CDJMM – Volume 4 – Chapter 22 Filming in the Interstellar Era (22)

If one were to ask what the hottest documentary this summer was, most viewers would answer without hesitation: “The True Faces of the Entertainment Circle.”

This documentary appeared out of nowhere and successfully defeated countless popular dramas, staying at the top of StarBlog’s trending searches for days. Many short-video platforms even reuploaded and edited it. For a time, the entire internet was flooded by this documentary.

An Yun had also watched it.

After watching, his feelings were complicated.

He shook his head and sighed inwardly. These young people really dare to film anything… even taboo subjects like this.

Although it was only a few actors speaking their truths, it practically ripped away the entertainment industry’s fig leaf, bluntly revealing the filth and chaos behind its glamorous façade.

However… it did attract a good number of new fans for those washed-up old folks.

A beautiful counterattack indeed.

Unbidden, a woman’s face surfaced in An Yun’s mind—Zhang Weier.

An actress he once admired.

A pity… bad luck, a straightforward personality, and offending the wrong people forced her to leave the industry.

He had felt regret for a long while back then.

He had also watched “Records of Republican-Era Literary Giants,” and it was indeed an outstanding work. Zhang Weier’s acting had improved even more—her performance in the series made even him want to applaud.

He had felt the urge to cast her.

If she could survive the storm that was coming, he would consider inviting her into his new drama—the female supporting role suited her very well.

And Chang Zehai, and the others—truly “ten years to hone a blade.” After so long out of the spotlight, their acting had become even more refined. He was almost a little jealous of Shi Jing.

That young man managed to gather so many excellent actors as if creating a feast from the finest ingredients.

If there was a chance in the future, he hoped to work with them too.

As a dedicated gossip enthusiast, Song Qi was always at the front lines—wherever there was drama, she was there.

The recent scandals involving the cast of “Records of Republican-Era Literary Giants” were naturally something she understood clearly.

To be honest, she had never even heard of the drama before, and she didn’t know any of the actors. So when the scandal went trending on StarBlog, she was left confused.

After reading the entire history of the incident, Song Qi actually felt… a little disappointed.

This melon… wasn’t very tasty.

Just some ancient scandals involving old, washed-up uncles and aunties—what was interesting about that? She couldn’t understand why the internet reaction was so intense.

…Could it be self-directed hype?

But the series itself was indeed very good.

…But the actors’ character? Not good.

So… should she keep watching or not? If she liked the show, would that mean she was indirectly supporting the actors?

After struggling with this debate for days, she finally found her answer in a short video on the Kuaishin app.

The uploader stated that the video material was taken from the documentary “The True Faces of the Entertainment Circle,” filmed by the director of the series, Shi Jing. Using clips from the documentary, he edited a 10-minute short video and even added an eye-catching caption:

“I gamble, visit prostitutes, commit domestic violence—but I’m a good actor.”

Song Qi’s interest was immediately piqued.

Could this be another big scandal?

She clicked in excitedly—only to be hit by a storm.

Within the short ten minutes, one middle-aged person after another appeared, calmly recounting their earlier lives to the camera.

They were no longer young. Wrinkles touched their brows and eyes; some even had grey at their temples.

Some of them were even outright unattractive—faces that inspired dislike at first glance.

Yet Song Qi found herself unable to look away. She even found them… charismatic.

“My name is Zhang Yanfang. Twenty years ago, I was called Zhang Weier. I became a movie lead actress at ten, won the Xingkong Best Actress Award at eighteen. I once had everything.”

“My name is Xuan Liang. I was an extra for five years, a villain for ten. I wanted to play a lead role too, to play a good person—but I was born ugly. The audience doesn’t like me. Directors won’t cast me as a good guy.”

“My name is Chang Zehai. I was never famous. After my car accident, the media mistakenly reported my death. A nameless actor like me became a dead man in the eyes of the public.”

“My name is Wu Yan. Ten years ago, I was a good actor with a happy family. Perhaps because I got everything too easily, I soon became addicted to a dangerous game—gambling.”

“You call me a whore, a slut—I won’t deny it. After my intimate photos were leaked, I was blacklisted. With no income… my mother was tricked into debt by loan sharks. They smashed our door. Her heart gave out, and she was placed on critical notice. With nowhere to go… I could only accompany men for money. I just wanted to survive.”

“Because I always played villains, when my parents falsely accused me of domestic violence, the public instantly believed them. I had no work—not even tiny supporting roles. Friends asked me to forgive my parents, but I can’t. I hate them. I can never forgive them.”

“I didn’t die. I’m still alive. After the car accident, I got reconstructive surgery. I look strange now, but I can still act. I wanted the actor ‘Chang Zehai’ to live again. So I worked hard—bought articles, bought PR, even paid money to get roles.”

“You call me a gambling addict, a lunatic—and you’re right. I owed huge sums, lost friends, was despised. I drowned myself in alcohol. Now I want to come back. I want to pay my debts. I want to be an actor again. But… I don’t know if I still have a chance.”

One face after another appeared—these no-longer-young actors gently peeling open their bloody old wounds for the audience to see.

Song Qi was shaken.

The video was short—each person only had two or three minutes. Yet their words were like a storm. She was stunned.

Weren’t actors supposed to deny scandals? Why were they admitting them? Even adding things the paparazzi didn’t reveal?

Were they too honest? Selling misery for hype? Using the black-red route?

Song Qi went to find the full documentary.

Four episodes had been released—Zhang Yanfang, Chang Zehai, Xuan Liang, and Wu Yan.

There were no fancy filming techniques—just long, unbroken shots of actors speaking directly to the camera. No exaggeration, no excuses, no emotional manipulation. Only controlled, quiet sorrow. But those few understated words carried breathtaking weight, bringing tears to the audience.

Song Qi had eaten plenty of gossip before. But she had never seen actors expose their own scandals.

And she found… she wanted to accept them.

As Zhang Yanfang said, they didn’t break the law. Their mistakes were moral flaws, not crimes. They shouldn’t have their careers destroyed for them.

They were human. Humans err.

No one goes through life without making mistakes. And one mistake shouldn’t mean no second chances.

As long as actors uphold professional ethics and act well, their private lives—so long as they don’t break the law—shouldn’t concern the audience.

She was beginning to like them.

They made mistakes—many mistakes—but they were honest, real, resilient. They stood back up after falling. They had incredible strength.

She hoped one day she could be like them.

Fall where she fell, stand where she fell—even if she had nothing left, she would never bow to fate.

Luo Bao noticed that the online hate toward “Records of Republican-Era Literary Giants” had inexplicably decreased, replaced by rational discussions and support.

A fan wrote in the group: “If you’ve already eaten the egg, why care which chicken laid it?”

He wholeheartedly agreed.

The earlier storm had benefits—at least the series had gone viral. Their fan groups grew from three to ten.

And…

The show’s official account posted an announcement:

The head of Bai Corporation, Bai Moxuan, had recognized the value of the series—the “hen that lays golden eggs.” He had signed a contract with the director to bring the drama to more platforms.

Soon, more people would see it.

The once-crowdfunded, penniless crew finally had money.