Chapter 211: Must Reshoot

"Teacher Wang, later I'll walk from the left staircase to behind the tree on the right. When I reach this flower bed, I'll look toward the camera—please capture my gaze."

"After I turn back around, please shift the camera to my sleeve, focusing on the few buttons at the cuff, since they bear the Fenghua Clothing logo."

Li Ye gave the cameraman some instructions, then prepared to test how much of Hu's great looks he could replicate.

The cameraman, Master Wang, looked uneasy. "Everything else is fine, but I can't capture the pattern on your buttons."

Li Ye said, "No problem—we'll add the Fenghua Clothing logo through editing later."

"Then it's settled," Master Wang smiled. "I was just joking with a few ladies, saying you're the perfect fit for a clothing model."

Li Ye quickly demurred: "No, no—I'm just curious, trying out the feel of filming while everyone's on break."

Li Ye had already noticed: the middle-aged actors who came with cameraman Wang weren't the kind of extras you could grab by the handful in some future store. Just from their accents, he knew they were real actors, even if they only played bit parts.

So Li Ye had no intention of showing off.

Some people think Beijing dialect is close to Mandarin, and if you don't listen closely, the difference seems small—but it's actually huge.

Let me put it this way: if you're a native Beijinger, even when you speak fast, outsiders won't understand a word you're saying.

In his past life, Li Ye met one such person in a game. We teamed up to clear a dungeon, and the guy leading the group was from Beijing—he spoke so fast in pure Beijing dialect, zzzzzz.

After he finished, Li Ye felt like he understood, but when he thought harder, he realized he hadn't caught a single word. The accent was so authentic, you had to guess everything he said.

So in 1983, anyone who spoke near-broadcast-standard Mandarin had clearly put in serious effort—don't underestimate them.

Li Ye went to the temporary dressing room to change clothes. When he came out, everyone was still awake, gathered behind the camera, waiting to watch.

When they saw Li Ye in his new outfit, everyone's eyes lit up.

Especially Wen Leyu and Wen Guohua were thrilled.

From Wen Leyu's big eyes, Li Ye seemed to see something sparkling.

But when he looked at Wen Guohua's expression, it felt like he was watching a monkey show.

【What, you think the girls I hooked up with walk the standard runway, and I'm some amateur?】

Li Ye didn't flinch. He stepped down the stairs with steady steps, casually fastened one button on his abdomen, moving with calm confidence, like a professional heading out for work in the morning.

He walked past the Volga sedan rented as a backdrop, past the newly budding forsythia. When he reached the flower bed, he casually glanced toward the camera.

Casual, natural—that's what Li Ye wanted to convey.

Actors of this era understood performance very differently from future generations.

For example, in "Flowers on a Mountain," when actors were emotionally charged, they used violent gestures—punching, stomping—to express inner fury.

This method effectively stirred audience resonance, letting them feel the actor's emotion and push the plot forward.

But decades later, actors expressed emotion more through facial expressions, eyes, and subtle, natural movements, creating a sense of "ordinary truth."

Like Huang Bo's look when he said he was a murderer, or Fan Wei's performance eating noodles—smoking, slurping instant noodles, sucking on fish bones, all perfectly natural.

Li Ye couldn't say which approach was better, but using the first style in his ad felt overly dramatic—not quite right.

So he tried this approach, to see if he could guide them toward something better.

The truth proved Li Ye had underestimated the bit players from Beijing Film Studio.

He'd barely finished filming this take when they started talking.

"Oh, so that's what you meant! Why didn't you say so earlier? We kept shooting over and over."

"Exactly! If you'd shown us once, we'd have saved so much film."

"Hmm, if we slow down the footage later, it might actually be kind of interesting."

"But you know what? This kid's good-looking. Too bad he got into Beijing University—otherwise he'd have been a perfect fit for our unit."

"What do you mean, too bad he got into Beijing University? Is that a tragedy?"

"I just mean it's a pity, a pity, you know?"

"Definitely a pity—such a fine physique wasted."

The bit players joked a bit, then walked back and forth a few times. When they filmed again, the difference was obvious.

Natural movements, warm smiles—these were middle-aged men, yet Li Ye felt a real sense of "vitality," conveying a longing for a better life.

Well, professionalism is professionalism. They weren't bad actors—they just hadn't needed this "realistic" style in movies yet.

The models, however, couldn't shake their old habits for a long time.

They were used to staring straight ahead, ignoring everything, striding forward with stiff, mechanical steps. Their facial expressions were painfully flat.

Finally, Li Ye told them: "Imagine you're casually shopping, then suddenly spot a cocky, handsome guy on the sidewalk whistling at you."

"Then you give him a cold look, and immediately turn around, waving gently at him."

Li Ye demonstrated a few standard street-style poses from the future. Though they were now clichéd, if they matched the traffic algorithm, they had value.

After that, the female models improved—but when they looked at the "cocky guy" and gave their "icy glances," they didn't look at the camera. They looked at Wen Guohua.

Li Ye had to pull Wen Guohua over and make him stand beside the camera.

Wen Leyu narrowed her eyes, wary, her sharp gaze darting over her brother like she was sizing up which piece of meat to slice first.

"Come on, let's go see the slow-motion effect."

After filming this scene, everyone was eager to compare the before and after.

When they found a playback spot, developed the film, adjusted it several times, and finally found the right slow-motion speed, the difference became clear.

Jin Peng leaned close to Li Ye and whispered: "Xiao Ye, I think you're more suitable than any of the professionals. Why not be the lead?"

But Li Ye said: "No thanks. My family wouldn't allow it."

Jin Peng was surprised: "Your family wouldn't allow it? You haven't even asked your Private Secretary or your Uncle—how do you know?"

But Jin Peng quickly swallowed the rest of his sentence.

Because Wen Leyu, sitting to Li Ye's left, had already shot him a chilly glance.

Ah, so *that's* the "family member." Definitely not someone to provoke.

Li Ye glanced sideways at Wen Leyu, smirked, then quietly took her hand.

She gripped back, lips pressed in a smile, giving him that "we're in sync" look.

In her eyes, Li Ye was the future economist, the future leader of a major unit—but not a movie star.

Though Li Ye had star-level looks, Wen Leyu believed his "inner excellence" mattered far more than his appearance.

Li Ye quietly added: "The ad's background music isn't set yet. You've got musical talent—help me pick something later."

Wen Leyu nodded eagerly.

This was her family's business—she had to support it wholeheartedly.

But after watching the slow-motion playback, the cameraman and the bit players approached Jin Peng, looking embarrassed.

"Manager Jin, the scenes we shot earlier don't match the style of the last ones. Should we reshoot them?"

"Of course! I was thinking the same thing!" Jin Peng said quickly. "If you're willing, I'm delighted. And don't worry about the others—our per-diem subsidy is based on days worked. Shoot as many days as you want."

"We don't want the subsidy," the cameraman said awkwardly. "It's just that we've wasted too much film. We still have several planned scenes—there won't be enough left."

"Film isn't limited," Jin Peng said immediately. "Don't worry about film—I'll arrange air mail from Hong Kong if we need more."

"This ad might even be shown in Southeast Asia or even Japan. We care only about quality, not cost."

The moment Jin Peng finished speaking, the cameraman's mouth dropped open.

The bit players were stunned. Even Wen Guohua jolted, his cigarette falling to the ground.

"This ad's going overseas?"

The cameraman's voice rose eight octaves, trembling with awe.

"That's right," Jin Peng said. "Fenghua Clothing is produced under commission from Hong Kong, mainly for export overseas, with only a small portion sold domestically."

"Hong Kong already shot an ad, but after our Pengcheng Factory No. 7 saw it, we thought it was utterly terrible. So we decided to prove ourselves—we'll shoot our own, and make it better than theirs."

"Is this for real?"

"Yeah, I feel like I've been bamboozled."

The bit players still doubted it—until Jin Peng simply played the Hong Kong tape for them.

"What is this? No voice, no diction, no movement, no acting—just pure film waste."

"Exactly! Even the old gatekeeper at our unit acts better than this."

Jin Peng smiled at everyone: "Now you believe me, right? But don't feel pressured—you've already done well. Just shoot a few more takes, and it'll be perfect."

"Why didn't you say this earlier? I messed up a detail—I'd be embarrassing myself overseas!"

"We must reshoot. All of it. We don't care about subsidies—we'll shoot until it's perfect. If we have to, we'll ask factory leadership to bring in some big names."

The bit players' mindset had completely changed. They'd thought this was just a small side job to earn pocket money for their kids' new clothes—but now, suddenly, it had become this?

Li Ye quietly warned Jin Peng: "These actors' performances are very natural. If we bring in big names, their acting will be too heavy-handed—they might not fit. Keep the balance."

Jin Peng nodded: "Don't worry—I know what I'm doing. Even small people have dreams. They're just saying that—they won't let outsiders steal the spotlight."

Li Ye nodded in agreement.

At that moment, Wen Guohua walked over, smiling: "Your ad's going international?"

Li Ye met his gaze and smiled: "Possibly. But it'll definitely play domestically."

"Hmm. 'Possibly' is best. Heh."

Wen Guohua felt no need to warn Li Ye further—he knew Li Ye understood: if this ad went overseas, the review process would be a nightmare.

(End of Chapter)