Liang Xiao nodded firmly: “Understood.”
The assistant director hesitated before asking: “What about the spring festival scene? The part with breaking willow branches and shooting targets—it’s one of our biggest sequences—”
“That’s just a showy scene for the audience to enjoy… It’s grand in scale but not technically challenging,” Jin Zhenbo replied indifferently. “I’ll focus on overseeing the wide shots. For close-ups and tracking shots, once you’ve reviewed them and approved them, three takes should be sufficient.”
Recalling past experiences, Jin Zhenbo emphasized further: “Do not let him watch the monitor playback. Don’t let him insist on reshooting because his bow wasn’t fully drawn, the tassels didn’t swing perfectly, or the horse didn’t step exactly right.”
Liang Xiao coughed lightly, trying to defend himself: “Director Jin—”
“Don’t believe anything he says,” Jin Zhenbo interrupted coldly yet decisively. “Every assistant director he meets is ‘the best assistant director he’s ever worked with.’”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Jin Zhenbo gave him a cold yet clear-eyed look before instructing everyone to prepare for filming. He then walked off to discuss lens styles with the art director.
The spring festival martial arts performance was the first major set-piece since filming began.
Chen Hongwen personally oversaw its design, meticulously refining it over half a year based on historical records.
This particular set hadn’t been used yet. The set design team was still making final adjustments up until the last moment. Towering city walls stood firmly in place; as the gates opened wide, soldiers lined up under fluttering banners at Lingxing Gate. The Qionglin Garden was bursting with vibrant flowers, while Golden Bright Pond reflected crystal-clear waters alongside Baoyin Tower—a majestic structure connecting five palaces and jade halls.
The younger actors following behind were visibly awestruck: “It’s so grand…”
“It’s modeled after Dreams of Splendor,” explained the chief producer with a smile. “A lot of effort went into this.”
He added: “In costume dramas like this, when the set design shines brightly, the actors’ performances must stand out even more; otherwise, it risks becoming mere visual spectacle.”
The assistant director nodded in agreement: “They complement each other—just dazzling visuals alone won’t suffice.”
The more intricate the set design became, the higher expectations were placed on the actors’ performances. Jin Zhenbo’s strict demands on Liang Xiao weren’t just meant to guide him—they were also dictated by filming requirements.
The younger actors took note of this lesson and couldn’t help but sigh in admiration: “It’s really not easy.”
Liang Xiao smiled as he accepted the storyboard handed to him by the crew. He scanned it a few times, memorized the details, and followed the assistant director to rehearse his movements.
The entire day’s shoot was set at the Golden Bright Pond outdoor location, focusing on the imperial guards’ spring festival performance. Yun Lang was accompanying the emperor at Baoyin Tower, where attempts to break willow branches on horseback repeatedly failed despite several changes in riders.
The emperor grew displeased, and the commander of the imperial guards was already too anxious to bother gauging the emperor’s mood, practically burning with worry.
The chief eunuch attending to the emperor stepped in with a cheerful smile to smooth things over, recommending Yun Lang, the young marquis, to resolve the situation.
“Is it really not that difficult?”
The young actors observing from the sidelines felt their nerves tighten just from the sheer scale of the setup: “So many camera angles…”
“Horizontal pans, dolly shots, vertical crane movements,” someone nearby stood on tiptoe to get a better look and whispered to confirm for others, “and aerial shots too.”
The chief producer, ever eager to stir things up further, added: “There are telescopic lenses as well—those cameras over there are all equipped with them.”
It was the first time these young actors had seen such an elaborate setup. They scrambled backward in fear and dared not utter another word.
Meanwhile, Liang Xiao had just strapped into his harness and secured his safety gear. He gestured toward the crew at the edge of the set to signal that he was ready.
The imperial guards rallied themselves as drums and music began playing. Fresh red tassels were pinned onto the arrow targets.
The assistant director gave his cue, and cameras locked onto their positions from all angles.
The young marquis descended from Baoyin Tower with an air of lazy indifference.
Yun Lang strolled leisurely down to the last few steps of the staircase. His lips curled into a smirk as he stepped forward and vaulted onto a freshly bridled imperial horse.
The stable master was startled: “Your Highness, the saddle isn’t ready yet—”
Yun Lang ignored him. He casually grabbed a spare bow and arrow, mounted his horse, and tested it in his hands.
Having grown accustomed to using a three-stone hard bow, he found this soft bowstring utterly unimpressive. Barely holding back his irritation, he reluctantly made do. Without even aiming properly after turning his horse around, he raised his hand and nocked an arrow.
The curved bow reached full draw like a crescent moon. The white-feathered arrow shot through the air, piercing straight through one of the vibrant red tassels.
The music and drums had barely completed one cycle when the arrow firmly embedded itself in the target’s bullseye. Its tail trembled slightly as its sharp sound lingered in the air.
The emperor was overjoyed. Watching from afar atop Baoyin Tower, he couldn’t help but shout out in praise. The surrounding crowd immediately followed suit with cheers of admiration.
Yun Lang paid no attention at all. He spurred his horse toward a fresh willow tree by the imperial road.
Willow branches planted firmly in soil were far easier to break cleanly. However, new willows sprouting tender buds swayed unpredictably in the wind—breaking them was no simple task, especially while galloping on horseback at high speed.
Yun Lang’s horse lacked both saddle and stirrups. The commander of the imperial guards watched with mounting dread, terrified that Yun Lang might accidentally fall: “Young Marquis—”
Yun Lang moved with agility. Pressing lightly against his horse’s neck, he twisted his wrist and leapt upward, plucking off one of the tenderest budding leaves from a branch.
The imperial horse couldn’t stop in time and ran forward several more steps.
Yun Lang used a branch of the willow tree for leverage before landing steadily back onto his horse’s back.
For a moment, silence fell over those watching from the sidelines. Without needing any prompting from the emperor himself, waves of thunderous applause erupted like a tidal wave across the scene.
…
Jin Zhenbo, despite saying he wouldn’t pay attention to Liang Xiao, couldn’t hide the admiration in his eyes as he watched the monitor: “It’s a pass.”
The entire scene was completed in one seamless take. To capture multiple angles for the tracking shots, Liang Xiao had to run through it several times. By the time he dismounted from the horse, his breathing had grown noticeably uneven.
Duan Ming hurried over and helped him down from the horse.
Liang Xiao took a breath: “Brother Duan—”
“Don’t talk yet, steady your breathing,” Duan Ming interrupted him, not daring to let him drink water just yet. He quickly helped Liang Xiao remove his harness suit before attending to anything else.
Flying around was the young marquis’s specialty, but it wasn’t Liang Xiao’s. Those shots required coordination with the harness while maintaining high-speed motion.
Though Liang Xiao was experienced enough to avoid getting tangled in the wires, the harness suit itself couldn’t be avoided—it pinched and chafed uncomfortably.
Duan Ming tore open several adhesive straps and removed the harness suit, frowning slightly as he did so.
Leaning on Duan Ming’s arm for support, Liang Xiao steadied himself, coughed a few times, and glanced back over his shoulder.
Earlier, when he’d been pulled into flight by the wires, he thought he’d caught a glimpse of someone familiar.
…But it had only been a fleeting glance.
Now that he was looking again, there was no trace of them.
“Dry off your sweat—don’t catch a cold.”
Duan Ming grabbed a thick jacket and wrapped it around him: “Does it hurt? We’ll find some medicinal wine later and massage it for you.”
Liang Xiao smiled lightly: “It’s nothing.”
In the past, when working with lower-budget productions that used subpar harness teams with just a few stuntmen pulling wires, he’d still ended up flying all over the place.
Liang Xiao figured that maybe he’d been spoiled lately—his manager seemed to be worrying more than usual because of it. He lowered his voice to reassure Duan Ming: “It’s really no big deal. I’ll rest for two days and be fine.”
Duan Ming glared at him irritably: “You always say there’s never anything serious.”
Underneath his protective gear, Liang Xiao’s clothes were already soaked through with sweat. A few spots where the harness suit had rubbed against his skin showed faint traces of blood.
Duan Ming wanted to check but couldn’t do so conveniently: “Should I talk to Director Jin about adjusting the scene?”
“No need.” Liang Xiao shook his head but couldn’t help glancing back again. “It’s better to finish in one go—the continuity matters.”
The remaining scenes were mostly dialogue-heavy ones where Yun Lang received awards and recognition. They were less physically demanding aside from requiring him to deliver lengthy lines.
Liang Xiao had already memorized them thoroughly. As he reviewed his lines, he glanced up again: “I’m fine—I’m not that delicate…”
Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, Duan Ming followed his gaze and stood on tiptoe to peer in the same direction: “What are you looking at?”
Liang Xiao coughed lightly: “…Flowers.”
Duan Ming: “Huh?”
Liang Xiao gave him a reproachful look: “Brother Duan, you can’t distract me.”
Duan Ming was utterly baffled: “How am I distracting you?”
Liang Xiao divided his focus carefully—half maintaining the young marquis’s demeanor from the scene and half letting his thoughts wander—and shook his head slightly: “I can’t say.”
Meeting at this time clearly violated their agreement from earlier that morning. Given Huo Lan’s strict self-discipline, even showing up near the set must have been pushing his limits.
If Liang Xiao hadn’t been flying through the air on wires, he wouldn’t have seen Huo Lan at all.
Technically speaking… it didn’t count as breaking their contract.
If he mentioned it… given their President Huo’s strict and uncompromising self-discipline, he would likely punish himself. Perhaps he’d decide that he could no longer visit Mr. Liang in the middle of the night.
When marking Mr. Liang temporarily, he might impose rules like only being allowed to hold him with one hand, while the other must remain behind his back.
When kissing Mr. Liang, he might restrict himself to kissing only his eyelids and no lower than an inch.
And when… well, Liang Xiao’s imagination startled even himself. He firmly sealed his lips and declared resolutely: “Nothing happened.”
The next scene required blocking, so Duan Ming couldn’t linger. After staring at Liang Xiao for a moment in confusion, he left.
