Xi Zhui felt a rare spark of curiosity. “Different?”
Wen Chaosheng reminded him in a low voice, “You can go back and…”
Before he could finish saying “open,” Xi Zhui had firmly grasped his wrist. “Hm?”
“I don’t want to wait until we get back.”
Taking advantage of the others cheering and chatting away, Xi Zhui pulled Wen Chaosheng a few steps into the corner. Then, with the quickest motion, he tore open the red envelope.
The first thing that caught his eye was another crisp new hundred-yuan bill.
He glanced at Wen Chaosheng before tipping out the slight weight at the bottom—
Whoosh.
A cool coin slid smoothly into his palm. Its edge bore irregular nicks and bumps, but the design on its face was perfectly clear.
Xi Zhui peered at it, surprise flickering in his eyes along with a touch of uncertainty. “Is this… a Roman ancient coin?”
“Mm-hm.”
Wen Chaosheng explained its origin. “I bought it a few years ago from an antique shop when I was traveling in Rome with my parents.”
The edges looked a bit battered, but it was the real deal—a genuine ancient coin, and a rare amber gold coin at that.
Xi Zhui asked, “Why slip one of these into my production start red envelope?”
Wen Chaosheng tapped the coin’s obverse. “This image is Mars, the war god of ancient Rome.”
Legend held him as the protector of warriors, a guardian deity brimming with invincible courage and strength.
Wen Chaosheng had found the symbolism appealing at the time. “I bought the coin thinking that someday, I could pass its meaning and blessing on to the lead actor in my first film.”
Xi Zhui’s eyebrow arched faintly. “So I got lucky and drew it?”
“Mm-hm.”
In truth, Wen Chaosheng was holding back a small secret.
Legend also claimed Mars guarded Aries and Scorpio.
Wen Chaosheng had begun scripting Contour back then, viewing it as his first film with a real shot at production.
He had secretly modeled the character Tang Yu on Xi Zhui—down to the name—and by coincidence, Xi Zhui was a Scorpio.
In the instant he purchased the coin, Wen Chaosheng had felt a flight of fancy: It would be wonderful to give it to Xi Zhui one day.
Perhaps fate had intervened.
Now the male lead of his debut film stood right in front of him.
Aware that Xi Zhui had no intention of entering the entertainment industry, Wen Chaosheng redirected his well-wishes. “Xi Zhui, I hope your future path stays smooth sailing.”
“…”
Xi Zhui met Wen Chaosheng’s earnest gaze. The weight in his palm seemed to settle deep in his chest—heavy and real.
“Thanks. I’ll take good care of it.”
“Good.”
A satisfied, faint smile curved Wen Chaosheng’s lips. “Shall we head back, then?”
“Hold on.” Xi Zhui clasped his wrist once more before letting go. “Coming to Gannan for this film on such short notice left me no time to prepare a production start gift for you.”
Wen Chaosheng blinked in surprise before reflexively replying, “It’s okay.”
Xi Zhui shot back, “You don’t want one?”
“…”
He did.
Wen Chaosheng stayed quiet, but the answer shone plainly in his eyes.
“It’s too late today. Once we wrap and get back to the Imperial Capital, I’ll make it up to you.”
Xi Zhui made the promise to the man before him. “We can call it a celebration for your first film as director wrapping successfully.”
Joy sparked in Wen Chaosheng’s eyes. “R-Really?”
Xi Zhui already had a concept in mind for the “gift.” “Mm-hm. What it’ll be? That’s staying secret for now.”
Wen Chaosheng pressed, “Can’t you tell me right now?”
“No way—that’d spoil the gift and the surprise.” Xi Zhui caught the curiosity in his eyes and offered a subtle nudge. “Director Wen here needs to focus, work hard, and lead us all to a smooth wrap first.”
“Fine.”
Wen Chaosheng tamped down his intense urge to pry and nodded. “I’ll give it my all.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Sun Xuan hollered from across the way. “Director! What are you two scheming in that corner? Don’t tell me you’re slipping the lead actor a fat red envelope behind our backs! Get over here—group photo time!”
Wen Chaosheng straightened up, a guilty flush rising. “We’re not!”
Xi Zhui hid a chuckle.
He tucked away the profoundly meaningful coin with care before calling back, “Coming!”
…
Aside from the core creative team that included Wen Chaosheng, the on-site staff and camera crew had all been sourced ahead of time by the Cultural and Tourism Bureau.
With the production start ceremony done, the crew plunged straight into pre-shoot preparations.
Lin Keyang led in a pair of Tibetan siblings. “Director Wen, Xi Zhui—this is Mei Duo, the stylist handling Tang Yu’s makeup and costumes.”
Mei Duo was not yet thirty, but she was already a local heavyweight in styling. She ran her own studio and had done makeup for numerous Tibetan song-and-dance troupes.
She had finalized every look for the male lead via online discussions a month earlier but hadn’t yet done a live trial fitting.
“Nice to meet you, Director. Finally in person.”
Mei Duo wheeled in an enormous makeup case. Trailing her was a young man laden with bags, gear, and a suitcase.
“H-Hi.”
Wen Chaosheng nudged up his black-framed glasses, fighting to conceal his social anxiety. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, that’s my little brother Nobu. He’s on summer break, so he’s shadowing me as an assistant to broaden his horizons.”
Mei Duo was the effortlessly friendly type. “Miss Lin mentioned you’re shorthanded. If you need extra hands, he can help out—for free.”
Lin Keyang grinned. “That works out perfectly.”
Mei Duo’s gaze drifted to Xi Zhui’s face, and she let out an admiring sigh. “This is the lead actor, right? What a handsome guy!”
Xi Zhui inclined his head politely. “Hello.”
Lin Keyang wasted no time. “Xi Zhui, head to the small room with Mei Duo for makeup? Your block of lead scenes kicks off this afternoon.”
Xi Zhui nodded agreeably. “Sure.”
Once Mei Duo and her brother had gone off with Xi Zhui, Wen Chaosheng let out a visible breath of relief.
Lin Keyang couldn’t resist teasing. “You tense up like that around every new face? How are you going to handle the rest of the shoot?”
“Mm.”
Wen Chaosheng mumbled in reply before quietly steeling himself. “I can manage.”
He would push past his social fears whenever he needed to collaborate with actors on character work or hash out details with the crew—that was what true dedication to the film demanded.
Besides, he had to finish the movie strong if he wanted Xi Zhui’s wrap gift.
He was truly looking forward to it.
…
The monitoring tent was up and ready.
Wen Chaosheng made one final check of the on-site lighting before settling in front of the monitor.
The morning’s shooting slate was light and straightforward.
After taking his mentor’s counsel to heart, the male lead Tang Yu arrives in Gannan. He uses his camera to document the county’s human landscapes, capturing the faces of every person he speaks with.
The ceremony had eaten up nearly two hours, leaving scant morning time. They only managed fragments depicting Tibetan daily life.
Even so, these brief shots came off without a hitch.
“OK! That’s a wrap on this one.”
Wen Chaosheng exhaled softly in relief and turned to Lin Keyang beside him. “Senior, could you check with the food truck about coming early?”
Their time and budget were precious. An early lunch meant an early afternoon start, and with the favorable light today, they might squeeze in an extra male lead solo or two.
“Of course.”
Lin Keyang rose—and startled with a yelp at the figure crouched silently behind her. “Whoa! You gave me a jump!”
Wen Chaosheng turned to look, his gaze dropping to Mei Duo’s brother.
Seeing he’d spooked Lin Keyang, Nobu scrambled up. But his legs had gone numb from squatting so long, and he staggered back a couple steps. “S-Sorry, sister! I-I…”
His Mandarin was thickly accented and stumbling.
Wen Chaosheng remembered the name. “Nobu, has your sister finished with Xi Zhui’s makeup?”
“Not yet.”
Nobu scratched his head sheepishly, fumbling for words. “Sis is busy. I-I was bored by myself, so I came out.”
Lin Keyang eyed his lanky build. “You’re still in school, right? Must be pushing six feet tall.”
“About to start senior year.” Nobu answered straightforwardly. “I’m 179.8 centimeters—school measurement.”
“That exact?” Lin Keyang teased. “A guy who’s precisely five-foot-eleven? What a unicorn.”
Nobu gaped, baffled. “Huh?”
His blank reaction cracked Lin Keyang up. She glanced at Wen Chaosheng. “I’ll go take care of it.”
“Okay.”
With Lin Keyang gone, the monitor station held only Wen Chaosheng and Nobu, staring awkwardly at each other. One crippled by shyness, the other hamstrung by his Mandarin—neither sure how to break the ice.
Wen Chaosheng groped for a topic. “Di-Did you come over to watch us shooting from back there?”
Nobu nodded vigorously, bracing for reprimand.
To his surprise, Wen Chaosheng just patted the stool nearby. “Have a seat. No need to stand.”
Nobu’s face lit up as he dropped onto it. “Thanks, Brother!”
“…”
The unexpected “Brother” left Wen Chaosheng momentarily stunned.
Growing up, no one had ever called him that. As a kid, he’d half-hoped Xi Zhui would, but that had never happened.
Nobu, seeing a film shoot for the first time, pointed eagerly at the monitor screen. “Brother, how come they’re filming over there, but we see it here?”
Wen Chaosheng carried no director’s ego, and given their age difference, “Brother” suited just fine.
“It’s a transmission line—connects them.”
“Oh.”
Nobu nodded vaguely and pointed to another piece of gear. “What’s that one?”
“And this—what’s it do?”
The sturdy near-six-footer scrunched onto the low stool, his dark eyes overflowing with boundless wonder. He seemed less like a high schooler and more like a wide-eyed kid.
In a daze, Wen Chaosheng recalled his own childhood on set, peppering Wen Chunshen with endless questions.
Perhaps because the queries touched on filmmaking, Wen Chaosheng shed his initial stiffness around strangers.
During the downtime, he patiently walked Nobu through the equipment. He even sketched out the full pipeline from raw footage to theatrical release.
Nobu soaked it all in. “Brother, could I make movies someday too?”
Wen Chaosheng regarded him now as just another eager student. “You want to get into filmmaking?”
“Yeah! Is that no good?”
“Well, it’s not impossible…”
The two chatted desultorily back and forth. Meanwhile, over in makeup, Xi Zhui had finished up.
He had just stepped out of the small makeup room when gasps of admiration erupted from the crew nearby.
Sun Xuan was the first to speak. “Holy shit! Xi Zhui, that face of yours is way too handsome!”
Liao Qi piled on with his own praise. “Seconded! With looks like that, buddy, what worries could you possibly have?”
Xi Zhui was long accustomed to compliments about his looks from those around him. He smiled but didn’t reply. Instead, his gaze drifted past the crowd and settled on the monitor station in the distance—
Wen Chaosheng and Nobu sat side by side in front of the monitors.
Wen Chaosheng hadn’t noticed his arrival yet, seemingly absorbed in whatever they were discussing. Nobu’s face, meanwhile, brimmed with curiosity and admiration as he leaned in rather close.
Xi Zhui’s eyes locked on them, and he walked steadily toward the pair.
Drawing nearer, he overheard Nobu calling out to Wen Chaosheng, “Thanks, Brother!”
“…”
Brother?
Xi Zhui’s steps paused for a split second at the word. His fingertips tightened almost imperceptibly on the script he held.
He pressed on, joining their conversation with feigned casualness. “Director Wen, what are you two talking about? You look awfully happy.”
