Spring Night of Misty Rain - Chapter 51

Ever since Qin Zhiyue brought it up, the two of them had been bickering incessantly over the lead role in Misty Rain on a Spring Night—minor arguments every three days, major blowouts every five.

By the time they finished editing Night Lan, no resolution had been reached.

Neither of them wanted to act. However, there wasn’t a single person in the industry whose temperament and style matched Shen Zeyu’s. Unwilling to compromise by giving the role to someone unsuitable, Qin Zhiyue temporarily shelved the matter.

As Night Lan continued to air, its popularity and momentum grew until it completely dominated the summer season. Domestic media outlets and television channels began inviting the lead actors, Tang Qingyue and Xu Luosu, to appear on their programs. The influx of promotional offers was overwhelming.

The two women, who used to see each other constantly, were suddenly separated by work, causing Xu Luosu to experience a bit of “withdrawal.”

She called Shen Zeyu almost every day to complain about her heavy workload. One moment she would say she didn’t want to act anymore; the next, she would declare she was going to take a long, hard vacation after the press tour finished.

Shen Zeyu often kept the video call open, responding perfunctorily while she sat at her computer, refining and re-refining the script for Misty Rain on a Spring Night.

As it turned out, Xu Luosu was a possessive one. The moment she felt she didn’t have Shen Zeyu’s full attention, she would frown: “Senior Sister, what are you looking at? Are you secretly chatting with someone else again?”

Shen Zeyu didn’t argue. She simply moved her phone to point directly at the computer screen: “I’m polishing the script.”

“Oh…” Xu Luosu’s brow furrowed. She kicked off her high heels and curled up on the back seat of her car, watching Shen Zeyu with a look of exhaustion. “Haven’t you already gone through several drafts? Why do you keep revising it?”

Shen Zeyu’s eyes remained on the screen, but her voice knew exactly how to soothe her: “You’re the one acting in it. I don’t dare be careless.”

Xu Luosu was instantly mollified. Her lips curled into a slight, satisfied smile. “Fine then. Keep working hard on it.”

She was actually very tired. Often, while the video was still running, she would drift off into a deep sleep. Shen Zeyu never hung up. She would wear her headphones, listening to the sound of the other woman’s breathing as if she were right there beside her.

Since childhood, Shen Zeyu had found it difficult to perceive loneliness. Or rather, she was so accustomed to being alone that she easily immersed herself in her own world; others rarely piqued her interest.

Yet, strangely, whenever Xu Luosu on the other end didn’t respond, she felt an overwhelming sense of isolation. It was the kind of loneliness one feels when sitting alone in a vast wilderness staring at the stars—nowhere to vent, nowhere to escape.

She wanted to say it out loud, yet she feared sounding melodramatic. But keeping it bottled up was too painful. It felt as if half of her body had been stripped away, leaving a heart-wrenching ache.

She let out a soft sigh. Looking at the screen where Xu Luosu’s waist was partially obscured by her clothes, she typed a line into the script: “She wrote on the paper: At the same moment a person awakens to love, the first flavor they taste is called pain.”

Indeed. Even if you do nothing but stand before me—as long as I love you—I will surely shed tears the moment our eyes first meet.

Joy and pain: this is the body’s recognition of love.

The summer passed. With the massive success of Night Lan, Tang Qingyue was elevated to a new level of stardom, and Xu Luosu earned a fortune.

In late September, using a combination of emotional appeals and logical reasoning, Shen Zeyu finally convinced Qin Zhiyue to take on the role of Shen Yue.

The filming location was set at Shen Zeyu’s own home. In Xu Luosu’s words, it was a case of “keeping the good stuff within the family.”

Because the film was a modern piece, the styling was actually harder to pin down. Meng Fei initially used Lin Pei as a reference for Xu Luosu’s look. When Shen Zeyu saw the final result, she nearly suffered a bout of PTSD.

Qin Zhiyue couldn’t stand it either. Rubbing the goosebumps on her arms, she protested loudly: “No way! Zeyu already modified the character’s personality. Don’t base the styling on Lin Pei.”

“Good heavens, it’s not that I’m being unprofessional, but who the hell wants to film a movie with a colleague’s ghost looming over it!”

Meng Fei rolled her eyes. “You say that like everyone in this industry isn’t filming with colleagues.”

“Exes who tore each other apart in public can still film together. You’re just working with a junior you haven’t interacted with much. You’re such a prima donna!”

Meng Fei’s tongue was sharp when she worked. However, despite her grumbling, she dutifully adjusted the look to suit Xu Luosu’s personal characteristics.

Since the “Jing Ye Si” brand was providing support again, Meng Fei decided Xu Luosu should wear cheongsams throughout the film. She even extravagantly declared that every change of outfit would represent the passage of a single day. In total, she commissioned 150 different cheongsams.

Qin Zhiyue felt she was being lazy. Modern styling is difficult because trends change constantly; it was much easier to settle on a classic style that suited Xu Luosu’s unique charm.

In contrast to Xu Luosu’s complex styling, Qin Zhiyue’s look was simple. Meng Fei curled her hair into a “jellyfish cut,” gave her amber-tinted glasses, and dressed her in Shen Zeyu’s all-black funeral attire. It was perfect.

Once the look was finalized, Qin Zhiyue quipped: “The appearance is close, but not quite there. Why didn’t you give me an amber bead bracelet?”

Meng Fei snapped back: “An amber bead? You’re just dying for the audience to realize this is Zeyu, aren’t you?”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough. Let’s finalize the look.”

Amidst the bickering and under the guidance of cinematographer Wang Po, the test shots for Misty Rain on a Spring Night were completed. Filming officially began in mid-October.

From the start, Misty Rain on a Spring Night was categorized as an art film. Unlike movies that rely on heavy dialogue and plot, this film leaned more on visual language to tell its story. This meant the demands on the actors’ skills were incredibly high.

Specifically, micro-expressions and subtle movements had to be profound and incisive—an extremely difficult task.

Qin Zhiyue’s acting was, of course, beyond reproach, but Xu Luosu was more than a few steps behind her. Her emotional expression, in particular, gave Shen Zeyu a massive headache.

However, there was an easy fix for this: filming in chronological order and giving Xu Luosu an enormous number of takes and lines, then selecting the usable footage during editing.

This meant Xu Luosu might film a hundred takes, only for ninety-nine of them to be cut entirely. Such a method was time-consuming and expensive—no normal production would do it. But this production featured the lead director as one of the stars and the boss as the other. They had money to burn.

Thus, Xu Luosu asked Xu Huaiyu to calculate an auspicious date. On October 12th, the first scene of Misty Rain on a Spring Night began filming at the small villa at No. 1229 Jinwu Avenue.

That day happened to be overcast and rainy.

The sky was heavy with dark clouds and the rumble of thunder. A wild wind blew through the gaps of an unlatched window, making the curtains flutter and the hinges creak.

In the dim study, only a single desk lamp flickered, illuminating the books scattered across the surface. Amidst the messy piles, several books by Hermann Hesse were stacked together. The only open book on top was held down by a black smartphone.

A pleasant female voice drifted from the phone: “Things are already as they are. Don’t overthink it.”

“Love is just like that. Once you’re successful and have more options, you won’t stay hung up on a single person.”

“Don’t worry about work, either. I’ve found you an assistant—the one we poached from the publishing house a year ago…”

As the voice continued, the camera slowly rose, panning behind the desk. Behind the bright lamp, Shen Yue sat in a black silk pajama shirt, draped in a high-quality wool blanket. She sat in her computer chair with her eyes half-closed, her back turned to the storm outside. She tilted a wine bottle in her hand, responding half-heartedly: “Mm…”

“Mm…”

“Mm…”

On the phone, the boss’s voice continued: “Don’t be afraid. I will always stand by you.”

The camera focused on Shen Yue’s face. Her expression was as cold and detached as ever: “Thanks.”

“I’m hanging up.”

Shen Yue reached out, disconnected the call, and tossed the phone aside.

With the phone moved, a line underlined in black in the book was revealed: “The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world.”

Shen Yue tapped the line on the page, lifted the wine bottle, and drained it in one gulp.

“Cut!”

With Shen Zeyu’s shout, the tenth take of the first scene was officially over.

Qin Zhiyue dropped her character instantly and trotted over. “How was it? Was I still overacting?”

Shen Zeyu didn’t speak. She moved aside to let Qin Zhiyue squeeze behind the monitor, and the two of them watched the playback with furrowed brows.

They had been filming since the morning and had already done eleven takes, but they were still far from the feeling they wanted. Method acting is a mysterious thing; a gifted actor makes their performance seem as natural as breathing. Like flowing water, they easily stir the audience’s emotions.

Qin Zhiyue was a method actor, and her skills surpassed many award-winning stars. Yet, under Shen Zeyu’s lens, it still wasn’t quite right.

The two whispered together for a while before calling Wang Po over. “Don’t use multiple cameras for this scene. I want one main shot. Let’s try this composition to see if we can trigger the right mood.”

Shen Zeyu turned back to Qin Zhiyue. “The reason people drink is to seek a sense of escape from the constraints of the real world—to reach a mystical realm. In mythology and history, many shamans used hallucinogens or powders to communicate with the gods.”

“The ‘Five Minerals Powder’ of the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms was the same—all to reach a state of ultimate bliss.”

“Don’t be so lifeless. Shen Yue doesn’t want to die; she just wants to find the version of herself that can create normally through these means. It’s an alcohol dependency!”

Qin Zhiyue rubbed her chin and nodded. “Got it, got it. I’ll try again.”

She hadn’t worked under someone else’s direction in a long time; they needed to find their rhythm!

After a brief meeting, Shen Zeyu sent Qin Zhiyue back in front of the camera. Staring at the monitor, she gave the command: “Action!”

“Misty Rain on a Spring Night, Scene 1, Take 12. Action!”

Shen Zeyu had assumed that with Qin Zhiyue’s talent, they would finish the first scene in thirty takes at most. To everyone’s surprise, they went through over sixty.

By the time Xu Luosu returned from her business trip to join the set, they still hadn’t finished the first scene. The primary reason was a disagreement between Qin Zhiyue and Shen Zeyu regarding the characterization of Shen Yue.

In artistic creation, a successful narrative character must be multifaceted. For example, in the Chronicles of the Eastern Zhou Kingdoms, when the Earl of Zheng defeated his brother Duan at Yan, some say he was a calculating man who enabled his brother’s arrogance just to find an excuse to kill his mother’s favorite son. Others say he was a devoted brother, and it was only because his brother was uncontrollably ambitious that he was forced to act.

Everything has two sides, and characters are no different. For a character to be three-dimensional, they must exist within multiple possibilities. And those possibilities are the hardest thing to capture.

The same applied to Shen Yue.

When Xu Luosu arrived, Qin Zhiyue was debating with Shen Zeyu: “According to the script’s setting, Shen Yue wants to find a new target immediately because she was betrayed by her last lover. Therefore, she is a hunter; her aggression should be visible.”

“But that makes it too shallow,” Shen Zeyu countered. “I think her surface thoughts can be like those of any worldly person, but internally, she should have her own stubborn core—a person with a noble soul.”

“It is precisely because her soul is noble that she is constantly conflicted and struggling. Otherwise, if she were truly like any other worldly person, she would steal someone’s partner without a shred of guilt and wouldn’t end up the way she does.”

In other words, Qin Zhiyue believed Shen Yue was essentially a person of integrity.

Shen Zeyu held the opposite view; she believed Shen Yue was a hypocrite. “I think the layers are reversed. Shen Yue thinks she is a lofty, unique person. In the end, regarding her emotions, she discovers she is no different from anyone else. She craves warmth, craves comfort, and craves companionship when she is lonely…”

“She believes she is a person of integrity, only to realize she is a hypocrite. That is why she commits suicide.”

The two held their ground, neither able to convince the other. The tension on set was so high that everyone remained silent.

The late-arriving Xu Luosu finally spoke up: “Um…”

Shen Zeyu and Qin Zhiyue turned simultaneously, looking at her aggressively. Xu Luosu smiled and raised her hands. “Directors, why don’t we film both versions? During editing, you can each cut a version and see which works better.”

Qin Zhiyue rubbed her chin and looked at Shen Zeyu. “What do you think?”

Shen Zeyu thought for a moment and nodded. “Fine. That’s a good idea.”

As they chose a truce, the entire crew breathed a sigh of relief, silently giving Xu Luosu a thumbs-up.

It had to be the boss. If those two had kept fighting like that, everyone would have been crushed by the atmosphere.