Wen Chunshen and Song Xuelan rushed to the hospital as soon as they heard the news. By then, the corridor outside the operating room was packed with crew members from the set, all of them wearing grave expressions.
Wen Chaosheng stood at the front of the crowd, his eyes fixed on the closed doors of the emergency room. His hands clutched at the hem of his jacket, trembling uncontrollably, while large patches of blood stained his coat. The half-dried brownish stains looked shocking.
Song Xuelan hurried straight to her son, unable to hide her concern. “Shengsheng, are you okay? How are you holding up?”
“Mom.”
Wen Chaosheng opened his mouth, forcing out the words with effort. “I’m fine.”
None of the blood was his.
The moment Chang Ming hit the ground, Wen Chaosheng had rushed over to check on him. That was when the blood had gotten all over his clothes.
Wen Chunshen frowned as he scanned the group, his voice heavy. “I could only half understand what happened over the phone. What exactly went down? Didn’t the actor have his safety gear on properly during the high-altitude shoot? How did it end up this bad?”
Everyone there recognized the famous director Wen Chunshen and immediately looked to him as their anchor.
The assistant director spoke up. “Director Wen, Chang Ming was wearing double safety lines. But he climbed past the safe limit we set, and the rock anchor his foot was on suddenly snapped. A whole slab of weathered rock came crashing down on him with it.”
One of those safety lines had been tethered to that very rock slab as a precaution, and it failed right then and there.
“With no footing left under him, Chang Ming lost his balance and fell. The other line couldn’t handle the sudden drop and snapped too.”
“…”
Weathered rock breaking off?
Double safety measures both failing?
Wasn’t it obvious the scenic area itself had safety issues?
The seasoned Wen Chunshen sensed something off right away, his frown deepening. “What about the site’s safety certifications? Didn’t you check them before filming?”
“We did check.”
A crew member spoke up cautiously. “We reviewed the rock-climbing safety certificates beforehand, and the person in charge said they’d replaced the equipment just this year.”
It was clear now—they’d been lying!
Wen Chaosheng spoke weakly. “Dad, I’ve already had the set manager call the police. She’s staying there with two crew members, waiting for the authorities to investigate further.”
Song Xuelan stared at the closed emergency room doors. “The priority right now is that kid Chang Ming. How long has he been in there? Has a doctor come out with any updates?”
The assistant director and the others shook their heads.
They’d laid out safety mats on the ground below, but Chang Ming had fallen from the height of a three-story building—and not fully onto the mats.
High falls like that caused irreversible damage. His left leg had been mangled on impact, a bloody mess of flesh and bone, and there were bleeding wounds elsewhere on his body too.
By the time paramedics loaded Chang Ming into the ambulance, he was already unconscious.
Wen Chaosheng covered his face, overwhelming regret threatening to consume his heart. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve prevented this.”
Filming had already wrapped for the day.
Everyone was ready to call it a night.
This accident could have been avoided entirely.
Wen Chaosheng’s mind replayed the moment Chang Ming plummeted from the heights over and over. He sank into a deep pit of helplessness and fear.
As the director, it was his responsibility to ensure every actor’s safety. With Chang Ming suffering such a severe accident, no matter the outcome, Wen Chaosheng bore the heaviest blame.
Hiss.
The emergency room doors suddenly slid open from within, and three medical staff emerged.
The lead doctor glanced at the crowd outside, too pressed for time to be surprised. “Who here is family or a friend of Chang Ming?”
Wen Chaosheng pulled himself together at once, replying fluently in the local language. “Yes, we’re his friends. Doctor, how is he?”
“Not good. The patient lost consciousness from massive blood loss and went into shock. We’re still fighting to stabilize him.”
The doctor wasted no words, urgency clear in his voice. “His left leg can’t be saved—it has to come off immediately. Is family here?”
Wen Chaosheng’s breath caught. “…No, they’re not.”
Chang Ming’s mother, Chang Xiaomei, was back in the country. With how sudden this was, she couldn’t get there anytime soon.
“The patient’s critical. We can’t waste another second—we have to operate now.”
The doctor glanced at his assistant. “Give us a contact number for the family. We’ll notify them as soon as possible.”
In a crisis like this, keeping the patient alive was the top priority.
Wen Chaosheng clenched his fists so hard his nails dug bloody crescents into his palms. “…Okay. Please, do everything you can to save him.”
“We’ll do our best.”
The doors closed again, cutting off the sight of the medical team. The air in the corridor seemed to freeze, everyone’s mood plunging to its lowest.
The Cloud End crew was small, only about twenty people in total. But small teams like theirs often bonded tightly.
For nearly five months, they’d traveled far and wide for this project, forging deep connections along the way.
And now, right before wrap, their male lead faced amputation just to survive?
The brutal news hung over them like a storm cloud.
Wen Chunshen’s gaze settled on his son, taking in his ashen face. In that instant, a lifetime of hard-won rationality overrode his emotions with cold clarity.
He was a father, a director who’d seen every kind of set mishap, and a producer versed in the entertainment industry’s machinations.
He knew this couldn’t leak out. It absolutely could not reach back home.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t just destroy Chang Ming—it would end Wen Chaosheng’s career and future too.
Wen Chunshen drew a deep breath, suppressing his pity and guilt toward Chang Ming. He turned to the crew. “Assistant director, gather everyone. We need to move somewhere else. I have things to lay out for the team.”
Wen Chaosheng’s stunned gaze softened with confusion as he looked at his father. “Dad?”
“With an incident this big, someone has to step up and handle the aftermath.”
Wen Chunshen knew his son’s stubbornly principled nature and kept his plans vague.
“You and your mom stay here until Chang Ming’s out of surgery. Don’t worry about the rest for now—we’ll deal with it later.”
…
After six or seven hours of emergency surgery, Chang Ming finally clawed his way back from the brink. His vitals were still unstable, though, so he was moved straight to the ICU afterward.
Ten days slipped by in the blink of an eye.
Wen Chaosheng had pulled another all-nighter at the hospital. Exhausted, he dragged himself back to the motel.
The hospital had no spare companion beds, and nearby decent hotels were always booked. He’d settled for this cheap little place, close enough for quick breaks.
Splash!
Ice-cold water hit his face, chasing away the creeping drowsiness.
Wen Chaosheng grabbed some thin motel tissues to wipe off, then sank wearily onto the edge of the bed.
Chang Ming’s fever had raged nonstop since the amputation, only easing yesterday. That’s when they transferred him to a private ICU room.
With the tension finally easing a fraction, Wen Chaosheng felt like he could breathe for the first time in days.
He pulled out his phone to check the time and, without thinking, opened WeChat. His eyes lingered on the pinned profile picture—and the numbness in his gaze began to fade, replaced by a glimmer of tears. “…Xi Zhui.”
Since the accident, he hadn’t checked in with Xi Zhui about meals for days.
Would Xi Zhui be mad when he finally had a free moment to check his phone and saw nothing but blank chat history?
Just ten days had passed, but to Wen Chaosheng, it felt like half a lifetime of torment and pain.
Every time he saw Chang Ming lying unconscious in the ICU bed, the guilt gnawed at him relentlessly, leaving him gasping for air.
“Brother, if it’s urgent, call my agent directly. She’ll pass it on right away.”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng suddenly recalled Xi Zhui’s words. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing a few characters before deleting them immediately.
No.
He couldn’t.
Xi Zhui had finally landed a spot on a major film production. He needed to focus on shooting. Things here were chaotic enough—no need to worry his boyfriend back home.
Just then, a WeChat voice message popped up from the assistant director.
Wen Chaosheng snapped back, answering the call. “Hey, Brother Qing.”
The assistant director picked up on his exhaustion and sighed. “Chaosheng, you holding up okay?”
They were only four or five years apart in age, so the assistant director dropped the formal “Director Wen” for the more familiar name.
“I’m calling to let you know everyone’s at the airport, about to board.”
With such a major accident, filming had to shut down.
The crew was small, but staying abroad long-term racked up pointless costs. After discussing, they’d split into three groups.
The assistant director would lead the bulk of the team back home to disband. The set manager and Wen Chaosheng would stay behind.
The set manager would gather evidence and materials, handling the lawsuit and compensation talks with the scenic area. Wen Chaosheng would remain at the hospital, caring for Chang Ming and waiting for his recovery.
“Brother Qing, thanks for everything.”
Wen Chaosheng pushed aside his own feelings, forcing some energy into his voice. “Please apologize to everyone for me. This is on me—I failed to protect Chang Ming, and I failed to protect our film.”
The assistant director tried to reassure him. “Chaosheng, don’t put so much pressure on yourself. This was a freak accident no one saw coming.”
Wen Chaosheng couldn’t get past the knot in his chest and stayed silent.
The assistant director pressed on. “If we’re assigning blame, it falls on me too! I jumped in ahead of you that day, okayed Chang Ming’s full-shot take, even said we could use it for behind-the-scenes footage. I never should’ve suggested it.”
“Brother Qing…”
Wen Chaosheng hesitated to speak, feeling powerless no matter how he phrased it.
“After you get back to the country, help me explain things to the investors first. Right, this is bound to leak back home, and the online backlash needs watching too.”
He forced down the bitterness flooding his throat, shouldering his responsibilities. “Once Chang Ming’s condition improves a bit, I’ll issue a personal statement apologizing.”
The assistant director on the line went quiet for several seconds before venturing, “Chaosheng, you don’t know yet?”
“What?”
“Director Wen’s already quashed the whole thing for you. He’s settled the compensation with the investors and gotten the entire crew to sign nondisclosure agreements. Even if word spreads back to China, the media should keep a lid on it.”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng’s hand tightened instinctively around his phone, struggling to absorb the flood of information.
An announcement urging boarding echoed from the other end.
The assistant director got straight to the point. “Chaosheng, we all know you’re an outstanding, responsible director. This accident wasn’t your fault—don’t shoulder it all alone.”
“If you ever need anything, just ask. When you’re back in China, we’ll grab a drink sometime?”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng wasn’t even sure what he mumbled in response. By the time he came back to himself, the call had ended.
