The next day, six in the morning.
“Ughhh…”
“Come on, Brother Jiang, do we really have to get up this early?”
In the actor’s apartment, Zhang Linyu opened the door with two massive dark circles under his eyes. Staring at Jiang Nian standing in the doorway, he asked with a face full of resentment.
After getting Jiang Nian’s permission yesterday, he’d gone out to have some fun and didn’t get back to the dorm until two in the morning.
At most, he’d gotten four hours of sleep, and he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open.
And of all times, Jiang Nian had to drag him out of bed right now.
Hearing this, Jiang Nian, who was in the middle of warming up, nodded with an energetic vibe: “Of course! As the old saying goes, the whole day’s work depends on a good start in the morning. The reason you’re so weak is precisely because you don’t exercise in the morning.”
“But didn’t you tell me before that in autumn and winter, you should store up your energy, sleep in, and not get up early?” Zhang Linyu shot back immediately.
Jiang Nian raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So you remember that, do you? Then do you remember what came right before that?”
“Uh…” Zhang Linyu paused for a moment, thought about it, and said somewhat uncertainly: “Go to bed early and wake up late?”
“And did you go to bed early?” Jiang Nian asked.
Zhang Linyu shook his head guiltily. “No.”
“Then why are you even talking?” Jiang Nian said with a hint of annoyance. “Besides, the New Year’s over, and it’s spring now. In spring, it’s go to bed late and wake up early. Stop yapping and just come with me.”
“Fine, fine, whatever. You always have a reason for everything. I’ll go, alright?”
Knowing he couldn’t win an argument with Jiang Nian, Zhang Linyu slipped on his shoes with a bitter look and followed behind him.
At this hour, the sky was still dark, and the temperature was low.
With all the mountains around here, it was relatively damp, and the temperature was probably around minus five or six degrees Celsius.
Jiang Nian was fine.
The pure yang constitution of the Mountain Lord was no joke. Whether it was minus five or six degrees, or even back in his hometown where it got to minus twenty or thirty, he could stroll around shirtless without a care in the world.
But Zhang Linyu was a different story.
Whether it was because he’d stayed up late or simply because he was physically weak, he was shivering like crazy, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Sniff—
“Brother Jiang, are we heading up the mountain today?”
Rubbing his nose, Zhang Linyu tucked his hands into his sleeves and asked.
Jiang Nian nodded: “Of course. The air up there is better, and when the sun rises, it hits there first. That first ray of morning sunlight—especially in spring—is incredibly nourishing for the body.”
“…I feel like you’re just making this up. Is it really that mystical?”
Zhang Linyu found it hard to believe.
Jiang Nian didn’t bother explaining.
After all, this was something only someone who practiced martial arts—and had cultivated internal energy like he had—could truly experience.
Of course, even if you couldn’t feel it, the body would still benefit from it in subtle ways, just to a lesser extent. In any case, it was all good, with no downsides.
Seeing that Jiang Nian wasn’t answering him, Zhang Linyu dropped the subject, feeling it wasn’t worth pursuing.
He just yawned and followed Jiang Nian up the mountain.
Along the way, they passed through the small town at the foot of the mountain where Jiang Nian had come down yesterday.
Since it was still early, both of them assumed the town would be empty, so they cut straight through to save time.
But just as they were halfway across, passing by a house…
“Cut! Hey, hey, who are you people? We’re filming here! What do you think you’re doing?”
A displeased voice called out from the side, followed by a scolding: “Where’s the crew assistant? What are they doing, letting people wander in?”
Hearing this, Jiang Nian and Zhang Linyu froze and turned to look.
Not far away, a middle-aged man with dark circles under his eyes sat behind a monitor, glaring at them.
“???”
Jiang Nian was taken aback.
Wait, what’s going on here?
If he remembered correctly, when he’d come down the mountain last night at ten, there were already people filming here.
And they were still filming now?
How the hell were they still filming?!
The man, seeing that neither Jiang Nian nor Zhang Linyu were moving, grew even more irritated: “What’s the matter? Still not leaving? Trying to get some screen time? That’s pretty desperate.”
Jiang Nian’s mouth twitched.
Him? Trying to get screen time?
That had to be the funniest joke he’d heard in a while.
But the thing was, he couldn’t really say anything about it.
Because from the looks of things, he really did seem like he was sneaking into their shot and disrupting the crew’s normal filming.
“Sorry, sorry, we’re leaving right now.”
Knowing they were in the wrong, Zhang Linyu gave an awkward smile and tugged at Jiang Nian to leave.
But just then, from inside the house behind them, a soft exclamation suddenly rang out: “You are… Jiang Nian? Teacher Jiang?”
Hearing someone call his name, Jiang Nian instinctively turned his head.
Standing there was a woman in period costume, with an oval face that looked both innocent and alluring. She was blinking curiously at him.
“You are…?”
Jiang Nian felt she looked somewhat familiar, but with her makeup on, he couldn’t quite place her at first.
“Oh my, it really is you!”
Seeing that Jiang Nian hadn’t recognized her, the woman wasn’t upset. Instead, she turned to the man who had called out to him earlier and laughed: “Producer, I remember you were saying just recently how much of a pity it was that Teacher Jiang didn’t join the cast. Now that he’s here, why are you trying to chase him away?”
At these words, not only was Jiang Nian confused, even the man who’d called out to him froze for a moment.
He quickly signaled for the crew to turn on the surrounding lights.
Under the bright glare, Jiang Nian squinted slightly, a bit uncomfortable.
“Holy crap, it really is him!”
The man exclaimed in surprise, then quickly got up and walked over.
Before he even reached them, his enthusiastic greeting reached Jiang Nian’s ears: “Teacher Jiang, hello, hello! I’m so sorry, it was too dark earlier and I didn’t see clearly. What brings you here?”
Seeing how he had gone from dismissive to deferential, Jiang Nian didn’t have time to laugh about it.
Because he was genuinely confused.
First, he’d been called out for accidentally wandering into their set and getting shooed away.
Then, before he could even leave, he’d been recognized, and their attitude toward him did a complete one-eighty.
What the hell was all this about?
Jiang Nian had no idea, and he felt that things were decidedly, twelve kinds of strange.
So he looked at the man who had come up to greet him: “You are…”
“Oh, look at me, I was so excited I almost forgot. Teacher Jiang, let me introduce myself. I’m Wu Yusen, the producer of Reign of Assassins. I sent you a message a while back.”
Wu Yusen introduced himself.
Normally, given his standing, he wouldn’t need to be this enthusiastic with Jiang Nian.
But he couldn’t help it—especially after the box office miracle of Flying Swords of Dragon Gate had completely blown him away recently.
One man saving an entire movie—the film had tanked, but he hadn’t. What an incredible feat!
Some might say, “So what? It was just a brilliantly designed character. Anyone could do it.”
But was that really the case?
Let’s be real—no matter how well a character is written, if the actor can’t bring it to life, it’s all for nothing.
And Jiang Nian’s Yu Huatian? Without exaggeration, it was textbook-level acting!
On top of that, surveys showed that a full eighty percent of the initial audience for Flying Swords of Dragon Gate was drawn in by Jiang Nian himself. The remaining twenty percent came for Tsui Hark, Jet Li, and Zhou Xun.
With that kind of acting skill and that kind of star power—enough to turn a near-dead film into a profitable venture within days—Wu Yusen saw Jiang Nian not as just an actor, but as a money tree.
How could he not be eager?
Hearing this, Jiang Nian suddenly understood: “Oh, it’s you!”
If Wu Yusen had only said his name, Jiang Nian probably wouldn’t have remembered him.
After all, producers like him worked behind the scenes. Aside from industry insiders, who bothers remembering the names of crew members?
But the moment he said he was the producer of Reign of Assassins, it all clicked.
Because before taking on Swordsman, Jiang Nian’s other option had been Reign of Assassins.
He’d turned it down only because the villain, the Wheel King, was too lackluster.
Never in a million years did he expect to run into the Reign of Assassins crew today.
Jiang Nian couldn’t help but think to himself: What a small world. Then he extended his hand: “Hello, Producer Wu. Nice to meet you!”
After that, he looked toward the woman in the distance, thought for a moment, and said: “If this is the Reign of Assassins set, then you must be Teacher Xu Xinyuan—Big S—right?”
Hearing this, Xu Xinyuan smiled sweetly and said playfully: “I didn’t expect Teacher Jiang to know who I am. I’m truly flattered.”
“Teacher Xu, don’t tease me. How could I flatter you? The Shan Cai you played was practically the goddess of my childhood. I never thought I’d actually get to meet you today.”
Knowing when to flatter and when to be frank, Jiang Nian shot back with a compliment while putting her on a pedestal.
Then he turned to Wu Yusen: “Sorry about that, Producer Wu. I thought no one was around here, so I figured I’d take a shortcut. I had no idea you guys were so dedicated, getting up this early to shoot. I really admire that!”
At this, Xu Xinyuan was momentarily speechless, wanting to say something but unable to get a word in.
As for Wu Yusen, after a brief pause to get used to Jiang Nian’s speaking habits, he let out a wry smile: “This isn’t dedication at all. To be honest, we’ve been stuck on a major scene since last night, and we still haven’t managed to finish it.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
Jiang Nian was curious.
He had received an invitation for Reign of Assassins before, so he knew just how stacked the cast was.
The main roles included Michelle Yeoh, Xu Xinyuan, Yu Wenle, and Jung Woo-sung from South Korea to round things out.
Guest appearances included veteran actors like Jin Shijie and You Benchang.
Even if they ran into the occasional issue during filming, and even if this particular segment was dense with content, it shouldn’t have taken all night.
“How much material did you pack into this scene to end up like this?”
Jiang Nian couldn’t help but complain inwardly.
Hearing the question, Wu Yusen didn’t really want to answer.
After all, it was a private matter between the crew.
But looking at Jiang Nian, he couldn’t help but recall a recent conversation he’d had with his old friend Tsui Hark.
During that chat, Tsui Hark had said something that left a deep impression on him:
“Old Wu, Jiang Nian is a genius. Acting, martial arts—he’s reached the peak in both, and he’s got a ton of ideas. When I was shooting Flying Swords, I’d run into problems, talk them over with him, and he’d basically solve them every time! It’s a loss for your crew that you didn’t get him.”
At the time, Tsui Hark was drunk, but when he said those words, his expression was dead serious.
And so, almost on a whim, Wu Yusen looked at Jiang Nian and said: “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something off. Teacher Jiang, would you mind taking a look and telling us what you think?”
Jiang Nian blinked in surprise.
He’d only asked out of curiosity, and now the guy was actually taking him up on the offer?
But since Wu Yusen had already asked, Jiang Nian didn’t want to be rude. He nodded: “Sure.”
Then he stepped to the side and watched as Xu Xinyuan and the others, following Wu Yusen’s cue, entered the house and began to perform.
The dialogue scenes at the start were perfectly fine.
Everyone performed well, with no major mistakes.
But when it came to the action sequences…
Things started to feel a bit off.
Not that the acting was bad—it was actually pretty good.
But there was an awkwardness to it that was hard to ignore.
This was exactly what had been bothering Wu Yusen all along.
He’d even brought in a martial arts choreographer to revise things.
But no matter how much the choreographer adjusted it, that strange, off-putting feeling persisted.
Wu Yusen instinctively glanced over at Jiang Nian.
Can he figure it out?
He wondered silently.
After watching for a while with a frown, Jiang Nian finally said: “Producer Wu, have Jung Woo-sung use Teacher Xu’s techniques, let Teacher Yu use his own, and have Teacher Xu use Teacher Yu’s.”
“Huh?”
Hearing Jiang Nian completely swap everyone’s fighting styles, Wu Yusen was taken aback: “Why?”
“Simple—the martial arts don’t match the characters.”
“If I’m not mistaken, Teacher Xu’s character, Ye Zhanqing, is a carefree, lustful killer, right? If so, her moves shouldn’t be so rigid. They should be swift—killing the enemy with blinding speed so that the last thing they see is her innocent, gentle side, not a fierce, monstrous face. That’s the right approach.”
“As for Jung Woo-sung’s character, Jiang Asheng—yes, he’s married, but his core motivation is revenge. A man burning with vengeance, even wielding a soft sword, would still fight with unyielding hardness. That fits the protagonist’s persona perfectly.”
“Then there’s Teacher Yu’s character, Lei Bin, who loves cooking noodles. That affection should carry over into his martial arts. His moves should be fluid and soft.”
“You all got it completely backwards.”
Jiang Nian explained calmly and unhurriedly.
This was the source of that strange, off-kilter feeling.
Because the moves for these characters had strayed from the fundamental traits of the characters themselves.
No matter how well the choreography was designed, it was useless.
Hearing this, Wu Yusen was momentarily stunned. The martial arts choreographer was equally dumbfounded.
Because he had based all the moves solely on the script and director Su Zhaobin’s vision.
He’d never once considered what Jiang Nian had just pointed out.
But now, after Jiang Nian’s insight…
Hiss—
“Actually… that makes a lot of sense.”
