Chapter 109: Wait a Moment
Director Pan’s suggestion made Ji Junxin feel uneasy. So I’m the only one curious about what happened between Qiao Rubai and Mi Hongdou, and why Mi Hongdou was crying? Director Pan’s serious and urgent tone, urging her to fetch Mi Hongdou, made her feel like her curiosity was the strange one.
Urged by Director Pan, Ji Junxin slowly walked back to find Mi Hongdou. She hadn’t gone far when she saw Mi Hongdou walking towards her. And then, Ji Junxin clearly saw Mi Hongdou freeze, hesitate, and then try to avoid her, stepping aside as if to walk around her.
Although Mi Hongdou quickly corrected her course, Ji Junxin had seen her hesitation.
So you two have secrets now, not even telling me! And now one runs away, and the other tries to avoid me, what’s going on! Ji Junxin, who had been worried about them earlier, was now angry. Facing the approaching Mi Hongdou, who was trying to smile, Ji Junxin felt annoyed and couldn’t be bothered with pleasantries.
“Director Pan is looking for you,” she said coldly, then turned and walked away.
Ji Junxin’s expression was even worse than when Mi Hongdou hadn’t answered her question earlier, and Mi Hongdou didn’t dare to follow, just trailing behind her slowly as they returned to the set.
Ji Junxin had initially walked quickly, then slowed down. But Mi Hongdou still hadn’t caught up, and Ji Junxin, spoiled by Mi Hongdou’s attentiveness, was furious. She felt like, after that short conversation between Qiao Rubai and Mi Hongdou, her treatment had plummeted.
Regardless of their emotions, one angry, the other anxious, they quickly returned to Director Pan.
Director Pan wanted to reshoot Mi Hongdou’s suicide scene. He said that her earlier performance was good, but he felt that the Empress, although resolute in her decision to die for the sake of the country and the eldest prince, should also have some lingering attachment to life.
Even the most courageous, facing death, would instinctively cling to life. And the Empress’s character didn’t need to be so heroic, a more tragic portrayal would be more fitting.
Tragedy was about being forced to do what you didn’t want to do, being forced to die when you didn’t want to die.
The earlier take, although capturing the Empress’s righteousness and resolve, lacked that sense of reluctance. It was a positive portrayal, but not tragic enough. The Empress, calmly accepting her death after arranging her affairs, didn’t resonate with Miao Qianye’s later grief. Friendship wasn’t a one-sided emotion.
Director Pan didn’t ask why Mi Hongdou’s eyes were red after her private conversation with Qiao Rubai. He just said that her current state was perfect for reshooting the scene. Dying with reluctance would be more impactful than dying without any attachments.
Normally, after such a detailed explanation, Mi Hongdou would understand and deliver a perfect performance.
But now… although she understood, she didn’t want to reshoot.
After hearing about her death in her previous life from Qiao Rubai, having to film a suicide scene again, was Director Pan deliberately trying to torture her? Mi Hongdou was speechless.
She hesitated, not responding. Director Pan, thinking that he hadn’t explained clearly enough, analyzed the Empress’s psychological state before her death.
Mi Hongdou still didn’t respond, seemingly distracted.
Director Pan frowned.
Even though she was still angry at Mi Hongdou, Ji Junxin didn’t want to see her being scolded. She nudged Mi Hongdou gently. “Director Pan explained it so clearly, even I understand. Go touch up your makeup, while your eyes are still red, let’s film the suicide scene quickly, so we can continue with my scene.”
Mi Hongdou glanced at Ji Junxin. She didn’t want to “die” again in front of her.
Ji Junxin, oblivious to Mi Hongdou’s feelings, pushed her towards the makeup area.
Mi Hongdou couldn’t find a reason to refuse, and with Ji Junxin’s insistent gaze, she was pushed back onto the set.
Facing the “poisoned wine,” Mi Hongdou was no longer as calm as before.
She didn’t want to “die” again in front of Ji Junxin, looking at the wine pot, wondering if she should be grateful that the Empress died from poison, not from jumping off a cliff.
The crew was ready, but Mi Hongdou couldn’t find any inspiration. Acting? She was in no mood…
But thinking about Director Pan’s insistence on realism… if she couldn’t nail this scene in one take, he would ask for another, and another, and another. She would have to die countless times in front of Ji Junxin… Although she knew Ji Junxin understood it was just acting, she still didn’t want to repeat this scene, she couldn’t bear it.
Without the right mood or emotions, her mind still on the earlier conversation, Mi Hongdou, to avoid NGing, could only try to immerse herself in the role.
Sitting at the table, her gaze lowered, looking at the “poisoned wine,” she seemed to be in a trance.
The Empress’s suicide scene, first take, reshoot.
The young Empress sat quietly, her eyes lowered, seemingly studying the wood grain of the table, or perhaps just lost in thought. After a long moment, she slowly looked up at the wine pot and smiled faintly, a gentle smile. Then, with a decisive movement, she picked up the pot and poured a full cup of wine.
Her grip on the cup was so tight that her knuckles turned white. She brought the cup to her lips, then paused.
She looked towards the door. It was closed, no one there. But she seemed to be looking through the door, at a distant place, a distant person… Her eyes reddened, her gaze deep and melancholic.
Frozen like a statue, she seemed to be waiting, waiting for someone to open the door, waiting for someone to appear. She seemed reluctant to drink the wine, waiting for someone to stop her.
Just as she looked at the door, her expression vulnerable, almost as if she would change her mind, her gaze hardened.
The hesitation was just a fleeting moment, a final indulgence in life.
Two tears silently slid down her cheeks, and she resolutely drank the wine.
She looked at the door again.
Not with anticipation, but… with a final farewell.
Then she stood up, frowning, her lips pressed together, clutching her stomach, seemingly in pain, her back straight, and walked towards the bed.
Just before getting into bed and drawing the curtains, she looked at the door again.
Still closed.
Her eyes reddened again, her gaze filled with an unconcealed sadness and longing.
Finally, the curtains fell, and the room was silent.
Yes, silent.
Not just the set, but also the crew, watching.
A heavy, oppressive silence, as if the young Empress on screen had truly crossed the boundary between life and death. That resolute choice of death, and the lingering attachment to life, two seemingly contradictory emotions, perfectly intertwined.
So real, so real that it tugged at their heartstrings.
For a long time, no one spoke, the cameraman didn’t even stop filming.
Although the scene was over, the silence behind the curtains lingered, everyone holding their breath, wanting to pull back the curtains, yet also hesitant.
Mi Hongdou, lying on the bed, her eyes closed, thinking about her life, slowly detached from the role.
When she opened the curtains, she was surprised by the silence, a strange, almost eerie silence.
But as soon as she emerged, the crew members, who had been captivated by her performance, relaxed. It was just acting… they thought, relieved.
Director Pan, his fists clenched, his expression serious, his eyes shining, remained silent for a long moment.
He had just suggested a minor change, a slight shift in emotion, because he had noticed Mi Hongdou’s red eyes, and he hadn’t expected… such a brilliant performance!
Especially her three glances towards the door, the anticipation, the reluctance, the regret, contrasting sharply with her decisive action of drinking the poison. That bittersweet mix of longing and resignation, portrayed so vividly, it was heartbreaking.
This was the power of death, the power of tragedy, and… something more. Director Pan couldn’t articulate it, but he felt a deep emotional resonance.
This take was far superior to the previous one.
Next, it was Miao Qianye’s arrival.
The Empress’s suicide, like a gentle breeze, subtly brought the audience’s mood to a low point. And then Miao Qianye’s grief would be the catalyst, transforming the sadness into tears, the emotional climax of the film.
But… Mi Hongdou’s performance was so good that if Ji Junxin’s next scene was just technically proficient, without genuine emotion, it wouldn’t be enough, it wouldn’t be able to build on Mi Hongdou’s performance. Director Pan, after his initial elation, now frowned, his excitement replaced by worry.
Just as he was feeling frustrated, Ji Junxin, who had been silent, suddenly spoke.
“Film… film my scene,” she said, her voice slightly trembling, her gaze towards Director Pan unusually firm and eager. “Now.”
It wasn’t just Director Pan and the crew who had been moved by Mi Hongdou’s performance…
Ji Junxin, having watched the scene, her heart pounding, felt an unprecedented urge to act.
She knew, she knew what the young empress was looking at, what she was waiting for.
A voice urged her, Go, don’t make her wait, go…
Director Pan was puzzled by her sudden eagerness, but he quickly made the arrangements. It was the same set, they just needed to adjust the camera angles.
He didn’t know that Ji Junxin, watching Mi Hongdou’s performance, had already become immersed in the role. Her urgency was Miao Qianye’s urgency… Miao Qianye had seen the young empress’s waiting, and although she knew it was too late, she couldn’t bear to make her wait, not even for a second.
As the crew adjusted the cameras, Ji Junxin waited, her hands trembling.
Mi Hongdou, off-screen, didn’t go to Director Pan, but returned to her resting area.
This immersion had been incredibly draining.
The events of the day, past and present, on and off screen, life and death… Mi Hongdou felt like she had been through a wringer.
Although she knew that she was back in the past, that as long as she didn’t do any wire stunts, she wouldn’t die and wouldn’t have to see Ji Junxin’s devastation again, that with her memories, she could even protect Ji Junxin from her past hurts, like Zhang Zijing and Jiang Duo,
She was still haunted by Qiao Rubai’s story, heartbroken by what happened after her death. She needed time to process it.
Already emotionally vulnerable, the reshot suicide scene had exhausted her. Fortunately, it was her second to last scene in “Imperial Secrets.” She sat in her chair, watching the crew adjust the equipment, glad that the scene seemed to be a pass. She didn’t want to analyze her performance, her mind needed a break.
Her last scene was Miao Qianye’s arrival. She just had to play a corpse, no lines, no actions, it should be easy.
Although playing a corpse should be easy, Mi Hongdou was surprised when a crew member came to call her back to the set so soon. Didn’t they usually have a break? And adjusting the cameras always took time…
Well… it was just a corpse…
Mi Hongdou obediently lay back down on the bed.
Why the quick change? Because Ji Junxin, with an uncontainable eagerness, had been staring at the crew. Although they didn’t understand her impatience, they quickly finished setting up.
Immersion was easy for Ji Junxin, but being pulled into a role by another actor’s performance, this was a new experience, an uncontrollable surge of emotion that almost made her blood boil, burning away her reason. And detaching, as always, was difficult. After the wait, she was still completely immersed.
Her mind, her heart, filled with the image of the young empress gazing at the door.
Wait, just wait a little longer, I’m coming…
Just as Ji Junxin was almost on the verge of tears, the cameras and the crew were ready, Mi Hongdou was in position, and they could start filming.
To push past the servants blocking her way and reach the Empress’s chamber, Miao Qianye, although her eyes were red, maintained her composure and authority as a Noble Consort, her voice sharp, even pushing aside those who tried to stop her.
Tears streamed down her face, betraying the vulnerability beneath her anger.
Despite the tears, her aura was powerful, and with her high rank, second only to the Empress, she barged in.
She rushed into the Empress’s chamber, then… stopped abruptly, seeing the wine pot and the cup on the table.
Her earlier anger, her urgency, all gone.
The facade of a dignified Noble Consort vanished.
The woman who slowly approached the table was trembling.
No aura of authority, no composure, just disbelief in her eyes, tears streaming down her face, her steps faltering.
She slowly walked towards the table, as if wanting to examine the pot and the cup more closely.
But as she got closer, she stopped, closed her eyes, and turned her head away.
Opening her eyes again, she didn’t look at the table, her steps now steady, as she walked towards the curtained bed.
Her hand, as she reached for the curtain, didn’t hesitate. But upon seeing the person lying on the bed, it started trembling uncontrollably.
The light curtain swayed slightly with the trembling of her right hand.
She held the curtain with one hand and reached for the Empress’s nose with the other.
A long, long moment. Her hand didn’t move.
Finally, as if confirming the Empress’s death, Miao Qianye withdrew her hand, stood up, and let the curtain fall.
Everyone remembered the earlier takes, she should now step back and collapse, crying, by the bed.
But she didn’t…
She just stood there, releasing the curtain.
As the cameraman waited for her to step back, ready to adjust the camera angle, Ji Junxin suddenly pulled back the curtain again, her movement so swift that it startled everyone.
And then… what surprised them even more was Ji Junxin’s deviation from the script…
Miao Qianye, who had just let the curtain fall, her expression blank, suddenly bent down, pulled back the curtain with her right hand, and grabbed the front of the young empress’s clothes with her left, pulling the lifeless body slightly upwards.
Her face was a mixture of anger and grief. And then, the anger faded… leaving only… immense sorrow.
Unlike her earlier rough movements, as she gently lowered the body back onto the bed, her touch was gentle, careful…
That sorrowful tenderness was heartbreaking, even the cameraman’s eyes stung.
The young empress lay still… Miao Qianye bent down and smoothed out her rumpled clothes, folding her hands over her abdomen. Then she sat down slowly, leaned over, and rested her forehead against the folded hands.
The bed was a prop, the curtain opposite it was also a prop, and another camera was filming from inside the curtains.
By now, the curtain had fallen, and the cameraman outside assumed the scene was over.
Only the cameraman inside knew… it wasn’t… because Ji Junxin, her head bowed, was trembling slightly, as if still crying.
As the outside cameraman looked at Director Pan, waiting for instructions, a muffled, choked sob came from behind the curtains, startling him.
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