Chapter Fifty-Four: You're the Director, So You Make the Call

Under Chen Qi’s arrangements, the work on site proceeded in an orderly fashion.

Yet he still miscalculated in one respect.

The styling and makeup took far too much time!

Just for Bai Xiaoke’s look alone, nearly two hours were spent. And within those two hours, all other preparations had already been completed.

Thus, while Chen Qi was getting his makeup and styling done, everyone else was left with nothing to do but stand by and watch, waiting idly.

By the time Chen Qi was finally ready, it was already lunchtime.

Fortunately, the experienced Zhao Wu, having anticipated this awkward situation as soon as Chen Qi started his transformation, had the foresight to prepare all the instant meals they'd brought.

“Let’s eat before filming, everything’s already set up,” Zhao Wu suggested cautiously, seeing Chen Qi staring at the time in a daze.

Chen Qi silently tore his gaze away from the clock, took the self-heating rice Zhao Wu handed him, and ate without a word, feeling somewhat wounded.

Had half the day gone by just like that?

It seemed rather exaggerated, didn’t it?

At this rate, shooting one episode a day seemed doubtful!

He considered whether he should have another stylist and makeup artist come tomorrow, but after some thought, he abandoned the idea. He’d watched Bai Xiaoke’s makeup being done—one stylist and one makeup artist were enough. Any more, and there wouldn’t even be room to stand.

This sort of work really could only be done by one person at a time; too many people would only add to the chaos.

So be it, he thought. If they pressed on a bit in the afternoon, they should be able to finish—they only had just over five minutes of footage to shoot, after all.

After eating and resting for a while, Chen Qi went over the specific camera angles and desired effects with the cameraman, and shooting officially began.

For some reason, when Chen Qi announced the start of filming, everyone in the crew felt a flicker of anticipation.

What would a show with just two actors per episode look like?

The idea sounded quite intriguing.

And this young man—director, screenwriter, and investor all in one—where did he come from, and what was he trying to shoot?

“All right, ready!” With Chen Qi’s call to action, the whole crew gathered around, curiosity written on their faces.

Up to this point, aside from Bai Xiaoke, no one else knew what the show was about.

Bai Xiaoke, looking every bit the scruffy little thief of ancient times, walked over carrying a short sword, glancing at Chen Qi with hesitant eyes.

Chen Qi, equally roughly attired, gave him an encouraging look from behind the camera.

They were about to film the very first episode of "Never Expected"—“A Low-Budget Martial Arts Drama.”

In his view, this first episode was the highlight of the entire season—it didn’t just surprise, it dazzled.

Meeting the director’s encouraging gaze, Bai Xiaoke took a deep breath, nodded slightly to show he was ready.

“All right, action!” Chen Qi commanded.

Bai Xiaoke slipped instantly into character, beginning his performance.

The opening was a silent monologue; all he needed to do was match his actions and expressions to the internal narration.

He first stood frozen, as if struck by an invisible force, staring blankly into the camera. After several seconds, he glanced at the sword in his hand, then let surprise flicker across his features, finally appraising the short sword with an expression of utter incredulity.

“???”

This silent performance left Zhao Wu and the others baffled. They widened their eyes, convinced they must be missing something.

What on earth was this?

Pantomime?

They glanced at each other, unable to make heads or tails of it.

Then, all eyes turned to Chen Qi—even the cameraman couldn’t help himself.

“Hey—”

Just then, Chen Qi, playing the martial arts master, leapt into frame from off-camera, startling the unsuspecting crew with a sudden shout.

“Hahaha!” he laughed in an exaggerated, theatrical way, then recited his lines stiffly: “If you want to rescue the princess, then… um… then… then… um…”

He seemed to have forgotten his lines.

A collective gasp came from the onlookers, Zhao Wu included, their faces twisting into incredulous grimaces.

This…

“Then, then—just step over me!” Chen Qi finally remembered.

Zhao Wu: “…”

The others: “…”

In that instant, their expressions were priceless.

It was no exaggeration to say their eyes had been opened to a new realm.

They’d seen shoddy productions before, but never anything like this!

Wasn’t this just careless beyond belief?

“…Hurry, unleash your ultimate move—the Nine Yang Divine Fist!” Chen Qi intoned, rigid as ever.

Zhao Wu and the others stared at him in disbelief, barely able to stifle their laughter.

The Nine Yang Divine Fist?

Divine Fist???

Good grief!!!

If his ultimate move was the Nine Yang Divine Fist, why did you have him carry a sword at the start?

What on earth were you doing?

“All right, let’s see,” Chen Qi said after the take, hurrying over to the monitor and having the cameraman play back the footage.

“No, no, this won’t do.” After watching Bai Xiaoke’s performance, Chen Qi frowned deeply. “Your expression is too dry. Bring some emotion into your face, your eyes—like this…”

As he spoke, he mimed the expressions in front of the monitor for Bai Xiaoke.

“When you’re making these faces, run through the lines I gave you in your head, so the expressions and the narration match up. Do you know what I mean?”

Bai Xiaoke pondered for a moment, then nodded.

“All right, one more time!”

As Chen Qi and Bai Xiaoke began again, Zhao Wu and the others were left speechless.

Bai Xiaoke’s performance was too dry?

Compared side by side, yours was far more exaggerated and artificial!

But… you’re the director, so you call the shots.

Having witnessed this first scene, the group lost all expectations for the show and retreated to the shade to play with their phones.

To them, this wasn’t even a shoddy production—it was child’s play.

They’d been curious about the purpose of this project, but by now, they had lost interest entirely.

Most likely, he simply wanted to play at being a director or an actor for the fun of it.

“All right, this one’s good, mark it,” Chen Qi finally said after repeating the shot a couple more times, satisfied at last.

Drawing on his experience from the previous commercial shoot, this time he didn’t forget to have the cameraman mark the usable shot, avoiding the hassle of sifting through endless footage during editing.

“Okay, next shot, let’s keep it moving.”

He called to the cameraman and continued.

Whether Bai Xiaoke had grasped what Chen Qi wanted or simply had the skill, the following shots were completed smoothly and efficiently.

“Hurry, change costumes!”

With the first scene wrapped, Chen Qi rushed to change outfits, instructing the others to prepare the next location.

This time, it was just a quick costume and makeup adjustment, nothing drastic.

The scene was filmed in no time.

While this was happening, Zhao Wu, with nothing better to do, watched from the sidelines.

Perhaps because both actors had lines in this scene, Zhao Wu found himself quite entertained.

“All right, next scene—let’s hurry, and try to finish everything today.”

Watching Chen Qi dash off to change, Zhao Wu suddenly realized he was left wanting more.

Thinking back, that last scene had actually been quite amusing. At the very least… after so many years in the industry, it was the first time he’d seen such an irreverent drama.

Still, since he hadn’t understood the beginning, all he could say was that it was fun to watch.

The final scene, involving a demon king’s costume, took a bit more time, but they managed to finish all the shots before nightfall.

Having thought the show was interesting, Zhao Wu was left bewildered after watching the scene.

What kind of incoherent nonsense was this?

For a split second, he wondered if he was out of touch with the times.

It was utter chaos.

“All right, thank you, everyone.” Once all the shots were confirmed, Chen Qi finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s a wrap for this location. Tomorrow, we move to a new place.”

No one had any objections, and after packing up, everyone left the deserted site before dark.

…

Back at his rented apartment, Chen Qi received a call from Xu Bunian.

The project had been approved and submitted for review; the process would be complete in two or three days at most.

“All right, I’ll need to borrow your office in a couple of days to shoot a few things,” he told him in advance.

“Sure, you’re welcome anytime,” Xu Bunian replied, with no objections.

“Great, we’ll talk specifics when I see you.”

After hanging up, Chen Qi threw himself into preparations for the next day’s shoot.

He once again watched the next episode repeatedly, making detailed notes on every shot.

With the experience from the previous commercial and a day’s hands-on filming, he’d gained valuable insight into pre-production, understanding how preparing certain details ahead of time could make everything run much more smoothly.

The second day’s shoot went without a hitch, wrapping up by a little after four in the afternoon.

One thing worth noting: when Zhao Wu and the others saw Chen Qi and Bai Xiaoke in completely different costumes and makeup from the day before, they were utterly confused.

What did this mean?

Was yesterday’s footage scrapped?

Had they come up with a new opening?

When they saw that Bai Xiaoke’s performance and lines bore no connection to the day before, they were left both amused and at a loss.

For the rest of the day, they looked at Chen Qi as if he were some kind of wizard.

Then came the third day, the fourth…

Chen Qi shot outdoors for four days in a row.

On the fifth day, he led Zhao Wu and the others to Xu Bunian’s company.