APCF – Chapter 97 I Am Sorry

On December 6th, Grey Trajectory officially started filming.

The first scene was Liang Xiaolong delivering food, only to be mistaken for a child laborer by the female lead, Feng Nuo, and forcibly taken to the police station.

Originally, the opening scene was supposed to be a solo scene for Liang Xiaolong, but in order to give Yan Ruonan a chance to guide Qi Xingchen, Director Zhou specifically changed it to this one.

This also showed that Director Zhou didn’t have much confidence in Qi Xingchen.

At 6 AM, Qi Xingchen arrived at the dressing room for makeup. To darken his skin tone, he spent more time applying foundation than the actresses did.

By the time he finished changing into his costume and stepped out, the lighting double was still positioning himself. Taking advantage of the break while the camera angles were being adjusted, Qi Xingchen patted the lighting double’s shoulder. “Thanks for your hard work. I’ll take over now.”

For outdoor shoots, the lighting and angles needed careful setup. Some shots required cameras mounted on cranes for aerial filming. Adjusting camera positions was time-consuming, and actors generally didn’t want to walk back and forth for coordination, nor did they want to stand still for long periods while the lighting was adjusted. That’s why production teams usually hired lighting doubles to stand in, allowing actors more preparation time.

The lighting double was momentarily stunned. He had heard cinematographers thank him before, but never the lead actor.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, rubbing his frozen hands. “I’ll wait over there for the next scene.”

As he was about to leave, Qi Xingchen quickly stopped him. “Wait! Take this.”

Qi Xingchen stuffed a hand warmer and two packs of heating pads into his hands. “You can put the heating pads in your shoes. Standing for so long must have numbed your feet from the cold, right?”

Since working as a lighting double was his job, enduring the cold was expected. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had shown him this kind of concern. Feeling touched, he sniffled and said, “Thank you, Teacher Qi.”

“No need to thank me. Go warm up quickly.”

After sending the lighting double off, Qi Xingchen turned around and stood in the middle of the six camera setups. The camera crane was slowly lifting the lens. Director Zhou spotted him and raised his walkie-talkie in surprise.

“Xiao Qi, why are you standing there? It’s freezing! Go back to the lounge and read your script, or find Ruonan to rehearse.”

“I just want to get a feel for the set,” Qi Xingchen admitted honestly. “I haven’t filmed anything for four or five months, and I’m worried I might be rusty.”

Director Zhou sighed. “Alright then. The camera positions are only halfway adjusted. I need to lock in a few points—just follow my instructions, but don’t catch a cold.”

Qi Xingchen nodded in acknowledgment. On the side, Yan Ruonan, who had been reading the script, overheard his words and grew even more anxious about their upcoming scene together.

About twenty minutes later, the walkie-talkie crackled with various voices:

“Camera Three, in position!”

“Camera Five, in position!”

“Camera Six, in position!”

Director Zhou asked, “Props?”

“Props, ready!”

“Alright, Ruonan, come over.”

With a smile, Director Zhou addressed them, “Our two leads, from this moment on, Grey Trajectory has officially begun filming. This is our first time working together. I don’t know if you’ve heard about me outside, but my personality is this—I’m easygoing outside of work, but when it comes to filming, I tend to get obsessive. I like to strive for perfection.

“You might think that a web drama doesn’t require such effort, but let me tell you—I’ve never treated this as just an ordinary entertainment web drama. In my vision, this is an outstanding work, one that has the potential to pass review and be broadcast on television. It’s a project I’ve poured my heart into, my child.

“I hope you can cherish it with me, and I also hope that when I get anxious and lose my temper, you can be a little understanding. Sound good?”

The intense mental workload combined with long-term late nights meant that few directors had good tempers. When Shang Yuliang got angry, he would even kick chairs. So Qi Xingchen completely understood and said to Director Zhou, “Grey Trajectory is my first lead role, and it’s just as important to me. I will cherish it alongside you.”

Director Zhou nodded. “That’s good to hear. Alright, everyone, take your positions!”

The clapperboard snapped shut. “Grey Trajectory, Scene Six, Take One. Action!”

The cold wind bit through the air. Ice icicles hung in clusters from the eaves of the small two-story buildings in the urban village. Liang Xiaolong picked up an order from a street-side spicy hotpot shop. Just as he stepped out, an unstable icicle broke off and landed right in front of him—just an inch away.

Startled, he hunched his shoulders and froze in place, staring at the shattered ice for a long time.

At that moment, the sharp voice of a woman arguing with her husband nearby jolted him back to his senses. He hopped over the broken ice, rushed to his electric scooter, placed the hotpot into the insulated box, and swung his right leg over the seat.

He twisted the key once—no response. Twisted it again—still no response.

Frowning, he jumped off the scooter and started looking for the problem. His urgency grew as he searched, beads of sweat forming on his forehead despite the freezing temperature.

Finally, he found the issue—the battery. After a few minutes of fumbling, the scooter finally started. He pulled off his helmet, and steam immediately rose from his head—his sweat turning into visible mist in the cold air.

With the scooter fixed, he quickly wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing dirt all over his cheeks like a little soot-covered cat. Then, he started the engine and sped off, humming a folk song from his hometown while following the GPS directions.

“Electric scooter in front, electric scooter in front! Please slow down and pull over!”

The sudden announcement sent a shiver down Liang Xiaolong’s spine. Lately, there had been strict crackdowns on electric scooters, and he couldn’t afford to lose the company’s vehicle.

That would mean losing his job. Without thinking, he accelerated.

Unfortunately, two wheels were no match for four. Within three minutes, a Jeep with flashing police lights overtook him and forced him to stop by the roadside.

Feng Nuo had just finished handling a case. Dressed in casual clothes, she stepped out of the Jeep, hands in her pockets, black police boots clicking against the pavement as she slowly walked towards Liang Xiaolong, scrutinizing him.

“How old are you?”

“N-Nineteen,” Liang Xiaolong stammered, too intimidated to meet her gaze. Feng Nuo’s sharp features made her look fierce, and he was nervous.

“Tell the truth,” she said coldly.

His fear deepened. “…Nine…seventeen.”

“Alright, so you won’t tell the truth?” Feng Nuo walked to the back of his scooter, lifted the insulated food box, and tossed it into the Jeep. “I’ll deliver the food for you, and then you’re coming with me to the police station.”

Director Zhou raised a thumb. “That was fantastic, both of you. Scene passed. Xiao Qi, you’re surprisingly good at riding a scooter—I almost thought you were an actual delivery guy. Take a ten-minute break!”

Hearing the director’s praise, Qi Xingchen, who hadn’t filmed in a long time, finally exhaled in relief. His assistant, An Ran, immediately rushed over with a blanket. He wrapped himself in it, nodded at Yan Ruonan, and went off to touch up his makeup.

Yan Ruonan watched his back, her expression complicated.

She hadn’t expected their first scene to be such a difficult one—and even more unexpectedly, he nailed it in one take.

As Director Zhou had said, he was strict with both his work and his actors—borderline harsh, even. If he passed a scene in one take, it meant there wasn’t a single flaw to criticize in Qi Xingchen’s performance.

And truthfully, she couldn’t find a single flaw either.

From the tiny micro-expression of shock when the icicle fell, to the sweat on his brow while fixing the scooter, to his transition from panic to helplessness and finally grievance when facing Feng Nuo—Qi Xingchen had captured every moment perfectly.

Even his ease in riding the scooter like a real delivery guy felt incredibly natural.

He must have practiced in advance. He must have put in serious effort.

Suddenly, Yan Ruonan felt a little ashamed.

She had to admit—when she first saw Qi Xingchen, she had assumed he was just another pretty-faced “flower vase” actor. Her attitude toward him had been rather unfriendly.

She had been burned too many times by fresh-faced young actors—many were either terrible at acting or unprofessional. One actor in particular had even been exposed for his messy personal life, leading to the entire drama being shelved after months of hard work.

That had been a project she truly loved, a drama that could have helped her take a step up in her career before turning thirty.

And it had all gone to waste.

Still, doing well in one scene didn’t mean he could do well in every scene. Yan Ruonan retracted her gaze and returned to the dressing room to touch up her makeup.

In four months, she had another drama to film, so to avoid schedule conflicts, most of Grey Trajectory early scenes focused on just the two of them.

Especially today—perhaps to help them develop familiarity for future romantic scenes—Director Zhou had scheduled an entire day of back-to-back scenes between them.

Throughout the day, Qi Xingchen made plenty of mistakes. But every time Director Zhou gave him feedback, he quickly understood, adjusted, and corrected himself.

The real challenge was performing alongside her. With Yan Ruonan’s level of skill, there were moments when he simply couldn’t keep up with her performance.

So what could he do?

Grit his teeth and push through.

He never delayed the filming schedule. In fact, they even finished three extra scenes ahead of time.

At six in the evening, Director Zhou announced the end of the day’s shoot. Qi Xingchen, as usual, went to find his electric scooter, but Director Zhou called out to him.

“Hey, Xingxing, heading back to the hotel?”

“Not for now.”

“Alright then,” Director Zhou turned to Yan Ruonan. “Ruonan, are you heading back? My car broke down—give me a ride.”

She agreed, watching as Qi Xingchen walked away before driving off with Director Zhou.

The hotel booked for the Grey Trajectory crew was quite far from the urban village—about a forty-minute drive. Halfway there, Yan Ruonan couldn’t hold back her curiosity.

“Does Qi Xingchen always do this?”

Director Zhou didn’t understand. “Do what?”

“Ride around everywhere on a scooter.”

“Oh, that?” Director Zhou chuckled. “Yeah, the last two days he’s been riding an electric scooter. The day before that, he walked here on foot—right off the plane, rushed straight over. It’s like he’s eager to suffer.”

As he spoke, Director Zhou smiled. “There are young actors who can endure hardship, but there aren’t many like him—willing to suffer and also put real thought into his acting. At first, I was worried about his skills and was prepared to spend a lot of effort coaching him, but he’s actually been surprisingly easy to work with.”

Yan Ruonan felt increasingly uneasy.

“And his family is actually very well off, you know?”

After Qi Xingchen was cast, Director Zhou had looked into his background. “I seriously considered what to do if he came to the set acting like a spoiled rich kid, throwing his weight around. Turns out, I worried for nothing. Not only does he not act like a second-generation rich heir, but he works like a struggling newbie actor. Today, he even helped the lighting crew move warmers before stepping into position himself. I couldn’t be more satisfied… Hey, Ruonan, why are you so quiet?”

“It’s nothing,” Yan Ruonan replied. “I just… I misjudged him. I assumed he was like the other idol actors. I was wrong.”

Director Zhou teased, “Oh? Now that you know you were wrong, aren’t you going to follow him on Weibo?”

But Yan Ruonan shook her head. “I’ve never treated Weibo as a business tool. To me, it’s a space to interact with fans and industry peers. Almost everyone I follow is a seasoned, skilled actor. After working with Qi Xingchen for just one day, I’m not sure if I can add him to that circle yet.”

Director Zhou sighed. “You really—”

He had nothing to say after that.

At the end of the day, it was her decision. If she didn’t want to use Weibo for social networking, there was nothing he could argue.

“But I will apologize to Xiao Qi,” Yan Ruonan said. “This time, I really did misjudge him.”

That night, Qi Xingchen received a WeChat friend request from Yan Ruonan, sent through the Grey Trajectory group chat.

Not knowing what she wanted, he accepted the request.

Soon after, Yan Ruonan sent him a message of apology:

[Xiao Qi: I want to say sorry to you. My attitude toward you wasn’t good these past few days. After spending an entire day acting alongside you, I realized you are not what I had imagined. Please accept my apology.]

Qi Xingchen had never taken the issue to heart. However, he did want to change the general perception of young idol actors, so after thinking for a moment, he replied:

[Of course, I accept your apology. But I also hope that in the future, you won’t judge people based on their appearance or preconceived notions.]

Yan Ruonan responded:

[Because of you, I’ve realized how deep my prejudices were. I will adjust quickly.]

Seeing that her apology was sincere and that she wasn’t angered by his words, Qi Xingchen was quite satisfied. Shifting to the role of a junior actor, he discussed some upcoming scenes with her. Afterward, he had a long, hour-long video call with Bo Ye before going to bed, feeling content.

Perhaps because their previous tension had been resolved, their interactions on set became completely smooth. Their scenes together progressed more seamlessly than ever.

Whenever Qi Xingchen’s performance wavered, Yan Ruonan would take the initiative to help him analyze the character’s emotions and guide him into the right state of mind.

Acting alongside such a skilled performer brought its pressures, but more than that, it was a process of growth. Over time, he found that he was rarely struggling to keep up with her acting anymore. Even in solo scenes, he had a better grasp of his speaking rhythm and could even control subtle changes down to the twitches of his facial muscles.

One day, he was sitting in front of a space heater, warming his hands while holding his script, when his phone suddenly rang.

The caller ID displayed: Jiaze.

Since it was the final stretch before winter break exams, high school seniors were busy with extra classes during the day. Normally, the kid would only text him to pester him—never call.

A sudden call meant something urgent. Qi Xingchen quickly answered, “Hello, Jiaze, what’s wrong?”

“Brother—” Qi Jiaze’s voice trembled, “Tao Xuan’s condition has worsened!!!”