Chapter 57: Reba: I Would Never Envy Anyone

“Yang, Star Lord treats you quite differently. How did you manage that?”

The coordinator tried to glean the secret from Zhang Yang.

As an employee of Zhou Xingchi’s company, often responsible for various tasks on set, he harbored ambitions to climb higher—and flattering the boss was undoubtedly a shortcut.

“Probably talent,” Zhang Yang replied with a mysterious smile.

It was well known that Zhou Xingchi was an outline-driven director; when filming began, only a rough sketch existed, while specific content and jokes were improvised on the spot, fueled purely by inspiration.

Zhang Yang started by calling Zhou Xingchi with simple greetings, interspersed with personal insights and questions about the characters. Once they found common ground, their conversations shifted to interpretations of the script, eventually evolving into full discussions.

Having seen the finished film, Zhang could point out many jokes and plot twists Zhou hadn’t even conceived yet, boldly claiming, “No one understands Journey to the West: Conquering the Demons better than I do—not even Star Lord himself.”

Zhou found Zhang’s quirky talent endearing and considered him a kindred spirit. He held Zhang in higher regard and often sought his input when creative blocks arose during filming, effectively giving Zhang an unofficial side role.

No extra pay was offered, but granting him a screenwriting credit was no problem—and Zhang was fully deserving.

For Zhang Yang, this screenwriting title was far more valuable than a million-dollar paycheck.

“If you don’t want to say, that’s fine.”

The coordinator suspected Zhang was brushing him off but didn’t press further.

After he left, Nazha, munching on cherry tomatoes, came over. “Brother Yang, I’m really curious too. Can this be taught?”

Zhang turned to her with an inscrutable look.

Wanting to be friends with Zhou Xingchi as easily as he did?

Unless she got hit by a business-demanding truck and luckily got a restart.

“Dream on.”

With those three words, Zhang Yang turned and walked toward the actors’ lounge, leaving a stunned Nazha behind.

After a moment, she took out her phone and messaged Reba.

[Nazha]: Boohoo, sis, Brother Yang was mean to me.
[Reba]: Huh?
[Nazha]: Star Lord really admires him. I asked how he did it, but he wouldn’t tell me.
[Reba]: Um...
[Nazha]: I get that he won’t tell me, I was just curious, but he said, ‘Dream on.’
[Reba]: Yeah...
Isn’t that true?
[Nazha]: In the end, I’m left to suffer alone.
[Reba]: You drama queen, are you sure you’re not just showing off?
[Nazha]: Heh heh, I actually learned this line from Brother Yang. Last night, he was telling Aunt Liu his ‘woes’ like this and drove Sister Yifei half mad.
[Reba]: ...

Confirmed—this woman is definitely showing off.

“But I’m not jealous at all.”

Reba cupped her cheek, glancing at a book standing upright on the shelf.

It was the freshman textbook Zhang Yang lent her that day, which she hadn’t found time to return.

In truth, returning it wasn’t impossible—she could ask Zhang’s sophomore seniors—but Reba insisted on giving it back personally.

Over the past month or so, she and Zhang often chatted—sometimes she sought advice on acting classes, other times Zhang shared amusing stories and gossip from the set.

Nazha’s story was something Zhang had already told her last night. He had been laughing so hard it earned him some roommate annoyance.

“When I graduate—no, when I start my internship—the seniors will definitely be willing to mentor me,” Reba thought to herself.

Zhang Yang was a great senior, and she trusted him inexplicably.

Meanwhile, unaware of having been friend-zoned, Zhang Yang was studying the script.

It contained the “Life of the Vain Young Lord,” a character sketch that emerged gradually from his casual talks with Zhou Xingchi. Though it wouldn’t appear on screen, it was very important to Zhang.

“So this is how to meet the standard.”

After reading the entire script and consulting the Entertainment Industry Opportunity Guide, Zhang confirmed he could use the opportunity point to enter the dream of the Vain Young Lord’s life.

“An extraordinary character... I wonder what inheritance he might have—swordsmanship?” Zhang indulged in impractical fantasies, especially since he had acquired such a rare opportunity manual.

After a long while, he calmed his excitement and left the lounge to find Zhou Xingchi.

They were filming the scene where Sun Wukong breaks free and unleashes carnage.

Had Zhang arrived earlier that morning, he would have witnessed the Vain Young Lord’s defeat by Sun Wukong.

“I love you!”

“From the moment I first saw you, I fell in love.”

Wen Zhang’s acting exploded as he leaned close to Shu Qi, eyes bloodshot and filled with passion.

Shu Qi smiled contentedly, voice choked as she asked, “Love, how long?”

“One thousand years, ten thousand years.” Wen Zhang gritted his teeth, voice trembling.

“I love you, ten thousand years.” Shu Qi uttered the words and closed her eyes with satisfaction.

The scene was performed exquisitely. The crew and Nazha gathered around, all moved to the point of tears.

Yet Zhou Xingchi frowned and shouted, “Cut!”

“No, this doesn’t feel right!”

Everyone was stunned.

How could it not feel right?

The leads’ emotions were spot on.

The lines were good, and “ten thousand years” even linked to the movie “A Chinese Odyssey.”

Wen Zhang had grown accustomed to Zhou’s quirks and felt no inner turmoil. He composed himself, helped Shu Qi up, and approached the monitor. “Director, what’s wrong?”

Huang Bo and others came over to listen—perhaps some changes would be added to their roles.

“I don’t know either, it just doesn’t feel right,” Zhou admitted, unable to explain.

He sensed something was missing from the lines but couldn’t grasp it.

If necessary, he would film the next scenes first and come back to reshoot when he found the right words.

Just then, Zhou spotted Zhang Yang beyond the crowd and his eyes lit up. “Yang, what do you think this scene is missing?”

Suddenly, all eyes turned to Zhang Yang.

He showed no sign of nervousness and parted the crowd to approach Zhou. “I actually have an idea. Director, would you prefer I just act it out or explain it first?”

Despite the filming atmosphere, he maintained proper respect for Zhou, whom he called “Star” only in private.

The onlookers’ expressions shifted subtly.

They all knew how “eccentric” Zhou was; Zhang’s boldness was notable.

What surprised them more was Zhou’s smile: “You decide!”

Zhang smiled and approached Shu Qi, whispering in her ear, “Sister Shu Qi, when the time comes...”

After a moment’s thought, a strange gleam appeared in Shu Qi’s eyes and she nodded. “Understood.”

“Alright, Director.” Zhang gave Zhou a reassuring smile.

“Attention all departments!”

Zhou picked up the megaphone.

Everyone took their places as the two leads prepared.

The emotions and lines remained the same until Shu Qi asked again, “Love, how long?”

“One thousand years, ten thousand years.” Wen Zhang gritted his teeth, voice trembling.

Shu Qi closed her eyes, lips quivering, “Ten thousand years is too long, just love me... now!”

A sharp intake of breath!

The recorded lines sent chills down everyone’s spines.

Zhou felt his heart clench and his eyes instantly filled with tears.

Having once seen the vast sea, no other waters can satisfy; beyond Mount Wushan, no other clouds compare.