Never Forget - Chapter 22

The first scene was set on a train platform. To avoid any accidental shots of bystanders, the entire area had been cleared. The crew members were busy, each focused on their own tasks and moving with practiced efficiency. The camera crew had already set up the cameras, cranes, and tracks. The sound team had finished calibrating their equipment. The lighting crew was waiting for the actors to mark their positions before adjusting the lights and shadows.

The dedicated makeup artist was touching up the actors’ looks. Qin Zhizhen glanced at Ye Zhuyi and noticed her looking around curiously. “Is this your first movie?” she asked suddenly.

Ye Zhuyi nodded. “Yes, it’s my first movie.”

“That explains it,” Qin Zhizhen said with a hint of a smile.

Ye Zhuyi looked at her, confused, silently asking, Explains what?

“You’ve been watching the set layout this whole time,” Qin Zhizhen explained.

Ye Zhuyi pursed her lips and smiled without saying anything.

This was indeed her first time acting in a movie, but it wasn’t the first time she had watched one being filmed. Long ago, when the woman she called “Mom” was in a good mood, she would take her to movie sets. Back then, an actress who wanted to become a director had bought her a lollipop and explained the difference between movies and TV dramas.

But it had been so long. She was too young back then, and she couldn’t remember the faces of most people on set. All she recalled were the actress’s words. Because of that conversation, her mother had expanded on the topic on the way back to the hotel, talking more than she ever had before.

Those words, which Ye Zhuyi hadn’t fully understood at the time, were etched into her mind. They became a precious memory, and she still knew them by heart today.

“Filming a movie is very different from filming a TV drama,” the actress had said. “Things on the big screen require much more attention to detail and atmosphere. Few directors in this country use cinematic techniques for TV dramas because, while the effect is great, the production cost is too high. The basic element of a movie is the shot. What the audience sees is actually a series of shots pieced together through editing, which is why major film awards include a category for ‘Best Editing.’ To get the best result, a single shot often has to be filmed several times. A TV drama can film over ten pages of script in a day, but a movie might only complete one shot in an entire day.”

“After this, it won’t be the first time anymore.” Lu Buping had appeared without Ye Zhuyi noticing, joining the conversation between Qin Zhizhen and Ye Zhuyi.

Ye Zhuyi snapped back to reality and greeted Lu Buping with a smile. “Director Lu.”

“Making one good movie is more valuable than acting in ten of those TV dramas,” Lu Buping said. She quite liked Ye Zhuyi and offered her a bit of advice. “Movies are different from TV shows. They don’t just rely on lines and character dynamics to build a role or drive the plot. They’re more about action. That even includes the smallest twitch of a facial muscle. Pay close attention later.”

Ye Zhuyi stared at Lu Buping, stunned. Suddenly, she felt as if Lu Buping was the same actress from that set years ago. But her memory was like a steamed-up mirror, leaving only blurry images. Lu Buping looked like her, yet not quite.

“Yes,” Ye Zhuyi said with a smile. She nodded earnestly, her voice soft and humble. “I’ll learn everything I can.”

Qin Zhizhen caught every subtle change in her expression. He frowned unconsciously, lost in thought.

“Teacher Qin, don’t frown,” the makeup artist reminded him.

Qin Zhizhen relaxed his brow as instructed. He couldn’t figure out why Ye Zhuyi looked at Lu Buping as if she’d just discovered a new world, so he decided not to dwell on it.

“This distraction almost made me forget.” Lu Buping asked the makeup artist, “How much longer?”

“All done, all done,” the makeup artist replied, quickly packing away her tools.

“Good, good.” Lu Buping turned to Qin Zhizhen. “Let’s go over the scene.”

Qin Zhizhen glanced sideways at Lu Buping, thinking to herself, You could forget a scene walkthrough?

Lu Buping gave a forced laugh and brushed it off, then gathered Qin Zhizhen, Chen Ming, and Xu Qingfeng to discuss the scene.

Ye Zhuyi asked, “Can I listen in?”

“Of course.” Lu Buping waved her over. “The more you hear, the better.”

The first walkthrough was just to go over the basic flow. After that, they worked on blocking, lighting, and then rehearsals.

In this scene, Yin Xingmang was returning to Shencheng by train after her ship was delayed. Yin Zhonghe came to meet her. The two brothers hadn’t seen each other in over a decade, and while it should have been a tearful reunion, Yin Zhonghe’s naturally suspicious nature led them to test each other even as they reminisced. Meanwhile, Xu Qingfeng’s character, Yin Zhonghe’s trusted aide, was tasked with subtly observing Yin Xingmang.

After the rehearsal, Lu Buping gestured animatedly as she gave each actor detailed notes to help them refine their movements and expressions. Chen Ming and Qin Zhizhen had no issues, but Xu Qingfeng’s performance was still lacking.

Lu Buping warned him, “Stop looking at the camera so much.” She then turned to Ye Zhuyi, who was observing the rehearsal, and repeated, “That goes for you too. Got it?”

The student nodded obediently.

Qin Zhizhen glanced over at Ye Zhuyi. She was huddled to the side, clutching her notebook and pen, listening and taking notes with such diligence that she looked like a model student.

While Lu Buping was busy instructing Xu Qingfeng, Qin Zhizhen shifted his feet and silently slipped over to Ye Zhuyi. He saw that her notebook wasn’t filled with notes, but with drawings.

Before he could see what she had drawn, Ye Zhuyi snapped the book shut so quickly that she caught her fingers in it.

“Teacher Qin, are you a cat? You move so silently,” Ye Zhuyi said, rubbing her sore fingers with a playful, feigned complaint.

Her soft, melodious voice sounded almost like a flirtatious plea.

“That’s how I catch people slacking off,” Qin Zhizhen teased.

Ye Zhuyi swallowed hard and gripped the edges of her notebook. “Teacher Qin…” She paused, realizing how much like a student and teacher they seemed in that moment. She asked tentatively, “Did you see it?”

Qin Zhizhen noticed her subtle fidgeting and raised an eyebrow. Seeing how nervous she was about the drawing, he suddenly wanted to tease her. He adopted a mock-serious tone. “Yes, I saw everything.”

“Why so serious?” Ye Zhuyi panicked. She gripped her sketchbook and pen even tighter, then looked away and mumbled, “I’m sorry, Teacher Qin. I won’t secretly draw you again.”

Qin Zhizhen froze for a moment. She thought back to the scribbly drawing she’d just seen and reached out. “You were drawing me? Let me see it again.”

“Um, maybe not.” Ye Zhuyi hugged the sketchbook closer to her chest. “It’s really ugly.”

Qin Zhizhen said nothing, her gaze locked on Ye Zhuyi.

“I mean, I drew you ugly! Not that you’re ugly, but my drawing is ugly!” Ye Zhuyi stammered, her words tripping over each other.

“…” Qin Zhizhen remained silent, her eyes still fixed on the younger woman.

The tension held until Ye Zhuyi finally gave in. She reluctantly and slowly handed over the sketchbook. Qin Zhizhen took it and flipped to the page. Her head bowed, her expression unreadable.

It certainly wasn’t a happy look. Ye Zhuyi apologized again. “Teacher Qin, please don’t be upset. I won’t draw you anymore.”

Only then did Qin Zhizhen look up. Her face was still blank.

Is she really mad? Ye Zhuyi didn’t know what to do. Her clear eyes welled up with tears as she looked at Qin Zhizhen, looking utterly pitiful.

She looked just like a little puppy that had been scolded for doing something wrong.

Qin Zhizhen let out a low chuckle.

After Lu Buping finished discussing the scene with Xu Qingfeng, the cinematography and lighting teams made final adjustments based on the actors’ rehearsals. The assistant director walked over to tell Qin Zhizhen they were ready to start filming.

Qin Zhizhen nodded in acknowledgment. Before leaving, she handed her script and a small fan to Lian Rong, then finally returned the sketchbook to Ye Zhuyi. “Your drawing skills leave much to be desired,” she said. “You should practice more.”

Ye Zhuyi was stunned. Just as she was about to ask what that meant, whether it was a critique or an encouragement to keep drawing—Qin Zhizhen had already walked away.

Lian Rong, a devoted fan of the couple, exchanged a look with Xiao Qiao. The two of them shuffled sideways like crabs toward Ye Zhuyi, craning their necks and widening their eyes to peer at the sketchbook.

Lian Rong couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Xiao Qiao managed to stay composed, but the corners of her mouth still curved upward.

If no one mentioned it was a drawing of Qin Zhizhen, no one would ever recognize her. It was just a generic figure at best. No wonder Qin Zhizhen had said that; the drawing was truly terrible.

Ye Zhuyi looked left and right, then let her arm drop dejectedly. “I guess I just don’t have a talent for drawing.”

“That’s why Teacher Qin told you to practice more,” Lian Rong said.

A sudden realization dawned on Ye Zhuyi. She looked at Lian Rong in surprise, and the other girl’s knowing gaze confirmed her thoughts.

“Practice more.” To paint a good picture, one must practice repeatedly.

So Zhenzhen wanted her to paint more.

Ye Zhuyi hugged her sketchbook back to her chest and looked out at the train platform. The crowd was too thick, and the equipment blocked her view. She couldn’t spot Qin Zhizhen at all.

The only way to see the actors was through the monitors. Ye Zhuyi told Xiao Qiao and Lian Rong to find a shady spot to wait, then she walked over to the screen. Lu Buping saw her and waved her over. “Come here! Watch the Best Actor and Film Empress do their scene.”

The people next to Lu Buping moved aside, and Ye Zhuyi stepped up to the monitor.

On the platform, the crowd surged as Qin Zhizhen and Chen Ming embraced and wept. The camera crane swung, zooming in. Chen Ming was a seasoned veteran, and his tears welled up in an instant. They clung to his eyes without falling, but the moment a tear finally escaped, the trace of emotion vanished, replaced by a cold, piercing gaze.

Qin Zhizhen was his opposite. She started with a joyful smile, but as they hugged, she tilted her head, avoiding Xu Qingfeng’s scrutinizing gaze.

The camera focused on Qin Zhizhen’s face in a close-up. Even though she wasn’t looking at the lens, Ye Zhuyi’s heart raced as she saw the depth of her eyes and the slight curve of her lips.

Her heart pounded like a drum, not just because of her feelings for Qin Zhizhen, but because it had been so long since she’d seen Zhenzhen act in person. Now that she finally had the chance, her excitement was beyond words.

Ye Zhuyi had been by Zhenzhen’s side for almost every moment of her first drama, Going Home. Back then, Zhenzhen had to personally ask the director for permission, and only then was Ye Zhuyi allowed to watch a different side of her through the monitor.

Through the lens, Ye Zhuyi seemed to see the young girl who had once dreamed of acting transform into the poised and elegant woman she was now.

Time had flown by. Even though Zhenzhen had forgotten her past, she never gave up on acting. Ye Zhuyi was grateful she hadn’t, for it was the only reason she could now be close to her, by her side.

The scenes chosen for the first day of filming were simple and not difficult to shoot. Chen Ming and Qin Zhizhen were flawless, as expected. Xu Qingfeng also kept Lu Buping’s warnings in mind.

Just as they thought they’d get it in one take, Lu Buping suddenly shouted, “Cut! Do it again!”

She jumped up in anger and pointed toward the platform. “You over there! Do you even have a scene today? What are you doing in the shot? Do you think you’re the lead? Why don’t you just shove your face right into the camera? We all have to redo this because of you!”

The more she spoke, the angrier she got. Lu Buping called over a production assistant and berated them as well.

Ye Zhuyi looked in the direction Lu Buping had pointed. It was Jin Yue, whose face was flushed red as she wept uncontrollably under the director’s scolding.

As if sensing Ye Zhuyi’s gaze, Jin Yue’s embarrassed eyes turned fierce when she looked back.

Tsk. Ye Zhuyi met her gaze openly before looking away.

Another NG meant the track had to be reset. The stylist and makeup artist seized the opportunity to rush over and fix Qin Zhizhen’s clothes and makeup. Lian Rong ran over with water and a small fan. Surrounded by people, Qin Zhizhen found a gap and glanced in Ye Zhuyi’s direction.

Ye Zhuyi caught the signal. The moment Qin Zhizhen looked over, she turned her head to meet her eyes, her dimples deepening as she flashed a brilliant smile.

The sight gave Qin Zhizhen an inexplicable urge to smile too. Before her lips could curve upward, she withdrew her gaze and adjusted her posture. She lowered her head, using the stylist’s body as a shield while they fixed her hair.

“Teacher Qin, we’re stuck on a retake, but you’re still in such a good mood,” the stylist teased.

“Hmm,” Qin Zhizhen replied. “I just saw a silly girl.”

So silly, she thought. Smiling so brightly for no reason. It makes me want to tease her.

The stylist and makeup artist exchanged confused glances. Who is Qin Shen calling silly?

Lian Rong instinctively glanced at Ye Zhuyi. Seeing the young idol’s lingering smile, she immediately understood who Qin Zhizhen was talking about. They’re both silly! she thought. Just get together already!

Support