Chapter 38: The Importance of One’s Persona

Dong Xuan, Wen Zhengrong, and Che Xiao, though in different academic years, had naturally formed a small clique within the crew as fellow students from the Beijing Film Academy sharing the same dormitory.

Old Tian’s decision to personally step into the fray had genuinely startled them, shattering all previous rumors about the production. That evening, after dinner, they gathered in their room to discuss the day’s events.

"My goodness, I was terrified today," Che Xiao exclaimed. "Director Cao was so fierce. That was Director Tian! He scolded him right in front of everyone, without giving him the slightest bit of face."

Dong Xuan, conversely, seemed rather pleased. "I suspected as much," she replied. "The last film was directed by Director Cao, and now it’s clear that’s true. Look at how he dared to scold Director Tian directly."

Wen Zhengrong nodded, a lingering sense of unease in her voice. "This was completely unexpected. I arrived at the set a day late for some personal business and had asked Director Tian for leave; I never even spoke to Director Cao. Do you think he’ll be angry about that?"

Che Xiao raised her hand tentatively. "A couple of days ago, I went out with some senior students who were here for internships, and I asked Director Tian for leave too."

Wen Zhengrong and Che Xiao exchanged worried glances, both fearing that Cao Yang might make things difficult for them.

Dong Xuan offered comfort: "It should be fine. I’ve found Director Cao quite gentle most of the time; he probably only loses his temper while filming. Let’s just be more careful from now on and not do anything foolish."

"Mhm." Both Wen and Che nodded quickly.

The next day, as filming resumed, Cao Yang could sense that the crew’s morale was completely different from the day before. The most obvious change was the newfound reverence everyone held toward him, especially those who had recently joined the production.

Cao Yang still didn't provide Liu Ye or Yu Feihong with any guidance on how to interpret their scenes. He wanted to gauge their acting abilities for himself. At the same time, he wanted to show the rest of the crew that they shouldn't assume they had simply struck gold by hiring two actors with god-like skills.

The filming did not follow the chronological order of the script. While not overly complex, the film involved numerous locations, and shooting sequentially would have been far too inefficient. Instead, all scenes for a specific location—regardless of where they fell in the plot—were shot together. This is standard practice in most filmmaking, arranged to accommodate actors' schedules, location availability, weather, and budget. There are exceptions, of course; Chen Kaige’s *Farewell My Concubine* was shot chronologically, as were many of Hitchcock’s films.

Today, Cao Yang gained a new perspective. Yu Feihong’s acting... was rather hollow, almost completely devoid of emotional fluctuation. To put it kindly, this natural, unpretentious sense of relaxation worked exceptionally well for roles requiring a cold, aloof persona. In those instances, her performance was incredibly natural and outstanding, living up to her reputation as a "fairy." As long as she stuck to those types of roles, she would rarely fail, and she would consistently attract fans drawn to her beauty.

"Cut! That’s a wrap."

Cao Yang scratched his head. It was truly unexpected; the scenes for the female lead were performed perfectly by Yu Feihong—or rather, it was more of an effortless expression of her own nature.

In these scenes, the protagonist, bruised and battered by her husband, is grieving alone in a small room. She spots the male lead sneaking in but remains indifferent. Her emotional state is meant to be one of absolute despair—a heart as still as water, eyes hollow, a feeling of "let whatever happens, happen."

Yu Feihong’s unforced acting style was a perfect match for this. In this sequence, the male lead, believing the house to be empty, enters as if it were his own, doing laundry, cooking, and fixing scales before heading to bed, unaware that the female lead is locked in a small room nearby. In the original version, the director had included a rather perverse touch: the male lead would look at the female lead's photo album while masturbating on the bed, and she would simply pull the door open and watch him with an expressionless face.

Cao Yang understood the director's intent—to convey that the female lead was so broken and desperate that she no longer cared about anything, including the male lead's actions. However, the scene worked just as well without that detail. There were plenty of other ways to reveal her despair. Cao Yang changed the act of masturbation to merely flipping through the photo album; keeping the original wouldn't have added value and might have risked censorship during domestic release, so there was no point in the extra trouble.

From the audience’s perspective, the female lead is watching the male lead on the bed. But during filming, the female lead is actually looking into the lens, and the camera then cuts to the male lead, effectively making the lens the eyes of both the character and the audience.

Yu Feihong, wearing makeup to simulate a bruised and swollen face, kept her eyes devoid of any emotional ripple—large, vacant, and perfectly suited to the character's state.

One take. Perfect.

This highlighted the importance of character casting. If an actor who lacks depth but performs consistently in a certain way is given a role tailored to that persona, they might well be praised for their acting. Of course, Yu Feihong’s perfect performance was limited to her initial encounter with the male lead; the later requirements for emotional evolution would likely prove difficult for her.

In this sequence, it was actually Liu Ye who encountered problems. He was half-lying on the bed, shirtless, holding the album, with an expression that was... shy!

"Why on earth are you acting shy, man?"

"Cut! Five-minute break, let’s do it again."

"Liu Ye, you see the female lead at the door. Surprise, shock, even fear—any of those would work. What was that reaction? Why the hell are you shy? What is there to be embarrassed about? You’ve broken into someone else’s house and are sleeping in their bed; you haven't been caught in the act of adultery!"

Cao Yang left out the part about him not being a woman—even if he were caught, he should be afraid, not coy and bashful. He was still stuck in his previous role, clearly influenced by the emotions from the film *Lan Yu*.

"I’m sorry, Director, my fault. I’ll adjust," Liu Ye said quickly.

After a few more takes, they finally met Cao Yang’s requirements.

The next scenes were also set in the villa, but they belonged to the final part of the film. The male lead has returned, his martial arts skills fully realized, possessing the ability to become invisible at will. The scene takes place at the dinner table: the female lead and her abusive husband are eating, while the male lead stands behind the husband, also holding a bowl.

Yu Feihong smiled in an unnatural way, her eyes lacking any emotional fluctuation. She pushed her plate aside. This required a close-up on her face, shot from a slight high angle, with her eyes as the focal point.

"Cut!"

"Sister Hong, you can smile here, but your eyes can't be vacant. You are 'alive' again. The man you’ve been waiting for has returned, right behind your husband. You can smile with triumph, you can smile with disdain, but don't smile stiffly."

"Cut!"

"Sister Hong, the eyes—focus on the eyes."

"Cut!"

"I... Sister Hong, if you saw someone you loved return from afar, what would your expression be?"

"They’re back, so they’re back. What other expression should there be?" Yu Feihong muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"I mean, okay, Director, I’ll adjust."

"Cut!"

Cao Yang took a deep breath, making one last attempt. "Sister Hong, you’ve seen horror movies, right? The way the lead actress or a supporting character smiles—it can be a bit eerie. Just smile like that."

"Cut!"

Cao Yang slumped into his director’s chair and gave up. She couldn't convey that level of nuance. Lowering the standards didn't work; she couldn't even manage a sense of thrill.

"Transition. We’ll shoot these scenes tomorrow."

Why make things difficult for himself? There was no time to grind away at acting; just keep the production moving!