Chapter 9: Completion of Filming

Li Xiaoran picked up a twig and began slowly drawing a portrait on the beach. Her focused expression, the tenderness radiating from her face, and the love flowing in her eyes were all captured perfectly.

Cao Yang was about to give a cue, but he saw Old Tian pushing the camera in for a twenty-second close-up, capturing every nuance. According to the original plan, this was supposed to be a static long shot, and it was not yet time for a zoom. However, as a director, Cao Yang shared the same intuition as Old Tian: this was a scene that would be nearly impossible to recreate, devoid of any artifice, flowing with natural emotion.

Ding Jiali, playing her character, walked over, crouched down, looked at the portrait on the sand, and asked, "Who is this?"

Li Xiaoran, still holding the twig, kept her gaze fixed on the drawing. She tilted her head to re-examine it, offering a gentle smile before her expression darkened. "It's him."

A single line, a single expression—it conveyed so much that anyone watching could instantly understand.

Ding Jiali smiled and let out an imperceptible, light sigh, then turned her head and said, "It's very good. Is he really that handsome?"

Li Xiaoran’s mouth curled into a smile, and she tilted her head again to assess the drawing. "He doesn't look like this, but... it's close enough."

Ding Jiali asked, "He has no hair?"

Li Xiaoran first shook her head, then nodded. A playful, mischievous smile crossed her face, only to quickly fade into a look of desolation. "He told me he was already married and asked me to forget him. So, I decided to punish him by making him bald."

Cao Yang couldn't help but touch his own head, feeling a sudden chill. Wasn't that exactly what he had said to her just a few days ago? She had changed the lines; the original script called for, "I shaved it off; he's bald." Li Xiaoran had improvised.

Cao Yang didn't call "cut," waiting to see if Ding Jiali could recover. The original lines were no longer applicable.

Ding Jiali paused for a moment, then naturally replied, "I see. Then let him be bald."

It was a smooth and natural transition. It wasn't just about how well the line was delivered; when an actor faces such an unexpected situation, being able to stay in character without making it feel awkward is the mark of a truly formidable talent. Without a doubt, Ding Jiali was a powerhouse performer.

This was a four-minute long shot. Had Ding Jiali faltered because of Li Xiaoran’s improvisation, the entire reel of film would have been wasted—fifteen hundred yuan down the drain.

As the dialogue ended, the two fell silent. Ding Jiali looked at Li Xiaoran with genuine concern, while Li Xiaoran gazed into the distance, her expression becoming increasingly hazy. She murmured as if in a trance, "I wonder... does he miss me as much as I miss him?"

Overwhelmed with sympathy, as if she were facing her own best friend, Ding Jiali reached out and gently hugged Li Xiaoran, whispering, "He will. He will."

This, too, was an unscripted line and gesture. They say a good actor not only immerses themselves in the role but also pulls their scene partner in, drawing the audience along with them. Perhaps in Ding Jiali's eyes, Li Xiaoran was such an actor, compelling her to lose herself in the scene as well.

When the four-minute take finally ended, everyone, including Tian Zhuangzhuang, looked at Cao Yang. These four minutes held too many surprises, too many improvised lines and movements. Everyone knew that some directors, to assert their authority and control the film's completion, would never allow an actor to change even a single word.

"Cut!"

"Whoa..."

A few students from the Beijing Film Academy couldn't help but cry out. At that moment, they saw this girl, whom they hadn't heard of before, as a natural talent. Her acting was so damn good it pulled everyone right into the scene.

They would likely remember this girl named Li Xiaoran for a long time, using this moment as a badge of honor. "You call that good acting? You idiots, back when I was on set with Director Cao, you know Li Xiaoran? That was real talent. That acting..." Such remarks would surely be common.

The film was roughly divided into three acts: the first was fleeing abroad, the second was returning home to see friends, and the third was meeting the director. The final scene could be seen as an extension of the second act—the heroine's fantasy. This four-minute long shot was the final scene of the first act. Because it seemed so difficult to film, they had saved it for last; the scenes in the second and third acts involving the beach had already been completed.

To everyone's surprise, this seemingly impossible shot was nailed in one take. It felt surreal.

Now that all the filming on Ludong Island was finished, the remainder consisted mostly of interior shots, which could be done back in the capital.

Cao Yang called out, "Pack up. Dinner tonight, and we head back to Beijing tomorrow."

"Great!" everyone cheered, including the reserved Old Tian, who had been genuinely stunned by the final take of the day.

Back in Beijing, Li Xiaoran continued to impress the new actors. While filming her waiting at the back door of a café, she hummed a song of longing while smoking. In that moment, she was all tenderness, like curling smoke that lingered in the heart, unable to settle. It made the hearts of everyone on set tremble.

Fortunately, most of the supporting actors Cao Yang had recruited were seasoned professionals who could keep up with Li Xiaoran. Wang Jinsong was an acting professor, so his skill went without saying. Sun Honglei, despite being a newcomer with only minor roles to his name, was a powerhouse in the theater world, having just won a Plum Blossom Prize.

The coal boss’s mistress was also a drama student with decent fundamentals; since her screen time was limited, a few extra takes were enough to get the job done.

The only one who struggled was Sister Fei Hong, who had come specifically for the role. She had quite a few scenes opposite Li Xiaoran and, by comparison, was mercilessly overshadowed, failing to hold her own several times. Cao Yang had intended to give her more screen time, but perhaps due to the short preparation time or a lack of deep understanding of the script, she faltered in front of Li Xiaoran.

Cao Yang realized he had to revise his earlier thought: a good actor can immerse themselves and bring their partner along, but only if the partner also has at least decent acting skills. Otherwise, the contrast is brutal.

Consequently, Cao Yang switched to filming Sister Fei Hong's profile. Especially during their intimate scenes, Li Xiaoran was naturally shy, her emotional transitions perfectly timed. Sister Fei Hong, while good at playing a cold, ethereal beauty, appeared stiff and unnatural when trying to portray shyness.

The contrast was striking, and Sister Fei Hong was overshadowed again. After six or seven takes, Cao Yang still wasn't satisfied. Finally, he thought, fine. A stiff expression after a kiss is passable. Let’s do one more take and have her cover her face with her hands. If you can't see the face, no one will know if the expression is shy or stiff. What a genius I am.

Cao Yang congratulated himself on his wit. Besides, the point wasn't on Sister Fei Hong; this film was Li Xiaoran’s one-woman show.

They filmed for another ten days or so until Tian Zhuangzhuang’s scenes as the director having an affair began. Despite being a master director himself, Old Tian was no slouch when it came to acting; he was a true professional. His emotional爆发 (outbursts) were instantaneous, and even his wailing was remarkably natural.

Including delays, it took twenty-seven days in total to finish all the shots. When Cao Yang finally announced the wrap, the whole crew cheered.

Except for Li Xiaoran.