Chapter 469: A Bowl of Plain Congee, Washing Away a Lifetime of Dust |
Filming continued.
Inside the "Seven Families Lion Head Workshop."
Jiang Ci lay on a bamboo bed covered with an old straw mat.
He wasn't awake yet.
Or rather, A Jie wasn't awake yet.
The old mourning clothes left behind by Fa Shu, still on his body, had long since been torn into strips during the earlier crawl.
"Rip—"
A soft sound rang out.
Lin Xiaoman held a large pair of scissors in her hand and cut open the sleeve on Jiang Ci's arm.
Lin Xiaoman's hands were trembling.
This wasn't acting; she genuinely didn't dare to do it.
When she had dragged Jiang Ci inside earlier, she had only focused on using all her strength.
Now, under the light, she saw that this wasn't even a person anymore—it was clearly a shattered porcelain doll.
"Don't be afraid, just cut."
Behind the monitor, Jiang Wen's voice came through the earpiece.
It was soft, but filled with power.
Lin Xiaoman gritted her teeth and tore the fabric off with one swift motion.
"Mmm..."
A grunt squeezed out of Jiang Ci's throat while he was "unconscious."
His eyelids didn't open, but every muscle in his entire right arm,
in that instant, visibly tensed up, followed by an uncontrollable spasm.
A physiological pain response.
The surrounding staff members felt their scalps go numb.
This kind of acting, where even the muscle reaction in a coma state could be precisely controlled, simply didn't look like acting at all.
Lin Xiaoman's tears "plopped" down onto the back of Jiang Ci's hand.
She didn't dare to stop, nor did she have time to wipe away her tears.
Beside her sat an enamel washbasin.
Inside it was mountain spring water that the props team had specially brought from the Flower City's back mountain.
What Jiang Wen had requested—"ladder-like landscapes"—clear and translucent.
A Xiu picked up a white towel, dipped it into the water, and wrung it half-dry.
She knelt by the bamboo bed and began to wipe.
First, the face.
The towel passed over the forehead, taking away a thick layer of grime and oil.
The skin, hidden beneath the dirt, was revealed—pale white without a trace of color.
Next came the neck, the chest.
This basin of water washed away the mud from his body, and also washed away the disgrace and sins of his past life.
As the filth faded, the scars were exposed under the warm lights.
His back was covered in blue-and-purple bruise marks from the beatings Tony and his men had delivered earlier.
A Xiu looked at these wounds, her lips trembling.
In the script, she was mute, unable to voice her heartache.
She could only use those hands, again and again, to gently wipe.
"Change the water."
The set assistant quietly carried away the dirty water and replaced it with a fresh basin.
It took three full basins of water before A Jie finally transformed back into that clean young man.
Only, this cleanliness came at the cost of a body covered in injuries.
Next came applying the medicine.
The props team had prepared a green herbal paste.
A Xiu scooped up a glob of the green ointment with a wooden spoon,
and smeared it onto the deepest bruise mark on A Jie's back.
"Ah!"
Jiang Ci, who had been lying still, suddenly arched his body upward.
His brows were tightly furrowed, and a layer of cold sweat immediately broke out on his forehead.
His body trembled instinctively.
"Good... that's too good..."
Jiang Wen stared at the monitor. This was exactly the raw, naked presentation of pain he wanted.
Time passed, unknown how long.
The medicine was applied.
A Jie's breathing gradually steadied.
The camera slowly zoomed in, focusing on Jiang Ci's face.
His eyelashes fluttered a few times.
Slowly, those eyes opened.
Jiang Ci stared at the dim yellow lightbulb above his head, stunned for a full ten-plus seconds.
Suddenly, he sat bolt upright.
"Who?!"
His back pressed tightly against the wall, his gaze fierce and alert.
"Pat."
A hand gently patted the edge of the bed.
Jiang Ci's whole body jolted as he whipped his head around.
A Xiu sat beside the bed, quietly looking at him.
Her hair was a mess, her face still splattered with mud specks from dragging him earlier,
but her eyes were clear and clean.
The murderous light in A Jie's eyes, upon meeting that gaze, rapidly melted away, turning into bewilderment.
"A... A Xiu?"
His voice was hoarse and raspy.
A Xiu didn't speak.
She pulled out a writing board with badly worn edges from her bosom, picked up the chalk stub hanging from it.
"Scratch, scratch, scratch..."
The sound of chalk scraping against the board was unusually clear in the quiet workshop.
She wrote very slowly, stroke by stroke.
Finished, she raised the board in front of Jiang Ci.
There was only one line on it, the handwriting delicate but carrying a stubborn strength:
【Don't be afraid, it'll be okay.】
Jiang Ci stared at that line.
His pupils contracted.
Don't be afraid.
From childhood to adulthood, no one had ever said those two words to him.
Fa Shu would only scold him as "a worthless kid," Uncle Long would only call him to "come eat," and those thugs would only yell "beat him to death."
Don't be afraid?
How could he not be afraid?
Jiang Ci's lips twitched.
He wanted to laugh,
wanted to use A Jie's usual cynical attitude to mock this naive statement.
But his mouth corners pulled a few times, and he simply couldn't manage a smile.
The guardedness in his eyes completely collapsed.
A Xiu put down the writing board.
She turned around and picked up a white porcelain bowl from the coal stove beside her.
Inside the bowl was plain congee.
Nothing added, just the simplest rice porridge made from plain white rice.
It was boiled until very soft, with a layer of rice oil floating on top, steaming hot.
A Xiu scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and brought it to Jiang Ci's lips.
Jiang Ci looked at that spoonful of congee.
In the script, just a few hours ago, at that funeral,
he had gone crazy, shoving cold, hard raw rice down his throat.
That was to survive, to vent.
And now...
Jiang Ci slowly opened his mouth.
"Gulp."
A mouthful of hot congee went down.
The scalding liquid slid down his esophagus, warming all the way to his stomach.
Warmth dispelled the cold that had accumulated in his body.
So hot.
Hot enough to make a person want to cry.
Jiang Ci didn't cry.
He lowered his head and took the bowl from A Xiu's hands.
His hands were filthy, the nail beds crammed with black mud he had dug up during his crawl earlier, impossible to wash off.
Those dirty hands held that pure white, flawless porcelain bowl.
Black and white.
Filth and purity.
Despair and rebirth.
"Old Zhao! Close-up! The hands! Film that hand for me!"
Jiang Wen growled in a low voice behind the monitor, nearly beside himself with excitement,
"This is f*cking art! This is cinema!"
In the shot.
Jiang Ci held the bowl, head lowered, drinking in small, slow sips.
He was no longer that beast wolfing down food to fill his stomach;
at this moment, he was savoring the most precious delicacy in the world.
One bowl of congee finished.
Jiang Ci scraped the bottom of the bowl clean.
He put down the bowl and lifted his head.
In his eyes, which had been like dead ashes, there was now something extra.
A faint glimmer of light.
"Is there more?"
Jiang Ci looked at A Xiu and asked softly.
A Xiu was startled for a moment, then nodded vigorously.
She picked up the bowl and turned to get a second serving.
Jiang Ci watched her retreating figure, then turned to look around.
Those unfinished lion head frames stood quietly in the shadows.
Bones woven from bamboo strips, though not yet pasted with paper or painted with colors, already faintly exuded a sense of majesty.
They were waiting.
Waiting for a layer of skin, for a vein of blood, for a soul.
Jiang Ci reached out a hand and gently touched the lion head frame closest to him.
His fingertip brushed against the rough bamboo strips.
In that moment, A Jie's heartbeat merged with that sleeping lion.
"CUT—!!!"
Jiang Wen's voice finally rang out.
A long, satisfied exhale followed.
"It's a wrap."
Jiang Wen took off his headphones and looked at the young man sitting in the center of the set, staring blankly at the empty bowl, his gaze complex.
Complete silence fell over the set.
Everyone's chest felt clogged by an inexplicable emotion.
After being drawn into the scene by the ultimate acting, there was a lingering melancholy that wouldn't dissipate.
Lin Xiaoman, playing A Xiu,
stood there with the second bowl of congee in her hand, already sobbing uncontrollably.
Jiang Ci sat on the bamboo bed and slowly placed the empty bowl on the ground.
He lowered his head, looking at his own hands, caked with black mud,
then looked at the writing board beside him that read 【Don't be afraid】.
A long moment passed.
He lifted his head and smiled toward a certain direction in the darkness.