Chapter 87 | My Acting System Only Gives Me Villain Roles

Jiang Kaiwen had already experienced a round of Cheng Songran's contrasting behavior before the cameras even started rolling.

But once they actually got onto the set, this man—who didn't look like a proper director in the slightest—stuffed every single minute into the schedule.

After they finished shooting the scene of Chen Jingan writing in his diary alone in the tenement building, Cheng Songran slapped the schedule onto the wall and tapped the shot numbers with his pen cap.

“Camera crew goes to the rooftop first. Art department, make the peeling walls look even older. Lighting, don't make it too bright. Sound, go record another track of the light rail.”

The stagehand stood at the doorway with a box of bento meals, poking his head in.

“Director Cheng, how should we distribute the meals?”

Cheng Songran didn't even raise his head, but his voice was ice-cold. “Distribute them by shot numbers. Whoever finishes their scene eats first.”

Watching this scheduling, Jiang Kaiwen almost suspected that this guy had written too many mystery novels, to the point where even handing out bento boxes had a touch of narrative deception to it.

Over the next few days, the focus of the shoot shifted entirely to Chen Jingan's pre-existing trauma storyline.

In the script, three years ago, Chen Jingan had a bright future ahead of him. His method acting talent was rare in the industry, and he had just been offered a role in a major theatrical release.

The cast and crew of that movie were incredibly prestigious. The director, Jiang Hongyan, was highly renowned and humble. When people in the industry spoke of him, they would always add that he cherished talent.

Having been rooted in the industry for many years, Jiang Hongyan excelled at refining character-driven dramas and held immense connections and resources in his hands. In the eyes of the public, he was gentle and professional, maintaining boundaries even when lecturing young actors. It was precisely because of his prestige and authority that he was able to cover up that fatal accident three years ago layer by layer, eventually rewriting it into a completely different version.

After a few days of shooting the pre-existing trauma storyline, they finally reached the core scene.

On the set of the late-night shoot, the light stands glowed brightly. Crew members bustled back and forth between the corridors and the rooftop, while stagehands held walkie-talkies to rush the next set of shots, the black cables coiled on the ground.

During a heated argument that spiraled out of control, Jiang Hongyan pushed a young actor off the high-rise building. At that moment, the only person closest to them, with an unobstructed view who witnessed the entire process, was Chen Jingan.

Cheng Songran called everyone over to the monitor before the cameras started rolling, tapping his finger on the script.

“This scene isn't about how he clears his own name. It's only about how he grinds Chen Jingan into the dirt. The more detestable he is, the better.”

Ding Zhengxin flipped a page of the script.

“So Jiang Hongyan shouldn't appear too panicked?”

Cheng Songran nodded and continued, “Externally, he needs to blur the details and divert public attention.”

Flipping another page of the script, his pen stopped next to a line of dialogue.

“Internally, he uses the posture of a senior comforting a junior to drag Chen Jingan into a false memory.”

Ding Zhengxin pinched the corner of the script page, studying the dialogue and actions written for this scene.

“Is he really comforting him by doing this? It feels more like how one treats cats and dogs.”

“Yes.”

Cheng Songran looked up at the monitor.

“The gentler he is, the more disgusting it feels.”

At that time, Chen Jingan had just witnessed the fall with his own eyes and had injured his head in the chaos. His mental defenses were already torn open.

Jiang Hongyan seized on this, repeatedly layering psychological suggestions while Chen Jingan was in a daze, scrambling his memory. Although Chen Jingan had witnessed the truth with his own eyes, his brain began to self-correct due to the trauma and mental breakdown, ultimately leading to cognitive distortion.

In the end, the truth was shattered, the testimony became invalid, and the case was ruled an accidental fall.

Overnight, the genius actor fell from grace, faced a soft ban by the industry, and eventually vanished from the public eye.

Jiang Kaiwen squatted behind the monitor, shoveling food from his bento box. Watching the footage on the screen, his chopsticks hovered in mid-air, and he didn't even put the rice into his mouth even after it went cold.

On the screen, Jiang Hongyan was arguing with a male actor from the same crew. The actor had discovered something incriminating about Jiang Hongyan and threatened to make it public. During the altercation, Jiang Hongyan accidentally pushed him off the building.

Just then, Chen Jingan pushed open the door and witnessed the entire thing.

After a brief moment of panic, Jiang Hongyan quickly suppressed his unease. He turned and saw Chen Jingan frozen in fear in the corner. His face darkened, and he took a stride forward, shoving him aside.

Chen Jingan stumbled backward, his head slamming heavily against a metal light stand. His vision went black, and his fingers clawed at the air, catching nothing. His pupils lost focus, and his breathing turned completely erratic.

Jiang Hongyan squatted down, grabbing his shoulders. His voice was so gentle it sent shivers down one's spine.

“Jingan, you were too deep in character just now. You're having hallucinations, aren't you?”

Chen Jingan raised his eyes slightly, his gaze drifting over Jiang Hongyan's face as confusion and fear surfaced.

Jiang Hongyan didn't let go, his palms gripping his shoulder blades, his tone remaining gentle.

“Nothing happened here.”

“It was just an accident.”

What happened afterward was so frustratingly logical.

Under Jiang Hongyan's continuous psychological manipulation, Chen Jingan forgot the most crucial details, leaving only a blurry image of someone falling and a crushing sense of guilt that he had done nothing.

Cheng Songran looked up from behind the monitor and picked up the megaphone.

“Cut.”

Ding Zhengxin didn't stand up immediately. He patted Jiang Yue's shoulder and let go only after a couple of seconds.

The stagehands began packing up the camera tracks, and the lighting crew stepped forward to adjust the lights.

Jiang Kaiwen took another mouthful of rice and muttered under his breath, “This director is way too black-hearted.”

It was unclear whether he was talking about the movie or reality.

Jiang Yue walked over and picked up his bento box from nearby, catching his words.

“Don't get too immersed. It's just that Teacher Ding's acting is incredibly solid.”

Jiang Kaiwen looked up at him with a serious expression.

“Third Brother, you acted amazingly too! I was so engrossed just now that I forgot to use my chopsticks.”

Jiang Yue didn't accept the compliment, moving his bento box aside and placing a chicken drumstick into Jiang Kaiwen's bowl.

Jiang Kaiwen looked down at the extra drumstick in his box, and his eyes lit up instantly.

Psychological trauma was one thing, but a chicken drumstick was innocent.

He took a huge bite, his cheeks puffing out as the negative emotions on his face vanished completely.

Ding Zhengxin walked over at this moment, his face returning to its usual gentle expression.

When Jiang Kaiwen looked up, he almost developed a psychological shadow from that face.

Seeing Jiang Kaiwen staring at him, Ding Zhengxin smiled and asked, “What's wrong?”

Chewing on his drumstick, Jiang Kaiwen mumbled, “Nothing, Teacher Ding. I just suddenly feel like if you ever play a good guy in the future, I should probably call the police first.”

A few nearby staff members couldn't help but laugh, and Ding Zhengxin was amused as well.

“Then that means this scene wasn't shot in vain.”

Sitting behind the monitor, Cheng Songran heard this and casually made a note in his notebook.

Seeing his action, Jiang Kaiwen looked up warily.

“Director Cheng, what are you writing down?”

Cheng Songran replied with a straight face.

“Audience feedback.”

Jiang Kaiwen: “...”

Wait, what?

He had just casually complained, so how did this turn into a test screening?

This was truly a whole new level of ridiculous.

Cheng Songran pulled up the playback and called Jiang Yue and Ding Zhengxin over to watch together.

“This take is usable overall, but I want to get another close-up.”

As he spoke, he pointed to a frame on the screen where Jiang Yue raised his eyes.

“Here, Chen Jingan isn't just afraid; he has already begun to doubt his own memory. But the doubt can't be too obvious, otherwise the audience will think he's stupid. We need the audience to know he's struggling, yet he can no longer grasp the truth.”

Jiang Yue watched the playback.

“I can do that.”

Ding Zhengxin also looked at the screen, his smile fading as his expression grew serious.

“Then should my tone be even softer here?”

Cheng Songran nodded.

“Yes. Ideally, so soft that it sounds like you're coaxing him to sleep.”

Standing nearby, Jiang Kaiwen got goosebumps just listening to them.

Oh boy.

A lullaby-style psychological attack. Truly twisted.

The stagehand poked his head in again. “Director Cheng, should we keep distributing the bentos?”

Only then did Cheng Songran look up from the monitor.

“Yes.”

“Teacher Ding, grab your bento. You two leads eat first, and we'll shoot the close-up after you're done.”

By the time the night scenes wrapped, it was nearly one in the morning.

The wind outside the tenement building carried moisture. In the distance, a light rail train roared past, its rumbling sound drowning out the entire street.

The crew packed up the equipment, and the lights were extinguished one by one.

Jiang Yue changed back into his own clothes. By the time he walked out of the dressing room, the fatigue on his face had faded quite a bit.

Jiang Kaiwen followed beside him carrying a thermos, still muttering.

“Third Brother, I think I've figured it out.”

“Director Cheng is usually like the silly son of a wealthy landlord, but once the cameras roll, he turns straight into a cult leader.”

“Teacher Ding is normally like a community mediator, but once he gets into character, he's the ultimate gaslighting master.”

“And you're even more ridiculous. Just a moment ago, you looked completely broken, and now you come out asking if we should get some spicy noodles for a late-night snack.”