Over the next few days, Shancheng was turned into a ‘Jiang Yue encounter instance’ by netizens.
Today, someone photographed Jiang Yue, Jiang Kaiwen, and Cheng Songran squeezed around a tiny table in some obscure, out-of-the-way restaurant, dueling with chopsticks over the last plate of crispy pork.
Tomorrow, someone would spot Jiang Yue wearing a baseball cap on the steep stone steps outside a light rail station, huddled together with Cheng Songran, each holding a bowl of brown sugar ice jelly, eating while gesturing at storyboard sketches.
The photos that spread online one after another were surprisingly consistent in style.
They were all wide shots with restrained compositions. There were no extreme close-up headshots, let alone any malicious stalking.
The fans and passersby who came by seemed to have agreed on an unspoken rule: admire quietly, never disturb.
The crew's daily routine was also scrutinized under a magnifying glass by fans. They picked out more and more ridiculous details, eventually reaching a conclusion: this crew was genuinely, undeniably poor.
At dusk, the set wrapped up for the day.
Jiang Yue took the mineral water handed to him by Jiang Kaiwen, his gaze sweeping outside the alley.
A few fans stood dozens of meters away, taking a few photos from afar. Seeing him look over, they waved excitedly and then left together contentedly, without lingering in the slightest.
Jiang Yue retracted his gaze, his eyebrows arching slightly. “This is a bit too orderly.”
He looked at Cheng Songran beside him, who was blowing a small portable fan intensely at his own face, and spoke with hidden meaning.
“There have been people wandering around outside these past few days, but it has never affected the shooting. No one has even made a loud noise.”
“Even if the fans are highly disciplined, not encountering a single outlier over so many days is an abnormally low probability.”
Cheng Songran turned off the fan, tossed it casually to Jiang Kaiwen, and fished a fruit candy out of his pocket, peeling it and popping it into his mouth.
“I spent money.”
Jiang Kaiwen, who was counting their items, looked up at this. “Spent money on what? Don't you even distribute box lunches based on shot numbers?”
Cheng Songran nodded toward a few men not far away who were dressed in ordinary casual clothes, seemingly smoking and chatting.
“People from a security company. Paid by the day, elite tier.”
Jiang Yue followed his gaze.
Those men stood scattered, but their positions effectively blocked several entrances. Anyone who wanted to squeeze inside would have to run into their interception net first.
He withdrew his gaze and looked at Cheng Songran with a half-smile. “Director Cheng, I remember you said just the day before yesterday that our crew's budget was tight, and even the actresses' lipsticks had to be brought from home?”
Over these past few days of shooting, Wu Yaxin, played by Yang Qiong, only had two outfits that she wore back and forth.
The main antagonist, Jiang Hongyan, played by Ding Zhengxin, even wore his own private clothes to perform in several scenes.
The entire crew's costumes, makeup, and props oozed a proud sense of poverty.
“One thing is one thing,” Cheng Songran said righteously. “We can save on clothes, but we can't save on safety.”
“Our show doesn't have any makeup or costumes that need to be kept secret, so wide shots don't matter. But when I'm directing, I don't like people watching me from right next to the set. It breaks my train of thought.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Jiang Yue. “Especially when shooting scenes for a lead actor like you.”
Jiang Kaiwen rolled his eyes dramatically from the side, muttering a complaint, “Director Cheng, I really have to hand it to your logic. You'll spend big money to hire top-tier security, but you're unwilling to buy Teacher Ding's character an extra shirt?”
“This is called spending money where it counts.” Cheng Songran had an expression that said ‘you don't understand.’
“Can a piece of clothing stop sasaeng fans? No, but professional security can.”
As he spoke, he stood up and patted the dust off his pants. “Besides, thanks to your Third Brother, those free trending searches over the last few days have saved us at least a seven-figure promotion fee. No matter how you calculate it, we're making a profit.”
Listening to his serious nonsense, Jiang Yue realized that this man's mental fortitude was not inferior to his own.
“Forget about eating well.” He rotated his wrist and looked at Cheng Songran. “In tomorrow's scenes, if you cut me a few less times, I'll count that as my extra meal.”
Hearing this, the laziness Cheng Songran had just shown vanished instantly.
“That won't do,” he grinned. “We're shooting the psychological clinic scene tomorrow. If you perform well, I'll let you order whatever you want for supper tomorrow night.”
The next day, the call sheet for 《Prisoner's Game in the Mirror》 flipped forward a dozen pages. The August heatwave in Shancheng had not receded, and the glass curtain walls of Jiangbeizui were bleached white by the sun.
The crew's shooting progress was also pushed into the late stage along with this heatwave.
Today's scene was the turning point of the entire drama.
Surprisingly, the shooting location was not chosen in some old alley or dilapidated building, but was set in a high-end psychological clinic inside an office building in the Jiangbeizui CBD.
The clinic featured a minimalist Nordic style with large blank white walls, soft lighting, and an off-white sofa placed by the window. Even the transparent water cups on the coffee table oozed wealth.
Jiang Kaiwen followed behind Jiang Yue, watching Cheng Songran direct the lighting technician to adjust the angles, his face filled with disbelief.
He lowered his voice and said to Jiang Yue, “Third Brother, am I seeing things? Director Cheng actually was willing to spend money to rent out an entire psychological clinic? Doesn't he usually divide the box lunches into A and B sets?”
“In this scene, the setting itself is the focal point.” Jiang Yue flipped through the script in his hand. “The more professional the environment, the better the final shot.”
Not far away, Cheng Songran heard this and turned back to glare at Jiang Kaiwen. “What do you know? Good steel must be used on the blade.”
“If the setting for this scene is subpar, the emotional foundation of the entire drama collapses. This money must be spent.”
Jiang Kaiwen silently shut his mouth.
Fine. When you're stingy, you have your reasons, and when you're generous, you have your reasons too.
This scene was about Chen Jingan, under the subtle guidance of the old screenwriter Ren Songjun, piecing together all the fragments of the truth and actively seeking the help of the psychologist, Zhou Feiman.
What he had to face directly was the second personality lurking in his body, named Lu Zhichen.
Cheng Songran handed the storyboard to Jiang Yue. “We'll shoot this scene twice.”
Jiang Yue flipped to the dialogue page. “Chen Jingan first?”
“Yes. For the first run, you'll play Chen Jingan, delivering your lines to the empty sofa.”
“For the second run, you'll play Lu Zhichen, sitting on the sofa to respond. The camera positions and shot sizes won't change at all. Post-production will edit the two of you together.”
Cheng Songran looked at Jiang Yue. “The difficulty of this scene lies in playing off yourself. You have to catch the emotions left behind from the previous run.”
Standing in the corner, Jiang Kaiwen's palms were already sweating.
He looked at Jiang Yue, who merely closed the script and nodded to the script supervisor.
“All departments in position. Scene 45, Take 1, Action!”
The clapper board dropped.
Inside the consultation room, Chen Jingan sat on the sofa opposite the psychologist, Zhou Feiman.
“Dr. Zhou, please stop writing him into the symptom column.” Chen Jingan spoke first.
Zhou Feiman held her pen, her tone as calm as ever. “Mr. Chen, we've talked many times. Lu Zhichen is a defense mechanism generated when you face extreme pressure. His appearance is related to your trauma.”
“No.” Chen Jingan interrupted her, his fingers pressing against his knee, creasing his pants. “You're wrong.”
Zhou Feiman looked up. “Where am I wrong?”
“He saved me.”
The consultation room fell silent.
Chen Jingan did not avoid Zhou Feiman's gaze. His throat bobbed as he continued, “For the past three years, I feared him, hated him. I thought he was a monster in my body, the culprit who ruined my life.”
“But every time I was about to collapse, he was the one who came out to bear it. He talks nasty, and he doesn't follow the rules, but he has always been keeping me alive.”
Having said that, Chen Jingan's gaze slowly shifted to the empty sofa beside him.
His eyes changed. They were no longer intense like when he was confronting Zhou Feiman, but were now mixed with a sense of relief and a sincere, equal invitation.
“Lu Zhichen.” He spoke to the empty sofa. “I know you're listening.”
“I'm sorry, I misunderstood you for three years.”
Chen Jingan raised his head, the redness in his eyes not falling as tears.
“This time, you don't have to bear everything for me. I won't hide behind you anymore. Lu Zhichen, I want to... fight alongside you.”
“Cut! Good, a safety take for Chen Jingan's part.”
Cheng Songran's voice carried a hint of suppressed excitement.
There was no break on set. The makeup artist immediately stepped forward to touch up Jiang Yue's makeup in two minutes, while the hair stylist fixed his messy hair, revealing his clean forehead.
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