“Cut.”
Cheng Songran slapped Jiang Kaiwen's thigh next to him, making Jiang Kaiwen's expression instantly twist in pain.
“That was amazing! That emotional shift was absolutely brilliant.”
Jiang Kaiwen clutched his leg, looking incredibly aggrieved.
“Director Cheng, if you want to praise my brother, just praise him. Can you please stop using me as a drum?”
The assistant director nearby couldn't help but cover his mouth to muffle a chuckle.
By the time this scene finished filming, Jiang Yue's back was completely drenched in sweat. This kind of high-intensity psychological acting was sometimes even more exhausting than shooting action scenes.
He walked over to the break area, sank into his chair, and let his shoulders slump back.
Jiang Kaiwen quickly handed him a bottle of ice-cold cola and opened his lunchbox.
“Brother, you must be starving. Eat quickly. We have twice-cooked pork today.”
Ding Zhengxin walked over carrying his thermos and stood nearby with a chuckle.
“Xiao Jiang, your transition just now—the pacing was captured beautifully. When you have some time, could you teach me a few tricks?”
He spoke with genuine sincerity.
Ding Zhengxin clearly wanted to learn. The characters he had played in the past weren't this complex, and taking on the role of Jiang Hongyan this time was already stepping out of his comfort zone.
After seeing Jiang Yue's performance and his state during their scenes together, he also understood that in the acting profession, the one who masters the craft first is the senior.
The natural talent and understanding possessed by young actors could indeed serve as a wake-up call for veteran actors.
Jiang Yue shoveled a large mouthful of rice into his mouth, his food not yet fully swallowed when he looked up.
“Teacher Ding, you flatter me. I still have a lot to learn.”
He swallowed the rice and added with a smile.
“When we're free, we can exchange pointers.”
Yang Qiong also wandered over. Watching Jiang Yue wolf down his food, her expression held a touch of novelty.
“Teacher Jiang, you were so terrifying in the scene just now. How can you be so down-to-earth off-camera?”
Jiang Kaiwen was amused by this.
“He's not just down-to-earth; he can also down two large bowls of rice.”
He shoved the chopsticks into Jiang Yue's hand and spoke in a solemn tone.
“Acting takes a lot of brainpower. If he doesn't eat his fill off-camera, how will he have the strength to fight against a group of people with eight hundred schemes up their sleeves like you guys?”
Laughter instantly erupted under the sunshade.
This was just how this crew was.
In front of the camera, undercurrents surged, and everyone was calculating in a game of life and death.
Once they wrapped up off-camera, everyone would squat under the sunshade with their lunchboxes, their laughter blending with the sound of disposable chopsticks being snapped open, full of warm, everyday life.
By the end of July, Jiang Yue had gone missing.
At least, in the eyes of his fans, that was the case.
The popularity of 《The Grand Game》 was still soaring, with new topics trending every day.
Fan edits of Chu Yan had reached ridiculous levels of competition across various platforms, ranging from solo beauty compilations to acting analysis posts that dissected his expressions frame by frame, with new trends rotating every day.
That 999 Cold Relief Powder mid-roll ad had even become what netizens called the "source of all evil."
There was a cheesy BGM version, a parody electronic music version, an assassin ordering version, and a prince-promoting-products version—each more bizarre than the last.
If it were any other newcomer with this kind of popularity, their agency would have flooded the internet with press releases and posted eight Weibo updates a day to retain fans, wishing they could break down his every breath into promotional material.
Jiang Yue, however, did no such thing. Aside from forwarding a few promotional posts for his works, his Weibo was as clean as a brand-new account.
At first, the fans were still immersed in Chu Yan's beauty and the silliness of the advertisement. But after a few days, the novelty wore off, and everyone finally realized what was happening.
In the Super Topic "Brother Yue's Little Moons," the atmosphere grew increasingly anxious.
【Brothers and sisters, we've run completely out of supplies. I feel like a left-behind child. Our boy got famous, and then he just vanished.】
【The first thing I do every day when I open my eyes is refresh Brother Yue's Weibo, only to look at those eternally unchanging reposts and close my eyes in utter despair.】
【Help! I've watched that pink cat ears short video so many times it's practically worn out, and I've already watched Shen Xu's cuts three times. If there's no new material, I'm really going to starve to death.】
【Didn't Yuchuan Media Studio get established? Where's the official account? Get to work! Start promoting him with some fanfare!】
Unable to find their star, the fans began to strike out in all directions.
Some formed groups to leave comments under the Weibo of Han Song, the male lead of 《The Hidden Sentry》.
【Brother Song, did you corrupt Brother Yue? He's just like you now, so much of a salted fish that he doesn't even blow a single bubble.】
【Please, we beg you, give us a clue about our missing person's whereabouts.】
Han Song was usually a salted fish, but when he had nothing to do, he also liked to browse Weibo.
When he saw these comments, he was lying on the sofa munching on an apple and almost choked.
He casually replied to one.
【Han Song: I'm not taking the blame for this. He's genuinely busy. He probably joined another crew. As for where exactly he's filming, I have no idea.】
Han Song's reply was like throwing a spark into a powder keg.
Joined another crew.
For the starving fans, these words meant that their star still had upcoming projects in store.
Instantly, the hashtag #FindingJiangYue# emerged out of nowhere and rushed up the hot search list at an absurd speed.
Initially, it was just the fans entertaining themselves.
Before long, onlookers who loved a good spectacle also joined in on this internet-wide manhunt.
The style of the discussion section gradually went off track.
【Leeuwenhoek squad reporting! We've analyzed all of Brother Yue's previous airport photos. The shoes he often wears are Brand M, and he prefers solid-colored clothes. Everyone, pay attention. If you see anyone fitting these traits, take a closer look.】
【Technical Analysis Group: We are currently filtering all crews nationwide that started filming since July, especially projects with high confidentiality levels.】
【Metaphysics Group: I observed the stars tonight and cast a divination. Jiang Yue is currently in the southwest, where there are mountains and rivers, and the city's name contains "mountain" or "water."】
Even the official Weibo of Jiuhe Pharmaceutical joined in on the meme.
The official account posted a screenshot of Chu Yan's advertisement with the caption:
【We can't find our spokesperson either. Whoever finds him, please tell him that the weather is hot and not to catch a cold. If he does, remember to drink a few more packets. #FindingJiangYue#】
With this, the internet's enthusiasm was completely set ablaze.
Fake news flew everywhere, and a real-life version of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" officially began.
【Location: Capital. I saw a handsome guy wearing a mask whose build is exactly like Jiang Yue's.】
Below the blurry photo of a back, the comments scrolled rapidly.
【Fake. Brother Yue has never carried that bag before.】
【I'm in Hengdian, and I just walked past a crew. The director's voice sounds a bit like Director Xu Pingqiu's.】
Someone replied immediately below:
【Wake up. Director Xu's 《The Grand Game》 is already airing. Did you travel through time?】
As for the central figure of this bustling online carnival, Jiang Yue, he knew absolutely nothing about the storm on the internet.
Not only did he not know, but no one in the entire Yuchuan Media Studio was paying attention to it either.
As his agent and assistant, Jiang Kaiwen followed Jiang Yue around the set every day, while also liaising with Li Hai regarding the follow-up matters of Yuantu Technology, keeping him incredibly busy.
His phone was used solely for work.
Chen Fei and Su Qing, who were back in Donghai, had gone completely off the grid physically.
Although the studio's space had been found, the interior was practically bare walls, with nothing but a few tables and chairs, lacking even a decent partition.
The two of them talked it over and decided they couldn't wait for Jiang Yue, their hands-off boss, to return before worrying about it, so they simply decided to take action themselves first.
Once the renovation plan was agreed upon, they made a video call to Jiang Yue.
After looking over the budget, Jiang Yue approved it with a wave of his hand, making only one request:
“Use the best materials. They must be environmentally friendly and formaldehyde-free.”
Having said that, he gave Chen Fei and Su Qing a long leave, telling them to focus on supervising the construction and not worry about other business.
With things like renovations, one could only feel at ease if someone was on-site keeping an eye on things.
Thus, Chen Fei and Su Qing took turns guarding the construction site.
Today they watched the electrician lay the wiring; tomorrow they checked the waterproof coating.
Their phones were entirely filled with chat logs with the construction crew, leaving them with no time to browse Weibo.
The newly registered official account of Yuchuan Media Studio had a pitifully small follower count and hadn't even posted a single greeting update. Naturally, no one could find this organization.
Rate on N.U.
