Chapter 126: Officially Rolling!

To ensure everyone was well fed, the crew had specially hired a middle-aged woman to cook. The meals weren’t anything fancy—just hearty stews served in large pots, with each person getting a bowl of vegetables and a portion of rice, and seconds were available if anyone was still hungry. Even Jiang Lun received the same treatment.

There was no alternative. The village had no restaurants, and the nearest one was in the nearby scenic area, a forty-minute round trip by car. Ordering boxed meals would have cost as much in fuel as paying the cook’s wages.

Before dinner, Jiang Lun and Chen Yingying returned to the Tongfu Inn.

The brief separation only deepened their affection. After a passionate encounter outdoors, they entered the inn wrapped in each other’s arms, completely inseparable.

“Well, you’re back,” Zhao Rong said with a smile as he glanced at the two of them. “Where did you two wander off to?”

“Just around,” Jiang Lun replied calmly. Chen Yingying, however, blushed deeply and lowered her head, avoiding eye contact for fear of revealing anything.

Zhao Rong didn’t notice a thing. “Get ready to eat. This will be our first meal together since the entire crew assembled!”

Though the meal was a simple stew, it wasn’t just rustic fare. Given the limited budget of the production, they still ensured quality.

Green beans, zucchini, potatoes, and slices of meat combined made for a decent meal.

Once everyone was seated, Jiang Lun invited the cook to join them.

She was practically part of the crew, frequently hired for such jobs. Many production teams ventured into mountainous or remote areas where conditions were similar, and having someone like her was essential.

The cook was unpretentious. Sitting down, she asked, “How’s the food? Does it suit your taste?”

“Not bad! This is good enough,” a crew member said. “Our usual boxed meals aren’t nearly this good.”

“That’s great!” the cook chuckled. “I’m happy you’re not picky. Some crews are really demanding...”

Being well-traveled and experienced, she launched into a lively conversation, regaling everyone with stories, sparking a convivial atmosphere that made everyone feel a shared camaraderie.

Jiang Ning listened attentively while eating. Life on a film set was a novel and fascinating experience for her.

During a lull, Jiang Lun asked Sun Lin, “How’s Ning Ning’s training going? Can she handle this role?”

“She’s smart, and the role isn’t too difficult. Ning Ning is quite uninhibited, so she should be fine.”

Hearing this, Jiang Ning beamed proudly. “Brother, don’t underestimate me. I’ve decided—I’m going to study acting and become a bigger star than you someday!”

“Heh, good for you. As long as you’re happy,” Jiang Lun smiled. “Now, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

“Hey, why do I feel like you’re looking down on me?” Jiang Ning frowned, but seeing Jiang Lun focusing on his meal, she dropped the subject.

After dinner, Zhao Rong instructed everyone to rest early. The next morning, they would rise to pay respects to the gods and hold the opening ceremony.

It was their tradition, regardless of superstition. In this empty ancient village, it was better to seek the blessings of the gods than not at all.

At 6:26 the next morning, the entire crew was called up early. Outside the Tongfu Inn, they formed a square formation facing northwest.

The timing and direction had been determined by a Feng Shui master Zhao Rong had hired. According to him, this was an auspicious hour and position.

On either side of an incense altar stood a camera draped with red cloth. A middle-aged man in a gray jacket—the Feng Shui master—stood at the front.

Jiang Lun did not believe in such things, but Zhao Rong insisted. “It’s the rule. No exceptions. Every crew follows this before filming starts.”

Moreover, the production manager from the previous set, Liu Xiahui, had been enthusiastic about this too. The fruits and food on the altar were all personally funded by him, so Jiang Lun reluctantly agreed.

Still, in his heart, he thought it was useless. Whether the filming went well depended on the crew’s ability, not on gods or spirits.

For the crew, however, it was a symbol of hope—a prayer that no mishaps would occur during filming. Nothing more.

On the table was a large incense burner filled with fine sand. The Feng Shui master solemnly chanted for a long while. Jiang Lun caught phrases like “bless,” “peace,” and “auspicious,” but most of it was indistinct.

When he finished, he turned and gestured for the crew to pay respects.

The first to burn incense were Jiang Lun, Zhao Rong, and the two production managers.

As the supervisor, Jiang Lun had to be first. Though he had never done this before, he had seen others perform such rituals and had been briefed on the procedure the night before. So he began with practiced solemnity.

Next came the principal actors, including Jiang Ning and seven others.

This ritual had no particular deity—anyone could pay respects to whomever they wished. Most simply worshipped heaven.

Finally, the rest of the staff followed. After all had paid their respects, everyone approached and unveiled the camera.

Zhao Rong shouted, “I hereby declare: the ‘My Own Swordsman’ crew officially begins filming!”

With a flourish, he pulled off the red cloth to applause.

The production was modest and low-key—no grand pre-launch publicity, no journalists or government officials invited.

At 7:30, once everything was set, they returned inside the inn to film the first shot.

Since it was broad daylight, the first shot wasn’t from the night scene of episode one, but from episode two.

In the script, this scene took place at dusk, but the sky was still bright and gray, resembling twilight.

Before the camera, the six lead actors gathered around a table already set with several dishes.

Jiang Lun clapped the slate and called out, “My Own Swordsman, episode two, scene one, first take...!”

Zhao Rong sat behind the monitor, raising a megaphone. “Action!”

Immediately, the actors moved into character.

Sun Lin, playing Tong Xiangyu, wiped the table. Shen Xin, portraying Guo Furong, leaned against the staircase with a smile.

Then Tu Zhongyuan as Li Dazui entered from the kitchen carrying soup, signaling to Guo Furong, “Hurry, someone help me out here... hurry…”

Tong Xiangyu replied, “She can’t help, she’s got acupuncture points hit!”

Taking the bowl from Li Dazui, she placed it on the table and called out, “Dinner’s served…”

In the next moment, Zhou Jun as Bai Zhantang, Qi Lei as Lü Qinghou, and Jiang Ning as Mo Xiaobei burst from the backyard, quickly scrambling for seats.

Tong Xiangyu handed out bowls and chopsticks, saying, “No fighting, no fighting, there are four dishes and a big bowl of soup. There’s enough for everyone.”

The camera zoomed in on Bai Zhantang, who said to Li Dazui, “Take it easy. You even gnawed on the two big bone sticks in the kitchen earlier.”

Li Dazui was shocked. “You didn’t? Say that again—you didn’t?”

Bai Zhantang made a cutting motion with his hand. “I only ate what you left behind…”

...

This scene was lengthy, but the principal actors performed superbly, capturing it all in one take. It was clear they had deeply rehearsed.

Jiang Ning’s performance wasn’t outstanding, but Sun Lin had emphasized the role the day before, and Jiang Ning’s natural demeanor suited Mo Xiaobei well. Zhao Rong didn’t call cut and let it pass.

“Not bad, not bad!” Jiang Lun applauded after the first take. “You all really moved me. I didn’t expect it to go so smoothly! Thanks for your cooperation!”

“Oh, it’s nothing. We’re all professionals!” Zhou Jun waved dismissively. Though a bit shy, he straightened up at the mention of professionalism, radiating confidence.

Jiang Ning happily ran to Jiang Lun, excitement on her face. “Brother, acting feels amazing, like playing a game!”

“Uh…” Jiang Lun glanced awkwardly at everyone else. The others treated acting with hard work and sweat, but she actually found it like playing?

He frowned. “Your acting isn’t good compared to the other leads. That compliment wasn’t for you. Don’t get cocky!”

“Hmph!” Jiang Ning pouted. “You’re just picking on me. Sister Sun said yesterday, if the director didn’t say cut, it means I did fine. Hmph!”

“...” Jiang Lun scratched his head, glanced at the smirking Sun Lin and the gleeful Zhao Rong, then sighed, “Alright, alright! You did great, okay?”

Jiang Ning beamed. Seeing the leads crowding around the monitor to watch the footage, she joined them eagerly. “Let me see, let me see. How did I do?”

After watching, her expression changed. “Why are there so few shots of me? And my voice sounds awful!”

“It sounds fine,” Tu Zhongyuan said, puzzled. “This is how on-set audio usually sounds. Yours is actually better than most!”

“I’m not talking about the recording. I mean my voice!” Jiang Ning pouted. “It sounds nothing like the voices of stars on TV.”

Everyone exchanged looks, none able to explain.

To explain properly would require knowledge of audio engineering and vocal training for actors.

Jiang Lun patted her head. “It’s fine, just go by this standard. You’re great. Don’t lose confidence.”

Jiang Ning ignored him, turning to tug at Sun Lin. “Sister Sun, teach me how to project my voice. You told me yesterday but I didn’t remember!”

“Sure, after a bit of practice, I’ll explain!” Sun Lin smiled and patted her head. “Let’s keep filming the second shot now. You’ll learn by doing.”

“Oh!” Jiang Ning nodded, still a bit clueless.

(To be continued.)