The Omega's Vow: Never Marry a Mama's Boy Alpha - Chapter 67

“Teacher Wen, these are strawberries I bought. They’re very sweet, please try some.”

“Teacher Wen, would you like some coffee? I was just about to order delivery.”

“Teacher Wen, could I get your autograph? One of my classmates is your fan.”

Wen Yan found herself surrounded by a crowd, the noisy chatter around her becoming an indistinct buzz. All she could make out was the constant repetition of “Teacher Wen,” “Teacher Wen,” “Teacher Wen” echoing in her ears.

In film circles, respected actors are often addressed as “Teacher,” a title typically reserved for esteemed people’s artists or seasoned professionals.

Having just debuted with only one Spring Breeze Best Newcomer Award to her name, Wen Yan felt utterly unworthy of so many people calling her “Teacher.” It gave her the uncomfortable feeling of being set up for a fall.

Was she being too sensitive?

What’s more, some of those addressing her as “Teacher” were clearly older than her. Each time she heard the title, Wen Yan felt as if her lifespan was gradually shortening, the discomfort weighing heavily on her heart.

When the surroundings finally quieted down, Wen Yan smoothed the long hair by her ear and offered a gentle smile.

“Just call me Wen Yan. I really don’t deserve to be called ‘Teacher.'”

“If this gets spread online, netizens will accuse me of being arrogant and swollen-headed, not knowing my place.”

The crowd of sycophants had inadvertently overstepped, leaving everyone exchanging awkward smiles, momentarily at a loss for words.

Truth be told, these people meant no harm, they simply wanted to curry favor with this controversial female star. On the first day of filming, the wreaths and truckload of fried chicken and cola sent by fans had astonished the entire crew, inadvertently elevating Wen Yan’s status to seemingly higher than even Director Lin’s.

Perhaps by getting close to her, they might latch onto success? The omegas hoped to become Wen Yan’s confidantes, while the alphas fantasized about catching the beauty’s eye, dreaming of becoming that shameless yet enviable “phoenix alpha.”

Little did they know Wen Yan preferred quiet crowds and noise gave her headaches.

As the cool, elegant beauty began shooing people away, Gu Lin’s expression at the edge of the crowd had darkened considerably. She couldn’t let her darling get too jealous, it wouldn’t be good for her.

“Autographs are fine, but fruits and drinks aren’t necessary.”

“My manager is quite strict about my diet and figure, I shouldn’t eat too much.”

“Thank you all for your kindness.”

With that clear dismissal, what else could they do? Aside from those seeking autographs who stayed behind, the rest gradually dispersed. This was one downside of ensemble casts too many actors made centralized management difficult, leading to particular chaos during breaks.

And chaos often bred accidents. In such situations, it was entirely possible for unsavory characters to slip in unnoticed. Gu Lin was especially vigilant about this now, she didn’t want anything happening to Wen Yan.

Gu Lin summoned the script supervisor and asked how soon they could wrap up filming.

Though unsure of Director Lin’s intentions, the script supervisor pulled out the documents, checked them, and cautiously offered the boss an answer.

“At the earliest, we could finish in about two months.”

“When will Wen Yan’s scenes be completed?”

Although Escape to Freedom is an ensemble film, the character that runs through the entire plot is Qi Xing, portrayed by Wen Yan. The story begins with her as a young girl, whose once happy family was torn apart by enemies. Her father, devastated by the loss of her mother, drowned his sorrows in alcohol and indulgence, losing his former refinement and becoming a soulless puppet manipulated by others. Growing up in such an environment, Qi Xing developed a desire to escape and live freely in the wider world.

The story concludes with the scene of □□ holding her as they leap off a cliff, bringing this tragic and desperate tale to an end with Qi Xing’s death.

Based on Wen Yan’s performance in the previous film, the script supervisor made a rough estimate and gave Director Lin his reply.

“If we prioritize filming Miss Wen’s scenes, it should take about a month.”

“Good.”

Gu Lin nodded and sent a message to Sister Jin Yin that evening.

Xiao Lin Filming: [Sister Jin Yin, can we book Wen Yan for a month?]

Jin Yin, who was lying flat on a massage chair to ease her back and neck pain, saw Xiao Wu’s message and typed a reply.

[How much is Director Lin offering?]

[Our Wen Yan has been quite busy lately.]

Even if it’s family, it’s still time to negotiate, no, to settle accounts clearly.

Xiao Lin Filming: [Name your price.]

Such a good deal?

As expected of the Gu family heir, speaking with such confidence. Only a fool would pass up an opportunity like this.

Jin Yin decided to aim high, hoping to strike it rich in one go, without worrying about biting off more than she could chew.

[Friendship price: two million.]

[And since you two are a couple, I’ll give you a 15% discount. If that works, just transfer the money to my bank account.]

Xiao Lin Filming: [One million, and I won’t mention this to Sister Xian.]

Damn.

As expected of someone surnamed Gu, she knew it wouldn’t be that easy to fool him. They were all shrewd people.

[Deal. Hurry up and transfer.]

[Your Sister Xian is asking me to buy her another FENDI bag.]

Xiao Lin Filming: [Wait a moment, I need to check with Wen Yan first.]

Jin Yin rolled her eyes in exasperation. Another husband completely wrapped around his wife’s finger. Couldn’t he show some backbone and make decisions on his own instead of always deferring to his wife?

“Jin Jin~ Come help me try on this pretty dress~”

From the innermost studio, Gu Xian called out sweetly.

“Okay~ I’m coming~”

Jin Yin immediately tossed her phone aside and hurried over, her demeanor exactly like that of the “wife-whipped” type she had just been criticizing.

When Wen Yan found out that Jin Yin had “sold” her for a month for one million, her feelings were a mix of amusement and exasperation.

The pay was undoubtedly high even veterans in the industry with more experience than her might not command such a fee. But somehow, it felt complicated.

Was she really that valuable?

That was roughly how she felt.

Unlike last time, however, she was now signed with a company, so part of her earnings would be deducted. At the thought of this, Wen Yan felt a bit unhappy. The greedy little fox started to feel that the entire million should belong to her.

But such thoughts quickly vanished from her mind. The busy filming schedule that followed left Wen Yan with no time to dwell on anything else, allowing her to focus entirely on her work.

Though busy, Wen Yan thoroughly enjoyed this sense of fulfillment and the seamless collaboration with Gu Lin. After each take, the two would exchange feedback based on the footage, and Gu Lin would often teach Wen Yan techniques for framing and shooting. Sometimes, Wen Yan would even express dissatisfaction with her own performance and proactively request retakes.

Such a dedicated and responsible attitude set a strong example on set.

In any group, when someone works diligently and conscientiously, it motivates others to avoid slacking off or cutting corners. Under the pressure Wen Yan exerted, even the other relatively inexperienced lead actors delivered performances that surpassed their usual abilities, showing significant improvement.

During the early stages of filming, there were very few instances of excessive NG or shooting pauses. Everything progressed smoothly and efficiently.

Until today’s scene.

To prevent actors from becoming too immersed in their roles and struggling to break character, Gu Lin had chosen to shoot the scenes out of chronological order. One of the most crucial and emotionally charged scenes was the one where Qi Xing, after being injured, is carried on the back of a prostitute as she flees through the forest, only to stumble and fall.

In the scene, the prostitute’s knees and elbows are scraped and bleeding, her back stained with Qi Xing’s blood, as if she were drenched in a pool of blood grieving and desperate.

The lines were simple, not particularly complex, just a few phrases repeated over and over:

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Don’t leave me.”

Gu Lin intended to use the actors’ original voices, with no plans to hire voice actors, as delivering lines was part of an actor’s job. The role of the prostitute was played by a 25-year-old female Omega named Tian Yuan, who had debuted in a web series. Without a company or connections, she barely made a ripple in the entertainment industry.

Her acting skills were decent, but likely due to limited experience, her control over the lines and emotional expression lacked finesse. During the first take of this scene, her performance felt stiff and unnatural, failing to match Wen Yan’s intensity.

It was like trying to piece together glass with fine jade, the contrast was stark.

Gu Lin frowned as she watched the footage.

“Cut!”

She called through the megaphone, summoning both Wen Yan and Tian Yuan.

As the director, it was also her responsibility to help the actors better understand the script and their characters, striving for near-perfect scenes.

Gu Lin began explaining the scene to Tian Yuan.

“Here, your emotions should be fear, despair, and panic. At the very least, your lines need to carry a tremble.”

“Every word you speak should feel like a knife carving into your heart that’s the sensation you need to convey, understand?”

“Who are you holding in your arms? Your deity, the only person in this world who has ever offered you salvation and warmth.”

“Your god died saving you, right before your eyes. Think carefully about that terror.”

“Alright, take a moment to get into the emotion. Let’s try it once.”

Gu Lin rolled up the script and took a couple of steps back, giving Tian Yuan space to perform. Wen Yan also stepped back, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Gu Lin.

Tian Yuan knelt on the ground, her eyes brimming with sorrow and grief. With just that one look, Gu Lin frowned again.

The emotion was off, too overt. It needed to be more restrained, more internalized.

The character wasn’t someone who wore her heart on her sleeve. Life had worn her down to the point of numbness, like a walking corpse, and it was only after Qixing died for her that she seemed to come back to life a little.

But Tian Yuan’s delivery of the lines had improved a lot compared to before. The tremble in her voice and the faint, almost imperceptible sob at least conveyed the emotion well enough.

It was all in the eyes now, only the eyes remained.

In them were despair, numbness, disbelief, and a tiny, fragile glimmer of hope.

If she hadn’t died.

She had to convey this state of mind.

Since she couldn’t fully understand it, she could only clumsily imitate it. It wasn’t the best method, but it worked quickly.

One could say it was instantly effective.

“Your lines are fine, but they could be more polished. The main issue now is your eyes. Maybe because we’re shooting from the back to the front, you don’t have a deep enough understanding of the character.”

Gu Lin put down the script, held Wen Yan in his arms, and decided to demonstrate for the actor himself.

Wen Yan: ?

Alright then. It was rare for Director Lin to take the initiative to guide an actor, so she obediently closed her eyes and settled into playing a corpse.

Not really.

In reality, she secretly opened her eyes to observe Gu Lin’s performance. After all, she really wanted to see him act. It had been a long time since their last scene together.

The woman pressed the already cold corpse tightly against her chest, trying to warm her with her own body.

How could you fall asleep?

How could you fall asleep on such a cold day?

“Don’t sleep.”

The woman’s voice was hoarse and trembling, the words trailing off into a whisper.

She wanted to wake her, yet feared disturbing her peaceful rest.

“Don’t sleep.”

The sob in her voice grew heavier. A glimmer of hope and pleading shone in the woman’s eyes, tears welling up, yet there was no trace of sorrow.

Because she knew Qixing was truly exhausted. Perhaps leaving like this was a release.

But.

“Don’t leave me.”

Please.

Don’t abandon me.

Tears finally fell, drop by drop, landing on Wen Yan’s face. Wen Yan’s heart clenched violently, the pain so intense she could barely breathe.

That despair and agony, she felt it almost as if it were her own.

She couldn’t even control herself, reaching out to wipe the tears from Gu Lin’s face.

Don’t cry, please don’t cry.

I won’t abandon you.

I will never abandon you.

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