Chapter 81: Wei Xunqin
After Qiao Rubai strategically hired Pan Xiang, the script for “Imperial Secrets” underwent a major overhaul. Not only did the latter half of the plot change completely, but even minor details were meticulously revised. By the time Mi Hongdou received the offer from Qiong Yu, the story, its emotional nuances, and its underlying message were vastly different from what she remembered from her previous life.
Perhaps because this was Pan Xiang’s first time as a screenwriter for a film, even after submitting the complete script before filming resumed, she couldn’t resist making further revisions. Initially, the crew grumbled about these constant changes, but with Pan Xiang backed by Qiong Yu, the major investor, and her grandfather, the director, they could only complain privately. Later, seeing that both Qiong Yu and Director Pan accepted Pan Xiang’s meticulous approach, the complaints subsided. In the entertainment industry, adaptability was essential. Since complaining couldn’t change anything, it was better to spend the time familiarizing themselves with the new script. Fortunately, Pan Xiang’s revisions were mostly minor adjustments to actions, lines, and set design, all within reasonable limits, and mostly for scenes they hadn’t started preparing yet.
However, what they didn’t expect was another major revision when Jiang Lingling joined the cast, focusing on her character, which frustrated the actors who were still learning the new script. The agencies quickly informed their artists that this revision was based on Qiong Yu’s suggestions, not Pan Xiang’s personal whim, which saved Pan Xiang from being targeted.
Although the companies claimed it was Qiong Yu’s decision, everyone knew that the one who benefited was Jiang Lingling. Her character was originally an insignificant extra, just a background figure in both the palace and estate scenes, with barely any lines, let alone any character development. Compared to the extras hired locally, she just had a few more scenes and lines.
But after the revision, the importance of Jiang Lingling’s character changed drastically. Originally a nameless extra, now she had a significant role, almost on par with Jiang Duo’s important supporting role.
In the revised script, Jiang Duo’s character was the antagonist. Although her role was substantial, playing a villain always had its drawbacks. Villains, especially those without any redeeming qualities, were rarely liked by the audience. And the better the actor portrayed the villain, the more they were disliked. Often, after playing a convincing villain, an actor would struggle to get positive roles, often being typecast.
Although people often said the world wasn’t black and white, but shades of gray, deep down, they still preferred positive, kind, and virtuous characters. Positive energy brought hope and warmth, something even the most cynical couldn’t resist.
So, in films and TV shows, the most popular characters were usually the virtuous protagonists, followed by the positive supporting characters. Of course, there were exceptions, where a virtuous supporting character, perhaps through self-sacrifice or unwavering righteousness, became more popular than the lead.
Simply put, playing a villain was risky, caution advised.
There was a case in point. Years ago, in a popular palace drama, a villainous nanny constantly schemed and even directly harmed the protagonists. The audience’s hatred for the character extended to the actress, who was often verbally abused in public, even refused service by taxi drivers, and threatened by children.
Playing a villain came with great pressure.
But a good story needed both protagonists and antagonists, conflict and depth. So, to attract talented actors, screenwriters now paid more attention to developing the villains, often giving them tragic backstories or justifications for their actions, so the audience’s dislike wouldn’t extend to the actors, allowing for more talented actors to take on villainous roles.
Originally, the script for “Imperial Secrets” also had some redeeming qualities for Jiang Duo’s character. For example, coming from a family with a low-ranking official and many concubines, she lacked security and, after entering the palace, desperately sought the emperor’s favor and a stable life. This simple backstory, even if only shown briefly, added a touch of pity to the character. And in a palace drama, scheming and betrayal were inevitable. In the original script, both Miao Qianye and the young empress were involved in the power struggles, there were no purely virtuous characters for comparison, so Jiang Duo’s villainy was limited. In fact, in the original script, the young empress schemed against Miao Qianye, and Miao Qianye eventually poisoned the emperor and empress. Compared to them, Jiang Duo was just a fickle opportunist. Dajin Entertainment had put in a lot of effort to secure this role for Jiang Duo.
But less than a month after filming started, the script underwent a major revision, completely changing the latter half of the plot. The early part was still about petty power struggles in the harem, but the middle part became a story of the concubines uniting to protect the imperial heir. With everyone putting aside their past grievances and working together, Jiang Duo’s character, even with just minor acts of instigation, became incredibly annoying.
Moreover, in the revised script, the young empress and Miao Qianye were no longer just women fighting for love. One, driven by a sense of righteousness, wanted to preserve the imperial bloodline. The other, filled with maternal love, cared for the child. The two, working together, became beacons of hope and warmth, leading the harem towards harmony.
As the saying goes, a drop of ink in a basin of black water isn’t noticeable, but a drop of ink in a basin of clear water is incredibly jarring.
After Pan Xiang’s revision, Jiang Duo’s character, from the moment she arrived at the estate, became that drop of ink in clear water, incredibly conspicuous.
And in the end, the young empress’s death was indirectly related to Consort Zhu, played by Jiang Duo. The more virtuous a character, the more the audience loved her, and the more they hated the one who caused her demise. With Pan Xiang’s script, the earlier attempts to humanize Jiang Duo’s character would be completely wasted.
Dajin Entertainment wasn’t stupid. The revised script, although elevating the overall quality of the film, weakened the two characters they provided. Zhang Zijing’s emperor was no longer the central figure, and Jiang Duo became the main antagonist. It was hard to say which version was more beneficial to Dajin. But they were already on Qiao Rubai’s ship, there was no turning back. The script revision, for Dajin, was just a minor adjustment. For Zhang Zijing, the added battle scenes might even broaden his acting range. But for Jiang Duo, after the release of “Imperial Secrets,” she would probably be typecast as a villain for a long time.
Because everyone could see the potential drawbacks of Jiang Duo’s role, despite its substantial screen time, the other actors, with smaller roles and more experience, didn’t initially have any strong opinions about her. Of course, later, Jiang Duo’s constant NGs and troublesome behavior made her unpopular, but that was another story.
Similarly, if Jiang Lingling, a newcomer, had been given a minor role and then had it revised into a villainous role on par with Jiang Duo’s, the other actors wouldn’t have reacted so strongly. But Pan Xiang had transformed her insignificant role into a positive and substantial one, almost equal to Jiang Duo’s. The actors were furious. Not only did they have to accommodate Jiang Lingling’s learning of the new script, but they were also being overshadowed by this new, compelling character. Even with the agencies repeatedly emphasizing that this revision was a joint decision by Qiong Yu and the investors, the actors couldn’t accept it. They couldn’t directly target Qiong Yu or Pan Xiang, who was supposedly just a pawn, so they targeted Jiang Lingling, which led to the initial conflicts on and off set.
However, Jiang Lingling’s resilience and her swift and decisive retaliation surprised everyone. Those who clashed with her either learned their lesson or were reprimanded by their agencies. By the time they started filming the estate scenes, the hostility towards Jiang Lingling had mostly subsided. Of course, this was also partly due to Zhang Zijing and Jiang Duo’s frequent NGs diverting attention and perhaps also Ji Junxin’s sudden closeness to Jiang Lingling. Anyway, the other actors, although not exactly friendly towards Jiang Lingling, no longer glared at her, and some even acknowledged her with a nod.
Jiang Lingling had finally weathered the storm.
Actually, Pan Xiang was also partly responsible for Jiang Lingling being targeted. She had made the character too compelling, too likely to become a popular supporting role.
So, how exactly had Jiang Lingling’s character been revised?
Her previous role as a nameless extra didn’t need further elaboration.
After Pan Xiang’s revision, Jiang Lingling’s character now had a name: Wei Xunqin, a low-born palace maid in charge of sweeping the Imperial Garden. After the emperor met and favored Miao Qianye, the young empress, although outwardly gracious, felt a twinge of jealousy. She tried to be virtuous, as an empress should be, but she was still young and struggled to maintain the facade. One day, she and the emperor had a minor argument, her words subtly suggesting his recent infatuation with Miao Qianye. Although not explicitly stated, the implication was clear to both of them. Offended, the emperor left the empress’s palace, intending to go to Miao Qianye. But halfway there, he remembered his love for the empress and, thinking that she was upset because of Miao Qianye, he couldn’t bring himself to go. He abandoned the idea of visiting Miao Qianye, but also couldn’t bring himself to return to the empress, so he went to the Imperial Garden for a walk, to clear his head.
What happened next was somewhat cliché. Tired from walking, the emperor rested in a pavilion. The attentive servants, worried that he hadn’t finished his dinner, brought him food and wine. Drinking alone, still feeling frustrated, the emperor accidentally got drunk. Intoxicated, he felt even more annoyed with the empress and decided not to go anywhere. He was about to retire for the night when he encountered Wei Xunqin, who had been assigned to sweep the Imperial Garden as punishment. Seeing her delicate features and capable demeanor, so different from the other delicate and fragile concubines, the emperor was intrigued. Remembering the empress’s accusation of him favoring only one person, he took Wei Xunqin with him, thinking he could favor more than one.
The emperor, accustomed to delicacies, wanted to try simple, home-style food. But as the saying goes, novelty doesn’t always equate to preference. After trying the simple dishes, the emperor decided that he still preferred delicacies. So, after a night of passion, the heartless emperor left without a word. The servants, always following the emperor’s lead, seeing this, and since Wei Xunqin had no rank, assumed it was just a one-night stand and sent her back to her duties, sweeping the garden.
The poor girl, who had only one more year before leaving the palace, was now ruined by the emperor, without even a title. An ordinary palace maid would either seek help from someone influential or commit suicide. But Wei Xunqin, although from a poor family, was resilient. Being taken by the emperor, she had no choice. His refusal to acknowledge her, she also had no recourse. She would just treat it as being bitten by a dog and continue with her life, hoping to leave the palace in a year, using her meager savings to buy some land and live a simple life.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Wei Xunqin missed her period. Before she could figure out what to do, she was forced to drink medicine. Those who brought the medicine were dressed as palace maids and didn’t even try to hide their actions. Wei Xunqin didn’t know if it was the emperor’s doing or someone else’s… As a palace maid, she couldn’t keep the child anyway, but she was reluctant. Her family had been poor, and her parents, to feed her younger siblings, had sent her to the palace. “Sent,” but it was practically selling her. When she was home, she had helped with everything, tending chickens, gathering wheat, cooking, cleaning, working in the fields, but she still couldn’t escape her fate. She couldn’t say she wasn’t resentful, but she considered the money from selling her as repayment for her parents raising her. This child, although she knew she couldn’t keep it, being forced to drink the medicine, Wei Xunqin was heartbroken.
The room was locked from outside, but no one guarded it. It seemed that those who gave her the medicine didn’t think a woman who had just had a miscarriage could cause any trouble. Wei Xunqin, enduring the pain, climbed out the window, grateful for her childhood experience of climbing trees and swimming. Having escaped, she didn’t know where to go. A palace maid’s life was cheap, she didn’t even know who had sent those people. If it was the emperor’s doing, then seeking help was useless… and in the palace, there were countless women who wanted to bear the emperor’s child, no one would help her.
Wei Xunqin had served in the palace for years, she knew there was no escape. But… she was still reluctant, even in despair, she couldn’t bear to lose this fragile life. Finally, she went to the place she was most familiar with, the place where her misfortune began… the Imperial Garden. She hoped that on this chilly afternoon, there might be a kind soul in the garden who would save her child.
The pain intensified. Crimson blood trickled down her legs, staining the grass. Wei Xunqin felt her limbs turning cold and numb, her vision blurring, a strange buzzing in her ears. Besides the excruciating pain in her abdomen, the rest of her body felt numb… no, not her legs, the warm gush between her legs… Wei Xunqin didn’t dare to look down, didn’t dare to think, she just kept moving towards the Imperial Garden.
A trail of blood, intermittent yet continuous, stained the stone path and the grass, a line of despair.
When Wei Xunqin finally reached the Imperial Garden, she saw a group of richly dressed people in the distance. Her vision blurred, she couldn’t see clearly who they were, who among them were kind, who were to be feared. Driven by a single, desperate thought, she stumbled towards them, and then, as expected, she was stopped.
“Save my… child…” Wei Xunqin didn’t know who had stopped her, a maid, a eunuch, or a guard, it didn’t matter. She clutched the person tightly, using the last of her strength to speak, then collapsed.
The person she grabbed didn’t try to catch her, letting her fall onto the cold stone path.
The weather was cold, and lying on the cold stone would normally make anyone shiver. But Wei Xunqin, having lost so much blood, her body already cold, couldn’t feel anything.
Despair? Yes, deep despair. But also hope. She had to have hope.
Wei Xunqin’s strength was gone, she knew she couldn’t even stand up again. Her vision blurred, only vague figures moving around, the sounds around her a jumble of voices. She lay there, unable to see or hear clearly, but she still held her head high, desperately searching for that sliver of hope, that chance for her and her child.
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