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CHAPTER 23
🕑 Added 2025-04-30 10:17:18 +0000 UTCLate at night, amidst the stillness, the sound of wheels rolling over the cobblestone street echoed.
Four griffins pulled a cart, speeding through Cornflower Street.
The driver was a bald man with reddish-brown skin, his head involuntarily drooping as he nodded off.
The mist was thick, so thick that even the griffins couldn’t see the road clearly.
Suddenly, a deep red object appeared ahead. The griffins couldn’t avoid it in time and crashed directly into it.
“Bang!”
The cart rolled over the object, and the wheels slammed onto the ground. The cart had no suspension system, and the jarring bump immediately woke the driver, who quickly grabbed the reins.
He nervously scanned the surroundings. Seeing no one else on the street, he let out a sigh of relief, grabbed the lantern on the cart, and went to check what they had hit.
He held a stick for precaution, inching closer to the spot, and shining the lantern on it—it was a red-scaled dragon, its body sprawled across the road. He prodded it with the stick, but there was no reaction.
Hastily, he returned to the cart and drove away.
The street fell silent once more.
The mist grew even thicker.
Suddenly, the dragon on the ground began to twitch, the movements growing more violent, until it twisted itself upright.
Its eyes turned pale, blood vessels bulging, and it bared its fangs.
“Cut!” Aisha shouted, holding a megaphone.
The lighting magic on set was activated, and the smoke was dispelled by Fulin, while the illusion on Zuo Ge was lifted.
The bald man, of course, was Soren, leading his griffins back at a brisk pace.
Excitedly, he said, “Director, how was that? I feel like my performance was lacking. When I came back just now, I had some new insights. How about we shoot it again…”
In the distance, the production assistant Toto whispered to Yuno, “Isn’t he a legendary mage? How did you manage to trick him into filming?”
“We didn’t trick him,” Yuno replied while directing the undead camera. “We just told him he could crash into Zuo Ge, and he was eager to join. He brought his own cart, and I heard those griffins were a royal gift. He usually doesn’t even use them as mounts.”
Toto was speechless. Since joining Zuo Ge’s crew, her perception of powerful individuals had been completely overturned.
She used to think all powerful people were serious and cold, but after meeting an ancient dragon and a legendary mage, much of her reverence for the strong had faded.
Even that legendary illusionist she’d never met before wasn’t quite right.
He carried around a little notebook, and whenever he had free time, he would draw in it. The drawings made no sense to her—either they were just a jumble of lines or random ink splatters.
The world really was just a giant slapdash production.
This scene was eventually shot again.
It wasn’t to fulfill Soren’s wish to crash into the dragon, but because Zuo Ge wasn’t satisfied with his own performance.
Who knew acting could be so difficult?
Originally, the plan was to crash into a random animal to signal a potential plot crisis, nothing too serious.
There was no animal rights group here, so if an animal died on set, it was just an added bonus for the crew.
But Zuo Ge insisted on having himself killed off in the script, calling it an Easter egg, a tribute to a director he liked.
After discussions, they agreed to place him in this scene.
This would be the last scene to shoot in Twin Tower City, after which everyone would head to the world’s first film studio—Shu Dian.
The other actors had arrived a week earlier to the island, where they underwent basic training to learn how to use filming tools and get used to being around undead who were constantly connected to cameras.
The entire mixed-beast crew was brought along by Zuo Ge, with everyone but the lead actors playing extras and taking care of various tasks.
Also helping were members of the academy’s magical dodgeball club. They’d initially only had one day’s worth of scenes, but they decided to stay on the island and work, willing to forgo pay as long as they got an internship certificate.
“‘Holy Mountain Journey,’ Crystal Stone 7, Scene 35, Take 12, Sixth Time, Begin.”
With Toto marking the scene, the whole crew sprung into action.
This scene involved the male lead, a half-orc dodgeball player, who learns that his family is trapped in a restroom of a train carriage by zombies and rushes to rescue them.
It was a challenging shot, requiring dozens of actors. It wasn’t just about zombies chasing people—it involved fighting with the main group, with high demands for positioning and camera movement to capture the sense of motion.
The half-orc was the first to act, leaping up to kick the first zombie in front of him.
“Cut.”
The moment he completed the first move, filming was stopped.
“The fight looks too fake.”
Zuo Ge was getting frustrated. This was the sixth time they were filming the same shot.
Unlike the simple dialogue scenes, this one required a lot of preparation each time it was reset.
However, the half-orc’s cautious movements were understandable. After all, the zombie actors were real patients, and no one wanted them to get hurt during filming.
What to do?
Maybe the movements needed to be adjusted—reduce the range of the kicks to make them easier to control.
But that would kill the tension and make it look more like “acting.”
There was a backup plan: use a lot of fast cuts to compensate for the lack of force in the actions. Hollywood often did this for actors with poor basic skills—at a quick glance, it looked impressive, but it didn’t hold up under close inspection.
At this moment, having a martial arts director from the Cheng family or the Zhen family would have been perfect.
As Zuo Ge hesitated, the actor who had been kicked over approached Aisha, his voice pleading, “Let the half-orc hit me harder. I can take it. No problem.”
His expression showed he thought he was holding up the shoot and felt guilty, afraid of losing the job.
People with low self-esteem tend to blame themselves for everything, apologizing for things that aren’t even their fault.
“Actually, you could ask Soren, or one of his students would do,” Fulin noticed Zuo Ge’s dilemma and said, “Your plans never seem to start from a magical standpoint. If you’re worried about the actors getting hurt, just put protective magic on them.”
“Hmm…”
Zuo Ge thought about it. That actually made sense. He just didn’t have enough knowledge of magic.
When he was a young dragon, it took him longer than others to learn how to breathe fire. He even tried storing flammable liquid in his stomach and holding a firestone in his mouth to create chemical fire.
The mystery of why his breath was so weak for a young dragon had puzzled others for ages.
But of course, he still had to act tough in front of Fulin.
“I actually thought of that already, just testing you.”
Two hours later, one of Soren’s students, eager for credits, arrived at Shu Dian.
After casting a transparent shield on every actor with close-up punches, the results were immediate.
The shield completely covered the body, even preserving the physical deformation caused by the impact but preventing harm.
From a visual perspective, it looked incredibly realistic—every punch felt like it had impact, a level of effect that even Earth’s mature film industry couldn’t achieve.
It wasn’t scientific, but it was definitely magical. Zuo Ge wondered if everyone in this world had an invisible health bar above their head—if the shield didn’t break, the attack was effective but didn’t cause any damage.
The student also brought another great tool: a recording magic, which far surpassed any on-location recording equipment on Earth.
It was said that the spell was rapidly iterated during wartime for espionage needs. Now, it was being used for filming magic illusions, with a military-to-civilian transition happening in this world.
With the help of defensive magic, the efficiency increased dramatically, and within less than a month, the filming was nearing completion.
