Provoking Fire [Entertainment Circle] - Chapter 30

When Su Yan’s name came up, the makeup artist’s face filled with admiration for her self-discipline.

“Teacher Su is truly remarkable. She’s been up since five this morning.”

Bei Yaoyao and Chu Xiyue exchanged stunned glances. Five a.m.?

They hadn’t wrapped up filming until eleven or twelve the previous night, and after returning home, they still needed time to shower and get ready for bed. That meant Su Yan had slept less than five hours. Was she made of iron? Had she evolved past the need for sleep?

Chu Xiyue, who had been studying the script until after two in the morning, was still yawning incessantly. After overhearing the conversation, she closed her eyes to rest.

It wasn’t until after her makeup was done that Chu Xiyue finally saw Su Yan on set. The woman had already changed into her costume for the day: a simple white dress adorned with lifelike lotus blossoms at the cuffs and shoulders. The pale white and soft pink hues weren’t particularly vibrant, and her makeup was equally understated, the pallid complexion making her appear almost frail.

Her long, cascading hair flowed freely down her back, requiring no further styling to convey a sickly air. Yet the faint beauty mark at the corner of her eye only accentuated the paleness of her features.

Chu Xiyue, dressed in flamboyant red, stood beside Su Yan like a flame against snow—the stark contrast only heightened the scene’s decadent allure. As the Director called “Action!” Su Yan caught a familiar scent enveloping her: the perfume she had personally crafted, a perfect match for Chu Xiyue, like a fiery rose blooming from her fingertips, its fragrance rich and intoxicating.

Chu Xiyue’s slender hands cupped Su Yan’s face, gently lifting her head from the pillow as if pondering how to administer the medicine. The spoon had failed; the liquid kept spilling before it even touched her lips. Gu Feishuang, poisoned by demonic energy, was in a semi-conscious state, struggling even to recognize people, let alone swallow medicine.

Cold sweat drenched Gu Feishuang’s body. Her butterfly-wing lashes drooped, casting faint shadows beneath her eyes. Her lips were pale, and her meridians pulsed chaotically with turbulent spiritual energy. Chu Xiyue held her hand, continuously channeling spiritual energy into her meridians.

Chu Xiyue held medicine in her mouth and leaned in to feed it to Su Yan.

With her mouth full of the Production Team’s specially prepared broth, Chu Xiyue could still catch Su Yan’s familiar, faint, and cool fragrance as she drew closer.

Just then, the director suddenly shouted, “Cut!”

“Yan Qiuxi, have you ever filmed a kiss scene using forced perspective before? This angle doesn’t look realistic enough. Let’s try again.”

Director Yang only mentioned the angle, not the earlier part of the scene, which meant everything before that was perfect. Chu Xiyue felt a wave of relief and immediately adjusted her posture, pulling Su Yan completely into her arms. But before she could settle, the director’s sharp voice rang out again:

“Cut!”

“The emotion isn’t strong enough, and this angle doesn’t capture the close-up well. Let’s try again!”

The third and fourth takes were rejected for different reasons. Chu Xiyue had already tried several times, but the scene kept getting cut, leaving her feeling increasingly frustrated. Director Yang himself couldn’t quite articulate what felt off; perhaps his high expectations made him overly critical, but something about the scene just felt wrong.

The atmosphere during the medicine-feeding scene, though the two actors didn’t actively kiss, was charged with palpable tension. It felt like both characters were realizing their true feelings for the first time, drawn to each other by a secret, thrilling pull.

By the fifth, sixth, and even seventh takes, the crew grew restless. But the assistant director, convinced the problem wasn’t with the actors, nudged Director Yang, signaling her to ease up.

“Director Yang, Teacher Chu,” Su Yan’s cool voice suddenly cut through the air, causing a nearby actress to raise an eyebrow. The next scene was hers, and she was only observing. Frustration had been simmering due to the repeated delays, and now seeing even the famously composed Su Yan frowning, she couldn’t help but feel a smug satisfaction.

Then Su Yan spoke again:

“I don’t think we should use camera tricks for this scene. What do you think?”

A film, typically just over two hours long, differs from a television series in that all the plot points are condensed into this brief, concentrated timeframe. This is especially true for romance films, where the audience must feel the tension between the two leads, witness how the protagonists fall for each other, and understand their growing love—all within this limited time. Every shot is therefore crucial.

Su Yan spoke with righteous conviction, her words free from personal bias. Her reminder struck Director Yang Ruoshui like a bolt of lightning, instantly clarifying the situation.

It wasn’t that Director Yang hadn’t considered this before; during discussions with the screenwriter, they had deemed it unnecessary and decided to simply follow the actors’ rhythm. Now that one of the leads was willing to make a change, Yang Ruoshui turned her attention to Chu Xiyue.

Director Yang asked with a hint of anticipation:

“Why don’t you two try it? We’ll film both versions of the scene and compare them later to see which works best.”

For actors, filming kissing scenes is a standard part of the job—all in the name of work. Chu Xiyue paused, then glanced back at Su Yan, who maintained her unwavering, righteous expression.

When Chu Xiyue joined the production team, she hadn’t signed any contract stipulating that she wouldn’t film kissing scenes. It was simply her usual practice. Moreover, if she kept refusing for the sake of the camera, it would seem unreasonable.

Chu Xiyue wasn’t particularly squeamish; after all, this was part of the job. But the thought of kissing Su Yan made her heart pound uncontrollably. She couldn’t quite explain the feeling, especially since they had just convincingly played a couple on a reality dating show.

Seeing that Chu Xiyue hadn’t refused, Director Yang eagerly urged the two leads to quickly get into character so they could prepare for another take.

This time, there was no need to drag it out. Their movements unfolded in slow motion, like a scene playing out in slow motion.

First came the fragrance that filled her nostrils, followed by the jelly-soft sensation. Smooth and slightly slippery, it carried the fresh scent of lip balm mixed with the lipstick’s own aroma, both landing on her lips the instant they touched. Her nerves became acutely sensitive, every detail stretching out like slow motion, each sensation filling her mind inch by inch, replaying and re-filling every corner of her consciousness.

In stark contrast to her sharp tongue, Su Yan’s lips were soft. The moment their lips met, a current of warmth surged through their bodies, making even their breathing cautious. Though the kiss was brief, like a dragonfly skimming the water, their movements slowed as they parted. Off-camera, Director Yang frowned again.

Chu Xiyue, feeling satisfied with the scene, thought they could finally wrap up and let the next actors take over. But when she stopped and saw the look in Yang Ruoshui’s eyes, she knew something was wrong.

“Alright, alright, next group up. You two go back and rehearse tonight. If you still can’t get it, discuss how to approach the scene and we’ll reshoot it tomorrow. I want to see a better result.”

Director Yang had initially wanted to keep trying, but after so many takes of a simple kiss scene, he realized even the best actors would lose their edge. He sighed deeply and called for the next group.

The rest of the day’s scenes went smoothly, wrapping up two hours earlier than the previous day. This was likely because Director Yang had deliberately given them extra time to immerse themselves in their roles.

Since filming for In Character began, Chu Xiyue rarely got off work so early. Yet, despite the early dismissal, she felt uneasy. Her mind kept replaying the scenes she’d flubbed multiple times that day, even spoiling her dinner.

The production team’s strict dietary requirements were particularly frustrating. Lunch had already been a bland, watery affair, but dinner was even more absurd: a cucumber and purple cabbage salad so unappetizing it was nearly inedible.

Chu Xiyue took a few perfunctory bites before pushing the plate aside, losing interest. She then began poring over the script, which she’d already nearly worn out from rereading the previous day.

Since she’d finished work early, her acting coach, Teacher Jin, had responsibly come over to offer guidance. Just as Chu Xiyue seemed to grasp a key insight and was jotting down notes, a crisp knock echoed at the door.

She opened it to find Su Yan standing there.

The woman’s slender, graceful figure was instantly recognizable, her striking features unmistakable even from a distance. Now, without the heavy stage makeup, she stood before Chu Xiyue, as fresh and untouchable as a lotus flower.

The corridor light caught the corners of her eyes and the curve of her brow, framing her like a beautiful scene from a film.

“Teacher Jin, you can go back and rest now. I’ll discuss things with Chuchu.”

Chu Xiyue quickly noticed the subtle change in address, but before she could react, Teacher Jin nodded approvingly.

“Good. You two leads should discuss things more. It’ll be much more effective than me just lecturing here.”

She smiled at them, gestured for Su Yan to enter first, and then pushed the door open and left, leaving the two women alone together.

The fact that they were two young women alone in a room late at night was completely overlooked. If they had been a male and female actor, such a situation would never have been allowed.

After all, the proposal to legalize same-s3x marriage still hadn’t been formally passed, and people weren’t inclined to overthink the presence of two beautiful women together. Chu Xiyue clutched the script she had been reading, feeling a rare moment of awkwardness at Su Yan’s arrival.

After all, today’s repeated NGs had been her fault.

And…

Just seeing Su Yan’s familiar face brought back the lingering sensation on her lips, and thoughts began to race through her mind.

In contrast to Chu Xiyue’s flustered state, Su Yan remained remarkably composed. She sat down on the sofa in the room, fixed her gaze on Chu Xiyue, and asked, her lips parting slightly:

“How’s your understanding of the role coming along? Don’t let this delay the rest of the schedule.”