thick it felt like it could crush a person's bones.

From the darkness, Jiang Wen's voice calmly sounded.

"Jiang Ci, go to the bed."

Jiang Ci's body shifted.

He put down the thermos cup, stood up, and the blanket draped around him slipped to the floor, revealing his thin clothing.

As Jiang Wen called "action,"

Jiang Ci walked towards the bed illuminated by the overhead light, climbing onto it with sluggish movements.

He curled up in the innermost corner, his back pressed tightly against the wall.

He made himself into a ball.

Yet, at this moment, the severity on Lei Zhong's face slowly faded away.

He turned and walked out of the circle of light, his figure melting into the darkness.

A few minutes later, he returned.

When he stepped back into the light, the dagger that had been stabbed into an apple in his hand was gone.

In its place was a coarse ceramic bowl, steam rising from it in rolling waves.

The rich aroma of rice porridge, mixed with the stale smell of tobacco, quietly permeated the oppressive air.

He was carrying a bowl of hot porridge.

The drug lord who had been brimming with murderous intent just moments ago now had his aura restrained, resembling an ordinary elder who had just finished farm work and returned home to cook for a child.

This transformation was more chilling than any direct act of violence.

Jiang Ci, huddled in the corner of the bed, tensed his body even tighter.

The tough undercover agent who had once grappled with burly men in a mud pit and endured waterboarding to the point of unconsciousness without yielding,

was now reduced to the most primal state of weakness and fear following withdrawal.

Lei Zhong walked to the bedside.

He didn't hand over the bowl directly. First, he sat down on the edge of the bed, the entire mattress sinking heavily under his weight.

He stirred the scalding hot porridge in the bowl with a spoon and blew on it.

Then, he extended his rough, large hand, calloused and scarred, slowly reaching towards Jiang Ci's head.

Jiang Ci's body jerked violently.

The temperature of that palm, penetrating through his sparse hair, burned directly against his scalp.

"Ah He."

Lei Zhong spoke, his voice deliberately softened, a softness that was bone-chilling.

"Get through this, and it's a new day."

He clumsily stroked Jiang Ci's hair, over and over.

"From now on, follow your uncle, and you'll have meat to eat."

In the script, it was written that Jiang He should, under this sudden "warmth,"

trembling, accept the porridge with tears of gratitude and drink it.

Jiang Ci did not take the bowl. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

At the very moment Lei Zhong's palm touched his head for the second time,

he lunged forward.

The movement was so fast no one could react.

He wasn't lunging for the bowl of porridge.

He lunged at Lei Zhong.

Using every ounce of his strength, he wrapped his arms tightly around Cha Cai's thick waist,

burying his face, streaked with tears and sweat, deep into that chest filled with the scents of tobacco and blood.

This action completely exceeded the scope of the script.

Behind the monitor, Jiang Wen's body jerked forward.

Lei Zhong froze completely.

As that gaunt body crashed into his embrace,

he could clearly feel the two arms wrapped around his waist trembling violently.

A mere 0.1 seconds of astonishment.

The Film Emperor's instincts took over Lei Zhong's body.

He did not push Jiang Ci away.

He didn't even look down.

Maintaining his original posture, holding the bowl of porridge steadily in one hand,

his other hand, after a half-second pause, naturally lifted and wrapped around Jiang Ci's thin back, where the shoulder blades protruded like butterfly wings.

The body in his arms trembled even more violently.

There were no cries or shouts.

Only muffled, soundless sobs emanated from between their intertwined limbs.

This was a pathological attachment born towards the sole perpetrator of violence and the sole bestower of mercy, after one's dignity had been utterly crushed.

It was the most direct, most cruel visualization of "taking a thief for one's father."

At this moment, Jiang Ci was Jiang He.

An undercover agent who, to survive and to complete his mission, had to personally kill his past self.

He had to treat Cha Cai—this demon who had slaughtered all his comrades

and tortured him beyond recognition—

as his only family, his sole support.

Lei Zhong slowly lowered his head.

He looked at the trembling head buried against him.

In his turbid eyes, which had witnessed countless life-and-death situations,

the initial astonishment had transformed into a genuine pity that transcended the boundaries of character and actor.

He truly believed it.

At this moment, what he held in his arms was not the young actor named Jiang Ci.

It was a pitiful "Ah He," whose every bone he had personally broken, to whom he had offered a mouthful of food,

and who would henceforth be utterly devoted to him, seeing him as the whole world.

Behind the monitor.

Jiang Wen's hand, gripping the walkie-talkie, trembled violently.

The muscles on his face contorted with extreme excitement, his entire body shuddering.

This tragic tension was more profound, more cruel than any physical torture!

For the mission, a hero had to alter his very beliefs,

to embrace his enemy as a father!

The set was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Lei Zhong patted Jiang Ci's back, over and over.

His movements were light, gentle.

Then, he opened his mouth and hummed a tuneless, incomprehensible melody from his throat.

It was an unknown Burmese nursery rhyme.

In the script, this was what Cha Cai's mother sang to lull him to sleep when he was a child.

He himself didn't know why he was humming this long-forgotten nursery rhyme at this moment.

Within the circle of light, a burly, tattoo-covered drug lord

held a gaunt young man, gently patting his back and humming a lullaby.

A bowl of hot porridge still steamed with heat.

Jiang Wen did not call "cut."

He just watched, watching the trembling body on the monitor

gradually calm down amidst the lullaby and the gentle pats.

Like a child startled awake from a nightmare, finally falling into a peaceful sleep in his father's arms.

Only when Jiang Ci's body had completely stopped trembling and his breathing became steady and long,

did Jiang Wen pick up the walkie-talkie and softly utter a single word.

"Pass."

After the scene ended, Lei Zhong sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, unmoving.

Watching Jiang Ci, who was being helped up by Sun Zhou, his eyes still vacant like a puppet,

that chill once again shot up his spine from the base of his tailbone.

He walked to a corner of the set and found Jiang Wen, who was smoking.

Jiang Wen offered him a cigarette.

Lei Zhong lit it, took a deep drag, but choked on the smoke and started coughing violently.

Looking at the figure not far away being forced to drink sugar water by Sun Zhou, he lowered his voice.

"Old Jiang, this kid... is he really okay?"

Jiang Wen exhaled a smoke ring, not answering.

Lei Zhong's voice dropped even lower, carrying a trace of horror he himself hadn't even noticed.

"That hug just now... I fucking felt like he saw me as his real father."