APR 42

The camera was already positioned on the dolly track, and the crew had cleared the area of onlookers. The ground outside the Guan Yu Temple, chosen for the scene, was covered with rows of ten-thousand-cracker firecrackers, creating a spectacular sight.

Everyone could feel the tension hanging in the air.

The first scene to be filmed was about the protagonist “Zhuo Qiwei,” played by Zhou Kaiwen, joining the gang.

As is widely known, the initiation ritual for joining a gang is often called “opening the hall.” New members must undergo a series of tests, such as being struck on the back with a knife and drinking rooster blood wine. They must also swear to abide by the gang’s “Thirty-Six Oaths” and pay respects to Guan Yu before being accepted as a member.

Jiang Xun sat in front of the video monitor, holding a walkie-talkie and shouting, “All units, take your positions! Camera, as soon as the firecrackers are lit, push the camera forward immediately, got it? Props team, light the firecrackers!”

The firecrackers erupted in unison, filling the air with dark gray smoke and bright red paper scraps. The cameraman pushed the camera forward, guiding the lens into the Guan Yu Temple to capture the actors performing the initiation scene.

Inside the temple, smoke curled upward. A majestic statue of Guan Yu was enshrined on the incense altar, holding a crescent-moon blade horizontally in front of him. The blade gleamed with a silvery light, exuding an aura of solemnity and lethality.

Zhou Kaiwen, playing “Zhuo Qiwei,” wore a white tank top and leather pants, dressed like a street thug. He knelt on the ground alongside other extras portraying new gang initiates.

Surrounding them stood a circle of burly men, each with bulging muscles and fierce dragon-and-tiger tattoos on their arms, glaring menacingly at the initiates. Needless to say, these intimidating-looking men were also extras, and their frightening tattoos were merely temporary stickers.

Zhong Su stood beside an offering table laden with wine cups, incense burners, and other items. He faced the crowd, his posture ramrod straight, his expression unwavering.

At this moment, he was no longer himself but “Lin Wenhan,” the gang official leading the new members in reciting the initiation oaths.

“Brother Lin, here you go. These are the Thirty-Six Oaths,” said an extra playing a subordinate, bowing as he presented a red paper inscribed with the oaths.

Zhong Su took the paper and glanced at it briefly. Others might find these oaths novel, but to him, they were merely a reflection of his past experiences—oaths he had long committed to memory.

He lifted his head, his gaze transformed, his demeanor now ruthless and coldly indifferent as he looked down at the kneeling figures.

So, this was what it felt like to stand in such a position and view others from this perspective.

Zhong Su recited the oaths word by word, with the familiarity of someone who had memorized them hundreds of times: “From the moment you join the gang, your parents shall be my parents, your siblings shall be my siblings, and your children shall be my children. If anyone disobeys this rule or disregards this bond, they shall be deemed oath-breakers and struck down by the thunder gods.

“When a brother faces hardship…”

“When a brother faces hardship and has no money for travel, you must assist him…” Zhou Kaiwen glanced sideways at the camera, reluctantly reciting along. But his knees ached after only a short while of kneeling, and with each line he repeated, the flat side of a knife struck his back.

He cursed inwardly: Damn this terrible movie, terrible script, and terrible director, making the lead actor kneel and allowing extras to hit him with a knife!

They said it was a realistic initiation ceremony, but was no one worried he might get hurt? This was Zhou Kaiwen—the beloved, ever-popular Kevin!

Behind the monitor, Jiang Xun nearly held his breath. The young man on screen was cold and sharp, his aura as keen as an unsheathed blade. Jiang Xun couldn’t help slapping his thigh, unable to conceal the joy on his face: “Yes, this is exactly how ‘Lin Wenhan’ should be—so handsome it makes hearts flutter, yet so chilling it sends shivers down the spine!”

Just as he thought the shot was almost done and raised his hand to call cut— “C—!”

A sudden disruption occurred. Zhou Kaiwen abruptly stood up, throwing in the towel as he complained, “Cut, cut, cut! It hurts too much, Director! I can’t go on with this!”

The actor beside him still held the knife, unsure whether to continue filming, and stared helplessly at Zhou Kaiwen.

With the lead actor’s tantrum, all the effort everyone had just put in went to waste—the scene would have to be reshot.

Zhong Su also had to stop, idly twisting the red paper in his fingers. His lines for this segment were nearly finished.

“What’s wrong, Superstar Zhou? Are you having a fit—no, throwing a tantrum all by yourself and disrupting the filming schedule? Wasn’t it going perfectly fine just now?” Jiang Xun hurried over anxiously, grabbing a greasy, tangled strand of his bangs. He forced himself to swallow the curse words on the tip of his tongue—it felt worse than killing him.

“Director Jiang, that knife is so sharp, and you’re filming so intensely. What if it accidentally cuts my skin and leaves a scar? I refuse—replace it with a prop.” Zhou Kaiwen crossed his arms, gesturing with his chin toward the knife.

Jiang Xun: “This knife isn’t sharpened; it won’t hurt you. You suddenly demand a replacement, but we’re on location, not in a studio. How could the props team prepare one immediately?”

“I don’t care—that’s your problem to figure out, Director Jiang. All I know is my back is hurting from being hit. If you don’t replace it, I won’t film.”

“Kevin, have you said enough?!” Jiang Xun was fuming. He suddenly pointed at Zhong Su nearby and said, “You may be a big star, but learn from Zhong Su. He’s a complete newcomer with no acting experience, yet he’s performing far better than you.”

“I need a tough ‘Zhuo Qiwei’ who endures hardship without complaint, not some delicate coward who flinches and whines at the slightest hit!”

As soon as Jiang Xun uttered the word “delicate,” everyone around gasped sharply, their eyes turning in unison to Zhou Kaiwen. Zhou Kaiwen, with his lean, muscular build that seemed utterly incompatible with the term “delicate,” flushed bright red with rage, trembling all over. He glared fiercely at everyone, especially the calm-faced Zhong Su—it was clear he held a grudge.

“I’m not filming anymore! Every single one of you is targeting me!” Zhou Kaiwen stormed off in a huff, returning to his trailer and slamming the door shut with a loud click.

“That delicate coward, annoying as hell!” Jiang Xun cursed, throwing the script to the ground in frustration. But without the lead actor, the movie truly couldn’t proceed.

Jiang Xun called Zhou Kaiwen’s agent, using every persuasive word he could muster. It took her a long time to coax him out of the vehicle.

The rest of the filming was also fraught with difficulties, the on-set atmosphere so tense it felt suffocating.

They say when gods fight, mortals suffer. In the end, the entire crew had to work overtime, rushing to finish the first day’s shoot by a little past 9 p.m.

Zhong Su rode home in Xiao Lao Dao’s car. The man beside him seemed to have springs under his butt, unable to sit still.

Xiao Lao Dao was still savoring the scene, happily praising, “Zhong Su, how did you know how to act as ‘Lin Wenhan’ like that? It was so intense—when you lifted your eyes, it sent chills down my spine. Your acting skills are miles ahead of that Zhou Kaiwen.”

Zhong Su took a drag of his cigarette and said lightly, “I’ve seen someone do it like that before.”

He remembered his previous life, when he joined the gang, and Chen Huan happened to be the one leading the oath.

After reciting it, Chen Huan approached him with a bowl of safflower wine splashed with rooster blood.

He looked up and saw Chen Huan’s hand as he drank the bowl of blood wine, tasting the strong metallic flavor.

【Su Er, drink it all, good boy.】 At the same time, he saw a faint layer of satisfaction rise in Chen Huan’s eyes, a gaze so scorching it seemed he had finally found a treasure that pleased him and belonged to him alone.

Chen Huan reached out to wipe the wine from the corner of his lips, the rough pad of his finger leaving a searing heat that remained vivid in his memory to this day.

His phone rang, interrupting Zhong Su’s reverie. He pressed his lips together and pulled out his phone, expecting a call from the loan sharks, but instead saw Da Xiong’s name on the screen. “Hey, Da Xiong?”

Da Xiong’s deep voice boomed, “Kid, are you coming to burn paper money?”

Burn paper money? He hadn’t expected to hear that.

Zhong Su raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Burn what paper money?”

He glanced out the car window and saw many people squatting by the roadside, burning offerings in basins, then remembered it was the Ghost Festival.

“July 14th, the gates of hell are wide open!” Da Xiong paused before continuing, “Of course, I’m asking if you want to come burn paper money for Xiao Zhong Ge. Why else would I call? You’re kind of like Xiao Zhong Ge’s… uh… widower. You should be there.”

“Cough, cough!” Zhong Su choked on his smoke, coughing several times. He never knew the usually low-key, quiet Da Xiong had such a talent for shocking statements.

Honestly, he didn’t really want to burn paper money for himself. But—

He lowered his gaze, not revealing any emotion, and said, “I’ll come now. Tell me where you are.”

After getting the address, Zhong Su hung up and said to Xiao Lao Dao beside him, “Turn at the next intersection. I need to go to Quanjiao Bridge.”

Xiao Lao Dao asked, “Aren’t I taking you home?”

Zhong Su stubbed out his finished cigarette in the car’s ashtray, then tapped out another one, biting it between his lips. He replied ambiguously, “I’m meeting some friends. I’ll go home later.”