In order to play along with Liang Yu’s request to “not wake him up”, Xu Jingzhe stayed in bed until seven, but he just couldn’t stick it out any longer.

As long as Liang Yu was out working, Xu Jingzhe couldn’t be idle. He would either watch from the sidelines or help to deliver food and drinks, but he couldn’t just laze about in the guesthouse like a useless person.

Although he couldn’t do the physical work for Liang Yu since it was important for his role, Xu Jingzhe could still take care of him afterwards.

Liang Yu’s inquiry about “congee” that morning had indeed been for him. The girl seemed a little curious about their relationship. This place was just that simple. It seemed that no matter how the outside world changed, here, the snow would still be snow and the trees would still be trees. There would still be clouds and wind in the sky, and there would still be idle people on the ground.

Liang Yu said that they were “friends”, and Xu Jingzhe didn’t feel the need to explain. Husband, lover, partner, friend, it didn’t matter. He was willing to take on any role in Liang Yu’s life. It didn’t really matter how they defined it.

After finishing his meal, Xu Jingzhe went to deliver some water to Liang Yu. They weren’t cutting trees today but planting them. The local government had tightened regulations and begun prioritizing environmental protection. They couldn’t just take without giving anything back, drain the pond just to get the fish.

Liang Yu had been out in the sun for several days now, and he was visibly tanner than before. The change in skin tone didn’t take away from his good looks. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that the deeper skin tone only highlighted his features, giving him a more masculine appeal.

Xu Jingzhe watched him work with the rest of the crew to transport saplings, plant them with a shovel, and cover them with soil. They had a foreman overseeing the work. Liang Yu didn’t talk much but he was diligent, so everyone liked him. Whenever there was a break, they would actively seek him out to chat.

“You’ll be unrecognizable by the time the shoot is over.” Xu Jingzhe was so distressed for the other that he was practically numb to it by this point. He had been bringing water in the morning, meals at noon, and snacks in the afternoon, basically spending all his time running back and forth for Liang Yu. Liang Yu felt that he was too much of a distraction and urged him to go back.

“Why are you out here in the sun?” Liang Yu said impatiently. “You should go hang out with Lin Zhuoyu instead.”

Sometimes, Lin Zhuoyu would come to watch Liang Yu work. After doing so, he’d head back with a new burst of inspiration and spend all night revising the script. He would then bring the revised lines in the next day, so Liang Yu would have to rememorize his lines during his break. Xu Jingzhe felt that Liang Yu was a very experiential sort of actor. He got more and more into his role as time went on. By the time they started filming, Liang Yu had blended in so well with the other mountain men that Xu Jingzhe couldn’t even recognize him at first glance.

The other two actors in the film are also veterans. One played the previous mountain guard, “Old Zhou”, and the other played Old Zhou’s wife, “A-Yan”.

Xu Jingzhe knew both of the actors. In fact, back when he was a student, he’d actually taken classes with Zhou Jiulin and Mo Yan. Ren Qing and Mo Yan were also long time friends. When she saw Xu Jingzhe, her eyes filled with tears of excitement.

“It’s been so many years since I’ve last seen you! Qing Qing is always mentioning you to me.” Mo Yan sighed. “It’s a shame we’re all so busy. We never seem to have a chance to meet up.”

Xu Jingzhe felt a little guilty. “That’s my bad. I should’ve visited you sooner.”

Mo Yan shook her head. “What’s there to visit me for? I’m always teaching classes, so, even if you did come visit me, you wouldn’t have been able to catch me.” She was a straightforward person, so she spoke without much decorum. Xu Jingzhe couldn’t help but laugh, and Mo Yan fixed her eyes on him.

“You really are getting more and more handsome.” She sighed. “Back in the day, the class had a nickname for you, Springtime. Remember?”

“…” Xu Jingzhe had almost forgotten about it. Zhang Man had told him about the rise of “anti-girlfriendTranslator’s NoteFemale fans that want to be their idol’s boyfriend specifically.” fans online, but this kind of thing had actually been around for quite a while. When he was in school, every single good looking boy had been given a “girly” nickname. Of course, it had carried a bit of a teasing tone at the time, but, nowadays, people online meant it purely as a complement. Only someone that was attractive enough deserved to be called “wife”.

Lin Zhuoyu had a very casual approach when it came to naming characters. Zhou Jiulin’s character was called “Old Zhou”. Mo Yan’s was “A-Yan”. Liang Yu’s character was one of the few with a full name. In the script, his character was called “Chen Liangsheng”, but, even then, the “Liang” in “Chen Liangsheng” had been taken from Liang Yu’s own name. While they were filming, everyone addressed Liang Yu as “Liangsheng”, almost as if they were addressing the character himself.

Xu Jingzhe had no idea what the main plot of the script was at first, and neither did the actors. They were only given their own parts. This was also Lin Zhuoyu’s style. He believed that actors should be both “familiar” and “unfamiliar” with each other. That is, they shouldn’t be pre-planning their next move, knowing how the other would react. He wanted authentic and natural dialogue, with no pretense.

Big directors all had their own unique habits and styles. Xu Jingzhe could understand that. Qiao Zhenqiao, for instance, was the complete opposite of Lin Zhuoyu. He demanded that the leads memorize every single line and detail of the script, all the way down to the most minor of roles. He wanted them to be able to chew up every single line, swallow them, and spit them back out perfectly. This made his initial collaboration with Liang Yu, a “semi-illiterate”, extremely painful.

Still, Liang Yu’s “rebelliousness” and occasional “non-cooperation” added a sense of spontaneity to Qiao Zhenqiao’s films. With him, Qiao Zhenqiao’s films could break free from the rigidity that dominated his style, giving them the “spirituality” that it was missing. On the other hand, in working with Lin Zhuoyu, Liang Yu’s “professionalism” and “pragmatism” helped reign in the other’s overly free flowing content. He allowed Lin Zhuoyu’s “talent” to take root, giving it depth and weight.

Sometimes, when watching him play “Chen Liangsheng”, Xu Jingzhe couldn’t help but think that, if he were a director, he would’ve had to burn eight years of incense in a past life to have the fortune of meeting an actor like Liang Yu.

When shooting the late night scenes, the mountain guard was in the sentry box at the foot of the mountain. In Mohe, the temperature at night dropped below 10°C, even in the summer. The surrounding vegetation was dense, and mosquitoes were constantly buzzing around their faces. Zhou Jiulin was older, so he went over his lines one more time before getting in front of the camera.

Lin Zhuoyu started by filming “Chen Liangsheng” squatting at the sentry box’s entrance. Aside from the two main actors, the rest of the background roles were filled in by locals. Xu Jingzhe stood to the side, watching as Lin Zhuoyu orchestrated the shot. It was a long continuous shot without a single line of dialogue. “Chen Liangsheng” was wrapped in a tattered green cotton jacket. The lantern hanging from the eaves swayed in the wind, casting a dim light upon his face every now and then.

“Chen Liangsheng” waited for a while before pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He took one out, held it in his mouth, and then reached for a box of matches.

A “colleague” emerged from the sentry box. “Chen Liangsheng” shifted slightly to the side and glanced up at the other.

“Got a light?” He spoke in authentic dialect.

The colleague pulled out a lighter and lit his cigarette.

Xu Jingzhe wasn’t sure whether Liang Yu knew how to smoke or not, but the way he inhaled seemed fairly practiced. It was only after a while that the smoke drifted out through his nose.

The cigarette glowed faintly as it burned. After taking a drag, “Chen Liangsheng” extended his arm and rested it on his knee. The smoke rose into the air, curling around his face. The light above him continued to sway.

Lin Zhuoyu didn’t call cut. He hadn’t actually given the actors any specifics on how to act out this scene. All he did was outline the basics. “Chen Liangsheng” and “Old Zhou” were on duty tonight. The junior was waiting for his senior. The rest was left up to Liang Yu. Squatting by the door, borrowing a light, his every action seemed as though it was written into the script itself. Zhou Jiulin, the senior in question, eventually entered the frame, grumbling, “Why are you squatting by the door? Go inside already.”

“Chen Liangsheng” stood up, casually patting the dirt off his pants. He motioned to toss the cigarette onto the ground.

“Old Zhou” continued to scold him, “How can you just throw it wherever? What if it catches fire?!”

“Chen Liangsheng” meekly shrunk into his shoulders. He put out the cigarette and held it tightly in his hand. He then raised his head, smiling somewhat sheepishly.

Lin Zhuoyu finally called out, “Pass!”

As the crew cleaned up the scene, Lin Zhuoyu walked over to discuss the next set of lines with Zhou Jiulin. Meanwhile, Liang Yu waved toward Xu Jingzhe, who was still standing off to the side.

“You should go get some sleep,” Liang Yu said. “We’ll be filming all night.”

Xu Jingzhe refused. “I’ll stay and keep you company.” He glanced at Liang Yu’s palm and noticed a small burn mark, likely from the cigarette just a moment ago.

“When did you learn to smoke?” Xu Jingzhe asked.

Liang Yu: “I just picked it up. Didn’t you notice that I stopped after the first puff?”

Xu Jingzhe was a little surprised. “I thought that was just for dramatic effect.”

“Of course not.” Liang Yu scoffed, pulling a face as if he were about to gag. He said seriously, “If I’d taken another puff, I would’ve started coughing. That would’ve been way too embarrassing.”