Chapter 5 I Really Fell

A crescent moon hung coldly in the sky, its pale light mirrored by the scattered, icy stars above. The lake below was a sheet of calm, its surface broken only by a row of lively wooden boats.

On one of those boats, Chu Tianfeng and a dozen others waited. Filming had yet to begin, but excitement was written across most of the actors’ faces. Chu Tianfeng stood alone at the bow, gazing at the star-filled sky, his thoughts tumultuous.

He didn’t know which corner of the universe the Blue Moon Star was in, nor whether he would ever have the chance to return. There, for all its violence and death, there was cultivation and the hope of immortality. Here, everything seemed peaceful and harmonious on the surface, but beneath it lay competition and bloodshed all the same.

From this, Chu Tianfeng had come to understand a simple truth: strength is the only thing that holds true everywhere. Without strength, one had no voice; even someone as insignificant as Peng Yongliang could point at his nose and shout. Most people could arm themselves with money or status, improving their “soft power.” Chu Tianfeng was different. In his previous life, he had been a cultivator, able to arm himself directly—with magic.

He made up his mind. From now on, he would devote himself to cultivation—not for anything else, but for his dignity, so that no petty tyrant like Peng Yongliang could bully him.

A night breeze swept over the lake, carrying with it a faint chill and a touch of melancholy.

“What are you thinking about?” Xiang Yanping’s voice sounded behind him.

He was dressed as a soldier, a long spear in his hand.

Chu Tianfeng sighed and turned to face him.

Xiang Yanping sized him up, grinning. “I’ll admit, you look pretty impressive in that captain’s uniform. Your aura’s gone up a few notches.”

“From Extra A to Extra B?” Chu Tianfeng managed a wry smile. To be honest, acting held little interest for him; he was only here to make a living.

“Don’t be discouraged! You’re doing better than most of us. We’ve been at this for years and we’re still just extras.” Xiang Yanping pointed to a middle-aged actor in the distance. “Quan Hengchang has been playing bit parts for over a decade—still an extra.”

A trace of helplessness crossed Chu Tianfeng’s mind. “How about you?”

“Same as you. Started as an extra in college, been at it seven or eight years now.” Xiang Yanping patted his shabby costume. “Look at these rags—together, they’re worth less than a hundred yuan.”

“Our helmets and spears seem pretty valuable, though. I remember Director Zhang said each piece cost a hundred, and if we break anything, we pay for it.” Chu Tianfeng couldn’t help joking along.

Xiang Yanping thumped his spear on the deck. “The props department really is stingy.”

“Luckily, they’re sturdy. Not easily broken.” Chu Tianfeng stroked his sword. The blade was light, probably made of aluminum, but its polished surface gleamed ominously in the moonlight.

“Says who?” Xiang Yanping pointed at a young actor among the crowd. “This morning Han Xinwen broke a spear and had to cough up a hundred yuan on the spot.”

“You’re kidding. That unlucky?” Chu Tianfeng’s lips twitched in amusement. The spears were wooden, about five centimeters thick—not easy to break under normal circumstances.

“They were bored and decided to use the spears for pole-vaulting. Naturally, one snapped.” Xiang Yanping burst out laughing.

At that moment, a man stepped out from a nearby boat, holding a black-and-white clapperboard. Even at night, Chu Tianfeng and the others recognized the slate instantly.

“The slate’s here—get ready to shoot!” Xiang Yanping called out.

Everyone responded loudly, mustering their energy and taking their positions.

Flags were raised one after another, and somewhere, the sound of gongs and drums thundered, shaking the air.

Moments later, Yang Yi and his team appeared.

“Attention, everyone! Scene fifteen, take four, first shot—get ready!” Yang Yi’s voice blared through a megaphone, echoing across the night. “Three, two, one—action!”

In an instant, a barrage of flaming arrows rained down on the boats.

Middle-aged actor Quan Hengchang pulled an arrow from the deck, stuck it in his chest, let out a pained scream, and collapsed.

Xiang Yanping, drenched in fake blood, rushed to Chu Tianfeng’s side. “Sir, we’re surrounded—what do we do?”

Chu Tianfeng was about to reply when Yang Yi’s megaphone cut in: “Cut!”

Everyone froze, puzzled, and looked over at Yang Yi on the opposite boat.

“You!” Yang Yi pointed at Xiang Yanping, irritation all over his face. “Yes, you! Do you realize you’re surrounded? That you’re about to die?”

“You should be scared, tense, desperate—not cheerful or excited! NG!” Yang Yi threw down his megaphone in frustration.

Xiang Yanping stuck out his tongue sheepishly.

“Great, I died for nothing,” Quan Hengchang muttered as he got up and snuffed the arrow. Ordinary people might avoid talking about death, but these actors had seen it all; they only cared whether dying on camera paid well.

“Sorry, but you were so dramatic—banging on the deck like that. Careful you don’t break the boat, or we’ll all be paying for it,” Xiang Yanping joked.

The boats were just props, not real vessels. Shoddy work was no surprise—break one, and a year’s pay could vanish.

“You think I wanted to? Someone spilled water on the deck—I really slipped!” Quan Hengchang grumbled, rubbing his elbow.

Everyone burst out laughing.

“All departments ready—scene fifteen, take four, second shot!” Yang Yi’s megaphone blared again. “Ready, three, two, one—action!”

This time, Quan Hengchang was more careful, collapsing at an angle beside Chu Tianfeng after “taking an arrow.”

Xiang Yanping rushed over again. “Sir, we’re surrounded—what do we do?” he shouted, then heard Quan Hengchang mutter, “Watch where you step! You’re on my hand!”

“Don’t worry, just follow me!” Chu Tianfeng nearly laughed as he pushed him aside.

“Kill them!” Chu Tianfeng stepped forward, drawing his sword and holding it to the sky.

“Kill!” the rest of the soldiers shouted.

From the darkness, a crowd of extras dressed as enemy soldiers surged onto their boat, brandishing fake swords and spears.

Most background actors just wanted to get it over with. As soon as the spears approached, they tucked them under their arms, squeezed the red-dye packets at their chests, screamed, and collapsed.

Xiang Yanping gave a token resistance, took two spears to the waist, and staggered to the deck, landing beside Quan Hengchang.

He was shameless enough to use Quan Hengchang’s stomach as a pillow.

“Come on, can’t you die properly? Stop slacking off,” Quan Hengchang whispered angrily, but dared not move.

“Help me out here—there’s water everywhere. I can’t just lie in a puddle,” Xiang Yanping replied softly.

Perhaps he’d already eyed this dry spot.

“The stern’s dry—why not go there?”

Quan Hengchang felt cursed. He’d finally found a decent spot to “die,” only to have Xiang Yanping stomp his hand and then use his stomach as a cushion.

“It’s too far—the camera might not catch my face.”

“Then go die with your hometown buddy—the camera’s on him.”

As they whispered, someone collapsed beside them with a thud. That actor had hidden a ridiculous number of dye packets; as he crushed them, a flood of red ink poured out, soaking both men.

“Who the hell is this? Die if you want, but must you bleed so much?” Quan Hengchang cursed.

They’d worked hard to find a dry spot, only for someone to come and drench them on his first try.

“Sorry, it’s me—the dye packets were from Director Zhang.” Chu Tianfeng’s voice came from beside them.

Xiang Yanping was speechless. “Seriously? If he gave you a hundred, would you use them all?”

The spot he’d chosen was a dip in the deck, so the red ink pooled around him, trickling right to his mouth as he lay on his side.

“I would, but Zhang’s stingy—only gave me ten.” With that, Chu Tianfeng bit a hidden dye packet in his mouth and spat it out.

“Ten? Are you kidding me? That’s enough for a bath!” Xiang Yanping exclaimed.

“Quiet! Don’t break character,” Quan Hengchang nudged him.

Suddenly, the megaphone blared again: “Cut!”

“Damn, it’s because you pushed my head,” Xiang Yanping groaned.

He’d finally managed a convincing death, only for it to be ruined—no one could be happy about that.

“Damn it, another wasted death.” Quan Hengchang shoved his head off and sat up.

Everyone stood and looked over at Yang Yi on the neighboring boat.

But this time, Yang Yi didn’t call out “NG.” Instead, he led the camera and sound crew to another boat to film a fight scene.

“Yes!” Xiang Yanping leapt up, giving high-fives all around.

A hundred yuan earned—everyone was in high spirits.

“The next shot isn’t for two hours,” Quan Hengchang said. “Should we rest here or…?”

Xiang Yanping looked at the wet deck and shook his head. “Why don’t we go watch the others film—and maybe pick up some tips?”

“Let’s go watch Wu Bai perform—how about it?” another extra suggested.

It was Han Xinwen, who had broken a prop spear earlier and paid a hundred yuan. His face was still smeared with leftover makeup from the previous scene.

“Good idea—watch a superstar act, maybe get an autograph,” Xiang Yanping agreed.

Wu Bai was a triple threat in Red Harbor—film, television, and music. Watching him up close was a rare opportunity. No one in their profession would say no—especially not Xiang Yanping, who’d studied acting.

Seeing that Han and Xiang were both interested, Quan Hengchang didn’t object. “Fine by me. It’s not like we have anything else to do.”

“How about you, Chu Tianfeng?” Xiang Yanping turned to him.

Chu Tianfeng shrugged helplessly. “You guys go—I need to get my makeup done.”

Wu Bai might have been his predecessor’s idol, but he was not Chu Tianfeng’s. Even if he didn’t need makeup, he wouldn’t waste time on Wu Bai.