Chapter 84: World Two [54]

From an investor’s perspective, the film Director Zhang wanted to make was quite niche in terms of subject matter. The prototype was just an ordinary person, which meant the film would gain almost no advantages during promotion.

And what’s more, in the eyes of most men, this prototype was utterly unremarkable—just someone who studied hard to become a doctor and then died suddenly from overwork, right?

News like this pops up every once in a while. Why make a film about such a topic, and who would pay to see it?

In their view, the script had no dramatic twists, no grand romance, no thrilling adventures, and no spectacular special effects. Even if the film could be made, it would ultimately vanish into dust, wouldn’t it?

Thus, even with Director Zhang—whose work could be textbook material—at the helm, such a script and subject matter rarely appealed to investors concerned with returns.

What’s more, Director Zhang had no intention of making it on the cheap, treating it as a low-budget niche art film.

Director Zhang planned to start filming in spring, using the seasons and the passage of time to illustrate the protagonist’s life journey: the vigor of spring, the brilliance of summer, the harvest of autumn, and the withering of winter. She wanted to capture it all.

This meant the lead actor would need to set aside an entire year to immerse herself. Any star with even a modicum of popularity couldn’t afford that kind of schedule; they couldn’t commit a whole year to a film that at best could be called a documentary.

So when Director Zhang met Jing Ke, who was willing to invest heavily, she truly wavered for a moment, tempted to loosen her demands for the lead actor.

Fortunately, Director Zhang had seen through the glitz and glamour of the entertainment industry. She resisted the temptation and only after repeatedly confirming that Shao Qing was not some flashy idol-type did she take the initiative to hand her the script.

After spending an entire day carefully going through the script, Shao Qing sat down to write a character biography, and also asked Jing Ke to help her find materials related to the prototype.

There wasn’t much information about the prototype online—only from the lists of outstanding student officers and national scholarship recipients published by the University and the hospital, and the names seen among outstanding doctors.

Director Zhang provided quite a lot of materials, but they were all a bit fragmented—gathered from the prototype’s family, classmates, and colleagues, and everyone’s accounts differed somewhat.

Jing Ke glanced through them; she figured she wouldn’t be able to find anything too old.

But for the past decade or so after electronic technology became widespread, she could find plenty of useful stuff from their blog posts and social media updates.

Those materials plainly revealed their impressions and opinions of the prototype. Compared to what Director Zhang got from later interviews, they contained much more pointed information.

That was normal. After learning that Director Zhang wanted to make a film about the prototype, these now-adult people naturally whitewashed their past actions. There had never been any bullying or abuse; there was only admiration and being moved, and so on.

After all, the prototype had already passed away. Aside from themselves, who else would know how they had actually treated her back then?

After digging everything up, Jing Ke sent all the materials to her girlfriend exactly as they were.

Shao Qing’s original intention in asking Jing Ke to gather more materials was so she could better immerse herself in the prototype, to experience her feelings and thoughts at different stages of her life.

But after seeing those harsh words, Shao Qing felt as if her throat was choked by something, and she couldn’t speak for a long time.

“These comments of theirs are very different from what Director Zhang heard from them,” Shao Qing murmured.

“That person who told Director Zhang that he stood up for the prototype when she was bullied—his high school updates are full of mockery toward her, and he even led the bullying against her.”

“People always beautify their actions. Once they know their words and deeds might be recorded, everything they say is purpose-driven,” Jing Ke said.

“Shao Qing, I want to send these materials to Director Zhang. I think the script still needs some adjustments,” Jing Ke said.

“Mm, it really does need adjusting. Bullies are bullies—we can’t be kept in the dark. Letting her be bullied in her youth and then be used as a stepping stone even after death.” Shao Qing said, lowering her eyes.

She hadn’t thought about those people in a very, very long time—so long that Shao Qing almost believed she had forgotten them.

But after seeing the prototype’s experiences, a few images flashed through Shao Qing’s mind.

When she was little, she had been bullied by some unscrupulous relatives for several months, and the psychological scars it left only truly healed after she entered university.

The prototype, however, had faced all kinds of injustice and humiliation from birth. Under such circumstances, she was still able to bloom into a brilliant flower from the mud. Then she must have been an incredibly strong person inside.

After seeing the materials Jing Ke sent, Director Zhang was also stunned for a long time. She replied with a thank-you and then buried herself in revising the script.

Director Zhang had no intention of glorifying suffering, but the prototype had indeed endured far too much. She had to study it carefully, distinguish the primary from the secondary, so the final film wouldn’t be misunderstood.

Fortunately, it was still only October. Four months was enough for Director Zhang to revise a script she knew by heart.

And for the film’s other roles, with Jing Ke’s massive investment, the Assistant Director also managed to select suitable candidates and sign contracts.

Worth mentioning is that Yu Hongjun and Jiang Qingyi, after learning the script’s content, expressed their willingness to appear as guest stars for free.

The script needed polishing, and Shao Qing needed time to deeply understand the prototype.

By the time filming officially began in early March the following year, the film’s title was finally decided.

Song Xiaocao—the name of the prototype, and also the name of the film.

During title discussions, there had been some disagreements within the crew. Many thought a name like “Wild Growth” or something more optimistic would be better, reflecting the protagonist’s indomitable spirit.

In the end, Director Zhang decided on “Song Xiaocao,” because that was the name the prototype had given herself after reaching adulthood.

She didn’t want to be called Zhaodi [Beckon Brother]. She just wanted to be a small blade of grass—a grass that could grow freely anywhere, that could survive on just a little water and sunlight.

The film received almost no promotion when it started shooting. Shao Qing’s fans only knew she was collaborating with Director Zhang and would play the female lead in Director Zhang’s film.

Losing five kilograms was no trouble for Shao Qing—she just had to control her diet.

But for Jing Ke, who adored feeding her girlfriend, it was a relatively agonizing period. She managed to create infinite variety with limited ingredients and even had professionally balanced vitamins delivered daily.

The year-long shoot was long, and most filming locations were quite special. It wasn’t at the bustling Film and Television City but deep in the actual mountains.

Shao Qing’s role began from high school, so the filming location was a local key high school. The school’s infrastructure was decent, and the uniforms somewhat disguised the students’ family backgrounds, so there was no excessive comparison.

To fit the character, Shao Qing cut her long hair, adopting the short, ear-length style required by the school.

Her striking features made her look just as youthful and attractive without any makeup. With the uniform on and a backpack slung over her shoulder, she blended in perfectly.

At first, Shao Qing worried her appearance might overshadow the role, but after seeing the prototype’s one-inch ID photo, she soon had no concerns.

Because Song Xiaocao also had bright, vivid features, and the corner of her lips always carried a hint of a smile, as if no hardship could defeat her.

It was a coincidence—though the crew had deliberately chosen the students’ vacation time to film on campus, the transformed Shao Qing was still recognized by students who stayed at school for work-study programs.

Even more coincidentally, these students had all come from the mountains. It was precisely because Shao Qing had arranged one-on-one aid for them that they had avoided the fate of entering factories right after junior high and had instead walked a different path.

Eventually, under Director Zhang’s guidance, a few students even got minor walk-on roles and earned some income.

Led by the students to a small restaurant and treated to a satisfying meal, Shao Qing’s understanding of Song Xiaocao deepened further. The subsequent filming went with almost no NG takes.

The college entrance exams and earlier periods were shot in spring, while summer captured Song Xiaocao’s university life and part of her internship. Autumn showed her as a lead surgeon saving one patient after another.

In comparison, winter felt a bit colder. Song Xiaocao faced the most difficult incident of medical extortion, and both public opinion and hospital higher-ups put immense pressure on her.

Song Xiaocao pulled through and even successfully completed an extremely difficult surgery.

How difficult was this surgery? So difficult that it could have been published as a core journal paper. If everything had gone smoothly, Song Xiaocao’s position could even have been promoted.

But winter was destined to be full of regret. Song Xiaocao, who worked nearly fourteen hours a day, passed away forever on New Year’s Day during her duty shift, leaving behind only a towering pile of patient records and an unfinished paper.

Jing Ke later checked on that paper—it had been usurped by a certain male vice president of the hospital. Not only was Song Xiaocao absent from the first, second, and third authors, but her name didn’t even appear anywhere in the paper, despite being the lead surgeon.

If this film was successfully released, that male vice president who stole Song Xiaocao’s efforts would bear a lifetime of infamy.

To be honest, after throwing herself wholeheartedly into this film, Shao Qing sometimes couldn’t tell if she was Shao Qing or Song Xiaocao.

Fortunately, every night Shao Qing could hold Jing Ke, allowing her to reaffirm her own identity again and again.

“Jing Ke, who am I~” Shao Qing nestled in Jing Ke’s arms, asking in a muffled voice.

“Shao Qing, the one I like and love, a good actor who will leave a profound mark on cinema.” Jing Ke tirelessly, over and over, gave her firm answer.