Chapter 2: Ambition Can Be a Curse
If I’m not mistaken, Jiang Ye must be the so-called “third party” that Ou Hao mentioned!
Don’t get me wrong—Jiang Ye hasn’t stooped to the depraved level of fraternizing with Ou Hao while harboring feelings for his sister-in-law.
Although Ma Sichun, who is currently playing Li Bala, is at the peak of her beauty, with delicate features and a defined jawline,
she looks completely different from the image she would later have after gaining weight due to health issues, earning the nickname “the fattest Ge Weilong.”
And Jiang Ye is young, fiery, and vigorous, standing tall and proud every morning.
But he’s not part of the hip-hop scene…
It was Ma Sichun who seduced him!
Yesterday, after wrapping up filming, Ma Sichun deliberately stopped him outside the set, claiming she wanted to “coach the rookie on acting skills.”
He declined at first but ended up accompanying her for a walk along the coastline.
Unexpectedly, as they walked, Ma Sichun suddenly exclaimed softly and leaned against him, her soft body pressing close to his arm, a faint scent of perfume drifting from her hair...
Heaven and earth bear witness—Jiang Ye pushed her away in the end!
Lately, Ma Sichun often sends him funny videos for no reason, sometimes with flirtatious messages.
If nothing else, it seems to add up...
But how did this turn him into the “third party”?
Clearly, he’s the victim here...
There are so many beautiful women on set. If he had to choose, he would definitely pick Chen Duling!
After all, Chen Duling’s look as the mirror demon in “Eternal Night Galaxy” was so stunning!
Right, Jiang Ye is a reborn man!
He squandered a winning hand in his previous life.
He graduated from the directing program at Beijing Film Academy, with an uncle who is a veteran producer in the industry, yet his pride was sky-high.
Upon graduation, instead of leveraging his connections, he insisted on proving he could make it on his own.
After ten wasted years, the third-rate web dramas he directed never scored above five on Douban, and at his lowest point, he had to cover the cost of boxed meals on set.
It wasn’t until he turned thirty that, through his parents’ quiet arrangements, he managed to break into the short drama circuit.
He did produce a few minor hits, earning the nickname “Grandfather of Fast-Paced Shorts” in the vertical-screen world.
But before he could establish himself, a car accident sent him back to 2014.
On the first day after his rebirth, Jiang Ye summed it up:
“Attitude ruins everything. All that high-mindedness is bullshit!”
Now that he had a second chance at life, all notions of pride and face were damned!
The next day, he knocked on his uncle’s door and shamelessly begged for a position as a script supervisor on the “The Left Ear” crew.
He even managed to snag two bottles of Maotai as a bonus!
It’s been about a month since his rebirth. Although he lacks any sort of system, which is a bit disappointing,
he’s found his memory and energy far surpass those of ordinary people.
His health has improved!
Even in that department, he feels almost frighteningly strong.
This is no boast. One time, he tried to entertain himself with a video, hoping to free his hands, but his phone died before he could succeed...
A sort of blessed problem, I suppose...
“Everyone, take your positions, shooting in five minutes!”
Assistant director Gao Chuan bellowed through a megaphone, and the previously scattered crew instantly snapped to attention.
The lighting team sprinted with softboxes; the sound technician dragged the long microphone cable; the stagehands pushed the dolly with a rumble across the concrete.
Jiang Ye flipped his baseball cap backward and jogged through the busy crowd.
As the assistant script supervisor, he efficiently checked the call sheet.
Next up was Chen Duling’s first crying scene—the breakdown of Li Er upon learning of Li Bala’s death.
It was highly challenging, requiring precise control of microexpressions.
“Scene 38, shot 1, ready…”
Jiang Ye raised the clapperboard high, sunlight refracting into a prism of colors on the plastic.
Chen Duling, dressed in a blue-and-white school uniform, stood at the rooftop’s edge, the sea breeze tousling her shoulder-length black hair.
“Action!”
But problems arose during the first take.
With no acting experience, Chen Duling couldn’t summon the emotions, ending up with the awkward “crying while laughing” expression.
“Cut!” Su Youpeng’s voice came through the walkie-talkie, faintly weary.
“Duling, you still haven’t gotten into the feeling. Li Bala was your best friend. She suddenly died. You should be devastated, not…”
He paused, refraining from saying “like you got burned.”
“Let’s try again. Throw yourself into the scene.”
“Cut!”
“Cut!”
“Cut!”
The clapperboard snapped shut again, the number “25” stinging Chen Duling’s eyes.
She clenched her hands so tightly her nails dug into her palms, trying to force tears through pain, but her mind remained blank.
After all, not long ago she was just a normal student at Southern Aviation University, burying herself in differential equations in her flight mechanics textbook.
Now, dressed in a faded school uniform, she was playing a girl named Li Er, crying her heart out for another girl named Li Bala.
It was truly difficult for her!
“Imagine this,” Su Youpeng stepped in front of the camera, patiently gesturing, “You’re standing in a hospital corridor. The doctor says ‘resuscitation failed.’ That girl who always cursed in your ear is suddenly gone. Try to move from disbelief to despair—your emotions must have layers…”
“Cut!”
“Let’s take a twenty-minute break.” Su Youpeng rubbed his brow.
After 27 continuous failed takes, his patience was worn thin; he even doubted if he had cast correctly.
Chen Duling quietly moved to the corner of the studio, head down, flipping through the script covered with notes.
She was trying hard, but this was not her realm!
Each failed take and the doubtful looks from the crew left her feeling miserable and somewhat guilty.
The crew treated her politely: stagehands passed ice packs promptly, makeup artists quietly retouched her face, but an indescribable distance lingered.
Right now, despite five or six folding chairs around her, no one sat nearby.
“Hey, brainiac.”
A voice suddenly came from the shadows, startling Chen Duling into looking up.
She saw Jiang Ye leaning against the wall, spinning a can of chilled cola in his hand.
“Are you hiding here planning to build a plane as a surprise for Director Su?”
Jiang Ye approached and handed her the cola. The cold touch made her shiver.
“Director Su’s ‘emotional immersion method’ is like a foreign language to someone with no acting experience.”
Chen Duling said nothing, only staring down at the condensation on the can.
What could a kid like him possibly understand!
“Do you know why you can’t cry?”
Jiang Ye crouched to her level, meeting her eyes.
“Because you’re ‘acting’ crying, not ‘really’ crying.”
Having spent years struggling in the short drama circuit before rebirth, Jiang Ye knew this all too well.
Short dramas have tight schedules, and actors are mostly amateurs; the key is quickly summoning genuine emotions.
He had seen many newcomers like Chen Duling—full of feeling inside but stuck at the physiological reaction.
Jiang Ye decided to help her...
After all, his hand was about to cramp from slamming the clapperboard for so many takes.
If they kept failing, he feared he might accidentally hit Director Su with it.