Chapter 2

Yan Li, with great tact, quickly paid for their breakfast before Kou Zhanwen could. It wasn’t much money—prices at the start of the century were modest, and the total for two people didn’t exceed 10 yuan. Kou Zhanwen certainly didn’t mind the small amount, but he appreciated Yan Li’s thoughtfulness and agility. Especially since during their conversation earlier, Yan Li’s repeated “Teacher Kou” had flattered him quite well. As a result, Kou Zhanwen warmed up to Yan Li and even offered a few pointers. “Director Hu has a pretty good temper. The producer rarely visits the set. On-site operations and logistics are mainly handled by the assistant director and production manager. The crew is relatively calm—just keep your distance from those Hong Kong and Taiwan folks; they’re always full of drama.” “Thank you for the reminder, Teacher Kou.” Perhaps because he had access to the daily intelligence system and engaged in various exercises, Yan Li had become more sensitive to gathering, analyzing, and interpreting information. Even without the system’s intelligence, he could extract valuable insights from people’s casual remarks. Although Kou Zhanwen didn’t say much, Yan Li found his words quite informative. First, it clarified the chain of command in the Heroes of Sui and Tang Dynasties crew. Having worked with several crews in Beijing, Yan Li knew that every team functioned differently. Take the role of a production manager, for example: in some crews, they’re a big deal, with directors deferring to them and all expenses requiring their approval. In others, they’re just in charge of box lunches and vehicles, bossed around by anyone with a bit of clout. As a newcomer, learning about the leadership structure upon arrival was undoubtedly beneficial. Additionally, Kou Zhanwen’s later remark hinted that the Heroes of Sui and Tang Dynasties crew wasn’t entirely harmonious. It seemed likely there was a divide between Hong Kong/Taiwan and mainland actors and even staff. As a small-time actor, Yan Li dared not get involved in such conflicts, so he resolved to be extra cautious, keeping a low profile and steering clear of trouble. When they reached the set, Yan Li and Kou Zhanwen parted ways. The latter went for makeup, while Yan Li had to check in with Assistant Director Wang Decai. Wang Decai, assistant director for Heroes of Sui and Tang Dynasties, had played a crucial role in casting. Without him, Yan Li wouldn’t have landed this gig. At the meeting spot, Wang Decai hadn’t yet arrived, so Yan Li busied himself helping with odd jobs while discreetly gathering intel about the crew. Getting information on his own was ideal; if he couldn’t, there was always a chance the system would trigger and provide him with a useful lead. Better to take a shot than sit idle! Just as he was having a good time chatting, someone tapped his shoulder. Turning around, Yan Li saw a short, stout man grinning at him. “Wang Ge, you’re here.” “Ahem, call me Director Wang on set.” Wang Decai, around 30 years old, was chubby and stood about 1.6 meters tall. He looked honest and simple, but his shrewd, darting eyes betrayed a sharpness beneath the surface. “Settling in well with the crew?” Wang Decai had a good impression of Yan Li, feeling the young man suited him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have helped him join the team. Yan Li expressed his gratitude sincerely: “Thanks to your care, I even got a single room.” “Ah, it’s nothing.” After exchanging a few pleasantries, Wang Decai was about to take Yan Li to meet the director when his phone rang. Apparently, there was an issue with some equipment, and he had to check on it. Yan Li quickly offered, “You go ahead, no rush for me.” Earlier intel suggested that Director Hu Mingkai was in a foul mood yesterday due to health issues. Yan Li had been worried about approaching the director and risking his ire. This delay was a blessing in disguise, giving the director time to cool off. “Alright, then.” Perhaps the equipment issue was pressing, as Wang Decai didn’t hesitate. Before leaving, he advised, “How about this—you can go to the makeup room and get your makeup done first. That way, the director will get a clearer impression of your look when I bring you over later.” “Sure thing, you handle your work.” Seeing the potential benefits for his meeting with the director, Yan Li readily agreed. After parting ways, Yan Li asked around and made his way to the makeup room. It wasn’t far, and he arrived shortly. Peering in, he found it wasn’t too crowded. That made sense—the morning crowd, who had early shoots, had already finished their makeup around 4 or 5 a.m. This later hour was for actors with schedules starting after 10 a.m. or in the afternoon. Scanning the room, Yan Li noticed several idle makeup artists eating or reading magazines. Remembering the morning intel about a brewing conflict between two makeup artists, Sasha and Wang Xiu, over a man, Yan Li decided to tread carefully. As a newcomer, he wasn’t bold enough to ask directly who was who. Playing it safe, he approached the only male makeup artist lounging nearby and explained his situation. Hearing Wang Decai’s name, the makeup artist gave Yan Li a once-over. “Alright, take a seat.” Yan Li found a spot, and the artist, quite professional, didn’t start right away. Instead, he inquired about Yan Li’s past makeup styles to accentuate his strengths. As they were chatting, a female makeup artist walked by and deliberately bumped into the male artist. From the mirror, Yan Li clearly saw it was intentional. However, before the male artist could react, the female artist accused him first. “Are you blind? Didn’t you see me passing through?” The male artist froze momentarily but snapped back, “Not only are you blind, but your legs must be crippled too, walking straight into me looking for trouble.” “You bastard! Who are you calling crippled?” “You hag! I’m talking about you!” One insult led to another, and the two began shoving each other. Yan Li and others rushed to break them apart, while Yan Li silently wondered if the makeup team was always this chaotic. Soon, a supervisor arrived to separate the feuding pair and took them away, leaving Yan Li with a replacement artist. Unable to resist, Yan Li asked the new artist, “Excuse me, is there a Wang Xiu in your team?” The artist shot him a strange look. “The one doing your makeup earlier was Wang Xiu.” Yan Li: “…” What a flawed system—it only displayed names without photos or gender markers! How was he supposed to know Wang Xiu, who clashed with Sasha over a man, was actually… a man himself? The worst part? The guy even had a small beard—more rugged than Yan Li himself! About an hour later, with makeup and costume done, Yan Li reconnected with Wang Decai and headed to their meeting spot. Stepping out of the makeup room, he bumped into Wang Xiu, now returning after resolving the earlier issue. Wang Xiu still had the energy to chat. “Looking sharp, buddy! Sorry about earlier—next time, I’ll take care of your makeup again.” “No problem. Thanks, uh… bro.” Yan Li, still young and inexperienced, wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. Mumbling a response, he made his exit. About ten minutes later, under Wang Decai’s introduction, Yan Li met Heroes of Sui and Tang Dynasties director Hu Mingkai. This Hu Mingkai was a somewhat esteemed director in the industry, best known for his hit drama Young Detective Dee. Yan Li’s strategy of laying low had paid off. According to Wang Decai, Hu Mingkai had earlier scolded the field team. If Yan Li had arrived then, he might have faced the brunt of it too. By now, the director had vented some anger and was either feeling better physically or emotionally. Though not cheerful, his mood was neutral enough that Wang Decai dared bring Yan Li over. “Director, this is Yan Li, the actor playing Yuwen Chengdu in our drama.” With a wide smile, Wang Decai introduced him. Hu Mingkai, wearing broad-framed glasses, wasn’t striking in appearance. The director's first impression of Yan Li was favorable. The young man had thick eyebrows, sharp features, and a defined jawline. His rugged, masculine charm made him stand out. Even better, he had a towering frame of at least 1.8 meters, a well-proportioned build, and a healthy physique—perfect for a costume drama. Dressed as a warrior with a subtle mustache added by the makeup artist, Yan Li exuded a spirited, battle-hardened aura, befitting a formidable figure. Hu Mingkai couldn’t help but feel it was a slight waste to cast him as a villain like Yuwen Chengdu. But it was too late to change—other major roles were already cast or unavailable. After flipping through Yan Li’s resume, Hu Mingkai looked up with mild surprise. “A Beijing Film Academy graduate? And you’ve trained in martial arts?” Yan Li clarified, “I spent a few years at a martial arts school in my hometown before joining the vocational class at the academy.” “What styles of martial arts?” Hu Mingkai, a Hong Kong director who had worked on the Once Upon a Time in China series, was naturally intrigued by martial artists. Yan Li answered honestly, “I’ve learned basic routines, mainly focused on Sanda. I’m also skilled with weapons like the spear and broadsword.” Yan Li kept it grounded. Exaggerating could backfire if the director assigned him high-level fight scenes he couldn’t handle. Besides, Wang Decai had warned him that Hu Mingkai preferred humility and sincerity over showiness. In truth, Yan Li didn’t see himself as a martial artist. His training had been at a small, local school with no renowned instructors. If not for the resume boost, he wouldn’t have mentioned it. Fortunately, Hu Mingkai didn’t care how skilled he was. “You’ll manage the fight scenes, right?” “No problem.” Yan Li was confident—he had been honing his skills during his time at Beijing Film Academy and even worked as a stunt double while freelancing in Beijing. “Alright, let’s give it a try. Old Wang will fill you in on the details.” Without requiring an audition or a martial arts demonstration, Hu Mingkai approved Yan Li for the role. This kind of informal approach wasn’t uncommon in the early 2000s when the entertainment industry was still developing. If the director liked you, you were in. Even if it turned out to be a mistake, switching out a minor character was no big deal. After all, Hengdian lacked many things but never actors.