Chapter 26: I Do Not Film Nude Scenes

Fatty Wang had rewritten the script several times to favor Chingmy Yau. Sharla Cheung, having had a bit to drink the night before, hadn't held back in her complaints about it. Liu Jing, finding Fatty Wang to be a decent fellow, offered a well-intentioned reminder: offending a woman is often more troublesome than offending a man.

"It’s all for the sake of the plot," Fatty Wang muttered, his momentum fading.

"When does Sister Chingmy join the production?" Liu Jing asked.

"Why do you want to know that?" Fatty Wang became instantly guarded.

"I’ve heard she’s beautiful, and I’d like to meet her," Liu Jing said bluntly.

Fatty Wang’s face darkened at this. He waved a hand dismissively. "Go and console Sister Sharla. Let's get this film finished; she has plenty of other projects waiting."

"Fatty, look on the bright side. Don't bicker with women, or you'll be the one suffering," Liu Jing consoled him.

"Hey! This little brat..." Fatty Wang wiped sweat from his brow—partly from the heat, and partly from Liu Jing’s warning. He didn't fear Sharla Cheung much, but he was wary of the people behind her. Still, as the pillar of the company, he wasn't overly concerned.

While Fatty Wang sweated profusely, Sharla Cheung sat nearby, gently waving a fan. August in Yandu was like a furnace, and the heavy costumes only doubled the misery. Gigi Lai was whispering something to Sharla; Liu Jing felt a bit dazed, watching the charming pair.

"Sister Sharla, what’s the matter with you?" Liu Jing didn't bother with pleasantries.

"Little blockhead, why don't you call me 'Mommy' a few more times? Help me get used to it," Sharla teased, her earlier anger vanished.

*Does calling you Mommy come with milk?* Liu Jing suppressed his inner cynical reflex and dared not say it aloud. I’m trying to talk to you seriously, and you’re just flirting and playing around. He felt like giving her a spanking, just like he had the night before, but she was sober and they were in public, so it didn't seem appropriate.

"Alright, alright, I'm just joking. Don't look so stiff," Sharla said, ruffling Liu Jing's hair. "In a few days, you'll be a little bald monk; it’ll feel even better then."

Liu Jing swatted her sweaty hand away. "Sister Gigi, could you give me a photograph?"

"Huh? Why do you want that?" Gigi asked, surprised. It was the second time the little kid had asked for one.

"You’re so beautiful, I want to keep it to preserve this beauty. It’s a pity I can’t be by your side always. Whenever I miss you, I can take out your picture to soothe the longing," Liu Jing said crisply.

Gigi was stunned, swallowing hard, suddenly at a loss. If he were an adult, she would have called him a pervert. But he was only five.

"Pfft, hahahaha..." Sharla burst into laughter, gently nudging Liu Jing. "Gigi, don't mind him, the little brat is full of smooth talk. Just give him two of your best photos, and he’ll be quiet."

"This..." Gigi hesitated.

"He has a collecting obsession. While others collect antiques, jewelry, or stamps, this little guy collects photos of beauties. You’re lucky he just asked. When I was filming *The Kung Fu Cult Master* with Michele Reis, to get her photos, he..." Sharla stopped as Liu Jing clapped a hand over her mouth. The memories were too embarrassing—the pouting, the acting pitiful, the begging, and the following them around...

"A collecting obsession at such a young age? What will he be like when he grows up? Won't he just collect..." Gigi muttered, trailing off.

"He’ll definitely be a heartbreaker, collecting beauties directly," Sharla giggled.

"Ahem, well... I have an album back at the hotel. You can pick two later," Gigi said, feeling overwhelmed. You're being so direct, even if that is what I meant.

"Thank you, Sister Gigi!" Liu Jing flashed a sweet, obedient smile.

Gigi shook her head. The boy had been corrupted by Sharla.

"Did you argue with Fatty Wang on purpose?" Liu Jing asked after Gigi left.

"Yes! There’s too much idle gossip. If a tiger doesn't show its claws, they really think I'm a sick cat," Sharla said with disdain. The fortune teller's words had spread, and many people were looking at her differently.

"Shall we run our lines again? Your state of mind is a bit off," Liu Jing said, choosing not to dwell on the drama. He was too young to get involved in adult affairs.

"Yes..." Sharla nodded eagerly, looking pitiful.

Running the lines worked. More importantly, after the argument, Sharla truly settled into her character. Not only that, she often exceeded expectations, and several times Ng Man-tat almost couldn't keep up.

In the scene, Zhang Wuji lay unconscious in Yin Susu's arms. Yin Susu tore open his clothes to reveal a blue handprint. Zhang Cuishan gasped in horror, "The Xuanming Divine Palm!"

"Wuji, Wuji..." Yin Susu cried out in desperation, tears welling in her eyes—it was heart-wrenching.

Zhang Sanfeng landed nearby. "Quick, take Wuji to Shaolin—ah, no... take him to Wudang. I’ll go chase those two bastards for the antidote."

"Cut! Good work. Blockhead, that was a good cry, very convincing," Fatty Wang praised. Though he was fat, he wasn't petty. He was flexible and knew that arguments on set were common.

"Sister Sharla, why are you crying? I wasn't really hurt," Liu Jing said, wiping her tears.

Sharla laughed through her sobs. "I just got carried away."

"You were definitely carried away; you tore my clothes," Liu Jing noted, looking at his shredded costume. The quality was truly poor.

"Haha, when the film wraps, I'll take you to buy new clothes," Sharla laughed.

"No need, my closet is already full from all the clothes you lot buy," Liu Jing sighed. Sharla was wealthy and generous, and her only hobby was shopping.

"Who complains about having too many clothes?" Sharla fanned herself frantically, sweat trickling down her neck. "If I'd known it would be this hot, I wouldn't have worn an undershirt today."

As the weather was sweltering and a large pot was boiling nearby, it was unbearable. Liu Jing looked at the setup, his face troubled. "You stay cool, I'm going to talk to the director."

"Pfft! Little brat," Sharla smiled, understanding his intentions.

Fatty Wang was explaining the next scene, where the Wudang masters would treat Wuji's wounds.

"Kid, that was a great performance. Very natural," Sammo Hung praised.

"You’re quite agile and nimble," Liu Jing replied—a genuinely nimble fat man.

"I’m not what I used to be, but back in my day..." Sammo began to boast.

"Uncle, you messed up your lines earlier. Why would you say Shaolin? You're Zhang Sanfeng of Wudang," Liu Jing said, curling his lip. How unprofessional.

Sammo chuckled. "You don't understand, it was written that way in the script."

"Heh..." Liu Jing didn't want to talk anymore. Do you think I can't read a script?

"Kid, something up?" Fatty Wang asked once he finished directing, noticing the boy hadn't left.

"Yes!" Liu Jing said solemnly.

"What is it? Is there something you don't understand? Don't be afraid to ask; asking is how you improve," Fatty Wang said, genuinely invested in training Liu Jing.

"Director, for the next scene, can I not take off my clothes?"

"What?"

"I don't do nude scenes."

"Oh, that's not in the contract."

"..."