While the trending searches for 《The Grand Game》 were still hanging online, over in Shancheng, the rain had already soaked the tenement building walls of 《Prisoner's Game in the Mirror》, leaving behind aged stains.
In the morning, the oppressive humidity had made everyone sweat at the back of their necks, but after an afternoon rain washed through, the fishy scent of the river water drifted up from beneath the streets and alleys.
The peeling plaster of the old tenement building was stained with watermarks of varying depths. When the camera pushed in, they could even get away with one less fill light.
Cheng Songran sat behind the monitor, his thumb rubbing the casing of his walkie-talkie as he rewatched the playback of the previous blocking.
Before, when Xu Pingqiu mentioned Jiang Yue, he would always chuckle. Cheng Songran had simply thought it was a senior appreciating talent.
Only after putting the man in front of his own camera did he realize that the chuckle was a director's itch that couldn't be suppressed when seeing a truly great actor.
The scenes to be shot today were equally dense with information.
Within the crew of 《Prisoner's Game》, Jiang Hongyan's net was tightening. The back-to-back shooting schedules, the similar set arrangements, and the psychological triggers slipped into casual chatter were gradually pushing Chen Jingan to the brink of collapse.
Within this net, Jiang Hongyan had also found a handy accomplice: Wu Yaxin.
The actress playing Wu Yaxin was named Yang Qiong. She had delicate features and a stubborn look in her eyes, which perfectly fit the character's image in the script.
Cheng Songran rolled up the call sheet and tapped the red string in Yang Qiong's hand. “On the surface, Wu Yaxin is a line producer, but her true identity is the sister of the victim who fell to her death three years ago.”
Yang Qiong looked down at the red string. “She hates Chen Jingan?”
“She is convinced that Chen Jingan saw it, but said nothing.”
Cheng Songran looked at the monitor. “So she didn't join the crew to take care of people; she came to capture evidence.”
Jiang Yue flipped through his script and added, “The more she wants to catch evidence of Chen Jingan losing control, the easier it is for Chen Jingan to catch her slip-ups.”
Cheng Songran nodded and pointed to the lounge set. “Right, we'll shoot this exact scene.”
“All departments attention, Scene 32, Take 1. Action!”
The camera panned into the lounge of the crew-within-a-crew.
Chen Jingan sat on a folding chair, gripping his script with his brow lowered.
Last night, he had blacked out again. A row of crescent-shaped nail indentations lined the edge of his script—a habit of Lu Zhichen's.
The door was pushed open, and Wu Yaxin walked in carrying two cups of coffee, a polite and perfectly measured smile on her face.
“Teacher Chen, here is your coffee.”
Before handing over the coffee, she pressed down on the red string tucked inside her cuff. Jiang Hongyan had told her to wear it.
Three years ago, at the scene of the fatal fall, a similar red string had been tied around the victim's wrist.
Sure enough, Chen Jingan's gaze lingered on the red string.
Wu Yaxin's fingertip rested on her phone's side button. The motion to press record slowed down. She was waiting for him to show a vulnerability so she could capture the evidence.
However, Chen Jingan did not panic. His movement in taking the coffee was completely natural. Through the paper cup, his fingertips brushed against the back of Wu Yaxin's fingers, a brief warmth connecting and then pulling away.
Chen Jingan looked up at Wu Yaxin, an unnatural calm and stability settling in his pupils.
“Producer Wu, the coffee is cold.”
As these words fell in the lounge, the steam rising from the paper cup on the table suddenly felt redundant.
Wu Yaxin stood frozen, her finger still resting on the edge of her phone.
Chen Jingan stood up, his figure blocking the light in front of her. He leaned in slightly, keeping the distance polite yet dangerous.
“Next time you brew coffee, remember to keep the water temperature at eighty-five degrees.”
Someone pushed an equipment cart down the hallway, the wheels rattling softly as they rolled over the gaps in the floor tiles.
Chen Jingan's gaze fell upon the red string once more.
“Also, this red string is too bright. It doesn't suit you.”
With that, he placed the untouched coffee on the table, turned, and walked out of the lounge.
After the door closed, Wu Yaxin remained standing there. The red string on her wrist suddenly felt like it was pricking her skin.
“Cut!”
Cheng Songran poked his head out from behind the monitor.
“Teacher Yang Qiong, your dazed reaction just now was excellent. Were you actually frightened by Jiang Yue?”
Only then did Yang Qiong snap out of it. She took a breath and gave a slightly embarrassed smile.
“Director, Teacher Jiang's acting is just too real.”
Jiang Yue had already walked back in from outside. Hearing this, he nodded to her first before explaining, “I think even though Chen Jingan has fragmented memories, he still possesses an innate vigilance, and he carries some of Lu Zhichen's traits.”
He flipped through the script in his hand, his thumb resting on the page of the scene they had just shot.
“After all, both personalities originate from him. It's impossible for him to be completely oblivious to Wu Yaxin's hostility.”
“So, I wanted him to use this unusual composure to test her in return.”
Cheng Songran stroked his chin, his eyes lighting up.
“This is a great touch. It not only establishes Chen Jingan's sensitivity but also sets up a foreshadowing for Lu Zhichen's counterattack later on.”
In the subsequent shoots, the testing and counter-testing in the scenes became increasingly brilliant.
Wu Yaxin wanted to record Chen Jingan losing control, so Chen Jingan deliberately showed her his most sober and dangerous side. The two danced around each other on set, polite on the surface but exchanging hidden blows in the shadows.
The person watching all of this from the sidelines was the veteran screenwriter, Ren Songjun, a role played by the actor Lyu Wenqun.
In the script, Ren Songjun had long seen through Jiang Hongyan's character and detested his methods. However, because Jiang Hongyan was too powerful, he could only play deaf and dumb.
Lyu Wenqun played this perceptive insider with a steady, seasoned hand.
Ren Songjun watched Chen Jingan pass by the lounge door, turned his script to the third page, and left a few hidden marks on the storyboard. These were clues left behind for Chen Jingan to break through the trap.
As the post-rain sunlight slanted down to the base of the walls, the crew began to move locations.
The convoy drove near Shibati, where the light rail tracks that ran close along the buildings lay just ahead.
Jiang Kaiwen followed behind Jiang Yue, holding a small portable electric fan that blew air with a soft whir.
“Brother, this place is so surreal. Can this light rail really weave in and out of buildings like that?”
Jiang Yue glanced in the direction of the tracks.
“It's a Shancheng specialty.” He looked down to flip through his script. “We'll shoot the light rail scene in a bit.”
In the plot, Chen Jingan had finished his day of shooting and was walking alone down the steep stone steps of Shibati.
The red string on Wu Yaxin's wrist, the hints Jiang Hongyan had slipped into their casual conversations, and the special annotations on the script all swirled together in his mind.
Cheng Songran stood by the monitor holding a megaphone.
“All departments in position, camera ready.”
He looked at Jiang Yue. “The sound of the approaching light rail will drown out the ambient noise on set in a moment. You need to time it perfectly.”
Jiang Yue raised his hand and gave an OK gesture.
“Understood.”
The clapperboard snapped shut, and the shoot began.
Chen Jingan walked down the stone steps. His soles trod upon the damp, slippery stone, his footsteps growing heavier with each step. His breathing grew ragged from the climb down. He stopped at a corner, next to a dilapidated glass window.
A low vibration echoed from deep within the tracks, making the building tremble.
The train passed close along the building. A massive wave of sound swept away all surrounding noise, and the glass window buzzed and shook in response.
Chen Jingan looked up at the glass window. The lights of the passing train carriages swept across his face frame by frame, cutting his expression into fragments of alternating light and shadow.
Amid this brief, intense barrage of noise, light, and shadow, the missing piece of the puzzle from three years ago was suddenly restored with the most crucial detail. He finally remembered.
That fatal fall had been a deliberate act from start to finish. The person who had pushed the victim was Jiang Hongyan.
The light rail faded into the distance, and the vibrations retreated to the end of the alley. The surroundings became heavily quiet.
Chen Jingan was still staring at his reflection in the glass window. The person in the reflection looked blank at first, then fear surfaced, before gradually settling into a cold, awake clarity—the gaze belonging to Lu Zhichen.
But this time, Chen Jingan did not close his eyes, nor did he yield control of his body.
As the shock tore open his memories, he and Lu Zhichen stood in the same place for the very first time.
“So...”
Chen Jingan's voice was slightly raspy, but it was incredibly compelling.
“My guess was right.”
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