Chapter 515: The Film Set’s Biological Crisis - The Oppressive Pressure of Pig Brain and Lotus Seed Heart Soup |
The entourage van carrying Jiang Ci drove into the Nankin Harbor film set.
At the same time, a light truck printed with the words “Jitu Cold Chain” pulled to a stop on the open ground outside the set.
The driver in uniform jumped out and opened the rear compartment.
Two insulated containers were pushed down the hydraulic tailgate.
The internal air pressure on the set right now was extremely low.
Ever since Director Zheng Baorui announced a production halt three days ago to rewrite the script, the entire crew had been shrouded in a low-pressure atmosphere.
Everyone was on edge; even the assistant director didn’t dare speak loudly while arranging the sets.
Jiang Ci pushed open the van door, ignoring the oppressive atmosphere.
He walked straight to the logistics area.
Behind him were two burly set assistants, carrying two large military field cauldrons as tall as a person between them.
These were the cooking utensils the crew used to make big pots of food for the background actors.
“Boss, I borrowed the pots,” Sun Zhou said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “What exactly are we going to do?”
“Set them up, add water, and light the fire,” Jiang Ci said, pointing to the industrial gas burners on the open ground.
The two set assistants moved quickly, positioning the cauldrons on the burners.
Jiang Ci turned and walked over to the two insulated containers.
He reached out, tore off the thick yellow seals, hooked his fingers under the clasps, and pulled upward with force.
The insulated container opened.
One hundred and forty jin of fresh pig brains, sixty jin of Chinese medicinal herbs, including a large amount of cinnabar and lotus seed hearts.
As soon as the physical barrier was removed, the smell of blood mixed with the intensely bitter odor of Chinese medicine hit them full force.
The smell spread rapidly, assaulting the noses of everyone nearby.
Sun Zhou immediately covered his nose and stumbled back three steps, tears streaming from the irritation.
The two set assistants dry-heaved once, then turned and ran.
Jiang Ci didn’t even bat an eye.
He pulled a pair of pink rubber dishwashing gloves from his pocket and slipped them on.
As his fingers tightened, the rubber made a faint scraping sound.
He walked over to the container, plunged both hands inside, and grabbed a handful of white, pulpy pig brains.
He casually picked up a sharp boning knife from the cutting board beside him.
He dismantled the pig brain’s structure with absolute clarity.
The tip of the knife moved swiftly across the surface of the brain tissue.
The blade precisely severed those fine blood vessels and residual membranes.
With every cut, the force was controlled to the utmost, never damaging the intact brain convolutions.
The separated blood vessels were scraped off with the back of the knife and flicked into a nearby black trash can.
The pink gloves were soon stained with dark red blood, while his hand held the white brain tissue.
The scene was visually stunning.
...
Fifty meters away from the logistics area.
Zheng Baorui pushed aside the black cloth of the monitor tent and strode out.
His eyes were bloodshot, with deep hollows beneath them.
In his hand, he clutched a stack of freshly printed scripts.
The script pages were covered in lines and annotations in red and black.
After three days and nights of seclusion, he had discarded the original mediocre ending.
He had rewritten an extremely dark scene for Jiang Ci’s character, “Xie Yan.”
He was about to summon all the department heads and announce these brutal new filming requirements.
As soon as he stepped out of the black tent, an incredibly strange odor invaded his nostrils.
Fishy, bitter, carrying an oppressive weight that struck directly at the nerves.
Zheng Baorui furrowed his brow.
He didn’t call for a set assistant. Instead, following the source of the smell, he walked step by step toward the logistics area.
Turning past a row of abandoned shipping containers, Zheng Baorui stopped in his tracks.
He saw Jiang Ci.
Jiang Ci was wearing that pure black windbreaker, with a pair of wildly mismatched pink rubber gloves on his hands.
In his hand was a sharp knife, quickly dissecting the clusters of white tissue.
Inside the two large military field cauldrons, the water was already boiling, churning with a reddish-brown medicinal broth. Jiang Ci casually tossed the cleaned pig brains into the boiling water.
Splashes of water flew up.
Zheng Baorui stood there, stunned.
He didn’t get angry.
On the contrary, his breathing quickened, and his heart surged with wild joy.
In his hand, he happened to be holding the first page of the new script.
On it was a newly added scene: Xie Yan dismembering a traitor in a secret room.
Zheng Baorui stared intently at the pink gloves on Jiang Ci’s hands.
Brilliant!
This was exactly the state a truly high-IQ, psychopathic killer should be in!
He didn’t wear a hazmat suit, he didn’t wear medical gloves—he insisted on wearing a pair of cheap, everyday pink dishwashing gloves.
He used these dishwashing gloves to take lives—this was utter indifference to living beings.
Zheng Baorui’s body trembled with excitement as he watched Jiang Ci’s knife rise and fall, his movements in cleaning the membranes so professional they bordered on perfection.
A once-in-a-century acting fanatic!
To get into character, he actually used such an extreme method to stimulate his senses!
Peng Shaofeng had just stepped out of the entourage van when he, too, smelled the odor.
Wrapped in a military coat, he followed the scent and came over.
He stood next to Zheng Baorui.
Peng Shaofeng took one look at the white, pulpy objects churning in the cauldrons, and his face turned pale.
“Director Zheng... Jiang Ci, he’s...” Peng Shaofeng’s voice trembled.
“Don’t speak,” Zheng Baorui said in a low voice. “He’s building his psychological state for the big scene to come.”
Peng Shaofeng swallowed hard.
He looked at Jiang Ci’s expressionless face.
The scene from a few days ago, when Jiang Ci had pulled him back from the brink of death with a single silver needle, was still vivid in his mind.
Now, this man was standing in front of two large cauldrons, boiling brains.
Peng Shaofeng felt a surge of profound respect.
He was completely convinced.
To play a psychopath well, he didn’t hesitate to push himself into this kind of physically unbearable environment.
Truly worthy of being the brother through life and death that I, Peng Shaofeng, have chosen.
Jiang Ci stopped what he was doing.
All one hundred and forty jin of pig brains had been completely cleaned. He took off the pink gloves and threw them into the trash can.
He picked up a large iron ladle and stirred the boiling broth in the cauldron a couple of times.
The red of the cinnabar dissolved into the soup, giving the entire pot of broth a strange, dark red color.
The white pig brains bobbed up and down in the dark red broth.
Jiang Ci took a large stainless steel bowl from the nearby sterilizer.
One ladle, two ladles. He filled the bowl to the brim.
Turning around, Jiang Ci saw Zheng Baorui and Peng Shaofeng standing not far away.
Jiang Ci walked over, carrying the bowl of oddly colored soup.
“Director Zheng,” Jiang Ci said, holding the stainless steel bowl out to Zheng Baorui. “A special calming and nourishing tonic. Drink it to clear your head.”
Steam rose.
The smell of blood and the extremely bitter odor of Chinese medicine blasted directly into Zheng Baorui’s face.
Zheng Baorui looked down at the intact pig brain in the bowl.
He’s testing me.
This thought flashed through Zheng Baorui’s mind at lightning speed.
Jiang Ci was using this method to gauge the production team’s limits,
to test whether I, as the director, could handle such an extreme performance state.
For the sake of art.
Zheng Baorui gritted his teeth, extended both hands, and took the stainless steel bowl.
The rim of the bowl was very hot.
“I understand what you mean,” Zheng Baorui said, meeting Jiang Ci’s eyes directly. “I’ve already rewritten the script. For this scene, we’ll see this madness through to the end with you.”
With that, Zheng Baorui held his breath, lifted the bowl.
Tilting his head back, opening his mouth.
He didn’t even chew. The pig brain, along with half a bowl of the reddish-brown medicinal broth,
went straight down his throat in one gulp.
“Gulp.”
The sound of swallowing was incredibly loud in the quiet logistics area.
An intense bitterness, mixed with a strong fishy odor, spread through his mouth and esophagus.
Zheng Baorui’s body stiffened. His eyes rolled upward, revealing large swaths of white.
Peng Shaofeng, greatly alarmed, stepped forward and grabbed Zheng Baorui: “Director Zheng! Director Zheng, hold on!”
Jiang Ci looked at Zheng Baorui, whose eyes were rolling back, and frowned slightly.
Was this cinnabar and lotus seed heart soup my mom bought really that potent? Was it so calming it made someone pass out directly?
“Buzz buzz buzz.”
The phone in Jiang Ci’s windbreaker pocket vibrated violently.
He pulled out his phone. The screen showed an incoming WeChat video call request from “Empress Dowager.”
Jiang Ci swiped to answer.
The screen lit up.
Chu Hong’s face appeared on the screen. She was sitting on the sofa at home, a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose,
and holding a book called Guidelines for Dosing Psychotropic Drugs in her hand.
“Son, have you started brewing the soup yet?” Chu Hong’s voice came through the speaker, full of energy.
“The experts in the group said that this kind of extremely oppressive environment is most prone to psychological problems.”
“I have to see with my own eyes the current mental state of your production team.”
Jiang Ci flipped the phone screen, pointing the rear camera forward.
In the frame,
Zheng Baorui was squatting on the ground, both hands clutching his own throat.
Peng Shaofeng was kneeling beside him, shaking Zheng Baorui’s shoulders with an expression of both fear and awe.
Chu Hong’s voice on the other end came to an abrupt halt.
Jiang Ci turned the camera back around, aiming it at himself.
“Mom, see for yourself,” Jiang Ci said in a steady tone. “They drank the soup. Their mental state is very robust, their pursuit of art is fanatical. The medicinal effect is excellent.”
On the other end of the video.
The Guidelines for Dosing Psychotropic Drugs in Chu Hong’s hand fell to the floor with a “clatter.”
She stared at the screen, at her son’s incredibly calm face, and behind him, the chaotic, demon-dancing scene of the crew.
Chu Hong silently reached out her finger and ended the video call.