To speed up the shooting process, the crew split into Unit A and Unit B to shoot simultaneously.
After wrapping up the grand, main-line scenes, they would shoot close-up highlight details for individual characters.
Over the next five days, Unit A's progress moved at breakneck speed, as if set to eight-times fast-forward.
With several major scenes successfully filmed, the core narrative arc of 《The Grand Game》 was completely laid out.
This drama was not a simple tale of vying for the throne, nor was it a pure story of revenge.
It was, in essence, a grand scheme.
Lin Zheng, bearing the blood debt of the hundred thousand soldiers of the Lin Army, had returned to the capital under the alias Xiao Yi.
On the surface, he was an inconspicuous guard by the Third Prince's side; in the shadows, he was investigating the truth behind the massacre of the Lin family and the "border provisions case."
Lin Zhaonan, a hot-headed newcomer in the Censorate, was single-mindedly determined to purge political corruption and bring justice to the world.
But as his investigation deepened, he discovered that his own family had long since been dragged into this muddy swamp.
The prime minister wielded absolute power, blotting out the sky with one hand.
The Emperor maintained a delicate balance of power among the various factions.
Meanwhile, the Southern Realm was the last fiefdom on the Xia Nation's map that did not fully obey court orders, serving as a sword hanging directly over the dragon throne.
Chu Yan was the hostage from the southern royal family, held tightly in the Emperor's grasp.
The scenes filmed over the past few days had focused heavily on Xiao Yi navigating his way through deadly schemes and flashing blades.
In the blink of an eye, the sixth day arrived.
Unit B, indoor studio.
This was the set for the hostage prince's residence in the capital.
There were no magnificent decorations. Large patches of plaster peeled off the walls, the window paper was yellowed, and the withered tree in the courtyard had nothing left but a few bare branches.
The crew's art department had materialized the Southern Heir's destitution in the capital into every single corner.
This afternoon, they were shooting Jiang Yue's second major scene since joining the cast.
This was also a major turning point at the beginning of the entire drama.
The true colors Chu Yan had hidden for ten years were about to be unveiled to the audience for the very first time.
The situation in the drama shifted abruptly.
Trouble erupted in the Southern Realm. The court issued three gold plaques in rapid succession, using the pretext of defying imperial orders to immediately execute Chu Yan's third uncle and forcibly confiscate the military tallies of the thirty thousand Zhennan soldiers.
To make matters even more ruthless, the Emperor, under the guise of "expressing condolences," dispatched eunuchs to the Southern Realm to deliver the imperial decree.
The news traveled back to the capital.
An old family retainer of the Chu Residence, disguised as a charcoal carrier, risked his life to smuggle a blood-stained secret letter into the hostage prince's residence.
The focus of this scene was to capture Chu Yan's reaction upon seeing the blood-written letter.
In the dressing room.
Jiang Yue, now fully styled in his period costume, leaned back against the chair with his eyes closed.
In his mind, the pale blue system panel quietly expanded.
【Micro-Expression Master (Purple)】
【Vocal Control (Blue)】
【Ancient Grace in the Bones (Purple)】
All three traits were active.
“Teacher Jiang, the director is calling for positioning.”
The stage manager pushed the door open, his tone unconsciously carrying a hint of politeness.
Jiang Yue opened his eyes, and his entire aura settled.
“Coming.”
Inside the studio.
Xu Pingqiu leaned back in his folding chair behind the monitor, mindlessly twirling a red-and-blue pencil in his hand.
The actor playing the old family retainer was a veteran special extra in the crew, boasting decades of supporting-role experience and incredibly stable acting.
People like him didn't steal the spotlight, but as long as they stood in front of the camera, they could firmly anchor the character.
Xu Pingqiu scanned the set. “All departments, prepare.”
The clapperboard snapped down. “Action!”
The room was exceptionally dark, with only a brazier of charcoal burning a deep, crimson red.
The old family retainer knelt on the floor in a tattered cotton coat, his shoulders shaking violently and uncontrollably as he desperately suppressed his grief.
“Heir...”
He lowered his voice, which trembled with a hoarse rasp. “The Third Master... is gone.”
His hands shook as he pulled a piece of blood-stained coarse cloth from his inner pocket. Gritting his teeth tightly, he held it high above his head with both hands.
Yet, Chu Yan did not spare the blood-written letter a single glance.
He reclined lazily on the wooden daybed, one leg slightly bent, mindlessly twirling a colored glaze cup in his hand.
The firelight reflected off the surface of the cup, illuminating the nonchalance in his eyes.
His fingertips slowly traced along the rim of the cup, every movement carrying the decadent listlessness of someone who spent all his time in pleasure houses.
“Gone?”
Chu Yan finally spoke, his voice trailing off with a faint lilt, his tone completely flat.
The old family retainer snapped his head up, his eyes filled with incomprehension and despair.
“Heir! That was your biological uncle!”
Disregarding all decorum, the old family retainer dragged his knees across the floor tiles, crawling two steps forward. A blood-weeping cry tore from his throat. “The court is trying to dig up our Southern Realm's ancestral graves! The Prince is gravely ill, and the army's morale is already in chaos! Do you truly not care at all?!”
Chu Yan's movements halted.
He set down his wine cup and stood up.
His black robe cascaded down, his wide sleeves brushing against the edge of the daybed.
Even as a supposed “useless waste,” the royal nobility rooted in his bones could not be suppressed.
He strolled over to the old family retainer and leaned down slightly.
With a casual pinch of two fingers, he grabbed the edge of the blood-written letter.
The disdain in his movement made it look as if he were picking up a dirty, rotten cabbage leaf.
“Why are you crying?”
Chu Yan actually burst into laughter.
“If he's dead, then he's dead.”
“One dead man in exchange for peace in the capital, allowing this heir to keep drinking wine...”
He paused, his voice chilling to the bone.
“What a bargain.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he flicked his wrist.
Without even a second glance, he tossed the cloth soaked in his relative's blood straight into the burning charcoal.
The flames flared up, instantly consuming the blood-written letter.
The old family retainer's eyes turned bloodshot as he threw himself recklessly toward the brazier to retrieve the cloth.
Chu Yan's gaze went cold. He raised a foot and kicked the old retainer hard, sending him sprawling to the ground.
“Get out.”
The single word wasn't loud, but it was terrifyingly low.
It sounded exactly like the bone-chilling wind that blew through the Southern Realm in the dead of winter.
He looked down at the fallen retainer, his eyes devoid of any emotional fluctuation. “Scram back to the Southern Realm and tell the Prince of Zhennan that on the seventh day after Third Uncle's death, I will call a few more top courtesans at the capital's most expensive brothel to summon his soul.”
The old family retainer froze in place, staring intently at the man before him.
The very last glimmer of hope in his eyes was completely extinguished.
He did not utter another word of pleading. Scrambling up from the floor, he stumbled out with a hunched back.
The wooden door shut tightly with a dull thud.
In the shadows outside the eaves, the spy who had been keeping watch coldly withdrew his gaze and quietly blended into the night.
Inside the room.
The moment the sound of the closing door fell, Chu Yan's listless posture vanished instantly.
His footing faltered, and he stumbled back two steps, his back slamming heavily against the solid wood support pillar behind him.
The mask of a useless playboy completely shattered.
Losing all his strength, he slowly slid down the pillar and sat on the floor.
Those eyes, which had been filled with cold detachment just a moment ago, were now terrifyingly hollow.
Chu Yan slowly raised his right hand—the one that had just thrown away the blood-written letter—his fingertips trembling slightly.
He stared at the hand that had just discarded the letter.
It was as if he were looking at something unspeakably filthy.
In the next second, he suddenly clenched his fist and slammed it viciously against the solid wood screen beside him.
A dull thud echoed. His knuckles split open, and blood trickled down the grain of the wood, yet he did not even knit his brows.
He merely stared at the small pile of ashes in the brazier.
What had burned away was not just a letter, but also his very last claim to openly being the heir.
Finally.
A single, scalding tear fell uncontrollably from the corner of his bloodshot eye.
There was no sound, nor was there a second tear.
It silently seeped into the cracks of the floor tiles, leaving no trace behind.
“Cut!”
Xu Pingqiu's deep voice echoed in the studio.
But if one looked closely, they would notice that his hand holding the walkie-talkie was gripping it extremely tight.
Outside the door, the veteran actor who had just stepped out was leaning against the wall, panting heavily, unable to break character for a long while.
His assistant hurriedly handed him a tissue, and the veteran actor wiped away a cold sweat.
At that moment, he truly felt like the kid in front of him was a scumbag who would sell out his own father.
“Director Xu...”
Assistant Director Zhao Gang swallowed hard and lowered his voice. “Do we... need a backup take?”
Xu Pingqiu did not reply, his eyes fixed on the playback on the monitor.
From the initial frivolity to the extreme coldness, and finally to the silent breakdown after stripping away the mask, the entire spectrum of emotions was layered with absolute precision.
Not a fraction too much, not a fraction too little.
Xu Pingqiu picked up his thermos, unscrewed the lid, and desperately suppressed the curl of his lips before making the final call. “This is the one! Passed! Prepare for the next scene!”
Passed in a single take.
An emotionally draining transition scene like this had actually passed on the very first try without a single hitch!
The surrounding crew members stared at each other, their eyes practically screaming, “Holy crap!”
Is this guy seriously not possessed by some legendary actor?
Or did he turn on some kind of acting cheat code?
Hearing the instruction, Jiang Yue breathed a long sigh of relief.
Instantly deactivating his skills, his aura shifted in a split second from a gloomy, dark character to a bright, cheerful college student as he strolled off to get his makeup removed.
To the side of his vision, the pale blue light screen also began spamming notifications.
【Emotional critical hit detected from the co-actor, Prestige points +20】
【Strong approval detected from the assistant director, Prestige points +50】
【Ecstasy detected from the director, Prestige points +100】
【Shocked feedback detected from on-site peers, Prestige points +90】
Jiang Yue watched the total prestige points ticking up rapidly on the panel and quietly picked up his water cup.
Rate on N.U.
