Huayu: Starting with Xiang Yu, the Hegemon of Western Chu

The next morning at 5:30.

The entire crew is present.

Chen Mo arrived at the film set at 5:20, ten minutes earlier than scheduled. When he entered the dressing room, the makeup artist was still organizing her tools.

The makeup artist looked up and saw him, and paused for a moment.

"Teacher Chen, your eyes."

Chen Mo sat down.

"Know."

"Do you need me to cover it up?"

"Need not."

The makeup artist didn't ask any more questions.

She picked up the eyebrow tins and began applying them to Chen Mo's eyebrows.

Chen Mo closed his eyes.

His pale complexion, combined with the dark circles under his eyes, made him look less like a 24-year-old under the lights of the dressing room.

Like someone who has just gone through something.

After the makeup artist finished applying the eyebrows, she asked him to look in the mirror.

Chen Mo looked at it for two seconds and nodded.

"No need to press your eyebrows today."

"Your eyebrows look natural today."

The makeup artist paused for a moment, then understood, and removed the two eyebrow pieces.

The face in the mirror now has high brow bones, deep-set eyes, and a layer of dark circles under the eyes.

This face is no longer fifteen years old.

This face is that of a fifteen-year-old boy after five months of marching.

The makeup artist looked at Chen Mo in the mirror.

She didn't say anything.

She simply packed away the tools one by one, very slowly.

Wang Xueqi arrived at 6:00 sharp.

Wang Xueqi glanced at Chen Mo as he entered the dressing room.

He didn't speak.

He sat down in his seat and began having the stylist apply Zhu Di's makeup to him.

The two people were separated by a makeup mirror.

Chen Mo didn't look at Wang Xueqi, and Wang Xueqi didn't look at Chen Mo either.

However, at a certain moment when he was about to put on his military uniform, Wang Xueqi stopped what he was doing.

He glanced at Chen Mo in the mirror.

That glance lasted for about two seconds.

Two seconds later, he turned to his stylist and said something.

"My cloak has a layer of fleece inside."

The stylist was taken aback.

"Teacher Wang, the wind isn't strong on the grassland today."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Wang Xueqi said. "Just adding a layer."

The stylist didn't ask any more questions and did as instructed.

Chen Mo saw Wang Xueqi's action in the mirror.

He got it.

Wang Xueqi put a layer of fleece inside his cloak, not because he was cold.

It's because when he's filming later, his hand will be on Chen Mo's shoulder.

Chen Mo didn't sleep all night.

Wang Xueqi could tell from Chen Mo's expression.

He knew Chen Mo would feel cold.

He padded his cloak with a layer of fleece so that the hand that was about to rest on Chen Mo's shoulder would carry some warmth with it.

Chen Mo stared at Wang Xueqi in the mirror for a long time.

Then he closed his eyes.

At 7:00 AM sharp, the film crew arrived at the location.

At 7:20, all departments were in place.

The scene was the same as yesterday.

One hundred and eighty horses were lined up at the far end of the slope. The wind on the grassland was still blowing from the north, and the sun shone obliquely from behind the mountain ridge.

Chen Mo sat on the same chestnut horse.

He was still wearing the same 18-kilogram sample armor.

But the way this set of armor is worn has changed today.

The straps between the two arm guards were loosened by one notch, the helmet straps were loosened by half an inch, and one side of the breastplate strap was one buckle lower than the other.

Chen Mo sat on his horse and felt the armor swaying.

With each breath, the breastplate would move slightly on his body; with each turn of his head, the helmet would shift back half an inch before returning to its original position.

This is a suit of armor worn by a fifteen-year-old boy whose body has not yet fully grown.

Luo Yifeng sat behind the monitor.

He added one more camera position today than yesterday.

The camera was positioned three meters directly in front of Chen Mo, facing his face.

Luo Yifeng wants to photograph this face.

From beginning to end, without letting up for a moment.

"All departments are in position."

"Horses, prepare."

"Pyrotechnics team, get ready."

"Eagle Group, prepare."

The assistant director raised the clapperboard.

"First round, second round."

"Action!"

One hundred and eighty horses at the bottom of the slope started moving at the same time.

From a slow walk to a jog, and from a jog to a sprint.

The sound of horses' hooves pounding on the half-dried grass came from afar, starting as a low vibration, then turning into a steady thud, and then into a rhythmic beat like drumming.

Dust rose from under the horses' hooves.

A thick cloud of yellow dust stretched across the slope.

The Oirat cavalrymen drew their scimitars, the blades reflecting light in 180 beams that flashed through the dust and smoke.

Wang Xueqi on the slope did not move.

Chen Mo on the slope did not move either.

But Chen Mo's face was different today.

The camera directly in front of us is clearly visible.

The moment the herd of horses charged forward.

Chen Mo's pupils dilated for a moment.

The magnification lasts for less than half a second.

Then the pupils returned to normal.

After taking it back, Chen Mo's face was completely blank.

That kind of lack, not the composed and restrained lack of yesterday.

That kind of absence is a kind of emptiness.

It's like a cup that's already overflowing; the overflowing part has nowhere to go but to leak out through the eyes.

That empty look was much uglier than his composed face yesterday.

The muscles on his face were loose, the corners of his mouth were loose, and his eyebrows were loose.

A fifteen-year-old boy, his face was completely blank.

He is acknowledging it.

He was recognizing the shape of the scent.

He recognized the scent he had been smelling for the past five months; now it finally looked real.

Behind the monitor, Luo Yifeng's finger hovered over the button on the walkie-talkie.

He didn't press it.

He forgot to press it.

Chen Mo took a deep breath on horseback.

This breath was a very light breath.

But the camera directly in front captured that entire rise and fall of that breath.

His breastplate rose and fell with that breath.

Then the breastplate fell down.

He drew an arrow from the quiver beside the saddle with his right hand.

The movement was slower than yesterday.

It's about twice as slow.

It's not that the technique is slow; it's just that when a person is carrying weight, their movements will inevitably be slower.

Draw the bow.

Look up.

An eagle flew overhead.

Draw the bow.

Let go.

The arrow flew out.

An eagle fell from the sky.

The arrowhead grazed the eagle's wing and flew diagonally towards the Oirat cavalry formation below the slope.

The Oirat cavalry stopped amidst the dust and smoke.

Chen Mo sat on his horse, his eyes following the arrow.

The instant the arrow fell into the formation.

Chen Mo's lips curled slightly.

That hook was very light.

It lasted less than a second.

Then take it back.

That smile was exactly the same as the smile I had when I was thirteen and watched Zhu Di kill people during my audition.

Grandpa, you're amazing!

Grandpa, I'll remember that.

Grandpa, I can do it too someday.

All three sentences were conveyed in that smile.

No one spoke on the entire set.

The wind blew from the north, and the 180 horses below the slope stopped in the dust.

Chen Mo sat on his horse, his hand still gripping the bow.

He didn't move.

Luo Yifeng sat behind the monitor.

He looked at the screen.

He didn't shout "pass".

Because he couldn't bring himself to say it.

There was something stuck in his throat.

This was the first time he had felt this way in his more than 30 years as a director.

He looked at the face on the screen.

That face captured the image of Zhu Zhanji that he wanted to photograph.

It wasn't the Zhu Zhanji he wrote in the script.

He was Zhu Zhanji himself.

Chen Mo brought Zhu Zhanji to life.

Wang Xueqi dismounted from his black horse.

His movements were half a beat faster than usual.

He walked to the door of the surveillance booth and lifted the curtain.

He went into the monitoring booth.

Luo Yifeng didn't look up.

Wang Xueqi stood next to him, looking at the screen.

Neither of them spoke.

About ten seconds passed.

Wang Xueqi reached out his hand.

He picked up the walkie-talkie from Luo Yifeng's hand.

The assistant director, who was standing nearby, stared at Wang Xueqi's action and froze for a moment. In his twelve years in the industry, he had never seen an actor touch the director's walkie-talkie.

Wang Xueqi pressed the button.

He said one word into the walkie-talkie.

"Pass."

The sound came through the walkie-talkie to every corner of the film set.

The silence on set cracked for a moment.

Among the 180 cavalrymen performing down the slope, a few raised their heads.

Martial arts director Zhao stood on the periphery of the extras, paused for a moment, and then said something in a low voice.

Holy crap.

The deputy commander next to him turned to look at him.

"What's wrong?"

"That 'pass' from before."

"What's wrong?"

"It wasn't Director Luo who shouted it."

The deputy commander followed his gaze and looked toward the monitoring shed.

He saw Wang Xueqi walk out from behind the curtain and turn to walk in Chen Mo's direction.

The deputy commander only realized it at this moment.

"...Was it Teacher Wang who shouted it on behalf of Director Luo?"

"Um."

The deputy commander stood still for two seconds.

"How is this possible!"

Martial arts director Zhao didn't speak; he just stared in the direction Wang Xueqi had walked.

After Wang Xueqi finished speaking, he put the walkie-talkie back to Luo Yifeng's side.

Then he turned around and walked out of the monitoring booth.

Luo Yifeng sat there without moving.

The walkie-talkie beside him was still ringing with the lingering echo of Wang Xueqi's "Pass."

He hadn't uttered that word in forty years.

Luo Yifeng lowered his head.

His assistant director stood behind him, wanting to say something, but swallowed it back.

Finally, he just asked a question in a low voice.

"Director? Should we shoot another take?"

Luo Yifeng raised his head.

He wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand.

Then he shook his head.

"I won't film."

"This is the final draft."

"No one can perform this a second time."

The assistant director was stunned.

He stood in the monitoring booth, opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

Having worked in the industry for twelve years, he knew what Luo Yifeng meant by "not selling insurance."

This means that this scene was outside the crew's workflow.

This means that this scene cannot be replicated using any technical means.

This means that this scene is something that Luo Yifeng has never filmed before in his thirty-year directing career.

Chen Mo dismounted.

He handed the bow to the stable boy and took off his helmet.

He hadn't slept all night, and his dismounting was much slower than usual.

He walked to a folding chair on the side of the set.

He sat down.

Wang Xueqi walked over from the monitoring shed.

Wang Xueqi did not walk up to Chen Mo.

He walked to the folding chair next to Chen Mo and sat down.

The two people sat side by side.

Neither of them looked at the other.

About two minutes later.

Wang Xueqi spoke.

He said a very short sentence.

"Your last breath."

"Mm," Chen Mo said.

"it is good."

Just these three sentences.

Wang Xueqi stood up and walked towards the film crew's accommodation.

Chen Mo sat on a folding chair.

He watched Wang Xueqi's figure walk away into the distance.

Then he looked up and glanced at the sky above the dam.

The morning sun had already climbed above the ridge, and its light shone on his face.

The darkness beneath his eyes was clearly visible in the light.

He closed his eyes.

He mentally went over that scene again.

After it was over, he opened his eyes.

He walked towards the film crew's bus.

He took two steps and then stopped.

He looked down at his left hand.

There's a new scratch on the back of my left hand. I don't know when it got there; it's not long or deep.

He touched the scratch with the index finger of his right hand.

Then he withdrew his hand and continued walking towards the bus.