Most of the actors chosen for “Die at Dawn and Dusk” were skilled, even the seemingly unknown ones. Before officially starting, the actors would rehearse their lines, so the filming process was generally smooth. Good takes were done in one or two shots, and even the not-so-good ones took only four or five. That was usually how it went.
But today, in one particular scene, Li Chu was stuck. Six takes, and still no good.
This was probably the most she’d been stuck on a scene since she started acting seriously.
Li Chu herself didn’t expect it, and neither did anyone else.
In the shot, the young woman’s face flushed as her wrist was grasped, under the watchful gaze of a female police officer. Her beautiful eyes, like glazed porcelain under the light, seemed as clear as glass, hiding nothing. Pure, easily seen through.
“Cut.”
Ji Yun called it off again. This was the seventh time.
Silence fell over the set. No one dared make a sound and risk angering the seemingly calm director.
Ning Manqing offered Li Chu a comforting look. Li Chu managed a weak smile in return and lowered her head.
“No, your emotions are either too much or too little. Forget it, take a break. We’ll film something else. Come back when you’re in the right state.”
Director Ji frowned. He was always serious during work. He had already coached Li Chu after the fourth take, giving her a break and explaining the scene, but Li Chu’s performance still wasn’t satisfactory. He wanted to say more, but seeing Li Chu’s self-reproach, he couldn’t bring himself to criticize her further.
Li Chu pursed her lips and nodded silently.
Ning Manqing wanted to follow her out, but Ji Yun called her back for the next scene. She wanted to refuse, but remembering Li Chu’s reaction, she realized that Li Chu probably needed quiet solitude and time to think more than comfort right now.
Off-set, Qian Duoduo hurried over with a coat and hot water.
Time had passed unnoticed, and autumn had arrived in this coastal city. Li Chu’s scenes, however, were still set in summer, requiring her to wear short sleeves.
“Sister, put this on, have some water. You were doing great just now, we all thought so.”
Qian Duoduo didn’t know how to comfort Li Chu, so she could only squeeze out these words. It wasn’t a lie; she genuinely thought Li Chu’s previous takes were good. Ning Manqing’s and Zhao Zhichun’s assistants, who were also watching, felt the same. But Director Ji kept calling cut.
“No need to comfort me. I know I have a problem. I’m going to be alone for a while. Don’t disturb me.”
Li Chu shook her head, took a sip of hot water, returned the cup to Qian Duoduo, and went into her dressing room with the coat draped over her shoulders.
This was a crucial scene, marking the beginning of the surface-level relationship between Qin Mu and Xi Yiyun, so Ji Yun was particularly demanding, wanting to capture the precise feeling he envisioned.
Li Chu understood what he wanted, but she couldn’t deliver.
The lines themselves weren’t difficult, in fact, they were quite simple. The challenge lay in the subtle shifts in Qin Mu’s emotions.
She could have muddled through; her previous attempts were technically passable. After all, this was a TV drama, not a film, and didn’t require the same level of meticulous perfection. But Ji Yun’s personality wouldn’t allow it, and neither would Li Chu. Yet, despite repeated attempts, she still couldn’t achieve it.
This scene depicted the aftermath of a meeting. Qin Mu realized Xi Yiyun was incredibly capable. Following a planned route, Xi Yiyun meticulously reviewed surveillance footage from multiple locations, both public and private, and conducted extensive inquiries in the surrounding areas. She eventually found a clip showing someone dragging a suitcase, presumably containing the victim’s body.
Although the footage didn’t capture a clear face, it was a significant breakthrough, revealing that the person who disposed of the body, possibly the murderer, was a woman.
Qin Mu’s mind raced. Should she continue to use Qin Chao as a decoy? Xi Yiyun’s suspicions were already aroused. Continuing the charade could expose her.
But she knew she couldn’t give up. She had already laid the groundwork for Qin Chao’s existence. If Qin Chao suddenly vanished from the subsequent events, along with her own withdrawal, it would be even more suspicious, like an unfinished game of chess. She would be cornered.
Qin Mu had no choice. Panic began to set in. She wasn’t afraid of being discovered, but rather that her years of planning might be thwarted, or worse, stopped before completion.
That was something she absolutely couldn’t allow. So, between retreat and advance, Qin Mu chose the latter.
She decided to actively engage, drawing Xi Yiyun’s attention to herself, allowing her hidden pawns to move more freely. She could also glean more information from Xi Yiyun.
She started bringing lunches to the police station, along with small homemade gifts. She knew these wouldn’t sway Xi Yiyun, so she continued to feign concern for Qin Chao.
After several days, Xi Yiyun seemed to waver. She arrived at the entrance early one day and encountered Qin Mu, who was about to deliver lunch.
After an exchange of probing questions and feigned ignorance, Xi Yiyun seemingly accepted the gesture. But then she did something unexpected: she grabbed Qin Mu’s wrist.
Xi Yiyun’s fingers slid down Qin Mu’s wrist, intertwining with hers as she took the lunchbox.
It was an intimate, almost flirtatious gesture, seemingly casual, yet carrying a strong sexual undertone.
This was Xi Yiyun’s true test. She had already locked onto Qin Mu as a suspect. The brutal torture inflicted on the deceased thug led her, a seasoned detective who had solved countless cases, to believe it was an act of revenge, possibly related to sexual assault.
Based on the killer’s methods, the criminal profile suggested a cold, ruthless individual, meticulous and perhaps even obsessive-compulsive. If it was indeed connected to sexual assault, the killer could be even more dangerous.
In typical sexual assault cases, victims seeking revenge would often target the perpetrator’s genitals. However, the thug showed no such injuries. This presented two possibilities: either her initial deduction was wrong, or the perpetrator had suppressed that impulse, knowing the consequences would be detrimental, leading to exposure.
Assuming the latter was true, combined with previous deductions, this perpetrator likely had a strong aversion to being touched.
Faced with this test, Qin Mu’s emotions went through several layers of transformation: resistance and disgust, followed by a wave of inner turmoil upon realizing the probing nature of the act, and finally, a shift to emotions befitting her fabricated persona—shyness and delight at the intimate gesture from the object of her supposed affection.
This multi-layered emotional transition was more challenging to grasp and portray than the disjointed emotional expressions Li Chu had previously struggled with. Perhaps for others, the former would be harder, but for Li Chu, it was the latter.
Li Chu realized she wasn’t particularly adept at portraying complex love scenes. This was different from the typical idol drama scenarios. She recalled her portrayal of the Eldest Princess, where it was only under Ning Manqing’s guidance that she realized she had missed the crucial emotional element.
Her performance was either too abrupt, too stiff, or too natural, so natural that the initial transition was lost.
Li Chu looked at herself in the dressing room mirror, feeling dejected.
“Why can’t I act it out?”
Li Chu poked her reflection in the mirror. The more she looked, the more unfamiliar her face seemed.
She felt like she was staring at the character, the seemingly fragile girl with a dark and violent inner world, her expression filled with sorrow.
After several failed takes, the assistant director had suggested using one of the more natural takes, but Ji Yun glared at him, his voice gruff: “She’s not a god!”
Qin Mu wasn’t a god, she was human. She would instinctively recoil, but she was also exceptionally skilled at controlling her emotions, allowing her to switch gears instantly.
“How can I express that?”
Li Chu muttered to herself. Her reflection mirrored her expression, unable to offer an answer.
The dressing room lights were off. As dusk settled outside, the room grew dark.
Ning Manqing, finally free from her own scene, immediately sought out Li Chu.
“Teacher Ning, please check on Sister Li. She went inside at noon and told me not to disturb her. She’s been in there for a long time.”
Li Chu had been in the dressing room for at least six hours. Qian Duoduo wanted to go in several times, but was afraid of disrupting Li Chu’s process. She worried, hoping Li Chu had fallen asleep, but fearing she was still struggling.
Ning Manqing entered without turning on the lights. As an alpha, her senses were sharper than average, allowing her to spot Li Chu curled up on the sofa.
Her head was buried in her knees. Already slender, she appeared even more fragile in that position.
“Xiao Chu.”
Ning Manqing called out tentatively, but Li Chu remained motionless, as if she hadn’t heard.
Ning Manqing reached out to check on her, but the moment her hand touched Li Chu’s skin, Li Chu flinched away as if startled, her body filled with resistance.
Ning Manqing turned on the lights. Li Chu shielded her eyes from the sudden brightness. When she lowered her hand, her pale, sweat-streaked face was fully visible to Ning Manqing.
But this wasn’t the Li Chu Ning Manqing knew. Her eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused. She weakly called out “Teacher Ning” and licked her dry, chapped lips.
Ning Manqing reached out to comfort her, but Li Chu flinched before her hand landed.
Ning Manqing’s expression suddenly darkened. She looked at Li Chu, realizing that Li Chu herself probably hadn’t noticed the resistance and fear in her own eyes.
It wasn’t directed at her, but rather a manifestation of the character’s emotions.
Ning Manqing suddenly understood what Li Chu was immersed in. She was reliving the scene where Qin Mu was drugged and raped. Ji Yun hadn’t asked her to delve into it that deeply during filming.
Ji Yun didn’t want that scene to be portrayed so explicitly to the audience. Instead, he chose to convey the truth through the nurse’s frustration while preparing the drugs, the thug’s excitement upon receiving them, Qin Mu’s subsequent torture of the thug, and Xi Yiyun’s deductions.
“Li Chu, who allowed you to get so lost in character? Snap out of it.”
For the first time, Ning Manqing spoke to Li Chu in a commanding, almost angry tone. She gripped Li Chu’s face, forcing her to meet her gaze.
Omegas were gifted with heightened emotional sensitivity, so once they entered a state of self-induced emotional immersion, it became difficult for them to break free.
Li Chu looked at Ning Manqing, her brow furrowed in pain.
The imagined scenario clashed with reality. She knew what was real and what wasn’t, but she couldn’t react. Her emotional perception was in chaos.
Suddenly, a warm pressure enveloped her lips, accompanied by a sharp sting.
The taste of blood filled her mouth. Li Chu’s teeth were forced apart, and in the undeniable entanglement, she was pulled back to reality.
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