Chapter Ninety-One: Shock, Masonry, and a Fractured Bone (Bonus Chapter with 250 Monthly Tickets)

The first scene was an interrogation.

However, it didn’t start with Lin Xing and Zhou Wei’s exchange.

Instead, another actor playing a detective, Wu Chao, conducted the preliminary questioning.

“Are those paintings on the yacht in Nanshi yours?” Wu Chao asked, facing Lin Xing.

At this moment, Lin Xing sat in his chair, rocking slightly as he stared up at the ceiling, his demeanor somewhat defiant.

He didn’t even look at Wu Chao.

Wu Chao continued, “Why travel so far to paint? That place is so remote.”

“The more remote, the fewer people there are,” Lin Xing sat upright, resting his hands on the table with a faint smile. “Quiet, no one to disturb me.”

A mischievous grin appeared on Lin Xing’s face.

“Those paintings are pretty good. Even someone like me, who knows nothing about art, can tell,” Wu Chao remarked.

“Not bad,” Lin Xing said with a hint of arrogance.

This was Guan Feng seven years ago.

He was a young artist, largely unscathed by hardship, exuding the aloof aura typical of an artist, and treating everything with a sort of playful detachment.

An artist without arrogance is hardly an artist at all.

So, in the interrogation room, Lin Xing embodied this mischievous arrogance perfectly.

...

Director Liu Zhou sat before the monitor, somewhat surprised that Lin Xing had so quickly slipped into character at the very start of filming.

Though he had heard Lin Xing’s acting was decent, Liu Zhou was still amazed at how swiftly Lin Xing captured Guan Feng’s essence.

But that surprise soon turned into delight.

After all, Guan Feng was the pivotal character in Portrait of Crime; if Guan Feng stood tall, the entire drama was already a third complete.

The remaining two-thirds depended on Zhou Wei and the female roles.

Now, Liu Zhou felt Lin Xing’s performance was a tremendous pleasant surprise—far better than expected.

“Who painted this?” Zhou Wei rushed into the interrogation room, holding a portrait and directing the question at Lin Xing.

“I did,” Lin Xing replied, sitting arrogantly in his chair, indifferent.

“Who told you to paint it?” Zhou Wei stood, his tone icy.

“Didn’t I just say?” Lin Xing showed a trace of impatience. According to the script, at this point, Guan Feng didn’t yet know that his painting had led to the death of a police officer.

“Say it again,” Zhou Wei pressed, voice colder.

What followed was a battle between the two.

To Zhou Wei, Lin Xing’s character seemed like mere eye candy, while the real acting belonged to him.

Yet, during their scenes together, Zhou Wei inexplicably felt overshadowed.

How to describe it?

His emotions, even his lines, seemed to be led by Lin Xing’s performance.

“I’ve heard of ‘painting old at three years old.’ Give me a childhood photo, and I can paint his adult look. Don’t rush; I know you don’t believe me. Look…” Lin Xing spoke, pulling out a sketchbook. “Time was tight, but see if this looks like the you from before.”

From that moment, from the start of their scene, the atmosphere belonged to Lin Xing.

Because Lin Xing had painted a childhood portrait of the detective Zhou Wei played, Zhou Wei’s face showed a flicker of excitement. He wanted Lin Xing to paint the woman who had asked him to paint.

One second earlier, Lin Xing confidently said, “If I finish painting, can I leave?” The next, as he began, his expression and gaze changed.

His memory faltered; he couldn’t recall the woman.

Especially after learning the truth—after realizing that his painting had caused the death of a good policeman—Guan Feng struggled to paint her for Zhou Wei, but couldn’t.

“Cut!” Liu Zhou called out immediately.

“Sorry, director,” Zhou Wei apologized promptly.

He had been so caught up in Lin Xing’s performance that he’d momentarily frozen.

This phenomenon is common among actors: getting so immersed in a co-star’s brilliance that one loses oneself.

Good heavens.

Zhou Wei only snapped out of it when Liu Zhou shouted ‘cut.’

He’d been carried away by Lin Xing’s acting—so much so that he himself faltered.

Who would believe that?

Zhou Wei was a graduate of the Film Academy, a professional actor. Though he sometimes bowed to seasoned veterans, when acting against internet celebrities, he usually dominated.

He had expected to easily overpower Lin Xing, even holding back his full performance.

But the result?

Embarrassment.

“It’s fine. Let’s take a three-minute break, then continue. Makeup team, touch up Lin’s makeup,” Liu Zhou instructed via walkie-talkie.

Three minutes later, the scene was smoothly completed.

The entire afternoon’s shooting took place at the police station.

...

Currently, Portrait of Crime was being filmed by two units: one shooting scenes with Lin Xing and Zhou Wei at the police station, the other handling other parts.

Since it was the first day of shooting, only daytime scenes were filmed; night scenes were postponed.

After dinner with the crew, Lin Xing prepared to return to the hotel.

“Xing, wait a moment,” Zhou Wei suddenly called out.

“Brother Zhou, what’s up?” Lin Xing turned, smiling.

“Let’s talk,” Zhou Wei said. “Mainly about tomorrow’s shooting.”

“Sure.” Lin Xing nodded gently. “Let’s go back to the hotel and talk.”

Back at the hotel, Lin Xing was unprepared for Zhou Wei’s first words: an apology.

“First, I want to apologize to you,” Zhou Wei said seriously. “Honestly, when I first heard you’d be the other male lead, I was secretly pleased.”

“Secretly pleased?” Lin Xing was taken aback.

Zhou Wei nodded slightly. “Yes, secretly pleased. I thought with two male leads, I’d handle the acting while you handled the fanbase. I didn’t think your acting was remarkable—most internet celebrities’ acting is just passable, five out of ten blown up to nine.”

He paused. “But I didn’t expect you to blow me away this afternoon, so I immediately asked for a retake.”

Zhou Wei was straightforward: since he had underestimated Lin Xing, he wanted to clear the air and move forward to make the drama better.

For actors, only by doing a good job could they reap rewards.

“Brother Zhou, you’re too polite. I still need you to guide me,” Lin Xing shook his head. “My good performance today is because Guan Feng’s role didn’t require advanced acting.”

Zhou Wei looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Today’s Guan Feng is the young artist at the beginning: full of artistic flair, touched by loneliness and indifference to the world. He’s immersed only in his paintings—a bit mischievous but not dark,” Lin Xing explained with a smile. “This character needs only two layers of acting, so I could handle it smoothly.”

Hearing this, Zhou Wei was even more surprised. “So you added to the character’s background beyond what Director Wang wrote?”

“Yes. The script was blank on Guan Feng’s past, so I filled in the gaps myself to clarify his logic,” Lin Xing nodded. “I even discussed it with several screenwriters.”

Originally, Zhou Wei had admired Lin Xing’s acting but didn’t realize he had truly grasped the character.

Over the next days, Zhou Wei put aside pride, giving his full attention to acting with Lin Xing and discussing the script with him during downtime.

After filming the scenes from seven years ago, Lin Xing finally shed the intensely artistic hairstyle for a more normal look.

The filming wasn’t in chronological order; today’s shoot was the screenwriter’s murder case in Portrait of Crime.

This case was one of only two in the entire drama with little connection to the portrait artist.

“Later, when you two quarrel, make it more intense.”

“Aqing, stand here. Xiaofei, be a bit harsher.”

“‘You look like a pig. If you couldn’t earn money, why would my brother marry you?’ Deliver this line as harshly as possible.”

...

Liu Zhou was directing the scene.

Lin Xing observed from the side.

The plot involved the female screenwriter arguing with her husband’s sister, then killing her in a rage.

Wu Qing, a lesser-known actress, played the screenwriter; Li Fei, also a minor actress, played the sister.

Two minutes later, filming began.

“Sis, it’s not that I don’t want to lend you money, but I haven’t sold any scripts lately…”

Wu Qing’s character spoke timidly.

“What are you saying? If you don’t have money, just sign the papers. Signing is enough.”

Li Fei snapped.

“What’s this?” Wu Qing asked.

“A loan agreement. You already took out a million in my name; now I need to borrow two million more.”

Li Fei placed the papers and pen on the table. “Sign quickly so I can get the loan.”

“Sis, that last million was the last time I promised. I haven’t paid it off yet.”

Wu Qing tried to explain.

Slap!

“What are you saying? Don’t you remember what you promised when you married my brother?”

Li Fei slapped Wu Qing, anger in her voice. “You look like a pig. If you can’t earn money, why would my brother want you?”

Wu Qing, though slapped, remained meek. “Sis, don’t say that. We’re family…”

Slap!

Li Fei slapped her again hard. “Family? I tell you, sign now or I’ll have my brother divorce you.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll sign, sis, you…”

“You look like a pig. No wonder my brother can’t stand you. Just sign it and be done with it, you pig…”

Suddenly, Wu Qing grabbed an ashtray and smashed it fiercely toward Li Fei. “I said, we’re family. Don’t say that.”

“Are you crazy? I’ll make sure my brother divorces you.”

Li Fei tried to speak but was struck repeatedly by Wu Qing.

“Cut!” Liu Zhou called, laughing. “Good, very good.”

Next was the scene where the screenwriter built her husband’s sister’s corpse into a sculpted stool in the studio.

The crew had prepared cement on site, filming Wu Qing’s character laying the bricks, then handing it over to the workers to finish.

Since Lin Xing’s scenes were later, he helped with the brickwork.

“You’re building this wrong; the stool will collapse,” Lin Xing told a young crew member. “Give me the trowel and shovel.”

Half an hour later, as Liu Zhou prepared to film Lin Xing’s scenes, he found him still working on the bricklaying.

“Mr. Lin, what are you doing?” Liu Zhou asked, surprised.

“I just got itchy hands and wanted to try it out,” Lin Xing smiled. “I learned a bit of masonry on a variety show—I know how to lay bricks.”

“That’s great,” Liu Zhou said, amused. When a camera caught the behind-the-scenes footage, Liu Zhou chuckled: “Mr. Lin, you’re giving the show an unexpected promotional angle.”

Nowadays, behind-the-scenes footage was often staged, unlike the old dramas where they were all authentic. For example, after filming Only Waiting for You, Kong Yi had Lin Xing shoot an acting tutorial scene.

But Dark Storm didn’t do that; Zu Ming wouldn’t promote that way.

Portrait of Crime wouldn’t either.

Liu Zhou insisted only on letting the publicity team set up cameras to capture whatever moments they wished during filming.

But even Liu Zhou hadn’t expected Lin Xing to help with masonry on set.

“Why are you letting Mr. Lin do this?” Liu Zhou asked the crew. “What kind of work is this?”

Lin Xing hurriedly explained, “Director Liu, it’s not their fault. I just wanted to have some fun.”

After all, everyone was a worker—it wasn’t easy.

“Makeup team, please touch up Mr. Lin’s makeup.”

Liu Zhou told Lin Xing, “We’ll shoot your scenes with Wu Qing in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Lin Xing nodded.

In those ten minutes, the crew quickly reset the scene.

This segment focused on the screenwriter killing her husband’s sister—and later, her husband—both encased in cement.

Originally, the screenwriter had planned a perfect alibi, claiming ignorance of their whereabouts, stating she had been asleep on those days.

But she wore a smartwatch, which recorded her pacing in the studio all day.

“I just wanted my husband to stay with me. I just wanted him to stop hitting and yelling at me. I just wanted his sister to respect me. Did I do wrong?”

This part was mainly Wu Qing’s lengthy monologue.

Lin Xing’s character, Guan Feng, used psychological cues to make the screenwriter confess.

Zhou Wei also arrived just in time.

The scene ended.

They returned to the police station set to continue filming.

In the blink of an eye, Lin Xing had been on set for half a month.

During this time, most of his scenes were with Zhou Wei, and at night they discussed the script together in the hotel.

Of course, Xiao Nan also kept watch.

“Brother Xing, we still need to be cautious. Remember when Jiang Jun met with Hong Shan about the script at night, and paparazzi leaked they were a couple in the crew…”

Xiao Nan insisted Lin Xing protect himself.

It was common for actors to form romantic relationships on set due to close quarters and long shooting schedules.

In her view, male-female pairings were risky, but two male leads seen together also sparked rumors.

So, every night assistant Xiao Nan stayed close.

“Tomorrow we’ll shoot the Campus Burial case,” Zhou Wei said. “This unit includes school bullying and same-sex romance—should spark some discussion.”

“Yes, very grounded,” Lin Xing agreed.

The unit wasn’t complicated; the two female leads were cast by Ma Wen and fit well.

But unfortunately…

“Broken leg?” The next day, Ma Wen looked at Wei Fei, surprised. “Is it serious?”

Wei Fei sighed, “Fracture. At least two months in hospital.”

“Alright, got it,” Ma Wen said helplessly.

The female lead in this unit had fallen and suffered a serious fracture.

So, she couldn’t act.

But the crew couldn’t pause filming for her.

Waiting for a few days was one thing, but two months was impossible.

“Find another actress to cover,” Ma Wen decided. “Recast, and have Director Liu shoot other scenes first.”

At the same time, Lin Xing was told about this.

“Broken leg?” He felt speechless. Such bad luck.

“So, Mr. Lin, we’ll shoot another unit’s scenes first. I…”

“Wait, Director Wang, let me make a call,” Lin Xing said, dialing Ma Wen. “Ma, do you have any backup options for this role?”

(The chapter ends)