Chapter 7: Part 2

Mid-December in Flower City brought biting chill. Fanhua Film City lay far from the city center, where temperatures plunged even lower. Even under today’s blazing sun, the cold still had people stamping their feet.

Lin Zixi had arrived at the Limbo Inn Season 2 set bright and early, trailing behind the director as cameras captured a morning’s worth of footage.

Limbo Inn was a weekly broadcast drama on Durian TV. Amid last winter break’s surge of stellar fantasy adaptations from novels and comics, Limbo Inn blazed a trail to success with its gripping plot and Jiang Yue’s masterful performance as the lead, emerging as the year’s final blockbuster.

Lin Zixi, who had already notched some achievements, became capital’s darling new screenwriter thanks to her original script for Avici Hell.

That year, plenty sought original scripts from her, keeping her swamped through the first half. But when Jiang Yue approached her for Limbo Inn Season 2, she politely turned down fatter paychecks elsewhere and cleared her second half for Jiang Yue.

At just 28 this year, Jiang Yue had exploded five years prior with her role as the lead in the palace intrigue drama Jade Coquette, snagging that year’s Qianhua Best Actress award and cementing her status as a top-tier rising starlet.

Since claiming Qianhua Best Actress, Jiang Yue landed lead roles in several smash hits, solidifying her position. But two years ago, when her contract with her former agency expired, she declined renewal and launched her own studio instead.

The industry wrote her off, flooding press releases with pessimism. Yet Jiang Yue hadn’t clawed her way to top-tier solely on acting chops—her mental fortitude outshone most.

After starting her studio, she inked a high-stakes bet agreement with Guangcan Group, pulling in a flood of resources.

At first, her projects underperformed compared to before, and fans bailed in droves over her “picking any script” spree. With the bet’s targets looking impossible, the bold risk-taker Jiang Yue went all-in.

Last year, she led her studio’s talent as producer, roped in a reliable director and screenwriter, and shot Limbo Inn.

Low actor pay meant every penny hit where it hurt—and Limbo Inn exploded, a massive hit.

As producer, Jiang Yue raked in a fortune, fulfilling the bet nearly a year early. She reclaimed her throne, career soaring.

Limbo Inn‘s success meant ample funding for Season 2. Even in early prep, investors clamored to grab a slice of the pie.

They offered fat checks but made brazen demands. The pushier they got, the more Jiang Yue resolved to nail Season 2 without shoehorning their picks into the crew. Unless the money was obscene, of course.

The female supporting role played by Yang Shu was Jiang Yue’s concession to capital.

Limbo Inn was a fantasy anthology series set in some unnamed dynasty. The lead, great demon He Chuan, ran an inn that resolved tales from the human, demon, and ghost realms.

The male lead was a celestial master with romantic ties to He Chuan from a past life, but as an anthology, the focus stayed on those otherworldly folks, celebrating kinship, friendship, or love.

Season 2 added a new core character: Hua Ling, played by Yang Shu.

Hua Ling was a crowd-pleaser in the show, sharing a heart-wrenching entanglement with the male lead’s senior brother. Nailed right, she’d be unforgettable in Limbo Inn.

The problem? Yang Shu couldn’t act.

Ten days into shooting, everyone else was in the groove, but Yang Shu—who’d just joined days ago—stumbled over lines.

Dubbing could fix bad line reads, but this director, spoiled with the cast’s stellar acting, couldn’t stomach Yang Shu’s amateur hour.

This morning’s scene was a farewell.

The great demon had emerged, endangering all under heaven. Daoist disciples took up swords for martyrdom. Knowing this parting meant no reunion, the male lead’s senior brother Gan Yi headed to the valley where he’d met Hua Ling for goodbye.

Clad in pale green Daoist robes, sword-sharp brows and starry eyes, long sword in hand, Gan Yi gazed skyward with martyr’s resolve: “Martyrdom is our generation’s ideal. That day comes soon.”

He turned to the tearful girl before him, his smile achingly tender: “I won’t be able to visit you anymore. Take care.”

A young man’s farewell is always achingly tender.

The director nodded approval at the camera, stroking his bushy beard. But a woman’s shriek shattered the mood.

“No!” The girl clutched the young man’s sleeve, tears streaming as she wailed: “I won’t let you go! We leave together—far from here, where that demon can’t find us!

“Your Daoist arts are supreme; you’ll carve out a place in the mortal world!”

Yang Shu’s howl gave everyone a splitting headache. What should’ve been a ethereal maiden turned into a shrieking banshee under her grotesque mugging.

From off-camera, Director Yu Ming endured no longer and bellowed, “Cut!”

Slamming the script, Yu Ming pleaded with Yang Shu: “You’re playing a maiden—keep the tears delicate, ethereal. Like a single drop tracing your cheek. Got it?”

Yang Shu’s prior roles were ditzy modern rom-com sidekicks or vicious vixens—rare tears, and when they came, it was this fishwife fury.

Yet she wouldn’t heed advice, insisting: “But I think separations need raw intensity—ugly crying packs more punch!”

This is fantasy romance, not your acting-freakout showcase—and your skills can’t handle it anyway!

Yu Ming’s head throbbed, but he had to coach her hands-on. Otherwise, the male lead’s toil crumbled at her feet.

With a wave, Yu Ming decreed: “I don’t care what you think—I do. Follow my lead: next take, like this…”

Lin Zixi glanced up at Yang Shu from behind the camera, then at the footage, pitying the director.

A stir rippled through the crowd. Lin Zixi looked up to see stylish Jiang Yue in a cream short puffer jacket and sunglasses, assistant in tow.

Crew greeted her warmly; she beamed back: “Brought treats—coming right up.”

Grinning thanks all around, Jiang Yue beelined for the director: “Director Yu.” Then waved to Lin Zixi: “Teacher Lin.”

Lin Zixi nodded, watching Jiang Yue chat with Director Yu Minghan.

Jiang Yue asked about progress; Yu Ming seized the chance: “Yue-jie, demo this scene for the newbie?”

Yang Shu bit her lip, gazing pitifully at Jiang Yue: “Yue-jie, please guide me.”

It was her investment, after all—Jiang Yue rolled up sleeves, personally schooling Yang Shu. Not everyone in this game was hopeless; after wrangling, they nailed it.

Yu Ming’s satisfied “Cut!” wrapped the morning’s page.

Eleven-forty—no lunch yet. But Yang Shu’s drags meant Yu Ming pushed to shoot Gan Yi and Hua Ling’s meet-cute fight next.

Stunt double for Yang Shu’s action—no facing her “acting.” Bliss for Yu Ming.

The fight unfolded in the valley’s dyehouse. Little demon Hua Ling, mistaken for foe, was chased by Gan Yi to the dyehouse for a brief clash.

Set dressing was key.

Props crew slaved all morning for a bamboo rack of diaphanous silks. Stunt double would burst from bamboo grove, vault the racks, then Yang Shu’s close-up.

Yu Ming’s storyboards were sharp, rehearsals solid—but takes felt off. Young and bold in framing, his two shots lacked that ethereal vibe.

A decade back, when Yu Ming was still a cinematographer, he’d collabed with Lin Zixi. Buddies on set, he’d often drag her for storyboard tweaks.

Sure enough, after two takes, he hauled her to the rig for adjustments.

The setup’s star: a five-meter bamboo tower amid the dyed-fabric racks. Stunt actor wired up to “fly” there.

High angle vexed camera placement—had to suspend the DP.

The shot dragged; Yu Ming dithered. Lin Zixi tapped his storyboard, suggesting: “Shoot it like this? Stunning—and safe.”

Yu Ming tugged his beard, pondered, decided: “Yeah, go with that.”

Then, commotion at the set entrance.

Someone barreled through, security yelling: “Stop! Stop! No entry—shooting in progress!”

Lin Zixi looked up: a figure like the wind, bowling through, straight for her.

She crashed past, toppling staff. One slipped, shoving a prop cart—domino effect. It slammed a heavy prop archway, which toppled into the bamboo tower.

The tower swayed; shouts: “Watch out!”

“Director Yu! Run!”

Lin Zixi glanced up as the peak splintered with a boom, massive bamboos plummeting toward her.

Her legs leaden, she froze, staring doom down.

“Hey! Woman!” a voice roared. “Run!”

Lin Zixi turned to see a black-clad, black-haired girl with blazing eyes charging through—Ye Can.

Ye Can hit like a gale, tackling her to the ground. World spun; Lin Zixi found herself cradled in her arms.

Crash! Bamboo rained around them.

Lin Zixi lay dazed in Ye Can’s embrace, staring at the girl beneath her, mind blanking.

Chaos erupted. Jiang Yue rushed over, witnessing Ye Can shielding Lin Zixi.

She eyed the bamboos landed three meters off, then Ye Can clutching her head on the ground. What the hell? When did our crew start shooting idol drama?