Classmate and roommate from the 2000 vocational acting class at the Beijing Film Academy

“They are not worthy opponents for me.”
“In my eyes, they are nothing but cowards.”
“The one who might get hurt isn’t me, but those so-called four great masters by your side.”
“Tsk…”

Reciting his lines mechanically, Yan Li’s expression grew increasingly complicated.

He wanted to curse the screenwriter again!

Yuwen Chengdu was supposed to be an invincible warrior who had never faced a real challenger before meeting Li Yuanba. Such a character could be arrogant, but it should be the kind of fierce confidence and rebellious spirit of a supreme fighter.

Yet the lines were written so cheaply and shallowly; instead of a fearless general leading an army, he sounded like a street thug from a Hong Kong gang film.

Hmm?

Yan Li finally realized why the role felt so familiar when he first read the script.

When viewed through the lens of a Hong Kong gangster movie, Yuwen Chengdu was nothing more than a petty gang leader.

He was always shouting and ready to fight, often getting slapped down, with a grand official and general of the imperial court reduced to a mere line-standing bully — lacking any dignity or charm.

This lousy screenwriter had clearly just copied the gangster movie formula for Yuwen Chengdu…

And with that mindset, the court intrigues and battles in the script were no different from gang turf wars and power struggles.

Yan Li began to doubt whether the future intelligence reports claiming this drama would become a hit were truly reliable.

But then, recalling the wildly popular yet historically absurd “Princess Pearl,” he felt less confident in his judgment.

The market decides everything; perhaps many viewers simply enjoyed these sensational historical gangster dramas?

Though inwardly frustrated and perplexed, Yan Li took his payment and quietly memorized his lines.

After all, earning money was nothing to be ashamed of!

Even legends like Chow Yun-fat and Jackie Chan had made bad films; veteran actors had all stumbled at some point. He could wait to choose better scripts once he became famous.

“…”

In the past, Yan Li preferred to recite lines aloud.

On one hand, it helped deepen memory; on the other, it allowed him to practice tone, intonation, pauses, and emphasis.

Memorizing lines was just the beginning; delivering them convincingly to fit the character and story required gradual adjustment and rehearsal.

But today’s lines were so humiliating that after reading a few paragraphs aloud, Yan Li felt the strange gazes of passersby.

So he resorted to silent memorization, planning to practice speaking alone back at his hotel room that evening.

Since breakfast that morning, Yan Li had been rehearsing in the woods.

By mid-morning, the sun shone high and the air warmed. The small grove, already sparsely populated, had only a few people left.

The long-haired girl who had been there earlier packed up and left, giving Yan Li a casual wave as she passed by.

Yan Li, focused on memorizing, nodded perfunctorily. The girl didn’t mind and walked away.

Near eleven o’clock, with the sun’s rays no longer fully shielded by the trees and knowing he had to film soon, Yan Li packed up and headed back to the hotel to avoid sunburn.

After lunch, he nervously arrived at the makeup room for his costume fitting.

Unfortunately, Wang Xiu was there—an unfortunate yet fortunate fact, as she was busy with someone else and didn’t have time to attend to him immediately.

Costume fitting involved finalizing the character’s look, makeup, and some wardrobe elements before filming started.

Otherwise, designing and matching outfits on the spot each day would be impossible. So, generally, the look was settled beforehand and maintained throughout shooting.

Yuwen Chengdu had few scenes, and the production team of “Heroes of Sui and Tang” wasn’t very meticulous, or perhaps their standards for costumes and makeup were simply low.

Except for a handful of lead actors, most had a fixed look and makeup, changing only clothes or accessories occasionally.

Yan Li’s fitting today was much like the day before when he met the director.

His hair was tied back under a cap, dressed in primarily black leather armor, with his skin darkened slightly, and his eyebrows arched to give a fiercer expression.

The makeup artist was about to apply a beard when Wang Xiu stopped her—precisely the situation Yan Li dreaded.

She looked at Yan Li in the mirror, tapped his chin lightly, and told the makeup artist,

“I think it’s better without the beard. He’s young; he needs to look fierce. A beard would make him look mature and calm, which contradicts the character.”

Yan Li examined his reflection and compared it to yesterday’s look.

Indeed, Wang Xiu knew her craft well!

With the beard, Yan Li looked sharp and capable, brave and decisive—someone like Qin Qiong, a handsome and clever warrior.

Without the beard, the steady, shrewd aura faded, emphasizing instead courage and toughness, fitting the image of a strong, fierce general.

Having read the script, Yan Li knew exactly what kind of man Yuwen Chengdu was — arrogant, foolish, relying solely on brute force. Wang Xiu’s advice was spot on.

Yan Li began to admire her more. He always respected capable people, putting other things aside for now.

With Wang Xiu’s help, Yan Li completed his fitting successfully, and the result was quite satisfactory.

Near the end of the makeup session, another artist had to take a call, so Wang Xiu stepped in to assist.

“Handsome, you seem a little scared of me?”

Yan Li felt awkward, and Wang Xiu teased him with a smile. He nodded.

“Yeah.”

Wang Xiu was surprised he admitted it so directly. After a few moments, she recovered and asked,

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“...How do you know?”

Wang Xiu was genuinely curious. She understood Yan Li’s subtle avoidance before.

Nowadays, with conservative attitudes on the mainland, many straight men showed some resistance once they knew about her situation. Some were outright cold or even verbally abusive toward her.

Yet what puzzled her was how Yan Li figured it out.

Wang Xiu considered herself fairly normal in behavior, a bit refined at most. They had met only twice, communicated without issues, and this was their first time working together. Few others even knew her secret. How had Yan Li found out?

“Previously, I met someone who acted like you, and my intuition is usually good, so…”

Yan Li didn’t reveal the truth and made up a casual excuse.

Wang Xiu was skeptical but didn’t press further. She clapped her hands cheerfully.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll have Sister Liu do it later.”

Her straightforwardness embarrassed Yan Li.

“Fine, you do it then. I didn’t mean anything; I’m just young and inexperienced, maybe overthinking.”

“No problem, I understand.”

Wang Xiu, having been through a lot, took it lightly, patting Yan Li’s sturdy shoulder with a smile.

“Handsome guys always have admirers wherever they go, but don’t worry, you’ve got a partner.”

Yan Li cupped his hands in thanks.

“Then I’ll apologize for making a fuss.”

“Oh, you’re too kind.”

With the matter out in the open, the atmosphere between them relaxed significantly. Wang Xiu even offered some advice on Yan Li’s looks and physique, which he found very helpful.

By the time he left the makeup room, dusk was falling. Yan Li thought it over and decided to walk to the barbecue place he had seen in the morning’s intel report.

Short on cash, he ordered the must-try fatty kidney and lamb skewers to-go, along with a portion of fried pancakes, then returned to the hotel.

He sampled the barbecue first—indeed, the flavor was excellent. The kidney was crispy and tender, the lamb skewers aromatic and delicious.

A couple of cold beers would have been perfect, but he had to memorize lines tonight; priorities mattered.

After a quick dinner cleanup, Yan Li resumed his script rehearsal. Around nine o’clock, his phone rang.

Yan Li answered, “Hello, Jia Chuan.”

“Brother Li, how’s your role going?”

The voice on the other end was Lin Jia Chuan, Yan Li’s university classmate and roommate.

“Solid. Just finished fitting today. Shooting starts tomorrow and the day after.”

“That’s great.”

Excited shouts came from Lin Jia Chuan and others nearby. Yan Li smiled, lying on his bed.

“Are Song Wen and Yi Wei there with you?”

“Yeah.”

After a brief pause, another deep voice said, “Old Yan, I’m Song Wen. Work hard in Hengdian; the brothers are waiting to celebrate your success back in Beijing.”

“Don’t worry.”

The last roommate, Zhou Yiwei, grabbed the phone, “Brother Li, do you need anything? Should we send you some stuff?”

“Nothing I need. The assistant director’s been taking good care of me; I even have a single room on set.”

Hearing his friends’ concern warmed Yan Li’s heart.

Lin Jia Chuan, Zhang Song Wen, and Zhou Yiwei were not only classmates in the 2000 performance class at the Beijing Film Academy but also roommates and his closest friends in Beijing for two years.

They ate, lived, studied, and played together, supporting each other and forging deep bonds.

Yan Li had just graduated and come alone to Hengdian to film. His friends in Beijing had been worried, calling several times.

“Alright, long-distance calls are expensive. Let’s stop here for now. I’ll call you again in a few days.”

In 2002, long-distance calls across provinces cost over one yuan per minute, and both making and receiving were charged. Even with roaming, it was costly.

The guys had just graduated, barely starting their careers with little income, so they couldn’t afford long phone calls.

Just as Yan Li was about to hang up, Zhou Yiwei hesitated, then blurted out,

“Brother Li, I ran into Xuan Jie today.”

Yan Li’s brow twitched.

Xuan Jie referred to Dong Xuan, Zhou Yiwei’s “ex-girlfriend,” a student in the undergraduate acting class at BFA and one of the school’s beauties.

“Before summer break, the school requires us to move dorms. She asked if I’d rented a place, alone or shared. Sounds like she was trying to find out where you live.”

“Oh.”

Yan Li kept it brief. Lin Jia Chuan, listening nearby, grew impatient, “Brother Li, are you really breaking up?”

“It’s what she said.”

Zhang Song Wen, the eldest and most level-headed among them, offered some comfort,

“She’s just upset. You can smooth things over.”

“I tried, but she ignores me. I won’t tolerate her bad temper.”

Yan Li snorted lightly. The roommates exchanged glances. The youngest, Zhou Yiwei, spoke fairly,

“You can’t blame Xuan Jie. You and that junior, Huang Shengyi…”

“Cough, cough.”

Yan Li interrupted, “Nothing happened between us. It was just a senior guiding a junior. Don’t slander my innocence.”

“…”

At this point, his friends knew better than to press further. After all, it was Yan Li’s personal matter.