Chapter 186: Xuejie Wraps Filming, the Whole Family Returns to Yanjing (Guaranteed Minimum 1 Chapter)

The next day, at the set of "The Herdsman," Wei Anping and Lele could only watch from the sidelines.

Wei Ming, however, was fully involved, closely following the director, observing how he coordinated the crew, assigned tasks, guided actors through rehearsals, and pushed for a perfect take.

Even a master like Xie Jin had to be frugal with film stock, waiting until the actors were in peak condition before starting actual shooting.

But sometimes this meant missing the one perfect moment—an unavoidable trade-off.

By morning, they had finished shooting the scene where the male lead departs for Yanjing; actor Niu Ben's role was officially wrapped.

Though this actor from Shanghai Film Studio had always played supporting roles, he had appeared in cinematic classics like "The Herdsman" and "To Live," making him a familiar face nationwide—and his name was easy to remember.

Director Xie Jin wanted to capitalize on the momentum and shoot the final scene just before sunset.

At noon, they quickly relocated all equipment and personnel to another hilltop.

This scene required Xuejie to carry Xizi and run; though slender, she was strong, sprinting effortlessly with the forty-pound Xizi on her back.

The scene had been rehearsed over ten times, with each rehearsal refining the final shooting plan—Xuejie essentially carried a human prop while moving through her marks.

Unlike later eras with stunt doubles, back then actors had to do everything themselves—no specialists for movement cues. This could be praised as dedication, but it wasted time.

After running so many takes, Gong Ying needed a break: wipe sweat, reapply makeup, restore her peak condition before official filming resumed.

Moreover, they had to race against the setting sun—if they failed two or three times, they'd have to wait until tomorrow; if tomorrow had no sun, they'd wait again.

If Wei Ming were directing this scene, he'd assign a stunt double to handle the movement cues, letting the actor conserve energy and focus solely on performance—perhaps not a perfect take on the first try, but at least multiple solid ones within the window of peak condition.

But this was the era's character: time was cheap, including the actors' time; filming faster wouldn't help them land commercial gigs or ads.

This final scene was crucial—Xie Jin had prepared to shoot for three days—but they completed it in one, without interruption or mistakes.

When the final frame froze, Wei Ming also pulled out his camera and captured this harmonious moment.

As for the film's final visual effect, only the cinematographer knew—no one else, not even the director.

The crew would send the footage to Xi Film Studio for processing by their sister unit; once confirmed usable, they could return to Yanjing to shoot the male lead's scenes with his father.

So Gong Ying, Lao Mao, and Niu Ben would have to wait a while longer.

But there was a problem: Anping's flight ticket date didn't align—he'd booked a ticket two days later, never expecting the shoot to wrap so smoothly and so fast.

Before 1980, buying plane tickets was extremely difficult, but starting this year, rank restrictions were lifted; anyone with a unit introduction letter or work certificate could purchase one, and county-level cadres could issue such letters—Anping could, and he secured tickets for all five of them.

But plane tickets required advance application; Anping had estimated the wrap date and allowed ample lead time, so now they had two extra days.

"So can you stay two more days?" Gong Ying asked hopefully.

As the sun set, the two strolled across the grassland; having finished filming, Gong Ying felt noticeably more relaxed.

Wei Ming shook his head: "Anping wants to visit the Terracotta Warriors in Xi'an—I want to see the site of the Xi'an Incident too."

"Huh? The Xi'an Incident? Why would you want to go there?" Gong Ying asked, puzzled.

"To gather material for my novel," Wei Ming explained his new novel's direction.

Hearing Wei Ming planned to write a 500, 00-word epic, Gong Ying's mouth hung open in shock.

Back then, anything over 100, 00 words counted as a long novel; later, the Mao Dun Literature Prize set its eligibility threshold at 130, 00 words—"To Live" had been rejected for falling short.

So 500, 00 words equaled several conventional long novels; as a writer, Wei Ming was truly ambitious—he'd reached the peak of the novella form and immediately challenged the extreme difficulty of the epic.

She asked: "How many copies of 'Ferocious Animals' have sold so far?"

Wei Ming: "Almost all are sold out—I visited several bookstores in Yanjing recently and couldn't find a single copy."

One million copies had been effortlessly absorbed by the market.

"Oh, can you print more?" Gong Ying asked eagerly.

Wei Ming smiled: "The publisher wants to reprint after the film releases—if the movie's good, they'll print more, and I'll earn more. That's why I've been watching Xie Director closely, hoping he'll make it great."

This made Gong Ying laugh: "Suddenly I feel like I'm carrying a heavy burden."

Wei Ming placed his hand on her shoulder: "Don't stress—the director's under more pressure."

The touch ended immediately; then Gong Ying asked Wei Ming how to use the American skincare bottle.

Wei Ming gave a simple explanation; Gong Ying was even more impressed—he could actually read English!

Then she remembered: he'd once dated a British exchange student.

She'd heard foreigners were very open—how far had they gone?

And had he completely let go of her now?

These questions Xuejie couldn't ask aloud—she could only mutter them silently to herself.

The next day, Gong Ying personally saw them off at the station. Wei Ming's group would first take a bus to Lanzhou, then a train to Xi'an; their plane tickets were for Xi'an to Yanjing, full-price at 60 yuan—slightly more than a soft-sleeper ticket, but soft-sleeper had stricter requirements and took longer.

Though "The Right Path of Humanity" wouldn't detail the Xi'an Incident, it would depict its later impact on both parties; Wei Ming felt it best to visit firsthand.

Only by seeing Chiang Kai-shek's humiliation at Huaqing Pool could one understand his hatred for the two instigators—and even trace his escape route to glimpse his character.

The incident had originally occurred at Huaqing Pool; Anping and the others accompanied Wei Ming on a tour.

The uncle and nephew focused on the Xi'an Incident, while Xiaoyan was more interested in the story of Emperor Xuanzong and Yang Guifei bathing there.

So Anping alternated between telling Wei Ming about Chiang's disgrace and chatting with Lu Xiaoyan about the scandal of father-in-law and daughter-in-law—utterly split.

After leaving Huaqing Pool, they headed to the Terracotta Warriors.

To gain extra visitor privileges, Wei Ming called Jia Ke, the official he'd met on the train, right after leaving Huaqing Pool.

Hearing Wei Ming had come to see the Terracotta Warriors, Jia Ke immediately dropped his work and waited at the park entrance.

Wei Ming's privilege was close-up access to the warriors—the ticket price hadn't involved Jia Ke's connections.

!

Inside, Jia Ke personally served as their guide, explaining far more thoroughly than he had on the train.

In the end, they fulfilled their wish—descending into the pits to take photos with the warriors.

Gazing at the face so strikingly similar to Zhang Yimou, Wei Ming's thoughts drifted back over two millennia, imagining that mighty empire and its ambitious First Emperor.

"Mr. Wei, how's it feel? Seeing this grand sight—does inspiration surge?" Jia Ke asked eagerly.

Wei Ming nodded: "I have some ideas—I'll organize them when I have time."

Hearing this, Jia Ke was deeply satisfied; as they left, he gifted Wei Ming an academic book on the Terracotta Warriors.

"This book's even more detailed than my explanations—I learned everything from it."

Wei Ming accepted it solemnly.

With one day left, the five-person tour group visited the Shaanxi Provincial Museum and the Stele Forest, and ate authentic Shaanxi cuisine.

Uncle and nephew were both noodle lovers—they devoured oil-poured noodles, Qishan sauced noodles, and biangbiang noodles.

Too bad Wei Ming's writer friend Jia Pingwa was still studying in Yanjing; Wei Ming had no connections here—he couldn't possibly ask one-year-old Qianqian to treat them.

The next morning, before dawn, they rushed to the airport; Wei Ming, Wei Anping, and Xile were thrilled—it was their first time flying.

Lu Xiaoyan wasn't—it had been with her general father as a child.

The plane before them was a Boeing 747SP, looking brand-new.

Most older-looking aircraft in civil aviation were Soviet-made; Boeing planes were newly imported American models.

Thinking of how often Boeings crashed in the future, Wei Ming suddenly felt uneasy—this thing didn't fail, but if it did, it meant death.

No wonder soft-sleeper train tickets had higher thresholds than flights—it was just a matter of extra time, but more comfortable and safer, the obvious choice for the powerful.

They were in economy class; today's flight was short, and the plane wasn't full.

Wei Ming sat beside Xizi, explaining sky-related facts—like how clouds formed.

Once aboard, they got in-flight meals and even Maotai to drink.

Originally reserved for international flights, domestic flights later adopted this too—but not a full bottle; just a pour, since a bottle cost seven yuan, expensive enough to save where possible.

Anping drank three glasses; Wei Ming and Xiaoyan didn't touch any.

After drinking, Anping dozed off; when he woke, the plane was descending.

"We're there already?"

Wei Ming looked at the sun, now at its zenith: "Yes, we're here—only half a day."

Anping stretched his arms: "This is so comfortable—we should fly more often."

But as they disembarked, Xiaoyan's expression grew serious, as if burdened by thoughts.

"What are you thinking about, Xiaoyan?" Wei Anping asked.

Lu Xiaoyan: "I'm calculating—you took trains and planes, just transportation cost over a hundred yuan."

"Over two hundred, including your two tickets—the production team won't cover all flight costs." It was nearly their entire monthly salary gone.

Lu Xiaoyan did the math: "Xizi got one yuan per day for acting, total under thirty yuan—we lost big on this film!"

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(End of chapter)