“Cut!”
Xu Pingqiu took off his headphones. “Good! This take is good!”
With that announcement, the crew in the lobby relaxed all at once.
Han Song, whose face had been fierce just a moment ago, softened his expression and turned to give Jiang Yue a thumbs-up.
Chen Jiaming walked down the stairs from the second floor. As he passed Jiang Yue, his steps paused slightly.
“Earning those silver dollars seems even more comfortable than being the Chief,” Chen Jiaming chuckled.
Jiang Yue instantly shed his “Zhou Jinnan” persona, his slickness vanishing completely as he waved his hands repeatedly. “It's all thanks to Teacher Chen holding down the fort upstairs. Otherwise, Brother Han really would have skinned me alive.”
Xu Pingqiu strode over and patted both of their shoulders heavily in encouragement, then turned to roar into his walkie-talkie, “All departments, hurry up! Transition to the next scene as quickly as possible and get ready for the next take!”
...
The afternoon shoot consisted of several transitional scenes, mainly focusing on the overt and covert struggles between Zhou Jinnan and the captain of Squad Two, Fu Xiao.
Within the Secret Service, the two of them were like water and fire.
Fu Xiao was a literal attack dog who advocated for forced confessions through torture, preferring to kill a thousand innocents rather than let one guilty person escape.
On the other hand, Zhou Jinnan was a slick military academy graduate who seemingly cared about nothing, handling cases entirely based on his mood and how much grease he could squeeze out of them.
As long as the money was right, he would find a way to discover a loophole and “lose” even a high-profile criminal halfway through transport.
In the eyes of outsiders, one was greedy for power while the other was greedy for money. Their methods differed, but they were birds of a feather.
As they filmed these scenes, Jiang Yue and Han Song's coordination was incredibly smooth.
Han Song brought Fu Xiao's sinister cruelty to life, while Jiang Yue perfectly captured Zhou Jinnan's cynical playboy nature—someone smelling of the perfumes of the Bund on the outside, but deeply calculating and guarded on the inside.
The back-and-forth between them pushed the tension of their characters to the absolute limit. Behind the monitor, Xu Pingqiu was so delighted by their chemistry that he kept slapping his thigh.
As night fell, the temperature at the Chedun Film Park plummeted, and a cold wind whipped down everyone's collars.
The crew prepared for today's night shoot.
Inside the fully set up Chief's office.
The lighting technician cast a rich, warm glow from a desk lamp, while the surrounding areas receded into deep darkness.
“All departments in position! Scene twelve, take one, Action!”
The camera pushed in.
Behind a massive mahogany desk, Secret Service Chief Lu Cheng was pinching the bridge of his nose.
The desk was piled high with military and political documents, along with various reprimand telegrams from the puppet government.
Everyone in the Secret Service knew the Chief was in a terrible mood today, and they all stayed far away, terrified of crossing him.
Except for Zhou Jinnan.
Not only did he not hide, but he also stood naturally by the desk, deftly handling a clay teapot to brew tea with hot water.
Steam billowed up.
Zhou Jinnan lifted the teapot, swiftly poured a cup, and steadily placed it right by Lu Cheng's hand.
“Chief, have a drink to wet your throat. Those gentlemen in Jinling talk big because they don't have to do the work, but with a mess like Shanghai, anyone else but you would be completely lost.”
Lu Cheng raised his eyelids to glance at him, saying nothing. He picked up the teacup, blew away the foam, and spoke in a raspy, cold voice.
“That batch of black-market penicillin seized at the southern docks—have you found out who reached their hands into it?”
This kind of messy affair, which was bound to offend various powerful figures, was something the subordinates usually avoided like the plague, acting like cowards.
Zhou Jinnan grinned, looking as if he were eager to claim credit. “I've found out. It's the police deputy chief's brother-in-law. Don't worry, Chief. Last night, I had some men stuff him into a sack and quietly drop him into the Huangpu River. The goods have also been completely moved into our bureau's secret warehouse. This secret will rot in our bellies; no one will ever trace it back to you.”
Lu Cheng's hand holding the teacup paused slightly.
He stared at the cynical subordinate before him.
Zhou Jinnan always had this knack. He could handle all the dirty work flawlessly, never taking the credit and always passing all the prestige to his Chief.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
An agent pushed the door open, glanced at Lu Cheng, then at Zhou Jinnan, and reported with gritted teeth, “Captain Zhou, Miss Qiao from the Paramount is on the phone again. She says... a new batch of imported wine has arrived, and she saved some specifically for you. She's asking when you'll be heading over.”
Qiao Wan, the top hostess of the Paramount.
Everyone in the bureau mocked Zhou Jinnan for having a screw loose, giving up a bright future just to obsess over a mere “courtesan” from the entertainment quarters.
Only Zhou Jinnan knew that Qiao Wan was using this method to help him cement his guise of being utterly devoid of ambition, while simultaneously passing him intelligence.
“Got it.”
Zhou Jinnan waved his hand dismissively, his tone carrying a hint of indulgence. “Tell her I have official business here with the Chief. Have her decant the wine and wait for me. I'll head over later.”
The agent quickly retreated and shut the door tight.
Lu Cheng set down his teacup, leaned back against his chair, and sighed as if they were just chatting.
“Jinnan, I really don't know what to say about you. Fu Xiao has filed over a dozen complaints against you behind your back, saying you have no mind for official duties all because of some showgirl. Even Jinling feels you are unfit for major responsibilities.”
The careless smile on Zhou Jinnan's face faded slightly.
He straightened up and picked up the teapot to refill Lu Cheng's cup, his movements steady.
“Chief, Fu Xiao is just jealous that I'm better at making money than he is, and those people in Jinling are envious because I only listen to you.”
He pushed the teacup back and looked up at Lu Cheng, showing a sharp edge. “I, Zhou Jinnan, am loyal to the man, not the position. Whoever makes my life comfortable in Shanghai is the one I'll bleed for. As for the rest of them, what the hell do they even matter?”
Seeing the sharpness in his eyes, Lu Cheng was not angered. Instead, he smiled with satisfaction.
“Well said.”
Lu Cheng picked up his cup and took a small sip. “I admire this drive in you. The money, the women, and even the uniform you wear—as long as you remain loyal to me, I can give you all of it.”
“You're being too polite, Chief.”
Zhou Jinnan reverted to his grinning self. “My life belongs to you anyway. Doing your bidding is only natural.”
“Alright, cut the chatter.”
Lu Cheng waved his hand to dismiss him. “Scram to the Paramount. Don't keep your sweetheart waiting.”
“Yes, sir! Thank you for your consideration, Chief!”
Zhou Jinnan immediately donned his playboy expression and slowly backed toward the door.
Right as he retreated to the door and gripped the handle, Lu Cheng lowered his head to sip his tea.
In that split-second window, the obsequiousness on Zhou Jinnan's face instantly vanished.
He eyelids drooped slightly, concealing the fleeting cold light in his eyes. Without turning his head, relying solely on the position he had deliberately memorized while pouring the tea earlier, his peripheral vision locked precisely onto the document buried at the bottom of the pile near Lu Cheng's hand.
In the next second, the doorknob clicked and turned.
He pulled the door open and walked out, humming a little tune, transforming back into the cynical Captain Zhou.
“Cut!”
Xu Pingqiu didn't even bother with his walkie-talkie and roared directly, “This take is absolutely perfect! Let's do one more for safety!”
Laymen watch for entertainment, while professionals look for technique.
Off-set, Han Song, who hadn't left the studio yet, stroked his chin and whispered to the assistant director beside him.
“Why do I feel like Jiang Yue is actually pitch-black on the inside too? That face-changing speed is faster than turning a page.”
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