CDJMM – Volume 4 -Chapter 63 Filming in the Interstellar Era (63)

After that, Le Jing’s life seemed to be put on fast-forward. He was like a wound-up spinning top, constantly busy, never stopping for even a breath.

In February of 6021, The Union Jack Waves Above the Ruins premiered worldwide.

In September of the same year, The Last Indian premiered globally.

In April of 6022, Liberty Belongs to the People of France was released worldwide.

In November of the same year, From Da Vinci to Galileo premiered worldwide.

……

And so, time flowed steadily, neither slowing for war nor pausing for peace. Soon, it was June of 6025.

Six whole years had passed since the war broke out.

In the first two years, the Zerg held the advantage. Humanity, who had initiated the war, suffered defeat after defeat, forced from offense to defense, losing large swaths of territory. Flames of war spread across human planets, and Zerg-owned unmanned bombers circled above human skies day and night.

Then, in the third year, the tide turned. The scales of victory gradually began tipping toward humanity.

On the frontlines, humans seized several critical resource planets belonging to the Zerg, cutting off their supplies; meanwhile, within the Zerg society, Brain Worms kept rising in rebellion, orchestrating numerous assassination attempts against the Queen, leaving her overwhelmed and stretched thin.

Earlier this year, the Human Expeditionary Force successfully fired several anti-matter energy cannons at the Zerg royal planet. Three-fifths of the entire royal world was reduced to ruins.

Unfortunately, the Queen survived—her whereabouts unknown.

Now, even the most pessimistic military commentators believed that humanity’s victory was only a matter of time.

On June 16th, under bright and cloudless skies, Le Jing’s new film The Gallant Old Qin had just been released.

For the first time in ages, he appeared on CCTV’s Movie Channel talk show Face to Face with Film.

Everyone—directors, hosts, and the audience—was stunned by his participation.

These past few years, Shi Jing had become famous for living like a secluded workaholic. He rarely appeared in public, and never accepted interviews or program invitations.

To have Face to Face with Film invite Shi Jing felt like dumplings falling straight from the sky. Once the program’s official announcement was released, countless viewers waited with burning anticipation.

Luo Bao and Luo Lan, as his two biggest super-fans, naturally sat before the light-brain screen early, waiting.

Finally, after their anxious anticipation, the show began.

The young man wore a black Zhongshan suit, standing tall and straight. His brows and eyes were exquisite, his expression gentle and tender, his lowered gaze accompanied by a faint smile—he exuded the spirited grace and refined charm of a young noble.

Luo Lan clutched his wildly pounding heart, muttering, “Why does Brother Jing look so handsome today…”

Even Luo Bao—despite being a man himself—had to admit that Shi Jing truly possessed an exceptional face.

After a brief opening segment, the interview officially began.

“Everyone knows your breakout work was The Young Marquis Who Sealed the Wolves at Juqu. Over the past eight years, you’ve produced many films, all without exception historical in theme.” The male host offered a professional smile tinged with curiosity. “Why do you favor ancient historical themes so much?”

“Because they are the roots of humanity’s magnificent and grand civilization—the beginning of all brilliant epics. They should not be forgotten.”

“Thanks to your films, ancient Earth history majors in universities have become increasingly popular. Many students, influenced by your movies, chose what used to be an obscure field. Some universities even reinstated ancient Earth history as a major.” The host asked, “How do you view this phenomenon?”

The young man raised his brows and smiled, a few more degrees of uninhibited joy touching his lips. “This is exactly what I hoped to see. History is an ever-enduring discipline—young as humanity, and just as ancient. Now, with so many young people willing to carry it forward, I feel truly gratified.”

Coincidentally, Liu Yinxiu was also watching the program—and heard the same answer.

In the past eight years, the changes in Liu Yinxiu could only be described as earth-shaking.

From a brain-dead hater, he had evolved into a die-hard Shi Jing fan. From a finance student, he had become a history lecturer at Luodu University. Along the way, he had witnessed countless magnificent landscapes.

His life had been enriched because of Shi Jing.

Without Shi Jing’s films, he might never have stepped into the world of history, and never experienced the beauty of it.

All history is contemporary history.

In these years, he upheld the integrity of a historian, recording the war with his own eyes. He truly lived up to the oath: “In my lifetime, I will record events faithfully.”

Last year, his mentor Professor Hua Xiasheng passed away peacefully. He never got to see the end of the war, nor the peace that would follow the turmoil.

This year, Luodu University’s history department expanded admissions, enrolling a full four hundred new students. With these young people, history would forever remain a young discipline.

Liu Yinxiu pulled his thoughts back just in time to hear the host’s next question:

“‘Old Qin’ has already been released. Have you decided on your next film?”

Liu Yinxiu smiled knowingly. He understood that this would likely be the segment where Shi Jing promoted his new project.

Which country’s ancient Earth history would the new film be based on?

“I’ve decided.” Under Liu Yinxiu’s suddenly brightened gaze, the young man spoke unhurriedly, “It’s just… I may not have the chance to finish filming it.”

…What?

Luo Bao and Luo Lan widened their eyes, almost unable to process what they’d just heard.

The host immediately voiced the question everyone wanted answered: “What do you mean by that?”

The young man’s expression grew solemn. He looked straight into the camera—calm, unwavering. His amber eyes seemed to hide thousands of unspoken words before settling back into stillness. That complex gaze made Liu Yinxiu’s heart lurch, giving him a terrible, fleeting sense of farewell.

The next second, the young man tilted his head and revealed a mischievous grin. “Accidents, after all, are unpredictable. Maybe I’ll die in the very next moment. It’s always best to be prepared for the worst.”

The host froze for a moment, then seized the opportunity to ask, “So, you consider yourself a pessimist?”

The young man thought seriously for a while before answering with a bright, gentle smile: “Not exactly? I think I’m a pessimistic idealist.”

And so, that ominous remark was quickly glossed over by both the host and the audience. Even Liu Yinxiu brushed aside the faint unease in his heart and treated it as nothing more than a joke.

After that, Shi Jing once again returned to his reclusive lifestyle, shutting himself away to prepare for his new film. With Liu Yinxiu also swamped by teaching work, the remaining threads of unease were pushed to the back of his mind.

Then came December.

Based on Shi Jing’s usual schedule, by now there should have been rumors about the new project—enough to prepare for a New Year release.

But for the past five months, Shi Jing had completely vanished, as if he had evaporated from the world.

This abnormal silence naturally sparked concern among fans. The ominous remarks he’d made on Movie Face-to-Face resurfaced, circulating among fans who dissected them all over again.

“Holy shit—did Brother Jing jinx himself??”

“Did something happen to Director Shi?”

“Maybe he’s injured? In the hospital?”

“Don’t tell me Shi Jing has some terminal illness??”

“Bah bah bah! Stop talking nonsense! Even if Brother Jing works like a maniac, he’s not made of iron. Maybe he’s just taking a break.”

“Exactly! How many ‘accidents’ do you think happen in real life? Director Shi is blessed by the heavens—he’ll definitely be fine!”

Liu Yinxiu also steadfastly believed that Shi Jing had simply gone on vacation.

After all, Shi Jing was always low-profile and secretive. Maybe he’d visited some remote, rugged travel destination! Before long, after resting and recuperating, Director Shi would surely reappear with a new masterpiece!

One week later, a piece of news exploded across every major social platform— The Zerg Queen had unexpectedly died. The brain-worm representative requested a ceasefire.

The entire Earth Alliance was shaken to its core!

For six long years of war, public anti-war sentiment had been growing. Many no longer wished to fight, but the Zerg’s relentless advance had left them no choice.

Now the Zerg proposed a ceasefire—of course people were ecstatic.

Liu Yinxiu didn’t know whether the war would truly end. What he could do was continue recording everything he saw and heard, faithfully and objectively, without personal emotion.

He had promised his mentor that the future he couldn’t witness— Liu Yinxiu would record it faithfully.

This contemporary history would be passed on to future generations. It was his duty—his mission.

He hoped everything he recorded now would become valuable historical evidence for those who studied this era.

On December 24th—Christmas Eve—the first snowfall of the year began.

Liu Yinxiu glanced at the drifting flakes outside the window and rubbed his eyes, sore from staring at the screen too long.

He took a sip of coffee, planning to clock out early and go eat hotpot.

The next moment, a breaking news alert suddenly occupied his entire screen.

The pleasant smile froze on his lips. His pupils trembled violently, and the color drained from his face.

“Zerg Queen Assassinated—Killer Revealed to Be Director Shi Jing!

Torture Video Released: Three Days and Three Nights of Brutal Interrogation Forge Humanity’s Eternal Glory!”

What…??

What the hell was this???

Liu Yinxiu felt an overwhelming sense of absurdity.

How could Shi Jing have killed the Queen? Wasn’t Shi Jing a director?? How did he suddenly become an assassin?? And what was “before his death” supposed to mean?? Shi Jing was DEAD?? This had to be fake news! Yes—definitely fake!

Regaining composure, Liu Yinxiu fumed, “News outlets nowadays have no professional ethics at all! They’ll make up anything for clicks!”

He clicked the video link, wanting to see how far they would go with this nonsense.

The video loaded quickly— and a familiar face filled the screen without warning.

Shi Jing.

Liu Yinxiu nearly jumped out of his chair.

Shi Jing’s hands and feet were shackled to a wall. His face was deathly pale, and he wore thin prison clothes.

The wall behind him was crawling with countless colorful Zergs. Even through the screen, Liu Yinxiu felt chills erupt across his skin.

A Zerg soldier in military uniform raised a laser whip and lashed it across the young man’s body.

He grunted, the torn fabric of his clothes revealing mangled flesh beneath. Blood welled rapidly.

The scent of blood triggered the swarm. The Zergs writhed excitedly, dozens rushing along his limbs straight into his torn wounds, devouring his flesh and tearing the wounds open wider.

“Tell us the names of the traitors you’re working with, and you can live.”

The young man lifted his head. Despite his pallor, a strange smile curled across his lips. “Aside from that… doesn’t the Queen want to know where I learned the real history?”

The Zergs burrowed deeper. Flesh disappeared at a horrifying speed, and a stark white rib soon emerged.

He was being eaten alive.

Liu Yinxiu’s mind went blank. Waves of nausea surged violently in his stomach.

With a sharp crack, another lash landed across the young man’s chest. Blood splattered—only to be instantly engulfed by the seething swarm.

“Don’t play games with me. Answer my question.”

Liu Yinxiu couldn’t hold it anymore. He bent over and vomited onto the floor. Through the spinning dizziness, he heard the young man’s faint, mocking laugh:

“If she’s curious… tell the Queen to come ask me herself.”