Chapter 52

As New Year’s drew near.

The crew had booked out an art museum well in advance as the location for today’s shoot. By now, the staff had completed the final equipment checks.

Wen Chaosheng pushed up his black-framed glasses and turned a serious gaze toward the two male leads standing beside him.

“Regarding the characters’ inner emotions for this scene, do either of you have any aspects you haven’t fully grasped? We can squeeze in a quick discussion.”

The production had been progressing at a breakneck pace, and by conservative estimates, they had just a couple more weeks before officially wrapping.

But as filming entered its final stretch, the scenes only grew more challenging.

Take the indoor sequence about to begin, for example. On the surface, the plot seemed straightforward, but in truth, it was a pivotal moment that delved deep into the brothers’ psyches—

As the investigation into the case deepened and a new witness met a fatal end, the police zeroed in on Yao Yi and Fang Jing, the two brothers, as prime suspects in their father Yao Donggui’s death.

The brothers, fully aware that further digging would inevitably unearth the truth from years ago, each resolved in secret—without the other’s knowledge—to end it all in their own way, all to protect one another.

In this scene, the characters’ internal emotions overshadowed any overt dialogue or action.

Yu Yan looked utterly relaxed. “Director, don’t worry. I’ve internalized every detail you laid out. I just ran lines with Brother Xi for two rounds, and it went smoothly.”

Xi Zhui nodded in agreement. “No issues on my end.”

Wen Chaosheng hadn’t eased up one bit on his exacting standards for performances. He stood abruptly. “Alright, then let’s walk it through on cue. Flag any problems as we go.”

Xi Zhui and Yu Yan exchanged a glance, long since accustomed to Wen Chaosheng’s no-nonsense work mode. They rose to join him.

“Got it.”

After an extended walkthrough, they were finally ready to roll the key scene for real.

Fortunately, Xi Zhui and Yu Yan had developed real chemistry after three straight months on set, practically like actual brothers. The emotions they conveyed were nuanced and pitch-perfect, take after seamless take. Every shot flowed without a hitch.

The final take wrapped.

Wen Chaosheng grabbed the megaphone and let out a breath of relief. “Cut!”

Xi Zhui snapped out of character first and walked over. “How was it?”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng didn’t answer right away. He was still scrutinizing all the footage they’d just captured.

Only after a long moment did he exhale. “It’s good. You and Yu Yan take a break. Assistant director, have someone clear the set. We’ll grab a couple more continuous wide and long shots later for backup.”

“Right away.”

Spotting his opening, Xiao Chao approached. “Brother Xi, Sister Hui says to check WeChat when you get a chance. There’s a shoot after New Year’s—she wants to know if you’re interested.”

Xi Zhui took the phone from his assistant and glanced at Wen Chaosheng by reflex. “Gonna step away and reply to a work message.”

“Mm-hmm.”

As soon as Xi Zhui was out of earshot, Wen Chaosheng’s phone screen lit up on the table. He’d set it to silent during work hours and didn’t notice at first.

The assistant director beside him pointed it out. “Director Wen, you’ve got a call.”

Wen Chaosheng pulled his attention from Xi Zhui’s retreating back and saw the WeChat voice call on the screen. He hesitated for two seconds before declining it.

The assistant director caught the whole thing and asked casually, “Who is it? You sure you don’t need to take it?”

Wen Chaosheng gripped the edge of his phone, deliberately angling the screen downward to hide it. “Nah, just spam.”

“…”

Spam?

Then why was it showing as a WeChat voice call?

A flicker of doubt crossed the assistant director’s eyes just as the so-called “spam” rang again.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng’s breathing hitched for a split second. He ended the call decisively.

But not five seconds later, the WeChat call blazed back to life, relentless.

The straightforward assistant director picked up on the oddity. “Director, maybe you should just answer? We’re on a break anyway—no time lost.”

Wen Chaosheng sighed almost imperceptibly. He glanced at Xi Zhui, still tied up with his messages, then stood quickly.

He gave the assistant director quick instructions. “I’ll be right back. Handle set management.”

“Got it.”

…

Wen Chaosheng slipped into an empty exhibit room before finally picking up the WeChat call. “Hello.”

No sooner had he spoken than a chilling voice cut in from the other end, demanding answers. “Why no video? I want to see you! Wen Chaosheng, what are you doing?”

The voice alone sent a shiver through Wen Chaosheng’s core. He choked back his breath. “I’m on set shooting. Not convenient for video.”

The voice ramped up the pressure. “Are you lying to me? I want to see you now—right this instant!”

“I told you, I’m shooting on set!”

A rare flicker of irritation creased Wen Chaosheng’s brow. He lowered his voice in reprimand. “Chang Ming, have you forgotten what you promised me? No calls during work hours. This is disrupting my focus!”

“…”

Chang Ming sensed the uncharacteristic edge in Wen Chaosheng’s tone and fell silent for several long seconds.

“Brother Wen, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.”

When he spoke again, his voice took on a plaintive whine. “You’ve been taking forever to reply lately. I just feel so insecure without you.”

“It’s gotten cold with the rain these past couple days, and my leg’s been killing me… It hurts so bad… That’s why I couldn’t help but reach out…”

Wen Chaosheng felt his breath catch, a wave of helplessness washing over him.

The pleading grew more insistent. “Brother Wen? Talk to me, please? My leg hurts so much…”

Wen Chaosheng’s knuckles whitened around the phone. He closed his eyes in resignation. “Where’s Auntie? Isn’t she with you? Can you at least apply a hot towel? What about that new electric kettle I got you? You could use it for a heat pack.”

“It’s no use without you here. Nothing works.”

Chang Ming’s tone turned even more aggrieved, all traces of his earlier hysteria vanished.

“Brother Wen, when are you coming back? Is the movie almost done?”

“We agreed you’d only be back in the country for eight months, so it should wrap before Spring Festival, right? Let me book your flight now, okay?”

Wen Chaosheng sidestepped the barrage of questions. “Chang Ming, I’ve got shooting coming up.”

“…”

Chang Ming registered the dodge, his breathing growing subtly heavier, though he held back. “Fine, Brother Wen. I won’t bother you anymore.”

He paused, then added in a ghostly murmur, “Focus on the shoot. Make sure it wraps smoothly this time. I hope the male lead doesn’t end up like he did six years ago…”

Wen Chaosheng shuddered uncontrollably. “Chang Ming!”

Chang Ming caught the raw fear in that sharp rebuke, as if he’d hit his mark. He let out an ambiguous chuckle.

“You can’t forget what happened back then either, can you, Brother Wen? You owe me so much in this lifetime. You have to come back to me. Got it?”

“…”

The voice slithered like an invisible toxin straight into Wen Chaosheng’s ear, coiling around his nerves and corroding every emotion.

He opened his mouth, but not a single syllable of refusal would come out.

Beep!

Only when the call dropped did the invisible thread snap, releasing its hold on Wen Chaosheng’s nerves.

He staggered back several steps until his back hit the cold glass wall. He was gasping for air, yet the drowning suffocation wouldn’t lift.

It was starting again.

Wen Chaosheng stared numbly at his trembling hands, a bitter, wretched laugh escaping him as dissociation gripped his body once more.

No escaping it.

Wrap was just around the corner.

The beautiful dream he’d woven with this film was about to shatter, plunging him back into that merciless reality.

…

It was a long while before Wen Chaosheng dragged his leaden steps back to the main set from the small exhibit room.

The museum’s grand hall featured a massive relief mural, a faithful reproduction of the central panel from The Last Judgment.

Believers crowded around the Christ figure who held their fates in judgment—some wailing, some praying, others thrashing in torment.

The set design team had selected this venue partly because the mural mirrored the characters’ fateful undercurrents in the story.

Now, as Wen Chaosheng lifted his gaze to it again, the image felt like a harbinger of his own future: no matter how he struggled, his past sins would drag him inexorably into hell.

Xi Zhui spotted Wen Chaosheng the moment he returned and hurried over. “Where’d you go?”

Wen Chaosheng’s throat felt parched and tight. “Hm?”

Xi Zhui clocked his off-kilter state and frowned. “What happened?”

Just then, the assistant director called out from nearby. “Director Wen, camera positions are reset. Come check the framing and lighting.”

“I’m fine—just hit the restroom.”

Wen Chaosheng seized the excuse to evade Xi Zhui’s probing gaze and strode over, hoping work would numb the turmoil. “Come on, back to shooting.”

“…”

Xi Zhui’s frown deepened, but he followed helplessly.

The tracks and equipment around the set had been cleared, leaving only a jib arm for high-angle wide shots.

Wen Chaosheng reviewed the feed from the camera, mustering his energy without a word wasted. “Xi Zhui, Yu Yan—get under the mural. We’ll grab two more long dialogue takes.”

“Got it.”

Yu Yan pocketed his phone and hopped to it.

Xi Zhui eyed the swarm of staff milling about and tamped down his own unease, nodding along.

“Action!”

The clapperboard snapped.

They’d run this bit more than once already, and with no close-ups, it held no terrors for the leads.

“Watch out!”

Suddenly, a panicked shout rang out from behind.

In the next instant, the deafening crash of something heavy hitting the ground left everyone’s ears ringing. The accident struck without warning—

The massive mural affixed to the wall suddenly broke free and plummeted, engulfing Xi Zhui and Yu Yan in an instant!

After a stunned reaction lasting two or three seconds, chaos erupted among the crew. Xi Zhui’s team rushed forward first. “Brother Xi!”

Yu Yan’s manager hurried after them. “Yu Yan!”

Wen Chaosheng shot up from his seat so abruptly that the chair screeched across the polished floor.

Screech—

A devilish whisper slithered into his mind. “Brother Wen, you have to wrap this one up smoothly. I hope the male lead doesn’t end up like he did six years ago…”

All the color drained from Wen Chaosheng’s face in a heartbeat. Trembling, he muttered, “No… it won’t happen!”

But the nightmare was unfolding right before his eyes!

The terror that had lurked inside him for years shattered its mental chains and roared to life, fangs bared and claws slashing!

Wen Chaosheng felt the world spinning around him. A deafening buzz drilled into his ears, crumbling his sanity. He couldn’t even make out the frantic clamor on set.

He should have been the first to run forward, but the fear clung to him like a shadow, rooting him to the spot. His feet felt as heavy as lead.

“Hurry!”

“Come on, three, two, one!”

Despair burned Wen Chaosheng’s eyes red. All he could do was watch helplessly as the staff clustered together and heaved the fallen mural aside.

Someone shouted in panic, “He’s bleeding! They’re both out cold! Where’s the ambulance? Call an ambulance, now!”

“This thing’s too heavy—quick! Drag them out first!”

“…”

—

That evening, in the hallway outside the VIP ICU on the top floor of Heng City Central Hospital, the sharp tang of disinfectant hung in the air.

Wen Chaosheng sat slumped on the bench outside the room, his vacant stare turning him into a lifeless puppet.

He clutched a pair of black-framed glasses, his thumb rubbing the lenses over and over in a desperate bid to vent the churning fear and anxiety knotting his chest.

Anxious footsteps echoed down the corridor, accompanied by a familiar voice. “Chaosheng?”

It took Wen Chaosheng several seconds to react. He lifted his head mechanically, his unfocused gaze blurring the figure standing right in front of him.

“…”

“It’s me.”

Jian Jinzhao sat down beside him and gave his shoulder a concerned pat. “Chaosheng, you okay?”

A flicker of awareness returned to Wen Chaosheng. He forced out the words. “When did you get here? I didn’t even notice.”

“With a disaster like this on set? No way could I stay put as a producer.”

Jian Jinzhao had driven straight from Haishi City. He’d already checked on the injured Yu Yan and coordinated with Xi Zhui’s management team to handle the situation and draft a public statement.

Wen Chaosheng’s mind remained mired in fog. He could barely register Jian Jinzhao’s words. His thoughts were still locked hours earlier—

Once the crew had lifted the mural, Xi Zhui and Yu Yan had both been unconscious from the impact. Field staff had called an ambulance right away, rushing them to the hospital.

Wen Chaosheng had followed along, while the more seasoned coordinators and assistant director stayed behind to contain the news and manage the fallout.

Xi Zhui had a gash on his forehead that had been treated emergently. The doctors had ruled out any critical damage, but he still hadn’t woken up.

Xiao Chao, his assistant, had noticed Wen Chaosheng wasn’t right and urged him to go home and rest. But Wen Chaosheng had refused to budge, determined to wait there until Yu Yan came around.

Jian Jinzhao glanced toward the room behind them and murmured, “Xi Zhui’s still in there? Why aren’t you going in?”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng didn’t dare.

He was terrified that one look at Xi Zhui lying unconscious would shatter his composure in front of the man’s team.

Wen Chaosheng changed the subject stiffly. “What about Yu Yan? Is his hand okay?”

Jian Jinzhao nodded. “He’s lucky. It’ll need some time to heal, but the doctors said it’s nothing serious.”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng lapsed into silence again.

Ever since the accident, fear had surged through him like a relentless tide. He desperately needed someone to reach out and pull him from the depths.

Jian Jinzhao could sense something was deeply wrong. He spoke softly. “Chaosheng, if something’s eating at you, talk to me. Keeping it all bottled up won’t help.”

“…”

The toxic emotions crowding his heart had ballooned like an overinflated sphere, and this sudden mishap had pushed it to the bursting point.

Wen Chaosheng buried his face in his hands, trying to conceal his unraveling.

The secrets he could never bring himself to confess to Xi Zhui finally cracked open before his closest friend. “Jin Zhao.”

“Six years ago, while I was shooting a movie overseas, something happened.”