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

Chen Mo spent three days reading the script seven times.

Read it in a different way each time.

Read the story through once to understand the plot.

The second time, I only looked at Meng Chuan's lines and actions, analyzing the character's behavioral logic.

The third time, I watched all the interactions between the supporting characters and Meng Chuan, analyzing the relationships between the characters. The fourth time, I started writing annotations in the blank spaces, marking the emotional moments of Meng Chuan in each scene.

The next three rounds were spent refining several key scenes.

My first meal after being released from prison.

When I returned to my hometown, I found that my home was gone.

Reunited with her daughter.

These three scenes are the emotional pillars of the entire film; if handled well, they become classics; if handled poorly, they become disasters.

After reading the script, Chen Mo did something that made Xu Zhinian completely question the meaning of life.

He enrolled in a truck driving school.

It's not one of those driving schools where you pay money to get a license without even registering.

It's a legitimate B2 driver's license training course located in the suburbs of Yanjing, teaching people how to drive large trucks.

The trainees were all middle-aged men in their thirties and forties, most of whom had come to Beijing from other places to make a living.

When they saw Chen Mo walk in, their expressions were almost like seeing a peacock walk into a chicken coop.

"You've come to the wrong place, young man? The C1 learner is over there." The instructor was a man from Northeast China, surnamed Ma, and his voice was so loud it was like he had a built-in speaker.

"You've come to the right place. I'm here to learn B2."

"Studying for a B2 level? How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"Learning to drive heavy trucks at 23? Running a transportation business?"

"For acting."

Coach Ma paused for two seconds, then burst into laughter.

"You need a real driver's license to act? Don't you actors just sit there and mimic the actions?"

"I don't like gesturing."

Coach Ma looked him up and down and recognized his face, which he had seen on television.

"Wait a minute, aren't you the one... who played Xiang Yu?"

"right."

"Holy crap! My wife was watching your show the other day!" Coach Ma slapped his thigh. "Ba Wang came here to learn how to drive a big truck? Who would believe that?"

Chen Mo smiled. "Brother Ma, just treat me like an ordinary student, don't give me any special treatment."

"Okay! Then you can get in the car and try it out first."

This was the first time Chen Mo had ever sat in the driver's seat of a large truck.

It was completely different from what he had imagined.

The seats are high, providing a wide field of vision. The steering wheel is large and heavy, with no power steering; you have to use both hands to twist it to make a full turn.

The gears are also different from those in a sedan; instead of five, there are eight gears, and they are divided into high and low speeds.

It took him an entire day just to familiarize himself with the gears.

But he didn't complain once.

He knew that Meng Chuan had been driving large trucks for over a decade, and these operations were as natural to him as breathing.

He had to practice these skills until they were as natural as breathing in order to convince the audience on camera that "this person really is a truck driver."

Life at driving school was very structured.

I get up at six in the morning, arrive at the driving school at seven, practice driving in the morning, eat lunch in the cafeteria, continue practicing in the afternoon, and go home in the evening.

The food in the cafeteria was mediocre; the rice was often hard.

Chen Mo added some soup to the bowl and let it soak until soft before eating.

The student next to him glanced at it.

"Young man, you like rice porridge too?"

"I'm used to it."

"I'm used to it. When I'm driving long distances, I often miss mealtimes. By the time I get to a service area, the food is cold, so I just add some hot water to soak it and eat it."

Chen Mo looked at the middle-aged student, his eyes brightening slightly.

"Brother, did you used to drive long distances?"

"I've been running for fifteen years, and I've run all kinds of routes."

"Can I talk to you?"

The student glanced at him, probably thinking the young man was rather strange, but didn't refuse.

"Let's chat, what do you want to know?"

In just one month at the driving school, Chen Mo not only learned how to drive a large truck, but also became acquainted with seven or eight truck drivers.

He listened to their stories of long-distance driving, how they stayed awake on the highway in the middle of the night, their experiences of having their fuel stolen while sleeping at a service area, and their heartbreaking stories of their wives complaining that they were never home and threatening divorce.

There was an old master craftsman surnamed Liu who talked to him the most.

Old Liu is fifty-three years old this year and has been a long-distance freight driver for most of his life.

One evening, the two were smoking and chatting in the driving school's courtyard.

Chen Mo doesn't smoke, but he keeps me company.

Old Liu recounted his experiences from his youth.

"I had an accident when I was 28. It was raining, the road was slippery, and I couldn't brake in time, so I rear-ended a car in front of me. There was a family of three in the car. The child was fine, but the adult was injured. I was sentenced to two years in prison."

He said these words in a very flat tone.

There was no particular expression on his face.

It was as bland as talking about what we ate for lunch yesterday.

But Chen Mo noticed a detail.

Old Liu's hand holding the bowl was trembling slightly.

It's not cold.

It was a warm night.

It's the kind of tremor that's become ingrained in the body, a tremor that you're not even aware of.

It's as if that incident left a mark on his bones; so many years have passed, the wound has long since healed, but the mark remains.

Chen Mo noted this detail down in his notebook.

He wrote a line: "My fingers trembled slightly when I held the bowl, not out of fear, but out of bodily memory."

He knew that Meng Chuan should also have this kind of trembling in the movie.

The marks left on a person by twelve years of imprisonment are not on their face or their mouth.

At your fingertips.

At the moment of picking up the bowl.

The second it takes to pick up the chopsticks.

In all those seemingly normal, everyday, and inconspicuous little actions.

A month later, Chen Mo obtained his B2 driver's license.

At the same time, his hands developed a thin layer of calluses.

The steering wheel is worn down.

His skin had also darkened by one shade.

It was sunbathing in the open-air driving practice area of ​​the driving school.

Xu Zhinian almost didn't recognize him when he came to see him.

"Who are you? You're not Chen Mo, you're Meng Chuan, right?"

Chen Mo smiled.

"Still a long way off. Meng Chuan is much rougher than me."

"You're already rough enough. Look at your hands, they look like someone who's been carrying bricks on a construction site."

"Not enough. It needs to be ground further."

Xu Zhinian looked at his hand and remained silent for a while.

"You know, those popular celebrities in the industry only go to the gym for two months at most to prepare for a role, and their fans praise them as 'sacrificing themselves for art.' If they heard about your level, they would probably question their existence."

Chen Mo didn't respond to that.

He just said something.

"Meng Chuan spent twelve years in prison. My month of driving lessons is nothing."

He said this in a casual tone, as casually as if he were saying, "The weather is nice today."

But Xu Zhinian remained silent for a long time after listening.

The day after taking his driving test, Chen Mo called Zhou Mu.

"Director Zhou, I've finished reading the script. I want to play this role."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

Are you sure?

"Sure."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because I spent a month at the driving school."

Two more seconds of silence followed.

Then Zhou Mu said something.

"I'll be joining the crew next Monday."

After hanging up the phone, Zhou Mu's assistant whispered something to him.

"Director Zhou, most actors would be eager to sign a contract on the spot when they get your script, but this kid is different. He took it back and read it seven times, and then went to learn how to drive a truck for a month."

Zhou Mu adjusted his glasses.

"That's why I looked for him."