The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 308: The Price of the "Scene Maniac"

The instant the director called "Cut."

Only one command flashed through Jiang Ci's mind.

Activate Emotion Isolation.

Hum—

His consciousness detached, but his body did not.

His body remembered everything that had just happened.

That cheap plant-based frosting so sickeningly sweet,

the sour, rotten reek that surged up his esophagus when it mixed with stomach acid.

A violent wave of nausea smashed through his last defense.

"Brother!"

Sun Zhou's voice came. He spread his arms, trying to lift the collapsed figure on the floor.

But Jiang Ci's body had already moved first.

He shoved away Sun Zhou's outstretched hand and, using both hands and feet, scrambled up and staggered toward the bathroom in the corner of the film set.

Bang!

He shouldered the bathroom door open and slammed it shut behind him.

The whole sequence happened so fast no one could react in time.

Lei Zhong stood rooted to the spot, listening with bated breath.

Inside the bathroom, violent dry heaves erupted almost immediately.

Followed by the sound of his stomach being emptied completely.

On Lei Zhong's weathered face, the last trace of the viciousness that belonged to Cha Cai quietly faded.

Listening to those heart-wrenching retches, something hard and steady inside him began to crumble slowly.

He had thought the breakdown Jiang Ci had shown earlier was seven parts acting, three parts real.

Now he knew.

It was entirely real.

This young man was truly stuffing the role with his life.

Inside the bathroom,

under the harsh white incandescent light, nothing could hide.

Jiang Ci knelt on the cold tile, bent over the toilet.

He forced his fingers deep into his throat.

"Gah—"

Everything in his stomach, that sickeningly sweet frosting,

mixed with sour, rotten gastric juice, was expelled in a single, violent rush.

He vomited until he was utterly drained, blackness pulsing at the edges of his vision.

Involuntary tears streamed from his eyes, tracing hot paths down his cheeks.

When Sun Zhou and two medics rushed in, this was what they found.

The youth sagged against the cold wall, curled inward, his thin shoulders still twitching from retching.

He lifted his face; the dirt-streaked features revealed a pair of eyes made wet and broken by tears.

Seeing this, Sun Zhou and the medics instinctively slowed their steps.

Only one extremely clear thought echoed through Jiang Ci's head at that moment.

Never eat plant-based frosting again in this life.

It tastes like absolute shit.

But to everyone else, his physiological reaction was the most direct expression of the "blood" and "evil" in the scene—the visceral rejection of the brutality in the performance.

At the end of the villa corridor,

Jiang Wen stood with his back to everyone, silent.

Every sound from the bathroom drilled into his ears, note for note.

He fumbled in his pocket for his cigarette pack, trembling, and finally drew one out.

He lowered his head and with shaking hands struck a lighter.

Click.

The flame leapt.

He tried three times before the cigarette finally caught.

He inhaled hard, the acrid smoke stinging his lungs and setting him into a violent fit of coughing.

Jiang Wen stared at the bathroom door, his fingertips yellowed by nicotine.

The beast inside him called Art howled—Jiang Ci hurt more, and Jiang He in the frame became more alive.

Jiang Ci was led out of the bathroom, supported on either side by Sun Zhou and one of the medics.

He rinsed his mouth, but the cloying sweetness would not let go, and he nearly gagged again.

As he passed the set, the props team was clearing away the cake scraps and "blood" off the floor.

That familiar, cloying artificial fragrance stabbed back into his nostrils.

His body shivered instinctively.

He raised a hand to cover his mouth and nose.

To the people around him, that gesture was silently interpreted again.

They understood.

This was post-traumatic stress.

"Stop it! And put your phones away!"

Old Zhang, the producer, who had stayed silent until now, could no longer stand it and shouted across the set. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He hurried to Jiang Ci's side. Looking at this young man who could barely stay upright without Sun Zhou's help, Old Zhang's eyes reddened.

"Take Jiang Ci to the lounge! Now! Get a doctor to put him on an IV!"

Several female crew members nearby watched Jiang Ci's miserable state and felt an overwhelming ache in their hearts.

At that moment, delayed system prompts chimed in Jiang Ci's head.

Ding! Strong heartbreak emotion fluctuation detected...

...

Heartbreak Value source: On-site female crew (group)

Value settled: +466 points.

Remaining lifespan: 15 years, 9 months, 17 days.

He'd gained nearly two more months of life time.

Jiang Ci looked at the increasing number on the system panel, feeling nothing.

He wanted nothing now except to find a bottle of mouthwash to wash the taste from his mouth completely.

In the VIP lounge,

Jiang Ci was pressed onto a soft single bed.

Dr. Chen, part of the crew, had seen a lot, but her hand trembled as she set the IV.

She watched the tiny raised veins on the back of Jiang Ci's hand from his violent struggles,

and then his pale face.

She moved gently; a maternal impulse rose in her.

Jiang Ci closed his eyes and rested for a long while.

When Sun Zhou saw he had regained a little composure, he quickly handed back the phone he'd been keeping for him.

Jiang Ci took it with shaking hands, clutching it like a lifeline, though really he wanted to distract his retching stomach.

Sun Zhou meant to stop him from looking,

but he opened his mouth and no words came out.

Maybe a glance at his phone would help take his mind off it.

Jiang Ci unlocked the screen and expressionlessly tapped the search box.

It was quiet around them.

His typing was mirrored clearly in Sun Zhou's pupils.

Sun Zhou expected Jiang Ci to search "How to treat post-traumatic stress disorder,"

or "How to find a psychologist,"

or even to look up information about the scene they had just shot.

But Jiang Ci's fingers typed slowly and deliberately.

"How to remove cream stains from silk?"

That silk jacket used as a prop looked expensive.

If it was stained, he didn't know whether they'd have to compensate.

Sun Zhou's gaze accidentally flicked to Jiang Ci's phone screen and caught that search record.

He froze.

He blinked, thinking he'd misread it.

But the words were there, clear as day on the screen.

Cream stain... silk...

Sun Zhou's brain shut down.

He looked at the pale young man on the bed who was still on the IV, then at the search phrase.

A feeling both absurd and heartbreaking crashed through him.

His brother had been tortured to this point, nearly on the edge of collapse,

and his first worry was about damaging a crew costume and having to pay for it?

Sun Zhou lunged and grabbed the phone from Jiang Ci's hand.

"Brother, don't look."

"It's over."