CDJMM – Volume 4 – Chapter 3 Filming in the Interstellar Era (3)

Le Jing slept very deeply this time. He didn’t know how long he’d been out when the ringtone of his personal communicator suddenly jolted him awake.

Still half-dazed, he sat up and groped under his pillow with both hands, but couldn’t find his phone.

He paused in confusion for a second, and then his groggy brain abruptly snapped awake. With practiced familiarity, he tapped open the bracelet-like terminal strapped to his left wrist. With a light tap, a virtual human figure was projected into midair.

It was a young man, brown-haired and blue-eyed, with a high nose bridge and deep-set eyes—clearly with Caucasian ancestry. After thousands of years of ethnic integration, people with pure black hair and black eyes like the original owner were now the minority.

“Shi Jing! Long time no see—what’ve you been up to lately?”

From the original owner’s memories, Le Jing quickly recognized him: Zhou Jinsen, his college roommate. Back in school, they’d slept in the same bunk bed—one on the top, one on the bottom—so their relationship had always been good. Now, two or three years after graduation, they still kept in occasional contact.

Le Jing quickly slipped into the original owner’s persona, letting out a wry smile just like before. Without answering the question, he asked, “What’s up? Why are you looking for me?”

Zhou Jinsen was long used to Shi Jing’s gloomy demeanor. In his eyes, this roommate was very talented but too aloof—always filming obscure art films no one wanted to buy in the name of artistic pursuit. That was why he had remained unsuccessful and why life had been so tight financially.

But because of their years of friendship, Zhou Jinsen had always wanted to lend him a hand. Now that an opportunity came up, of course he thought of his old classmate.

“It’s like this—I’m working as an assistant director at Tianxing Entertainment right now, and our crew is short one director’s assistant. The salary is three thousand during the probation period, with boxed meals included. Want to come?”

Le Jing’s eyes lit up. This invitation from Zhou Jinsen came at the perfect time, solving his immediate crisis. He agreed on the spot and asked, “When do I join the team?”

“The day after tomorrow at 8 a.m. I already sent you the address. I’ll wait for you at the entrance and take you to meet the director.”

Le Jing checked the address—it was a film city in the outskirts of S Province. He was currently in Y Province, and the two were thousands of kilometers apart. But with the public starship, the commute would take just over an hour.

“Okay, got it. Thank you so much. I’m really short on money right now—once I get my first paycheck, I’m treating you to a meal!”

“Enough, you and me—what’s with the politeness? Just don’t forget your brother when you make it big.”

After exchanging a few friendly lines with Zhou Jinsen, Le Jing hung up. He was now completely awake.

Tianxing Entertainment was only a small company, mostly producing low-budget films, so the pay wasn’t high. Three thousand starcoins was basically the lowest wage standard in Huaguo. But being a director’s assistant was great for learning and networking, so many students were willing to do it even for free, just for the experience.

And besides, Le Jing couldn’t even afford food right now—he wasn’t in any position to be picky.

He checked the time. It was already 6:30 p.m. He’d slept the entire day! Since he needed to join the crew the day after tomorrow, he had to fix his sleep schedule quickly.

He didn’t know whether the money from his film sales during the ten hours he slept would be enough to cover tomorrow’s meals.

He placed his right index finger on the terminal. After fingerprint recognition, the light-brain activated. A few seconds later, the virtual interface unfolded like a stream of light, floating in midair.

Le Jing opened the Qijiang Video app.

Almost the moment he logged into his account, the system notifications rang nonstop:

【Black Cat Knight commented on your video.】

【Black Cat Knight tipped you 10 starcoins.】

【I Want to Make a 100-Starcoin Deal with You commented on your video.】

【It’s Luo Bao Not Radish commented on your video.】

【It’s Luo Bao Not Radish tipped you 1000 starcoins.】

…

The barrage of notifications made his head throb, so he quickly shut off the voice alerts. Silence finally returned.

He opened the earnings page—and went silent.

【Today’s Earnings: 875 starcoins】

Even though he had already felt somewhat optimistic after hearing all those notifications, the actual number was several times better than he expected. His earlier estimate had been far too conservative.

875 starcoins a day meant 26,250 a month… over 315,000 a year. He could easily pay off all his debts.

Le Jing understood his situation perfectly: he was a tiny, obscure creator with barely over a hundred followers. Even if every single follower subscribed, the total would barely reach two hundred starcoins. His current earnings were clearly abnormal.

So he opened the detailed earnings breakdown.

【“Small Figures in Ancient Earth Civilization History”:

Total Earnings: 875 starcoins
Subscribers: 300
Subscription Revenue: 600
Author’s Share: 300

Tippers: 10
Total Tips: 1,150
Author’s Share: 575

Tippers List:
It’s Luo Bao Not Radish tipped: 1000 starcoins
Black Cat Knight tipped: 10 starcoins …】

Qijiang Video used a 50/50 split between creators and the platform, so half of both subscription and tip revenue went to the site.

Even with that, he still earned 875 in one day. The big contributor was clearly the wealthy fan, but it still strengthened his confidence.

Originally, he had prepared for the worst—if the film flopped, he’d switch to writing novels like “Reborn on Earth: Bringing Ancient Technology to 1980” or “Transmigration 1937: I Am the Great Literary Master.” And he could guarantee that in this era, no one’s historical transmigration novels would be more accurate or rigorous than his. After all, he had personally time-traveled.

But now that the film had a positive response, he could continue the series.

After exiting the creator backend, he noticed that his follower count had increased as well—from just over a hundred to more than three hundred. For an unknown creator with zero promotion, gaining over two hundred followers in under ten hours was quite impressive.

He opened the comments section. There were already dozens of messages.

【Black Cat Knight: History is immortal because these historiographers gave their lives for it!】

【I Will Always Love Silicon-Based Lifeforms: sobs So touching! Did something like this really happen in the Zhou Dynasty?】

【Three-Body Unified World: I don’t know why, but this reminded me of humanity’s Dark Three Hundred Years… were there also many brave humans like the historiographers in the video?】

【Initial: I came here because a classmate recommended it. Amazing! Absolutely brilliant! When is the next update?】

Le Jing read each comment one by one. His gaze finally stopped at the user It’s Luo Bao Not Radish—not because the comment was particularly outstanding but because he clearly remembered this was the rich fan who tipped him 1000 starcoins.

So he gave a very respectful reply to the sponsor: Thank you for the tip! Episode 2 will be updated next Saturday at the same time. Please look forward 😀

…

Ever since leaving a comment under Old Scenery’s video at noon, Luo Bao had been restless the entire time.

He felt like a cat was scratching at his heart—itchy and unbearable.

He knew there was no way the creator would monitor the comments 24/7. In fact, it was more likely the creator wouldn’t respond at all. But he still couldn’t stop himself from checking it again and again.

Suddenly, his personal communicator buzzed. When he picked up, an ear-piercing scream blasted through:

“AAAAAH! I LOVE YOU!!”

Luo Bao quickly lowered the volume and rolled his eyes. “Luo Lan, what are you doing?”

Luo Lan was his cousin. They’d grown up together, so they were very close.

She squealed, “The video you sent me was AMAZING!! Old Scenery is a genius! I’m so excited I feel like running ten laps around the building right now!”

Luo Bao puffed up with pride. “Of course. Who do you think found this masterpiece?”

He had conveniently forgotten that he had insulted Old Scenery not long ago.

Luo Lan shot back, “What are you getting proud for? You didn’t make it!”

Luo Bao refuted, “This is my idol’s work. Why shouldn’t I be proud?”

Normally, Luo Lan would bicker with him, but right now she wasn’t in the mood. She hurriedly asked, “Do you know when Episode 2 comes out?”

Hearing that, Luo Bao deflated. He had asked the creator that question too, but the creator hadn’t replied.

Could it be that the author thinks 1,000 star coins is too little? Should he add another 1,000?

Just as he was getting ready to do exactly that, the system notification he’d been waiting for finally chimed beside his ear: Author “Old Times Scenery” has replied to you.

“AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” Luo Bao suddenly let out a wolf-like howl, startling Luo Lan so much her whole body trembled. “Hey! What’s wrong with you?! Why are you screaming?!”

Luo Bao had no time to bother with his cousin. “I’m not talking to you! Old Times Scenery replied to me!”

“What?!”

All Luo Lan heard next was the busy tone—the call had already been hung up.

At this moment, Luo Bao’s eyes hungrily clung to the screen, not missing a single word belonging to Old Times Scenery. He read each one out loud, savoring every syllable:

“Thank you for the reward. The second episode will be updated next Saturday at the same time. Please look forward to it.”

Although he was thrilled to receive a personal reply from the author, the realization that he’d have to wait a whole week for the next episode made him feel an almost suffocating sadness.

He couldn’t help replying:

“Da-da, can the next episode of Little People be a bit longer? Ten minutes isn’t enough!”

He didn’t have to wait long—after about a minute, he received a new reply:

“Sorry, this is a personal production. Ten minutes is already the limit.”

Luo Bao’s eyes widened. It had never occurred to him that Little People was entirely produced by Old Times Scenery alone!

He had played around with video-making before. Even though it was just for fun, he understood how much time and effort it took to make a video by oneself.

Creating a complete video wasn’t just about visualizing an idea. It required a mature script, camera transitions, plot editing, voice acting—every aspect had to work together.

That was why many creators on Qijiang Video had professional production teams behind them to ensure stable updates.

For a work as high-quality as Little People, he had always assumed there was a whole production team involved, with Old Times Scenery acting as chief director overseeing the whole thing.

It never crossed his mind that the script, cinematography, voice acting, planning—all of it—was produced by Old Times Scenery alone!

This… this was just…

This was way too cool!!

No wonder he idolized this creator!

Doing everything by himself and not giving anyone else the chance to profit off his work.

While Luo Bao admired Old Times Scenery even more, he also felt a pang of sadness for his beloved creator.

Fengjing-da-da was really too hardworking…

This was the sorrow of being a small, invisible creator.

He had to help Fengjing-da-da!

Fengjing-da-da had no one to rely on. He could only depend on him now!

Luo Bao made up his mind—he would turn himself into a natural “sprinkler” (self-driven promoter), crazily recommending Fengjing-da-da’s videos to everyone. Oh right, StarBlog had many big influencers who often recommended interesting videos. He could recommend Fengjing-da-da’s work to them too.

He firmly believed: gold will eventually shine!

His private communicator started vibrating again—sure enough, it was Luo Lan calling. As soon as he picked up, that crazy girl’s shrill scream blasted out:

“I saw it! Old Times Scenery replied to you! You little brat, how dare you check it without me!”

“The Old Times Scenery Fan Club is officially open for business starting today! Join us!”

Luo Bao shouted passionately, “Let’s debut Fengjing-da-da together!”

“…I want to be the fan leader.”

“If you can bring in ten fans.”

“Small case. Just you wait.”

……

Le Jing had no idea that because of a single reply, a small private fan club had already been formed for him. Right now, he was browsing Star-Tao to buy nutrient supplements for dinner.

Nutrient supplements tasted awful, but they were convenient and cheap—only two star coins each. One tube was enough for a meal. And since he’d be joining the film crew next week, they would provide meals, meaning he could at least save a month’s worth of food expenses.

Even though he earned over eight hundred today, he still owed 200,000 and was behind two months on rent.

The month was nearly over, and Sister Zhang was a good person—he really didn’t have the face to keep delaying. No matter what, he had to pay the rent.

At the beginning of every month, he received 3,000 star coins in government welfare. After deducting 1,800 in automatic loan repayment, he would only have 1,200 left. The job Zhou Jinsen found for him wouldn’t pay until next month, so for a long while he’d have to tighten his belt.

Fortunately, Le Jing wasn’t materialistic. Nutrient supplements tasted bad, but tolerable.

And he believed these days were only temporary. Before long, he wouldn’t need to calculate every penny like this anymore.

……

On Monday morning, Le Jing got up very early—he left at 5:30. When he reached the S Province People’s Film City via public shuttle, it was only 7:30.

He waited at the entrance for a while before Zhou Jinsen finally came out. Seeing him, he was a little surprised. “You came this early? Why didn’t you call me first?”

Le Jing smiled. “I was afraid you’d be busy. Besides, I had nothing else to do. Waiting is fine.”

Zhou Jinsen thumped his shoulder. “You’re too polite. Did you eat?”

Le Jing nodded. “I did.”

“Alright then. I’ll take you to meet the director.”

On the way, Zhou Jinsen explained the director’s situation.

“The director’s surname is Li—everyone calls him Director Li. He’s strict and serious, but not the type to make trouble on purpose. As long as you do your job well, you’ll be fine.”

Le Jing understood—Director Li was strict but professional, not petty. As long as he didn’t screw up, he wouldn’t be targeted.

Zhou continued, “There’s only one person you need to be careful of.”

“Who?”

Zhou lowered his voice. “Male lead Bai Lang—he brought investment into the crew.”

Le Jing nodded knowingly. No matter the era, there were always resource-backed actors.

He came prepared to endure hardship anyway. Forget the investment-backed male lead—he’d keep his distance from all actors to avoid trouble.

But if that investment-backed actor stirred trouble, with Director Li’s temper, there’d be drama for sure. At that point, he could only hope it wouldn’t affect his own work.

With Zhou’s introduction, Le Jing soon met Director Li on set. Director Li looked around forty, tanned, stern-looking. But on Zhou’s account, he was relatively friendly and spoke very frankly.

“I know the pay is low, but the experience you’ll gain here is priceless. As long as you work hard, once filming wraps, I won’t treat you poorly.”

Le Jing immediately heard the implication: after filming, Director Li would give him a red envelope as extra payment—how much depended on how satisfied the director was.

Naturally, Le Jing made a firm declaration of his dedication, earning a pleased nod from Director Li—“a promising young man.”

After signing the labor contract and confidentiality agreement, he finally received the full script. The moment he learned what film Director Li planned to shoot, he felt speechless.

The script was based on true history, with the male protagonist being a renowned scholar.

Normally, that was nothing unusual.

The problem was: he knew the male protagonist.

Not only that—he knew several of the supporting characters as well.

The male protagonist was named Zhou Dezhang, principal of Kaiming Middle School. A major supporting role was Li Jingran, a Republican-era scholar, and the same person whose passing Zhou Dezhang mourned in the recently excavated old Earth-era text A Burial Worthy of a City’s Tears.

Apparently, the director was inspired by that text—rather than shooting the burial of Li Jingran, he chose to film Zhou Dezhang’s life instead. Li Jingran, Li Shuran, Zheng Yiliang, and others would appear in the story. So the film was titled Republican Literary Chronicles.

It was at this moment that Le Jing finally realized—he had transmigrated into the future of the world where Li Jingran lived.

But in this movie, all these characters were now strangers wearing familiar names.

When he saw that Li Shuran and Zheng Yiliang were a loving couple, and that Li Jingran and Zhou Dezhang were portrayed with overt homoerotic tension, Le Jing closed the script, covered in goosebumps.

Forget it. They were all dead anyway. Whatever future generations decided to write was none of his business.

Hadn’t Emperor Yongzheng been cuckolded countless times in adaptations? If Fourth Master knew, he’d probably comfort himself saying green was a refreshing color.

……

As a director’s assistant, Le Jing was essentially a multi-purpose brick—he went wherever he was needed.

During filming, he handled the clapboard and filled out continuity sheets; he notified actors of their schedules; if props didn’t meet the director’s expectations, he communicated with the props team—and if the team was short-handed, he did the manual labor himself; if wardrobe had issues, he reported to the director and contacted replacements…

All tiny tasks, but enough to keep him running nonstop all day, barely having time to drink water, let alone think about the script’s weird interpretations.

Their film crew was small with limited budget, so Director Li emphasized cutting costs. A crew of several hundred had only two director’s assistants. Le Jing truly felt he was doing heavy labor for cabbage wages.

Director Li probably knew this too, which was why he dangled the promise of a “big red envelope” early on to keep him motivated. This old man looked upright, but he was sly—truly a seasoned fox.

If not for needing money and lacking the confidence to quit, he would’ve left already.

That said, he really was learning a lot here—things impossible to learn from virtual AI filmmaking. It would help him greatly in making real films in the future.

The only comfort in this busy day was the lunchbox provided—one meat, three vegetables, with rice and soup. Much better than nutrient supplements. At least while working with this crew, he could save on food expenses.

The crew wrapped up after 7 p.m. Today was prep day; tomorrow the actors would officially start filming. Which meant he’d be even busier.

When Le Jing got home, it was already 9 p.m. After showering, he lay comfortably in bed—every pore on his body seemed to sigh in relief.

He forced himself awake long enough to open the Qijiang Video app and check today’s income: 1,500, nearly double from the day before!

At this rate, he might be able to pay back the rent he owed Sister Zhang by the end of the month.

Just as he was about to exit the app, he suddenly received a system notification.

Opening it casually, he discovered an announcement for a competition.

Qijiang Video, in collaboration with Apple Entertainment, King Entertainment, and dozens of major Huaguo film companies, was launching a video-making competition. The first prize included 500,000 star coins and a contract with a major film company, with potential to sell rights for over a million. The winning works would also receive full-channel promotion.

The competition theme was Youth, with no time limit. As long as it fit the theme, it could be submitted. Submission ran from today until August 1st. Participants had one month to create and submit their work, and it had to pass review.

Even the third prize offered 100,000 star coins.

Le Jing was immediately tempted.

There was nothing to lose by trying.

As for “youth” as the theme… a story instantly surfaced in his mind.

A certain Feng Lang Jü Xu story.

Some people seemed to be born to carry out a particular mission.