CDJMM – Volume 4 – Chapter 6 Filming in the Interstellar Era (6)

Le Jing finally understood why Qi Jiang Video Network had called him late at night, saying they wanted to sign him.

It turned out it was because he had become slightly popular on Xingbo.

The incident started when one of his readers promoted his work under a popular history influencer’s Xingbo post, posting a thrilling declaration: “If it’s not good, I’ll livestream cutting off my tongue.”

At that point, it was still just a very small-scale, playful stunt, at most drawing some teasing from a few bored netizens.

But, as luck would have it, the history influencer Zhong Liangning saw that comment. For some unknown reason, he clicked on Le Jing’s video, and it seemed he quite liked it. So, not only did he repost the reader’s tongue-cutting comment, but he also added fuel to the fire, saying that if it wasn’t good, he too would cut off his tongue.

The history circle was small to begin with, and Zhong Liangning was a well-known influencer within it. One action stirred up a storm; soon many of his friends and fans inexplicably went to watch Le Jing’s Ordinary People and followed suit, reposting the tongue-cutting comment.

Then, a celebrity blogger with millions of fans noticed this “tongue-cutting frenzy” in the history circle and, following the trend, reposted the comment with: “I swear, if it’s not good, I’ll cut off a section myself.”

What had originally been a small, internal history-circle promotion rapidly escalated. With the persistent contributions of playful netizens, its popularity further fermented and eventually made it onto Xingbo’s trending list.

Le Jing logged into Qi Jiang Video Network, opened the backend to check his earnings, and once again directly felt the power of being trending.

[Today’s earnings: 55,805 Xing Coins.]

And the number kept climbing; almost every time Le Jing refreshed, his earnings would increase by several hundred.

His fan count had grown from just a couple hundred to 300,000, and it was still rising.

The comment section had long since been taken over, with a wave of netizens from Xingbo furiously leaving comments, showering praise in such exaggerated terms that Le Jing couldn’t help but get goosebumps.

He skimmed through the comments. Though a few nitpickers occasionally appeared, most netizens genuinely appreciated his work.

Through the reader comments, Le Jing was reminded that he still didn’t have an official Xingbo account.

Seizing the moment while his popularity hadn’t faded, he quickly registered a Xingbo account and completed real-name verification.

In the self-introduction section, he pondered for a moment, then typed: “A transporter of ancient Earth civilizations.”

The historical records are incomplete, footage hard to find, the world forgets—so what?

He would document it.

The glory of the sun never sets empire, the iron and blood over the skies of the Paris Revolution, the desperate fight of the Soviet steel era, the wild revelries of the Age of Discovery, five thousand years of China…

Earth has birthed countless civilizations, and their disappearance is a tremendous loss to humanity.

Some might ask, with modern technology so advanced, what’s the point of knowing about outdated, lost, or vanished histories?

It still matters.

Although history is ancient, the emotions of historical figures are universal. This resonance across millennia is the very charm of history.

As the ancient saying goes: “Use history as a mirror to understand rise and fall.”

Future generations should know how remarkable their ancestors were, and the dazzling, unparalleled civilizations they once built.

Recreating Earth’s civilizations is an immensely ambitious, almost audacious task. Le Jing might spend a lifetime on it, and his videos would still be mere drops in the ocean. With his limited knowledge, he could never fully capture even a fraction of their former splendor.

But he still wanted to try.

Because he was the only one who remembered.

This was his mission.

…

Le Jing typed and published his first Xingbo post: “Where are the old landscapes now? Let me recount them one by one. Hello everyone, I am Old Scenery, a signed author of Qi Jiang Video Network, a transporter of ancient Earth civilizations. I hope you enjoy my work.”

Being a newly created account, naturally no one came to visit.

So he linked his Xingbo account in his Qi Jiang Video Network profile and began his first promotion—reposting several Xingbo recommendations from well-known influencers and thanking them.

Through this, some fans gradually discovered Le Jing’s Xingbo account and followed him.

By the time Le Jing finished his promotional work and logged out of Xingbo, he already had 100,000 followers.

…

…

Luo Bao was now immersed in great joy.

The obscure idol he had supported had, thanks to his help, suddenly risen in fame, gained recognition, and even made it to the trending list!

But he didn’t have time to express his excitement. He was busy managing the fan group; just processing the endless join requests kept him occupied.

This tongue-cutting trending topic also brought a lot of attention to Luo Bao’s Xingbo account. Taking advantage of the momentum, he posted a group number for Old Scenery fans on his Weibo, inviting them to join and interact.

Originally, this group was just a small fan club created by him and Luo Lan for fun, with only a few dozen members. Now, because of the trending effect, thousands of join requests poured in.

The original group quickly reached capacity, so he created a second and third group to accommodate the surge of fans.

Finally, after discussing with Luo Lan, the total number of fans in the three groups reached 5,986!

Luo Lan asked, unable to hide a complicated look: “If others say it’s not good, what will you do? Really cut off your tongue?”

Luo Bao replied with full confidence: “Isn’t there you? Anyway, they don’t know who I am, so you can do it for me. This way, they’ll understand what nonsense really means, hehe.”

Luo Lan: “…You’re just after my body, you scoundrel.”

Luo Bao laughed and accepted the “compliment” without shame.

Luo Lan pouted, then suddenly remembered something and asked: “By the way, I just saw Qi Jiang Video Network holding a youth-themed video competition. I wonder if Old Scenery will participate?”

“I don’t know. That guy’s always aloof, he didn’t even have a Xingbo before, and we could only communicate through comments…” Luo Bao stared at the light screen in disbelief: “Old Scenery has a Xingbo now?”

“What!” Luo Lan screamed, quickly opening her light screen, immediately finding Old Scenery’s Xingbo, clicked follow, and swiftly took a screenshot—“I’m exactly the 150,000th fan!”

Luo Bao ignored her excitement. He quickly browsed Old Scenery’s Xingbo, liked the only post, and left a glowing comment.

Then he opened a private message and carefully typed: “Hello, Old Scenery, I apologize for the intrusion 【shy】【shy】【shy】. I am your fan. My Qi Jiang Video Network account is Luo Bao, not Luobo. I wonder if you still remember me 【cute】【cute】【cute】. I wanted to ask, will you participate in the upcoming video competition held by Qi Jiang Video Network? If so, could you kindly let me know, so I can inform the other 5,985 fans in the fan club to support you 【heart】【heart】.”

…

…

Early Monday morning, just at dawn, a neatly dressed Zhang Ting knocked on Le Jing’s door.

The young man wore a simple white shirt with jeans, his gaze clean and pure, exuding youthful energy—a beauty seemingly stepped out of a manga.

Le Jing was brushing his teeth, mumbling: “Wait a moment, have a seat.”

Zhang Ting stood at the door, a little shy: “Sorry, I came too early.”

Le Jing spat out the rinse water, wiped his mouth, and teased: “Looking at your dark circles, you didn’t sleep well last night?”

Zhang Ting nodded, then remembered that Le Jing couldn’t see him, and quickly said: “I was too happy, didn’t sleep at all.”

After washing his face and coming out of the bathroom, Le Jing asked: “If you didn’t sleep at all, can you work today? Maybe you should rest at home and go tomorrow instead.”

Zhang Ting waved his hands repeatedly, urgently: “No, no, I’m used to it from gaming nights without sleep. I’m fine.”

Since he said that, Le Jing didn’t interfere. If the kid couldn’t handle a little hardship, that would only prove his dream wasn’t that strong.

……

Le Jing arrived at the set with Zhang Ting right at seven in the morning. He had already coordinated with Zhou Jinsen, so he led him straight to see Zhou Jinsen.

He explained to Zhou Jinsen that this was a friend’s son, wanting to experience life during the holiday, and the pay could just be symbolic. Zhou Jinsen, always glad for cheap labor, immediately agreed and told Le Jing that the kid could start on Monday.

Even Zhou Jinsen, who was used to seeing handsome men and beautiful women in the entertainment industry, was a bit stunned when he saw Zhang Ting. The kid was far too good-looking.

Noticing the boy’s excited gaze scanning everything, Zhou Jinsen guessed the truth. He gave Le Jing a subtle look, and Le Jing barely nodded.

Zhou Jinsen understood: the boy’s “experience life” excuse was fake; his real goal was to get into the entertainment industry.

As for the boy’s dream, Zhou Jinsen didn’t have the right to judge—it might really be his luck. But no matter how lucky the boy was, the crew certainly wouldn’t give him that luck.

Zhou Jinsen kindly offered some advice: “Our crew has a lot of work, and it’s complicated. You’re new, so follow Jing, watch more, ask less, keep your hands quick, eyes alert—you won’t get hurt.”

Zhang Ting had a temper, but he could understand good advice. He nodded seriously: “Got it. Thanks for the tip, Brother Zhou.”

Zhou Jinsen nodded in approval and returned to his work.

Zhang Ting’s eyes sparkled as he stared at Le Jing. “Brother Jing, what should I do?” The kid was perceptive enough to call him “Brother.”

Le Jing hadn’t expected much from a kid this young. Bringing him here was just to let him experience some hardship and understand that being an actor wasn’t easy.

He thought for a moment and said, “Follow me today. You can just watch while I work, maybe lend a hand if needed.”

He didn’t trust the kid to wander freely—he was too good-looking, too likely to get into trouble. It was better for him to stick close, under Le Jing’s watch.

Le Jing’s plan was good, but he underestimated some people’s maliciousness. Sometimes, if he didn’t go looking for trouble, trouble would come to him.

Because of Bai Lang’s deliberate harassment last time, Director Li couldn’t support Le Jing but tried to keep him away from Bai Lang. Any communication was handled by another assistant.

So the morning passed without incident.

The trouble started in the afternoon.

Le Jing was running an errand for Director Li, buying cigarettes. Just after receiving them from the boss, his phone rang.

It was Zhou Jinsen, anxious: “Shi Jing! Come back quickly! Something happened!”

“What’s going on?”

“Ugh, what is all this? Bai Lang has his eyes on your kid, using dirty words and touching him. Your kid got angry and hit Bai Lang. The set is in chaos. Come back now!”

Even Le Jing, known for his calm, couldn’t help muttering, “Damn.”

“I’m coming right away. Keep Zhang Ting safe until I get there, thanks.”

When Le Jing arrived, he heard Bai Lang furiously shouting: “I’m calling the police! You’re going to jail, just you wait!”

Zhang Ting’s defiant voice rang out: “Don’t scare me! You just have a bruise—you can’t even call it a minor injury. This is civil, I’m not going to jail!”

Le Jing rubbed his forehead and casually turned on the terminal recorder. Was the kid worried Bai Lang wasn’t angry enough?

As expected, Bai Lang went insane.

“Do you know who I am?! My last name’s Bai! The Bai from Bai Tian Group! If I say you go to jail, you go to jail!”

“You really think you’re something? You’re just a poor jerk. I let you off, and you’re so ungrateful. If I don’t crush you this time, I’ll change my last name to yours!”

Seeing Bai Lang’s insults getting worse, Le Jing stepped forward, coldly: “Mr. Bai, don’t you think that’s inappropriate? Even if the Bai family is powerful, you can’t control the law.”

Bai Lang, already enraged, flew into a rage at Le Jing’s words. “You poor people know nothing! Law? That’s just for cleaning up our messes! Whether he goes to jail is up to me!”

Director Li, finally fed up, darkened his face and said fairly: “This was your fault from the start. Stop making a scene!”

Bai Lang was about to argue back but was stopped by Ms. Sun, a veteran in the industry. Calmly, she said: “Director Li, that’s not right, is it? Bai Lang did nothing wrong. Don’t accuse without evidence! And this happened on set. As the director, shouldn’t you be responsible?”

“Evidence? What evidence do you need? We have eyes, we’re not blind!” Director Li shouted. “Responsible? For what? He harassed someone—he deserves it!”

Ms. Sun’s expression turned cold. “Li Jianye, I called you Director Li out of respect for Bai Lang, but don’t go too far! Spreading lies like this will have legal consequences!”

Director Li retorted: “Oh? You want to call the police on me? Fine! I’ve already wanted to quit this trash show! Hire whoever you want!”

The existing conflicts between Director Li and Bai Lang exploded, venting all their frustration.

By now, Zhang Ting was no longer involved.

The boy stood with his head down, fists clenched, back straight—like a spear that would never bend.

Le Jing patted his shoulder and whispered: “Are you okay? Hurt?”

Zhang Ting looked up, eyes red. Even though it wasn’t his fault, he was scared.

He shook his head, hesitated, and whispered: “Sorry.”

Le Jing smiled, patting his head: “What are you apologizing for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But… because of me, you got into trouble.” Zhang Ting’s voice trembled. “I should have held back. I shouldn’t have lost control. The entertainment industry is like this—I should have been prepared…”

His shoulders slumped, body hunched. The once energetic boy now shrank, no trace of the excitement he had earlier when talking about his dream.

Le Jing studied him for a few seconds, then asked suddenly: “Still want to be an actor?”

Zhang Ting’s shoulders trembled. After a long silence, he whispered: “Yes.”

Le Jing held his face, forcing him to look up: “Then look up. Watch carefully.”

Zhang Ting’s eyes widened, clearly reflecting Le Jing’s back.

Le Jing strode past the tense Director Li and Ms. Sun, stopping in front of Bai Lang with a polite smile.

“Thank you for your previous ‘guidance.’”

Then he raised his leg and kicked Bai Lang sharply in the knee.

Bai Lang’s eyes went wide in shock. He screamed, staggered, and fell heavily onto the marble floor.

Le Jing leaned over, holding Bai Lang’s shoulder with one hand and delivering a hook punch to his stomach with the other, smiling: “And thank you for your concern for my brother.”

Bai Lang groaned, doubled over, rolling on the floor like a sunlit worm.

Le Jing stood up, ignoring the stunned Director Li and Ms. Sun, and tilted his head toward Zhang Ting. “Let’s go home.”

A few strands of hair fell over Le Jing’s eyes from the scuffle. He tilted his head, smiling faintly, exuding a cold, arrogant aura like a sword drawn from its sheath.

Zhang Ting was mesmerized. Even though the person was male, he had to admit: he was insanely handsome.

Like a toddler learning to walk, Zhang Ting stumbled toward Shi Jing.

Ms. Sun, realizing too late, screamed and hurried in front of Bai Lang. “Alang, are you okay?!” She looked at Le Jing leaving with Zhang Ting and shouted angrily: “Stop! Who said you could leave?!”

She turned to the crew, still staring: “What are you waiting for? Call an ambulance! Call the police! Catch them—don’t let them escape!”

Le Jing stopped and glanced back, calm: “Don’t worry, I’m not running. If you want me, come to my house. I’ll be waiting.”

He lightly touched the terminal on his wrist, smiling at the stunned Ms. Sun: “I’m curious if the people of the interstellar system want to see if the Bai family can really control the law, right?”

Ms. Sun’s chest heaved, staring at Le Jing with hatred and disbelief. “You dare!”

Le Jing chuckled and ignored her, walking out. Behind him were Zhang Ting’s stumbling footsteps.

Once out of the studio, Zhang Ting whispered: “Brother Jing! You were so cool just now! Thanks for getting revenge for me!”

Le Jing patted his head: “I should thank you. You did what I couldn’t, because of my own hesitations.”

It was perfect timing—an opportunity to completely cut ties with Bai Lang without worrying about his cowardice.

Le Jing reflected silently. In his previous life, he had spent too long cultivating patience and morality, always weighing pros and cons. He had lost his youthful recklessness.

He should have done this long ago!

Watching Zhang Ting’s spirited expression, he suddenly said: “It feels good, but you might get blacklisted.”

Zhang Ting froze, face turning pale: “Then what do we do?!” He stared at Le Jing, tearful. “Sorry, Brother Jing, I got you into trouble.”

“I told you, it’s not your fault. Bai Lang did wrong.” Le Jing’s gaze rested on a sparrow on a utility pole. “But if you become an actor, you’ll face worse, nastier things. If you can’t endure it, you’ll be kicked out of the industry.” He glanced at the confused boy. “So… still want to be an actor?”

Zhang Ting’s expression shifted, finally settling into complexity. He sighed, holding his head, retreating on the sidewalk. “My mom couldn’t endure it either. She offended a big boss and got blacklisted. That’s why she’s like this now.”

“I thought I could endure it, but later I realized,” he smiled bitterly, looking up at the sky, “I’m my mom’s son—I can’t endure it either.”

“But…” He lowered his hands, stood upright, and looked at Le Jing with clear, unwavering eyes. He smiled brightly. “I still want to become an actor.” He scratched the right side of his face shyly, stuck out his tongue. “For the rest, I’ll deal with it when I can’t endure it. At worst, I’ll quit like my mom. I won’t starve anyway.”

The sparrow on the utility pole spread its wings, flying into the endless blue sky.

Le Jing withdrew his gaze, eyes curving with a hint of a smile. Impressive, this kid was so perceptive at his age.

“By the way, Brother Jing, what about you?” Zhang Ting asked nervously. “Will they blacklist you?”

Le Jing shrugged casually: “Blacklist me? Fine. I’ll invest in my own films, and they’ll beg me to release them.”

Besides, the video in his hand, if used right, could have unexpected effects.

The Bai family? Even a dragon has to bow before the state.