Chapter 106: Fruit-Scented Toast
The new assistant, Zhong Yin, was a plump young woman with a round face and a cheerful smile, like the tangyuan (glutinous rice balls) eaten on New Year’s morning.
Zhong Yin was a capable and efficient assistant. When Ji Junxin wasn’t filming, she would be by her side, taking care of everything, from her clothes and bag to her makeup and costume, ensuring everything was perfect. When Ji Junxin was on set, she would watch from the sidelines, chatting with the crew. Although plump, she was pleasant-looking, with a cheerful demeanor and a sweet tongue, quickly befriending the crew members.
Mi Hongdou had known Zhong Yin in her previous life.
In her past life, Zhong Yin joined Qiong Yu about five years later, around the same time as Mi Hongdou. By then, Ji Junxin had already retired, and Zhong Yin was working with Bao Yueqiao. She had been similarly plump, her cheerful personality and sweet-talking quickly winning over the senior staff at Qiong Yu.
In her past life, Mi Hongdou had been focused on her acting career and on becoming Ji Junxin’s food buddy. She wasn’t close to Zhong Yin, or even Bao Yueqiao. It was Bai Tang who had told her about Zhong Yin. “Never judge a book by its cover” seemed to perfectly describe Zhong Yin. Despite her plump and seemingly naive appearance, many at Qiong Yu, after chatting with her, found themselves in a good mood, but realizing later that they hadn’t learned anything about Bao Yueqiao, while she had gleaned a lot of information from them. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And she was so skilled that people would willingly chat with her again. At that time, Zhong Yin, working with Bao Yueqiao, handled everything efficiently, both big and small tasks, making Bao Yueqiao’s manager both happy and frustrated – happy to have less work, frustrated at being practically redundant.
Mi Hongdou observed that Qiao Rubai, having brought Zhong Yin in years earlier to be Ji Junxin’s assistant, had really put in a lot of thought. Lu Gaoshi had been fired, Shen Zhu was problematic, and Xiao Zhang… was also questionable. With no reliable assistant for so long, it seemed Qiao Rubai had been searching. A capable assistant was easy to find, a capable assistant with a clean background was difficult.
The current Zhong Yin seemed less experienced than when she first joined Qiong Yu, but her work ethic was just as meticulous and dedicated. Given time, she would definitely be a great asset to Ji Junxin.
Mi Hongdou knew that Qiao Rubai must have put in a lot of effort to find Zhong Yin so early. Combined with her experience from her previous life, she also felt that Zhong Yin was a good fit for Ji Junxin. But with Zhong Yin’s arrival, Mi Hongdou felt that her days of being Ji Junxin’s sole caregiver, their shared life, were coming to an end.
Zhong Yin was also quite tactful. Although she was Ji Junxin’s assistant, since Mi Hongdou was also living there, she would disappear whenever Ji Junxin wanted some privacy. Previously, without an assistant, Ji Junxin would have breakfast with Bai Tang and lunch and dinner with Mi Hongdou. Zhong Yin didn’t interfere, quietly eating her own meals. She was diligent, always by Ji Junxin’s side, and had a sweet tongue, but she wasn’t as clingy and fawning as Shen Zhu.
She was a good assistant.
Unfortunately, Mi Hongdou’s good impression of Zhong Yin, like a bubble, quickly burst.
Not because Zhong Yin was incompetent, on the contrary, it was because she was too competent!
As an assistant, Zhong Yin was eloquent, capable, hardworking, responsible, and even quick-witted, she was already excellent. And then, she became even better!
One afternoon, during a break in filming, Bai Tang, as usual, took out some tea and snacks for Ji Junxin. Then, Zhong Yin also took out a bag of snacks, smiling and offering them to everyone.
The snacks were simple, similar to the garlic butter toast Mi Hongdou had made before, except these were sweet buttered toast.
Sweet buttered toast was usually made by cutting toast into small squares, buttering them, sprinkling sugar on top, and baking until golden brown.
But Zhong Yin’s toast tasted different. The small, bite-sized squares were crispy but not crumbly. Besides the aroma of butter, there was also a faint fruity scent. Mi Hongdou could tell it was probably grapefruit or lemon, but if it were just fruit jam, the toast wouldn’t be so crispy. So, she guessed it must be fruit powder.
Mi Hongdou, with her culinary knowledge, could only guess. Ji Junxin, captivated by the unique flavor, asked directly. And Zhong Yin’s answer was… she had used homemade candied fruit powder instead of sugar, hence the combined aroma of butter and fruit, fragrant but not greasy. She even generously shared her homemade candied fruit.
And so… Mi Hongdou’s favorable impression of Zhong Yin, like a bubble, burst.
Two tigers can’t live on the same mountain.
With filming nearing its end, Mi Hongdou was increasingly reluctant to part with Ji Junxin. And now, there was someone who would be with Ji Junxin every day, she felt a twinge of jealousy. This person being capable was one thing, at least she could take care of Ji Junxin, but she was also a good cook!
Mi Hongdou felt that after filming wrapped, Ji Junxin wouldn’t need her anymore.
She hated overlapping skill sets!
Although slightly jealous, Mi Hongdou still felt that having someone like Zhong Yin to take care of Ji Junxin… was a good thing.
But once, when she casually asked Ji Junxin about her impression of Zhong Yin, Ji Junxin had simply replied… “She’s okay.”
Why would an almost perfect assistant only receive an “okay”? Mi Hongdou didn’t understand, but she was secretly relieved.
The reason for this, Mi Hongdou naturally didn’t know.
Ji Junxin wasn’t stupid, she could see Zhong Yin’s competence. But on Zhong Yin’s first day, Ji Junxin had shown her around the suite, complaining about the flimsy shower curtain. And then, a few hours later, Zhong Yin, somehow persuading the hotel owner, had someone remove the curtain that Mi Hongdou had painstakingly reattached with layers of tape and replace it with opaque, frosted film with an ink painting design, even adding a lock on the inside.
Wasn’t this bathroom the owner’s favorite design? Wasn’t it supposed to be transparent and sparkling? Why, when she and Mi Hongdou had asked before, it had been impossible, and now Zhong Yin had solved it so easily?
“Now you don’t have to worry about the curtain falling. And you can lock it from the inside,” Zhong Yin said thoughtfully.
What could Ji Junxin say? Could she say, I wanted the curtain to fall! I wanted to barge in!
Ji Junxin could only praise Zhong Yin’s efficiency, feeling frustrated.
Some people, no matter how good they were, their timing was just… off.
Regardless of how Zhong Yin’s arrival changed their lives, the script, with each passing day, became thinner.
Soon, only the final scenes remained.
Four years after returning to the palace, the emperor’s old injuries relapsed, and he died without leaving a will. In court, some officials, recalling the Empress’s surrender, worried that the eldest prince, raised by her, would be controlled by her, that the Ji dynasty would fall into the hands of the Qin family. So, the court was divided, some supporting the eldest prince, Miao Qianye’s son, others supporting the second prince, born to Consort Zhu (played by Jiang Duo). To ensure the eldest prince’s ascension, the Empress committed suicide.
Today’s scene was one of the most important: the Empress’s suicide, and Miao Qianye’s desperate but futile attempt to stop her.
Mi Hongdou’s suicide scene went smoothly. Drinking flat cola wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t terrible either, certainly better than soy sauce.
But the next scene, of Miao Qianye rushing to the Empress’s palace, only to find her dead, wasn’t so smooth.
According to the script, Miao Qianye, upon receiving the news, rushed to the Central Palace, but the curtains of the bed were drawn. As she stumbled closer, she saw a pool of blood by the bed. Her hand trembling, she slowly pulled back the curtains, revealing the Empress lying still, blood by her side, seemingly vomited after taking poison. Miao Qianye reached out, checking for a pulse, then her hand dropped, and she stumbled back, collapsing to her knees, wailing in grief.
Ji Junxin’s performance was smooth and without hesitation. But Director Pan felt something was missing.
He replayed the scene.
Her initial panicked rush, her desperate dash into the Empress’s chamber, her brief hesitation upon seeing the drawn curtains, her trembling hand as she pulled them back, these details, not explicitly written in the script, were perfectly captured. And then, seeing the dead Empress, her disbelief, her questioning, her confirmation, and finally, her grief, all matched the script. Even her final wail conveyed her deep sorrow.
Everything seemed perfect, even exceeding the script in some aspects. But Director Pan still felt something was lacking.
As the director, he had to ensure the smooth flow of the plot, the richness of details, and the emotional resonance. Having worked on this film for months, he knew the story inside and out.
Ji Junxin’s performance was good, technically flawless. But Director Pan felt that it wasn’t enough. In his opinion, this scene was a crucial plot point and also a pivotal emotional moment. He even felt that the emotional impact of this scene should surpass the earlier assumed death and the later actual death of the emperor.
Although logically, those two events should be more emotionally charged, this scene, he felt, was the true highlight of the film. Although… something still felt off. But that was his director’s intuition.
Because he valued this scene so much, Ji Junxin’s good performance wasn’t enough.
Incorrect lines, wrong movements, even inappropriate emotions, those could be easily corrected. But a “lack of something,” that was difficult for an actor to fix.
Director Pan understood this, so he didn’t say much, just that this scene was important, he wanted to film a few more takes to have more options for editing, and then, after a brief discussion with Ji Junxin, he asked her to be more… invested.
So, for the second take, Ji Junxin did put in more effort. Her panicked rush, her fear upon entering the chamber, her final grief, she amplified the emotions.
Compared to the first take, the second one was much more emotionally charged.
But Director Pan still wasn’t satisfied.
Intuition was just intuition. Feeling was just feeling. Such subjective experiences were difficult to articulate, let alone to quickly understand and improve.
Director Pan wasn’t an unreasonable director. The scene was technically fine, just not reaching his standards. Although frustrated, he wouldn’t vent his anger at the actors.
“The emotional intensity is already strong, any more, and it would be over the top,” he muttered to himself, frowning.
Then, a familiar yet somewhat distant voice came from beside him.
“What’s wrong? Isn’t this scene good?” Qiao Rubai, having just arrived from Jiang City, had walked in just as Director Pan was replaying the second take.
Director Pan, startled, turned around. It was Qiao Rubai, no wonder no one had announced her arrival.
“Yes, it’s good.” Qiao Rubai’s presence didn’t ease his frustration. “But something is missing. I thought it was the emotional intensity, but even after asking Ji Junxin to amplify it, it’s still not what I want.”
“I think it’s good.” Qiao Rubai, seeing his troubled expression, said, “This take is good enough, it’s a pass.”
Director Pan shook his head. “No.”
Qiao Rubai was speechless.
She had rushed here this morning, leaving her work in Jiang City, because of this scene, the death of the young empress. And when she arrived, the scene was already finished.
Seeing that the scene was safely and smoothly completed, she had been relieved. But after some contemplation, Director Pan had decided to reshoot.
Several takes.
Although he had said it was because the scene was important, needing more footage for editing, the repeated takes made everyone uneasy. It felt more like they were NGing.
But with the repeated takes, Director Pan started to understand what was missing.
“Xiao Ji, your emotions… they’re not genuine enough,” he said to Ji Junxin gently. “It’s not about the intensity, it’s about the genuineness. The difference between acting and truly feeling it, do you understand?”
Ji Junxin nodded.
He loved actors who were perceptive and obedient! Director Pan suppressed his impatience and continued patiently, “So, for the next take, imagine you’re really Miao Qianye, losing the young empress, who has been your companion and support, truly feel it, don’t just act, be more immersed.”
Although he had taken Ji Junxin aside, Qiao Rubai, worried, and Mi Hongdou, also concerned, had followed.
Hearing this, Qiao Rubai couldn’t help but interrupt. “She’s an actress, isn’t acting enough? Why does it have to be real?”
Director Pan wasn’t offended, he just explained, “If this entire film had been just acting, then I wouldn’t ask for genuineness in this particular scene. The point is, in this film, Ji Junxin, Xiaomi, even Jiang Lingling, their performances, both in the palace and the estate scenes, were driven by genuine emotions, not just acting. So, there’s no reason for this crucial scene to be any different. Whether this film can reach its full potential depends on this scene.”
As a renowned director, his words carried weight, and Qiao Rubai couldn’t refute them.
Seeing the tense atmosphere, Mi Hongdou, worried about Ji Junxin’s state after so many takes, gently tugged at Ji Junxin’s sleeve and said half-jokingly, “It’s okay, if he wants genuineness, I’ll drink some flat cola in front of you, then lie down and pretend to be poisoned. Just imagine I’m really dead, see if that helps you get into character.”
Mi Hongdou’s words were partly to lighten the mood, partly to help Ji Junxin meet Director Pan’s requirements. After all, emotionally charged scenes, repeated takes were exhausting, and the more they filmed, the worse the performance might become.
Mi Hongdou’s well-intentioned words, however, were like a spark to Qiao Rubai, who had specifically come for this scene.
“Oh, really?” Qiao Rubai sneered, putting her hand on Mi Hongdou’s shoulder. “Come, let me show you what ‘genuine’ means.”
She pulled Mi Hongdou towards the bed where she had just been lying down.
Ji Junxin, sensing something was wrong, followed, about to say something to Qiao Rubai.
But Qiao Rubai, as if she had eyes on the back of her head, quickly turned around. “Stay there, don’t come any closer.”
Her tone was sharp and unquestionable. Qiao Rubai had never spoken to Ji Junxin like this before, and Ji Junxin, stunned, stopped, and Qiao Rubai pulled Mi Hongdou further away.
Seeing that Qiao Rubai wasn’t doing anything to Mi Hongdou, just having her lie down on the bed where she had played dead earlier, Ji Junxin didn’t follow.
“Lie down,” Qiao Rubai said, pressing Mi Hongdou onto the bed.
“You…” Mi Hongdou looked at Qiao Rubai, confused. What was she doing?
“You want genuineness? Let me show you. Let me see… how dare you… how dare you make her act like you’re really dead.” Out of Ji Junxin’s sight and earshot, Qiao Rubai’s whispered words were laced with barely suppressed anger, her voice even slightly trembling.
Qiao Rubai’s words were cryptic and pointed. Mi Hongdou’s heart pounded, and she was stunned. So Qiao Rubai, seeing her dazed state, pushed her onto the bed and even closed her eyes.
In the darkness, Mi Hongdou listened to Qiao Rubai’s retreating footsteps.
Qiao Rubai left, and although Mi Hongdou could get up, she didn’t…
She seemed to understand what Qiao Rubai was trying to tell her.
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