Chapter Forty-Eight: The Visual Effects Artist

“How could it be that I got the part without Sun Chun’s recommendation? I was just an insignificant character before, but I went to the audition with a sincere attitude, gave an outstanding performance, and only by luck managed to win the role of Zhu Yinggu!”

Jin Xishan spoke rapidly, her Mandarin becoming more and more fluent.

“Really? Can you tell me more?” Liu Qingshan exclaimed in surprise.

“This is an international call—how can I explain everything in a few words?”

“Just give me the main points. I want to know if there were any other issues!” Liu Qingshan stressed his words with added emphasis.

His concerns were perfectly reasonable—after all, Jin Xishan was new to the mainland and had no strong roots there.

With her striking beauty, enough to stir nations, and at such a critical stage of breaking into the mainland acting market, it was inevitable that she would attract unwanted attention.

Jin Xishan clearly sensed his anxiety and laughed. “What, are you worried your big sister will be taken advantage of?”

“Of course I’m worried! Everyone knows there are too many sordid things in the entertainment industry. I don’t have enough power to protect you right now. Suddenly you get such an amazing opportunity—I have to be extra careful!”

“Don’t worry, my dear brother. All I did was give someone a foot bath—wait, don’t panic, let me explain…”

It turned out that after Jin Xishan auditioned for the role she was initially supposed to play, her skillful acting caught the attention of the directors, prompting them to let her try out for Zhu Yinggu.

Zhu Yinggu was a remarkable woman. According to the script, she and Song Ci had an ambiguous relationship, full of unspoken feelings—enough to make one want to tear up the script.

As Director Kan Weiting put it: “Madam Song is wonderful, any man would be lucky to marry such a wife. Yet, Song Ci puts on a cold face for his wife and then turns around to beam at Yinggu. It makes me want to cough up blood.”

Moreover, it was impossible for such a character to exist in that era—a single woman publicly handling cases would have been beaten to death by her parents in the Song Dynasty.

Yet, Yinggu embodies a certain progressive consciousness: a woman who believes in love, who would rather spend her life quietly at the side of the man she loves, working together every day to build something.

In this way, Yinggu’s existence becomes an ideal state—where marriage, in such a love, becomes a shackle.

She loves someone but deliberately hides her feelings, bearing the pain herself.

This is a quality modern people lack. Isn’t it common to hear about someone becoming a third party, or divorcing for a lover?

In Song Ci’s era, having multiple wives wasn’t shameful, but Yinggu, out of consideration for Song’s wife, chooses to suppress her own feelings—how moving is that?

More importantly, the story would not be complete without her—a clever, perceptive woman who helps Song Ci see his mistakes.

Through her, the love triangle unfolds, filled with intrigue and rivalry for the man—a staple for any successful drama.

Yet, it’s difficult to portray such a complex female character in a full, nuanced way—someone with desires, ambitions, thoughts, and independence.

Therefore, unlike other dramas that cast the female lead early on, Kan Weiting struggled to find an actress who could bring to life a domineering CEO in ancient costume.

This role was indispensable and, as the plot and cases developed, even an outsider would fall for the confident, unyielding man—let alone Zhu Yinggu herself.

The two confidants, having spent half a lifetime together, would naturally share their joys and sorrows, their passions and pains—emotional highlights that any successful drama must have.

Moreover, Yinggu played a major role in “The Song Dynasty Judge 2,” serving as a crucial narrative thread.

Jin Xishan’s audition inspired the director to completely reshape the character.

As for the famous “foot bath” scene, it was designed to showcase Yinggu’s intelligence and cleverness.

This trait became even more pronounced in later scenes, especially in contrast with the head constable—Yinggu was not only smart, but also deeply empathetic.

Her understanding of Song Ci was depicted with rare subtlety.

Jin Xishan managed to perfectly capture this delicate, almost indescribable emotional nuance, unexpectedly winning the approval of the entire directing team.

No matter what, Jin Xishan’s successful first step in the mainland was great news for Liu Qingshan.

He knew that this “sister,” who had entered into this ambiguous relationship with him, did so largely because of his persistent persuasion and the future he painted for her.

It all seemed almost like a joke, a decision made in a moment of heady impulse. They say women in love are irrational in thought, speech, and action—sometimes their intelligence drops to zero.

Whether Jin Xishan truly loved him, Liu Qingshan didn’t know. But it was undeniable that her emotions now outweighed her reason.

This was exactly like a woman in love—crazy, foolish, utterly devoted once she fell.

Though they hadn’t known each other for long, Liu Qingshan had already noticed that, within a few months, Jin Xishan had begun to change her routines and habits for him.

Even without prior experience in love, he knew why she always had so much to say to him, and why her eagerness to know him ran so deep.

Most importantly, for a major star from Han Country to set aside all worldly prejudices for someone as unrefined as him said everything.

And she did so with unwavering determination, never hesitating, which weighed heavily on Liu Qingshan’s conscience.

Now that she had managed to break ground in this unfamiliar environment so easily, he felt a huge sense of relief.

Unlike her, Liu Qingshan, new to romantic entanglements, remained unusually calm and rational. After ending the call with Jin Xishan, he immediately dialed Kunal’s number.

“Master, are you saying you want me to find some special effects artists here?”

Kunal sounded surprised on the line after hearing Liu Qingshan’s request.

“Yes, preferably those you know personally. If you don’t know anyone suitable, you can mention it to Mr. Kram. I’m not trying to poach your people, just looking for a few skilled professionals to help me train some talent!”

“Haha, Master, I’m not entirely sure what you mean by ‘poaching,’ but I think I get the idea. Don’t worry, Mr. Kram has already privately told me to meet your every need—leave this to me!”

Indeed, Liu Qingshan was eyeing Bollywood, hoping to bring over a few special effects artists.

“Film special effects” is a highly specialized field, so much so that there are almost no undergraduate programs dedicated to it in the country.

Even in the mainland, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, so-called special effects artists are often people who switched halfway from advertising, communication, digital media technology, animation, digital effects, digital media arts, visual communication, or TV production.

All these fields include “post-production,” which in turn includes special effects. Many practitioners, whether from science, arts, or creative backgrounds, had to self-study in their spare time or pay for outside training to truly become special effects artists.

Those who spent money to study film special effects abroad usually paid tens of thousands in tuition and devoted months or years to learning—half the time on basics, half searching for opportunities.

The best training programs have strong industry ties, and if you stand out, the instructors may recommend you to foreign film studios. As a result, few people return home after training, because the industry standards at home are too low.

That’s why Liu Qingshan thought of this solution; he knew how strong Bollywood was.

As one of the world’s largest film production centers, Bollywood isn’t just famous for its unique musical numbers and Indian films for domestic audiences.

With a Hindi film market of hundreds of millions, it attracts not only with passionate, expressive acting and dramatic dance, but also boasts advanced IT imaging technology on par with Hollywood, producing many grand, high-tech blockbusters.

Of course, with a focus on special effects, sometimes the storytelling suffers, resulting in films that are flashy but shallow—sometimes even bearing suspicion of copying Iron Man or Terminator.

Yet, it cannot be denied that Bollywood has produced true international superstars, and Indian actors whose pay rivals Hollywood’s.

This proves that Bollywood’s film effects have strengths recognized by Western audiences.

Moreover, Bollywood’s filming techniques and style have always leaned toward Hollywood, eager to integrate into the Western world, so its progress in sci-fi effects isn’t surprising.

By contrast, the domestic industry lags far behind.

Therefore, Liu Qingshan thought of learning from them. Compared to hiring from Hollywood at high salaries, Bollywood was far more affordable, especially since Kram owed him a favor.

Naturally, he reminded Kunal to handle things carefully, to prevent Mr. Kram, the big boss at Treasure Pictures, from getting suspicious and causing trouble, as there could be many complications.

Unexpectedly, Kunal laughed heartily. “Master, you must not know our situation here. Bollywood has gathered post-production experts from all over the world, even animators from Pixar. With so many talents concentrated here, not all special effects artists are doing well.”

“So you mean I can recruit some talented people without going through your boss?” Liu Qingshan’s tone betrayed his eagerness.

“Yes, Master. I know several young people with strong technical skills. Unfortunately, because they’re young and unwilling to remain at the bottom, they’ve long wanted to try their luck elsewhere!”

“And you’re close with them?”