Chapter 14: Convincing Performance

The male lead was absent; the producer was furious.

The entire crew became chaotic, not knowing what they were even filming.

Seeing this, producer Wang Weiguo helplessly called cut.

They hastily ended the day’s shooting.

Rumors spread rapidly through the crew; many feared the production might collapse.

Those who harbored such concerns included Little Nun.

In the hotel room.

“Impossible.”

Pressing his bald head, Li Luo grinned at his own full buttocks in the mirror: “Look at who’s backing this drama—even if a few more leave, it won’t collapse!”

“Mmm~”

Chen Lifeng lifted her head, stretching her aching jaw: “Then who do you think will replace the male lead?”

“In my opinion.”

She flicked her sultry eyes, stuck out her tongue, and smirked: “You should play him—you’ve got the ability, no problem.”

This gesture.

Made Li Luo shiver all over.

“Even more impossible.”

He heaved her up with heavy breaths, hoisting her into the air: “That’s not a supporting role—even if Zhang Da Huizi is reckless, he won’t cast a newcomer!”

“Ah~”

With a startled cry, Chen Lifeng sank her silver teeth deep into Li Luo’s thick shoulder.

The murmurs abruptly ceased.

With Li Erpeng’s swift arrival on set, all rumors vanished without a trace.

The events that had happened before.

No one mentioned them again.

At least, no one dared discuss them openly.

Seeing the kind-faced face of the well-known entrepreneur, Li Luo felt an unexpected sigh of relief; as a reincarnator, he feared most anything veering off course, for that meant losing countless opportunities.

But after thinking it over, he chuckled silently.

Before the tide of fate, he was but an ant—his ability to influence events was severely limited.

Once back on track,

Shooting immediately resumed in full swing, striving to recover lost progress.

“Li Luo.”

Zhang Zhong waved him over: “This next scene is crucial—it’ll fully reveal Lin Pingzhi’s character. First, tell me how you understand him.”

Shooting proceeded smoothly.

Zhang Da Huizi was in good spirits and even wanted to discuss the scene.

The crew was now in a bamboo grove, beside a wooden cottage, where Lin Pingzhi and Linghu Chong’s first meeting would be filmed.

They had already shot for several days.

Mostly action scenes.

Li Luo had naturally performed them flawlessly.

But this was his first proper dramatic scene; knowing the actor was from a background in ensemble work, Zhang Zhong decided to give him private coaching.

“Hmm.”

After a brief pause, Li Luo spoke: “Lin Pingzhi starts with low martial skill, yet he’s chivalrous and righteous—he immediately intervenes to rescue Yue Lingshan when he sees injustice.”

“This stems from his good upbringing, so his manners are proper.”

Recalling the character profile, he nodded firmly: “But he’s still inexperienced, and his wealthy background has made him somewhat aloof.”

“Not bad!”

Zhang Zhong scratched his beard: “You’ve got this character down cold.”

He’d expected to spend hours explaining.

Didn’t expect this kid grasped it so thoroughly.

“Thank you, Director Zhang.”

Li Luo seized the chance, showering praise: “It’s mostly because the script is excellent—I just read the novel a few more times and understood it all!”

He flattered the screenwriter while subtly boosting himself.

“Good.”

Zhang Zhong nodded approvingly, added a few more details, then signaled the crew to prepare for the next take.

This scene occurs at the story’s opening.

But it wasn’t shot first—mainly due to logistical concerns; film shoots rarely follow script order, or costs would skyrocket.

【Performance: Beginner, Exp 25/1000】

【Physique: Not Beginner, Exp 63/100】

【Dialogue: Not Beginner, Exp 50/100】

Glancing at his personal stats, Li Luo strode confidently toward his marked position.

Little Nun was an excellent experience source; after intensive grinding, he’d gained multiple attributes. After reaching Beginner in Performance, he’d sought advice from senior crew members.

After rehearsing a scene, Wei Zi, who played Yue Buqun, spoke bluntly.

At least in his view, Li Luo’s acting skill was already on par with third- or fourth-year students from the Central Academy of Drama.

Combined with his deep understanding of Lin Pingzhi,

Li Luo had no trouble delivering a convincing performance.

“Action.”

With a casual wave, Zhang Zhong stared at the monitor.

Dressed in white robes, Li Luo entered the cottage with two subordinates; he glanced around, frowned slightly at the dilapidated eatery, yet his lips curled into a faint smile.

“Mmm~”

Zhang Zhong nodded slightly.

“This kid’s good!” curious drama director Wang Jianzhong asked: “He’s solid in both action and drama—why haven’t I heard of him? Which school did he graduate from?”

Sometimes, you can tell in just one or two glances.

With their experience,

Their eyes were sharp.

“You’ll never guess,” Zhang Zhong scratched his beard, smugly: “This kid was a background actor at Hengdian—I picked him up during a business trip!”

“Huh?”

“What??”

Not just Wang Jianzhong—even Chen Lifeng, who had come to watch, widened her eyes.

She couldn’t believe what she’d heard.

“Absolutely true.”

Noticing their expressions, Zhang Zhong felt a quiet thrill.

“Squeak~”

Amid Little Nun’s gritted-teeth growl, the performance on the monitor continued.

Miao Dingding, in ugly makeup, stepped forward and took the prey from one of the guards.

She was portraying Yue Lingshan.

She had debuted in 1993 and was an experienced young actress.

“Here, here.”

As the guard handed over the prey, he roared loudly: “Take this, turn it into snacks for drinks!”

“Oh my, sir.”

Li Erpeng, with fake beard, fanned himself and bowed low, beaming: “You want to drink?”

Hearing this, Li Luo turned his head.

Gave Linghu Chong’s disguised innkeeper a calm smile.

He’d made a slight adjustment—the original actor had portrayed this moment too aloof, failing to capture Lin Pingzhi’s proper etiquette; he felt a tweak would be better.

His gaze swept past, then he walked away, hands behind his back.

He fully exited the frame.

The guard exchanged a few more lines with Li Erpeng, and the scene ended.

“Good.”

Zhang Zhong grabbed the megaphone and shouted into the cottage: “All of you did well—let’s do another take.”

As long as he was present,

The director’s authority was directly usurped.

Nearby, Wang Jianzhong had no complaints—he willingly played the tool, as domestic film sets didn’t follow director-centered or producer-centered systems; whoever was stronger dictated the rules.

Some crews even just followed the actors’ lead.

A circus of chaos.

In the cast of The Smiling, Proud Wanderer, Zhang Zhong is unquestionably the most dominant figure.

Upon hearing the sound from the loudspeaker, all the actors voiced no complaints.

They quickly returned to their positions before filming resumed.

Filming is like this—repeating over and over until they are satisfied with the take.