Huayu: Starting from retirement, sweeping across the domestic entertainment industry

Chapter 221 Spark Knights

Hengdian, the film crew of "Glory".

This is a specially built e-sports training room scene in Hengdian World Studios, with the SK e-sports team flag hanging on the wall.

Black background with gold patterns, a knight holding a burning lance, below which is the team's name: SparkKnights.

The layout of the entire room was almost identical to that of the actual training base: five top-of-the-line computers were arranged in an arc, the gaming chairs were custom-made in black and red by the team, and there were several half-empty energy drink bottles and an unfinished pizza scattered on the table.

The whiteboard on the wall was covered with draft strategies from training matches and data on the opponents' habits, while the tactical board in the corner had several routes for team fights around the dragon pit drawn on it.

The air is filled with a unique, inexplicably reassuring scent that blends the aromas of drinks, takeout, and youthful energy—a scent shared by all esports training rooms.

Li Ran stood outside the door and took a deep breath.

He was wearing a black team jersey with the SK logo embroidered on the chest and his ID, Burn, printed on the back.

This was his first time standing in this fictional training room as an actor, but he felt more familiar with it than any film set.

It wasn't because the set was so realistic, but because of the feeling—it felt exactly like the IG and RNG bases.

He looked down at his hands; his fingers were long and slender, with distinct knuckles, and his nails were neatly trimmed.

These hands played professionally for three years, won two world championships, and held an Asian Games gold medal.

Today, they will play the role of a pair of professional hands.

"Scene 1 of 'Glory', Shot 1, Begin."

The clapperboard snapped shut with a crisp sound in the quiet studio.

Li Ran adjusted his expression, suppressing the languid look in his eyes that belonged to someone who had seen too much of the world, and replacing it with a light that was unique to newcomers, carrying a hint of nervousness and full of anticipation.

He followed Jia Bing into the training room.

Jia Bing was wearing a dark polo shirt, his belly was slightly bulging, his hair was neatly combed, and his expression was serious.

He walks quickly with long strides, each step carrying an undeniable certainty.

Li Ran followed behind him, her pace neither hurried nor slow, her gaze sweeping over everyone in the training room with the scrutiny and inquiry of a newcomer.

Jia Bing walked to the center of the room, clapped his hands, and spoke in a loud voice, as if he were training soldiers.

"Everyone stop what you're doing. Let me introduce you. This is our SK team's new jungler, Li Ran, Burn."

Wang Junkai was the first to look up.

He was sitting on the far left, with the top lane ranked game interface in front of him on the screen. His character was Fiora, and he was already twenty CS ahead of his opponent.

He put down the mouse, turned his chair around, and looked at Li Ran.

The young face looked exceptionally fair under the light, and his eyes held undisguised surprise.

He stood up, the chair was pushed aside, and the wheels slid a short distance across the floor with a soft thud.

"Hello everyone." Li Ran took half a step forward, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the group, a polite, unassuming smile on his lips.

Let's work hard together next season.

Jia Bing glanced at Wang Junkai, "Top laner, you two should be very familiar with each other, so I don't need to introduce you further."

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Before he could finish speaking, Wang Junkai had already walked around the table and stood in front of Li Ran.

The two looked at each other, then simultaneously reached out their hands—not to shake hands, but to hug.

They hugged each other, and Wang Junkai patted his back gently, his hand not too hard, but not too soft, showing his excitement.

In the script, the two are twin stars who fought their way up from the second division. In those corners without spotlights, they stayed up countless nights together, ate countless meals of instant noodles together, and shouted "Nice" to the screen together in that dilapidated training room.

These things weren't in the play, but Li Ran could sense that Wang Junkai wanted to portray that feeling—it wasn't something that could be acted out, but rather a tacit understanding of mutual trust and support.

"You've come." Wang Junkai released him, took a step back, and looked into his eyes, which held an uncontrollable, burning light.

"I feel that this year's championship will definitely belong to both of us."

It's not arrogance, it's belief.

Believe in yourself, and believe in the person standing in front of you.

Seeing the two of them getting all lovey-dovey, Jia Bing coughed lightly, not really showing any impatience, but deliberately keeping a straight face.

"Alright, we can catch up later." He interrupted them, turning his gaze to Zhang Linghe, who had been sitting quietly to the side.

Zhang Linghe leaned back in his gaming chair, relaxed, twirling a pen in his hand, the pen spinning nimbly between his fingers, round and round.

He didn't stand up, but simply raised his chin slightly as a greeting.

In the script, he plays the cornerstone of the SK team, a veteran who has experienced relegation, restructuring, criticism, and doubt. He is no longer the kind of newcomer who would get excited about the arrival of a new teammate.

The way he looked at Li Ran was one of scrutiny—neither rejection nor immediate acceptance, like looking at a puzzle piece that he didn't know if it would fit.

"Xiao Zhang, mid laner and captain." Jia Bing patted Zhang Linghe on the shoulder.

Zhang Linghe then stood up and extended his hand.

Li Ran grasped it; his hand was cold but strong. He held it for two seconds and then let go.

"welcome."

Jia Bing then turned towards the lower road, where two people were sitting.

Zhai Xiaowen and Hu Xianxu were standing very close to each other, their screens showing a duo queue match. One was playing Kai'Sa and the other was playing Nautilus. They were ahead in CS and kills, forcing the opposing team to surrender after fifteen minutes.

Upon hearing Jia Bing's voice, the two stopped simultaneously, turned around, and looked at the new jungler.

"Both bot lane duo are rookies this year."

Zhai Xiaowen's ADC character is based on Ah Shui—a player who rose to fame at a young age, reached his peak upon debut, was fierce in lane, and dared to fight in team battles; he was the kind of player who wore his "show" on his sleeve.

He looked at Li Ran, the corners of his mouth curving slightly, a smile that carried a hint of confidence: "I know you're very capable, but I'm not bad either."

"Brother Ran, please take care of me in the future."

Hu Xianxu sat next to him, playing the support role in their duo queue. The two dominated the bottom lane in the high-elo Korean server, were scouted by a team, and signed contracts together.

He seemed quieter than Zhai Xiaowen, and didn't say much. He just nodded to Li Ran with a shy smile on his lips.

"Hello, Brother Ran."

Li Ran looked at them, at these young faces, and suddenly felt a little dazed.

Wang Junkai is a rookie, Zhang Linghe is a veteran, and Zhai Xiaowen and Hu Xianxu are newcomers.

And what about him? He's the jungler who won Best Rookie and was the runner-up in the World Championship last year, the last piece of the puzzle that the team spent a lot of money to acquire.

In the script, the story of the SK team goes like this: after two years of establishment, they entered the LPL playoffs in their first year, although they were eliminated in the first round, they still showed the audience the talent of the new team.

The following year, Wang Junkai was brought in as a new top laner. He performed well in the playoffs, but unfortunately became a "World Championship ticket seller"—the kind of player who fights his way into the qualifiers but ends up doing all the work for others, watching them go to the World Championship while he leaves in disappointment.

The prototype is WE in 2021, the team that made it to the winners' bracket finals against all odds, only to lose two consecutive best-of-five series and fall short at the doorstep of the World Championship.

Winning doesn't mean you've completely won; losing doesn't mean you've completely lost either.

It's stuck there, unable to go up or down.

But that's why the owners behind the teams are willing to keep investing money.

Because we saw hope.

Therefore, in the new season, they retained their best-performing top laner and mid laner, boldly used newcomers in the bottom lane, and also brought in Li Ran—last year's best rookie and world champion runner-up.

The entire team is reorganized; the Starfire Knights are starting afresh.

SK, Spark Knights.

Li Ran stood in the center of the training room, looking at his new teammates and at the words written in the script: "A new season, a new beginning."

He suddenly realized that this character and himself were similar in some ways.

They all start anew at some point.

They all carry the regrets of the past as they head towards an unknown future.

Everyone wants to win.

Whether on the field or in front of the camera.

"Cut—this one's passed."

The assistant director's voice came from behind the monitor, carrying a hint of relief.

The atmosphere on set relaxed.

Zhang Yimou cannot participate in the entire filming process; he needs to reserve his energy for the scenes that truly require his involvement.

The assistant director was in charge of filming some of the less important shots.

But today is the first day of filming, and for the first scene, he still personally went to the set to oversee it.

He sat behind the monitor, the screen in front of him still frozen on the scene of Li Ran walking into the training room.

He stared at the screen for a few seconds, then looked up at Li Ran, who was walking out of the training room.

"Li Ran, come here for a second."

Li Ran was talking to Wang Junkai when he heard Zhang Yimou call him. He patted Wang Junkai on the shoulder and walked over quickly.

As I passed the props table, I grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewed it, took a sip, and put it aside.

"What's wrong, Director Zhang?" He squatted down next to Zhang Yimou, looking at the monitor at eye level.

Zhang Yimou pointed to the image on the screen, his brows furrowed slightly, not because he was dissatisfied, but because he was thinking.

Li Ran had seen that expression too many times. It wasn't that he was pointing out a mistake; he was conceiving a plan.

"Um—Li Ran, this is what I'm thinking." Zhang Yimou paused, as if organizing his thoughts or confirming whether his idea was feasible.

"We can film the final victory scene and the scene where you lose the competition on location at the Bird's Nest."

Li Ran was stunned for a moment.

He stared at Zhang Yimou's face, trying to find a trace of humor in that face etched with the marks of time.

No.

Zhang Yimou is serious.

The Bird's Nest, the National Stadium, has 90,000 seats.

That stage he almost stepped onto in S7, that place he never returned to afterward.

In the original script, important competition scenes were filmed on location and then edited together. This is an industry practice and a necessary means of controlling costs.

"Director Zhang, this budget is astronomical!" Li Ran joked.

The cost of renting the Bird's Nest stadium, including lighting, sound, videography, extras, security, and logistics, all amount to real money.

Zhang Yimou waved his hand and patted Li Ran's shoulder. The pat wasn't heavy, but it carried a lot of weight.

"That's exactly the kind of grand spectacle we need."

His tone carried a stubbornness characteristic of veteran directors regarding the language of film and television works: "I'll talk to Tencent about the cost."

.

He paused, then added, "Besides, this script wasn't originally intended to be profitable. Some things are more important than money."

Li Ran looked at him and suddenly felt a strange mix of emotions.

Zhang Yimou is over seventy years old. He has made movies all his life, tried all kinds of subjects, and seen all kinds of big scenes.

He doesn't need to prove anything with a web series about e-sports.

He wanted to film it because he wanted to film it.

It's because he felt this story deserved to be told well and seen by more people.

"Li Ran, I just want to ask you, isn't it a bit abrupt to have two world championships held consecutively at the Bird's Nest?"

Zhang Yimou frowned again, with that old-fashioned, almost obsessive attention to detail.

Li Ran shook his head. After thinking for a moment, he said, "Director Zhang, this is a TV drama, not reality."

"Film and television dramas are not documentaries. What the audience comes to see is the story, the emotions, and the feeling of wanting to win."

He paused, thought for a moment, and added with a frown, "Furthermore, if all the filming is done at the Bird's Nest, the audience can hire volunteers, which will help control costs. Filling all 90,000 seats is unrealistic, but 10,000 or 20,000 seats can be easily accommodated with lighting and cameras."

He paused, then chuckled, "Besides, the audience at esports competitions doesn't need acting skills; all they need to do is shout."

Zhang Yimou looked at him and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Okay, we'll discuss these in more detail later."

His tone was resolute, as if he were making an unquestionable decision: "Make this drama a success."

That evening, when Li Ran swiped his card to enter the hotel room, the lights were on.

Liu Haocun nestled on the sofa, wearing a cream-colored loungewear set, his hair loose, and without makeup, looking gentle and soft.

Soft and relaxing.

She sat cross-legged, holding a cushion in her arms, with a tablet computer on her lap. Her brows were slightly furrowed, and she swiped her fingers across the screen, then swiped again, very focused, so focused that she didn't even look up when he came in.

Li Ran changed his shoes, walked over, and sat down next to her. Her body swayed slightly, but she didn't look up, her eyes fixed on the screen as if she were looking at something very important.

"What are you looking at? Why are you so focused?" Li Ran turned his head and glanced at the screen.

The tablet displayed an interview video, in which a host in a suit was holding a microphone and talking to the camera.

He recognized it; it was an official post-match interview from the LPL.

"Take a look at the host's interview process." Liu Haocun didn't even look up. She swiped her finger across the screen, fast-forwarded a bit of the video, then swiped back to watch it again.

Li Ran chuckled, leaning back on the sofa in a relaxed posture. "You've given interviews before, why did you need to specifically look up information?"

Liu Haocun then raised his head and glared at him.

"That's different. Is giving an interview the same as interviewing someone?"

She paused, then added, her tone becoming serious, "Besides, since you and Director Zhang both value this drama so much, I can't let you down."

Li Ran knew that she wasn't just going through the motions or trying to get by; she genuinely wanted to do this well.

It wasn't for the camera, it wasn't for exposure, it was for the film, for the role, and it wasn't to hold him back.

"You're really serious."

He reached out, took the tablet from her lap, swiped his fingers across the screen a few times, exited the interview video, opened the search bar, and typed in a few keywords.

A series of results popped up on the screen. He flipped through them, clicked on a video, and handed the tablet to her.

"Look at these, LPL's post-match interviews are a bit different from other interviews, they're not as formal."

He paused, thought for a moment, and then added, "Also, you can look at some famous esports memes; they might be helpful."

Liu Haocun took the tablet, looked down at the screen. He had chosen the video very well; it was a compilation of several classic interviews.

There were players beaming with pride after winning a match, players holding back tears after losing a crucial game, newcomers looking awkward and clumsy in front of the camera for the first time, and veterans with tears in their eyes at their retirement press conference.

Every scene is real, and every expression is genuine.

She looked at it and nodded. "Understood."

Li Ran stood up, stretched, and his bones made a slight clicking sound.

He glanced down at her; she had already started watching the second video, her brows still slightly furrowed, but the corners of her mouth were curved in a slight smile, probably amused by some famous scene.

"Take your time looking at it. I'm going to take a shower first," he said, turning and walking towards the bathroom.

"Mmm," she responded, but still didn't look up.

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