Chapter 436: We’re Filming a Public Service Announcement, Not The Grudge |
May 7th, 9:00 AM.
An announcement on white text over a blue background exploded like a tidal wave through the entertainment industry’s vortex of fame and fortune.
[Ministry of Public Security: Appointing actor Comrade Jiang Ci as "China Anti-Drug Public Service Image Ambassador."]
The accompanying image was a still from the film *Icebreaker*:
Jiang Ci, face smeared with blood and soot, looked back in a shaft of morning light, his gaze sharp as a blade.
The caption was only eight words: "A sharp sword unsheathed, cutting through the dark night."
The entertainment world erupted.
While other top stars and Film Emperors were still battling for luxury brand endorsements and magazine covers, Jiang Ci had simply switched tracks.
...
The lights were dazzling, the equipment expensive.
Jiang Ci wore a sharply tailored dark blue police dress uniform, his sash a bright red and his police insignia gleaming.
Standing before a huge white backdrop, his posture was as straight as a pine, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted.
The righteous aura that seemed to emanate from his very bones made more than a few of the young women on set stare.
"Good! Perfect!"
Director Zhang, a man known for his impatience, shouted through a megaphone:
"Teacher Jiang, let’s start with the still shots."
The theme was ‘Sunshine, Integrity, Say No to Drugs.’
“Alright, look at the camera, give us a hopeful smile!”
“Got it.”
Jiang Ci nodded.
He adjusted his breathing, working his facial muscles in an attempt to produce that brilliant, ‘flower of the motherland’ kind of smile.
But muscle memory, as it turned out, reacts faster than the brain sometimes.
Jiang Ci’s lips stretched into a stiff grin, the corners of his eyes drooping slightly.
His gaze revealed a hint of tragic pity.
It was the same smile Jiang He had on his face when he pulled the safety pin on the grenade at the cliff’s edge.
“Clang!”
The lighting technician flinched, dropping a reflector on his own foot. He grimaced in pain but didn’t dare make a sound.
When the Cinematographer saw the smile through the lens,
a chill ran down his spine. His fingers froze on the shutter release, utterly unable to press it.
“Cut! Cut, cut, cut!”
Director Zhang rolled his script into a tube, slapping it against his palm. “Teacher Jiang! This is an anti-drug PSA, not a funeral! We need sunshine! Warmth! Not like you’re sending someone off!”
Jiang Ci dropped the smile and rubbed his stiff cheeks, a bit helplessly. “Sorry, Director Zhang. Give me a moment, I haven’t quite shaken off the old character.”
“One more take!”
Five minutes later.
“Cut! Teacher Jiang, your eyes are too fierce! I need determination!”
Ten minutes later.
“Cut! Too tragic! I need hope, not despair!”
Half an hour later.
Director Zhang collapsed into his chair behind the monitor, grabbing at his already thinning hair with a look of utter despair.
No matter how he adjusted, the moment Jiang Ci put on that police uniform,
the heavy weight of two years spent struggling in the mud, of countless lives on his conscience, was impossible to suppress.
“Director Zhang.”
Jiang Ci walked over to the monitor, unscrewed his thermos cup, and took a sip of goji berry water.
“This approach won’t work. Young people today don’t like traditional, preachy propaganda.”
Director Zhang sighed. “That’s what the higher-ups wanted. It needs to be steady.”
“Being steady doesn’t have to mean being boring.” Jiang Ci put down the cup, and a profound look came into his eyes.
“Since I can’t seem to find that bright and sunny image right now... how about we try a different angle?”
“What angle?”
“A first-person perspective.” Jiang Ci pointed at the green screen. “Don’t film the cop. Film the addict. Let the audience experience for themselves what the world looks like after you’ve touched that stuff.”
Director Zhang was taken aback, then his eyes lit up. “Tell me more.”
Jiang Ci took off the sharply pressed police dress uniform, leaving only the white shirt underneath, and unbuttoned the top button. “I’ll show you.”
...
The set was cleared.
In front of the massive green screen, only one chair remained.
Jiang Ci sat in the chair.
At that moment, he was the handsome, sunny top star, with fair skin and an impeccably styled haircut.
“Action!”
At Director Zhang’s command.
Jiang Ci didn’t move immediately.
He just sat there quietly, his eyes focused on some point in empty space.
Then, suddenly.
His pupils dilated without warning.
His once upright spine seemed to collapse, as if his bones had been pulled out, and his whole body ‘flowed’ down to the floor.
Then, the trembling began.
It started at his fingertips, spread to his limbs, and finally, even his teeth were chattering.
“Ugh... ugh...”
A raspy, bellows-like sound of labored breathing came from his throat.
He was cowering.
Hiding from ‘monsters’ that only he could see.
Suddenly, he clawed at his own neck, tearing at the skin with all his might.
It felt like a million ants were burrowing and gnawing under his skin.
That once handsome face was now contorted, his features twisted and grotesque like a demon.
Was this even acting?
It looked exactly like a man, on the verge of death, in the throes of a drug-induced seizure!
Just then.
The curtain covering the side door was pushed aside.
Auntie Wang, the cleaner, walked in, carrying a mop and humming a tune under her breath.
She caught one glimpse of Jiang Ci convulsing and rolling his eyes on the floor.
“Holy mother!”
Auntie Wang threw down her mop, and a piercing scream shattered the quiet of the soundstage.
“Someone, help! Quick, someone come! This young man is dying! Look how bad he’s shaking!”
Auntie Wang rushed over in a flash, pulling out her phone to dial 120, her hands shaking so badly she couldn’t unlock it after three attempts.
“Don’t move him! It might be epilepsy! Quick, find something for him to bite on!”
Shouting, she ripped the towel from her waist and started shoving it toward Jiang Ci’s mouth.
“CUT!!!”
Director Zhang leaped to his feet, his voice cracking as he screamed: “Auntie! Stop! He’s acting!”
Jiang Ci on the floor immediately stopped convulsing.
He took a few ragged breaths, the murky madness in his eyes receding like a tide.
He pushed himself up from the floor, showing the terrified Auntie Wang a weak, apologetic smile. “Sorry, Auntie, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Auntie Wang stood frozen, still holding the towel.
She looked at Jiang Ci, who was back to being a handsome young man, then at the calm, indifferent staff around her.
“Acting... acting?”
Auntie Wang plopped down on the floor, slapping her thigh. “What a travesty! He acts like a drug addict better than my deadbeat neighbor who actually got sent away for it! You scared this old woman half to death!”
Director Zhang walked over, looking at Jiang Ci as if he were some kind of monster.
“Teacher Jiang...” Director Zhang swallowed hard. “If this video gets released, we’re going to have to put a warning at the beginning: ‘Viewer discretion advised for those with heart conditions.’”
“How was the effect?” Jiang Ci stood up, taking a towel Sun Zhou handed him.
“Explosive.” Director Zhang was replaying the footage.
“In the first half, you’re a bright young man. In the second half, you turn into a human skeleton. The visual impact is more effective than ten thousand lectures telling people to ‘say no to drugs.’”
Director Zhang paused, then added, “It’s just going to be a bit tough on the audience’s hearts.”
...
Three days later.
A sample of the public service announcement, *Abyss*, was sent for review.
Rumor had it that the big leader in charge of the review locked himself in his office for a full twenty minutes.
When he came out, his face was ashen, and the rims of his eyes were a little red.
“Approved.”
The big leader only said three words. “Distribute it across all platforms. Let those clueless kids see what hell really looks like.”
At the same time.
The box office for *Icebreaker* was going absolutely berserk.
In its second week of release, not only did the buzz not die down, but thanks to countless ‘word-of-mouth soldiers,’ it sparked a frenzy of second and third viewings.
The daily box office underwent a ‘reverse surge’ to 350 million yuan.
Total box office exceeded 2 billion yuan.
Industry insiders predicted that, at this rate, the 4 billion yuan milestone was well within reach.