Chapter 38: Madness

Inside Studio 3 of Shaw Studios, the lighting technician was adjusting the overhead lights, casting the basement set in a half-lit gloom.

Jackie Chan crouched in a corner, wearing a wrinkled, cheap suit, his hair greasy and disheveled, his face deliberately made up to look haggard. He practiced expressions in the mirror over and over—from servile flattery, to cold calculation, to the restraint just before an eruption.

Xiang Qian walked behind the monitor, sat down, and picked up the walkie-talkie: "Brother Long, ready?"

Jackie Chan flashed an OK sign, then suddenly called out, "Wait!" He jogged over, pointing at a line in the script. "Qian-zi, here—the poor dad secretly spits into the rich family's red wine. Should we add a close-up?"

Xiang Qian shook his head: "No need. The audience will notice on their own—that's what makes it disgusting enough."

Jackie Chan suddenly understood, rubbing his hands excitedly: "Makes sense!"

The script supervisor clapped the slate: "Parasite, Scene 17, Action!"

Before the camera, Jackie Chan as the poor dad bent to pour wine for Dean Shek as the rich man. His face was plastered with a fawning smile, but his fingers subtly grazed the mouth of the bottle.

"Cut!" Xiang Qian suddenly called a halt. "Brother Long, the expression is too exaggerated. Tone it down a bit."

Jackie Chan froze: "Not evil enough?"

"Evil has to be hidden in the bones." Xiang Qian walked over to demonstrate. "Like this—" He suddenly flashed a brilliant smile, but his eyes were cold as a venomous snake. "The more respectful, the more it chills people to the bone."

The whole set went silent for a second.

On the B-unit set, Stephen Chow had flubbed for the eighth time.

"Wrong!" Xiang Qian, rarely, lost his temper. "Xing-zi, you're playing a disillusioned youth crushed by reality!"

Stephen Chow, drenched in sweat: "......"

Hui Ying-hong suddenly snatched up a prop beer bottle and smashed it on the ground. With a loud "bang," shards of glass flew everywhere.

"Smile now?" She grabbed Stephen Chow by the collar and roared, "Your mom's in late-stage cancer, your dad's a useless loser, the whole family lives in a basement eating instant noodles—give me a smile, why don't you?!"

Stephen Chow was stunned into silence, his eyes gradually reddening.

Xiang Qian seized the moment and called action. This time, Stephen Chow walked into frame with a hunched back, his fingers twitching nervously, even his breathing carrying the wariness of a man from the bottom.

"Perfect," Xiang Qian said softly.

Late-night shoot, the rainstorm scene.

Lin Qingxia, playing the poor daughter, stood outside the mansion, soaked to the bone. She had just been publicly humiliated by the rich man's daughter, Carina Lau.

"Action!"

Lin Qingxia suddenly laughed. Rain slid down her delicate face, but her smile grew increasingly grotesque. She slowly crouched, scooped up a handful of mud and smeared it on her face, then let out a hysterical cackle.

Behind the monitor, Xiang Qian's hair stood on end—this wasn't in the script at all!

"Cut!" He rushed over. "Sister Qingxia, this......"

"This is what's real." Lin Qingxia wiped the rain from her face. "When the poor are pushed to the edge, they either go mad or they die."

Xiang Qian was silent for a moment, then nodded heavily: "Print that take."

The rich family's dining room scene. Dean Shek, in a silk robe, sat at the head of the table, cutting his steak with deliberate slowness.

"Do you know why the poor stay poor?" He suddenly looked up, his gaze stabbing like a knife toward Jackie Chan off-camera. "Because they don't even dare to hate."

Jackie Chan instinctively stepped back half a pace—this wasn't acting; he was genuinely frightened.

Xiang Qian stared at the monitor, holding his breath. Dean Shek's presence was so overwhelming it made even the air feel thick.

By the third week of shooting, Ni Zhen suddenly showed up at the set with reporters.

"I heard Brother Jackie Chan was scolded to tears on set by a new director?" a gossip reporter pressed, camera raised.

Before Jackie Chan could respond, Zhao Yazhi suddenly splashed her coffee onto the reporter's camera: "Get out!"

The scene descended into chaos. Xiang Qian walked over with a stony face: "Young Master Ni, playing these cheap tricks?"

Ni Zhen smiled: "Just concerned about the film's progress." He leaned in and whispered, "I heard you've gone over budget? How about some investment from Ni's Pictures?"

"No need," Xiang Qian said, meeting his eyes.

The final scene—the bloody party. All the actors had entered a state of frenzy—

Jackie Chan laughing wildly, face covered in blood;

Stephen Chow slamming his head against the wall;

Lin Qingxia dancing on top of the piano;

Hui Ying-hong chasing Carina Lau with a knife raised;

Even the child actor playing the kid was so scared he cried for real......

"Cut! That's a wrap!"

The set went silent for three seconds, then erupted into screams and sobs. Jackie Chan dropped onto the floor: "I've never been this exhausted in my life......"

Xiang Qian looked at the distorted image on the monitor and knew it had worked.

This wasn't a movie.

This was a demon-revealing mirror.