Chapter 42: Joining the Crew

They arrived at the agreed-upon Room 316, where three people were already sitting inside. After a brief introduction, it turned out the director himself had brought his assistant and cameraman to conduct the audition in person.

The director was not particularly tall, sporting a fair, slightly plump baby face. Approaching forty, he dressed in a T-shirt and ripped jeans, looking even younger and more energetic than his assistant, who had just graduated.

He Zheng was inwardly taken aback when he laid eyes on Yan Tuo.

With more than a decade in the entertainment industry under his belt, he had seen his share of handsome men and beautiful women, but the man standing before him possessed features and a physique that were nothing short of perfection—enough to outshine most fresh-faced idols.

Even today’s hottest new top stars, stripped of their makeup and dressed casually, might not match this man’s natural poise.

His gaze shifted to the white dumpling perched on Yan Tuo’s shoulder—the very animal lead he had picked out at first sight.

Right now, it sat quietly, its little bird eyes darting around the room with lively curiosity.

Without much small talk, He Zheng first gave a rough outline of the movie Birdman. The man and his pet on the sofa immediately froze in stunned silence.

Birdman was essentially an artistic rendition of Bai Yiyi’s own experiences. Casting the white dumpling in it could not have been more fitting—the director’s eye for talent was razor-sharp.

Filming itself shouldn’t be an issue; the real question was how they would do it.

“How long will the shoot take? Will it involve traveling to a lot of locations?” Yan Tuo led with the question that mattered most to him.

He Zheng had no clear sense yet of Tangyuan’s level of cooperation, so he ballparked it at one to two months, standard for a newcomer joining the production.

Yan Tuo hesitated. “I’m a criminal police officer. My work doesn’t allow me to stick around for the filming, and a timeline that long might be tough. I’m worried Tangyuan won’t adjust well.”

He Zheng frowned. They hadn’t even tested its performance yet, and the owner was already wavering. Was this going to end up a wasted trip?

In the meantime, the cameraman had set up the lights and equipment, signaling for Tangyuan’s owner to get ready.

They had come this far; they might as well give it a shot.

Yan Tuo turned to the director. “Just say what you need it to do. If it’s straightforward, it can understand.”

He put on a bit of a show, issuing commands to make the white dumpling obedient, then lifted it from his shoulder and placed it under the spotlight.

He Zheng could hardly believe it. He had used cats and dogs as supporting actors in past shoots; they might look clever and well-behaved after heavy editing, but the on-set frustrations were another story altogether.

Still, since the owner had said as much, he played along, describing a simple scene without much expectation.

“Tangyuan, pretend you want to go to sleep, but do it like a human—not standing like a bird, but lying on your back with your limbs spread out. Wings and claws all open. Understand? Sleep like a person.”

Hey, that’s how I sleep every night. No challenge at all.

Bai Yiyi sized it up in his mind and launched into the act.

He drowsily half-closed his eyes a couple of times, nodding his head now and then as sleepiness overtook him. Then he slowly toppled over, rolling onto his side and shutting his eyes completely.

Moments later, he flipped onto his back, splaying his wings and claws wide, beak slightly agape in a perfectly natural deep slumber.

He Zheng was ecstatic. The little bird had not only understood and performed, but it had even improvised a lead-in, nailing every detail in a flawless, no-blind-spots masterpiece.

He itched to cheer and applaud wildly, but afraid of startling it, he stepped closer and praised in a hushed voice, “Tangyuan baby, you’re amazing. No need to sleep anymore—wake up.”

After a moment’s thought, he described another scene. “Now, hover in midair while flapping your wings, calling out ‘don’t go.’ Don’t worry, we’ll dub the voice later; just open and close your beak.”

He Zheng glanced at the bird’s owner, waiting for him to relay the instruction.

Yan Tuo said nothing, merely flicking his eyes toward the white dumpling to signal that it truly understood on its own—no words necessary.

Sure enough, the phoenix-crested canary beneath the spotlight beat its wings furiously and took to the air. Its beak opened and closed with crisp calls: “Don’t go… don’t… go.”

…Well, dubbing was off the table now.

This bordered on supernatural intelligence. He Zheng had never encountered an animal this easy to work with, and his resolve to cast it solidified.

The assistant finally got it—why Director He had spotted a single cute pet video online and demanded the script change the parrot to a canary, rushing all the way to J City to audition one little bird in person.

This was a one-of-a-kind gem. Talented actors were a dime a dozen, but a bird that could act? There might be only one in the world.

With casting locked in, He Zheng pulled out all the stops to win over the owner: bumping the fee to five hundred thousand and promising to front-load Tangyuan’s scenes, wrapping them in under twenty days if it cooperated well.

He wasn’t making empty promises. The film had plenty of bird shots, sure, but as a family-friendly slapstick comedy, it centered on the human characters.

Tangyuan’s billing as the animal lead—second place in the cast list—was mostly for buzz; ten minutes of total screen time would be generous.

The shooting location was a film city less than two hundred kilometers from J City—a three-hour drive both Yan Tuo and Tangyuan could handle.

Yan Tuo left the decision to his little dumpling. Bai Yiyi, pleased with the pay and harboring a vague hunch that the film’s release might spark a fresh wave of popularity, weighed his options and finally nodded.

They signed a letter of intent, scheduled a dedicated driver for the third day, and called it done.

Sun Lei, who had made the introduction, was the first to hear the news. Before long, word that the “Divine Bird” Tangyuan was starring in a movie had spread throughout the bureau. Colleagues, whether close or distant, found all sorts of excuses to drop by the Deputy Detachment Captain’s office for another peek at the dumpling.

On the day Tangyuan joined the crew, Little Chen—the assistant from the audition—came to pick it up.

Yan Tuo had everything packed: Tangyuan’s luxury villa, a pack of its favorite instant noodles, the sofa phone holder it had lately taken to, and even Bai Yiyi’s own phone.

He pulled out a sheet of A4 paper and began reading off the densely listed instructions, item by item.

Tangyuan loved cleanliness and needed a daily bath…

Don’t poke at Tangyuan or touch it casually…

Tangyuan was timid—don’t leave it alone in a crowd…

Tangyuan enjoyed watching anime; play some when free, but absolutely no Demon Slayer…

Tangyuan this, Tangyuan that…

Finally, he pointed to his name at the top of his contacts list on the phone and instructed Little Chen, “Make sure it calls me every day at noon… or evening works too.”

Little Chen’s mind was overflowing with Tangyuan references; he forgot even to swear under his breath. Holy shit, it’s like hiring a bird nanny?

That page crammed with fine-print dos and don’ts—how much love and care did it take to produce something like that?

After some private griping, a twinge of admiration bubbled up.

The way this guy cared for his bird put his own girlfriend care to shame. If he could muster half that effort, he wouldn’t keep getting breakup ultimatums.

Tangyuan was currently Director He’s baby, so Little Chen didn’t dare slack off. He agreed emphatically, then watched the man and his pet cling to each other reluctantly for ages before finally coaxing the white dumpling on its way.

They had barely checked into the crew hotel and entered the room when, two minutes in, Tangyuan flew to the pile of luggage and chirped, “Phone… phone.”

Reporting in safe upon arrival?

What house-training.

Little Chen, beaten down by the pair, took it in stride. He pulled out his phone, dialed the top contact, and watched in disbelief as the man and bird chatted for a solid half hour.

It was mostly Yan Tuo talking, with Tangyuan chiming in here and there, but the flow was remarkably natural.

Little Chen recorded the scene and sent it to He Zheng with the message: “Your animal star has arrived on set. Currently in the hotel room, catching up with its owner.”

Life after arrival was fairly uneventful. The novelty wore off after a couple of days, leaving mostly rote line readings.

The bar for an animal actor’s performance was low to begin with, and for Bai Yiyi, it was effortless—even after He Zheng kept adding lines and scenes.

Less than half a month later, it wrapped smoothly.

The crew had planned to send Little Chen back with it to J City, but Yan Tuo got wind and made time to drive over overnight for pickup, even joining his pet’s wrap party.

Though just a little bird, Tangyuan held second-billing status, so the party was lavish. Nearly the entire cast and crew turned out. The ever-calculating He Zheng had the cameraman set up to film it all as official behind-the-scenes footage.

Flowers and cake were mandatory, the fondant topper an exact replica of the white dumpling, crafted from photos by a skilled baker.

Tangyuan stood beside it, suddenly sporting a twin brother. Their mirrored stares were adorably hilarious.

Once the festivities wound down, He Zheng promptly settled the remaining payment. He only mentioned needing it for the premiere to drum up hype, heaped endless praise on Tangyuan, and made no other demands—clearly thrilled.

With everything squared away, the man and his pet rolled back into J City well past midnight.

It had been over ten days since they’d last seen each other. Longing had piled up like mountains, only to dissolve into rain that swelled into a vast sea. The moment Bai Yiyi got home, he couldn’t resist shifting back into human form. He just wanted to have a nice, long talk with his owner.

But the second he was face-to-face, he chickened out. He bottled everything up for ages, not daring to let a single word slip out. After a long bout of stammering, he finally managed to ask:

“Are you hungry? How about I cook you a bowl of noodles?”

The words had no sooner left his mouth than he realized what he’d said—it was that tired old dirty joke. Color flooded his face in an instant.

Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief that he’d added the word “bowl.” Otherwise, who knew what his owner might think.

Yan Tuo didn’t think twice about it. He hadn’t caught the innuendo at all. His stomach wasn’t hungry. He was just… craving.