LAVW – Chapter 164 Tiger Tiger

This burst of popularity—expected yet still beyond their imagination—brought attention to the production team, along with a bit of trouble.

There were more and more paparazzi and sneaky reporters, swarming the crew like bees around flowers. Worried about plot leaks, Director Laman moved up the schedule for traveling to the second filming location.

That location was an ice field familiar to Shi Qian.

“Once we get there, no reporter will be capable of sneaking photos,” Merlin said while packing. She glanced at Qian, who was staring intently at a wildlife documentary, then paused in her movements. “Qian, that’s Africa—the lions’ territory.”

Shi Qian: “Roar, roar.”

Aren’t there tons of savanna documentaries? Not like there’s much choice.

He had watched for so long that he could even tell which voice actor was doing the dubbing, and he’d picked up quite a bit of knowledge that was probably useless.

All in all, he felt like he could go roam the savanna himself at this point—which just showed how much he’d been watching.

Seeing how absorbed Qian had been for so long, Merlin had already formed many thoughts and guesses in her heart.

But she didn’t say anything, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

Thinking again of what had happened the last time they went to the ice field, Merlin felt a little reluctant to head out.

Yet that faint reluctance couldn’t even change her own actions, let alone affect anyone else. So, as scheduled, she appeared aboard the large ship heading for the ice field.

Amid the sound of the ship’s horn, the entire crew sailed toward the frigid land.

The atmosphere on board, however, was lively. Laman held a party to reward everyone in advance.

Shi Qian and Pascal were on the second-deck deck of the ship, feeling the sea breeze, watching seabirds, and chewing on dried meat.

Seeing Pascal keep staring at his snacks, Shi Qian generously pushed the remaining jerky toward him. “Roar.”

Here, have some.

Pascal: …

He rubbed the round, chubby tiger head and shook his own head. “Qian, I’m not eyeing your snacks. I’m just reminiscing about the food I’ve lost.”

“Do you know what my agent said to Director Laman?”

“Oh God—he told the crew to deliberately make the food a bit bad. He’s completely unreasonable, don’t you think?”

Shi Qian nodded vigorously.

It really did seem unreasonable—there were so many people in the crew who had to eat, after all.

But then Shi Qian took a closer look at Pascal a few more times and felt that he seemed to have… gained just a tiny bit of weight?

Thinking it might just be his imagination, Shi Qian did nothing and listened as Pascal complained about his “control-freak” agent.

Yet it wasn’t Shi Qian’s imagination—Pascal really had gained a little weight.

Ever since he’d tried “Eastern cuisine” once at Merlin’s place, he couldn’t resist going out to eat several more times.

Sometimes he’d eat a lot in one sitting. It’d be strange if he didn’t gain weight.

Merlin’s dividend income next month would definitely include a contribution from Pascal.

After it was discovered, his agent strictly controlled his intake, and combined with the exercise Pascal hated, they barely managed to keep his figure in check.

Thinking about how his tongue and stomach would be tortured meal after meal from now on, Pascal missed all the delicious things he’d recently “snuck.”

He confided his unspeakable worries to the white tiger. “What I want most right now is to go film in the East. That way I’d definitely get to eat lots of Eastern food. Have you ever eaten Eastern food? Oh—right, your sense of taste is different from mine.”

Listening to him ramble on about upgraded versions of street-stall snacks, Shi Qian thought: I’ve eaten plenty—just maybe not with the same flavors you’d taste.

Merlin poked her head out from the separate kitchen, her voice carrying from afar. “Want to try some chicken legs fresh out of the oven?”

Shi Qian sprang up and dashed off.

The gust of wind kicked up by the white tiger smacked Pascal right in the face.

All Pascal could do was smile and shake his head, following along while firming his resolve: I don’t want to eat.

He absolutely couldn’t eat like Qian did.

Qian could eat dozens of pounds of meat every day—he couldn’t digest that.

Shi Qian didn’t understand his troubles at all. He squatted in front of the fixed small table, waiting to be fed. Merlin would specially make flavors he liked—healthy and delicious.

With food in front of him, Shi Qian completely forgot his “tool-person” acting partner.

Pascal turned out to be an immersive-method actor. He would fully invest himself in the relationship between the human and the tiger in the script, until acting became a natural, effortless expression.

After Shi Qian noticed this, he cooperated quite well.

Still, he couldn’t devote himself as completely as Pascal did, and every so often his true self would slip through—like right now.

Pascal walked into the kitchen behind him, stopped at the doorway, and inhaled the aroma, his mind going a little blank.

So fragrant?!

Swallowing, Pascal came back to his senses. “The noodles last time—were those made by you too, Merlin?”

Merlin replied, “Did you think they were bought?”

Pascal blushed. “Sorry—they were so delicious.” So he’d assumed they were store-bought.

Hearing this, Shi Qian suddenly felt that Pascal’s earlier nostalgia for Hollywood food stalls was completely unreasonable. Merlin, this “master,” was right here on the ship.

What couldn’t he eat if he wanted to?

Shi Qian lifted his head and roared at Pascal: “Roaaar—”

If Merlin won’t do it, you’ve still got me, the grandmaster!

Pascal didn’t have time to respond—he’d already been utterly defeated by the chicken leg, falling without a fight.

Two days later, the ship docked.

Pascal had gained three pounds.

That was already the result of him restraining himself again and again.

Pascal looked at his face, which had gotten just a little rounder, and sighed inwardly: miscalculation.

Seeing how much he cared about it, Shi Qian dragged him straight into the snow.

“Roar, roar.”

Relax—this environment coming up is great for burning fat.

That evening, after settling into their lodgings, Laman also saw that his two male leads had both gotten a bit rounder.

He didn’t mind at all. “Perfect. Your current state is just right for filming the very first scenes of The King. As for later—” Laman trailed off, leaving only a meaningful smile.

Merlin chased after him, curious. “What about later?”

Laman shook his head, lifted his chin to look at the sky with great feeling, and said to her in Chinese, “Heaven’s secrets must not be revealed.”

The world of The King opens in a thick, Western-style fantasy apocalypse.

On the icy plains, among ruined wastelands, a white tiger appears.

After a brief battle, it secures scarce food. Immediately after, a common tiger from a neighboring clan—insufficiently cautious—draws the attention of a massive aberrant beast during a hunt.

In the finer details of the handling, one can sense all the distinct qualities of the tiger pack’s young tiger king—played by Shi Qian.

Greater strength, sharper intelligence, swifter movements…

Brave, responsible, fearless in the face of danger—he perfectly embodies the presence a leader should have.

Yet under the assault of a giant aberrant beast, the still-young tiger king can only cover his clan’s retreat, then flee on his own in a rather sorry state.

“Roar…”

The tiger’s roar echoes again and again through the ruins, making the ears of everyone on set feel like they’re floating.

Fear.

Laman, that madman, had brought in several real tigers as “key extras.”

This single scene had already been shot over ten times, and the animal actors were starting to show their irritable, feral nature.

As the focal point of the frame, Shi Qian received special attention from Laman. One scene, shot over and over again—his tiger self was practically numb.

After roaring until his throat went dry, Laman finally let this scene go. “That’s a wrap.”

Then came the devil’s next line—“Rest until the afternoon. We’ll secure one more take.”

Laman knew what he was doing. “The afternoon scene will just be Qian alone. We’ll use the E-version effects and shoot more close-ups.”

“Securing one more” meant they still had to shoot another strong scene. Anything less than the earlier quality wouldn’t cut it.

Shi Qian, exhausted, flopped down beside Merlin like a useless tiger.

He thought to himself: there really is no such thing as a free lunch. The more Laman gives, the more he demands.

Merlin patted his head and encouraged him. “Extra food today.”

Other crew members nearby also cast sympathetic looks—Laman was truly inhuman!

On the other side, Pascal was also filming his solo scenes. But he had it worse—he had to watch the footage himself and discuss it with the assistant director.

In just two short days, all the meat Pascal and Shi Qian had eaten on the road had been completely burned off.

Fat? What fat? Under Laman’s hand, getting fat was impossible. Even with extra meals every day, you still couldn’t gain weight.

But what Shi Qian didn’t realize was that Laman had only revealed the tip of the iceberg of a director’s terror.

Aberrant beast appears—fight, and it has to look cool.

Prey appears—hunt, and it has to look cool.

One man and one tiger fooling around, fighting lightly—still has to look cool.

Thanks to his martial skills, Guan Yunfei rose in just one month from being one of the fight coordinators to the most indispensable one, because he was the best at satisfying Laman’s wild, unrestrained ideas and demands.

That day’s setup: riverside.

Plot outline: ambushed suddenly while fooling around.

High-intensity action scenes—it was back again.

A frozen river on the ice plains was no joke. Lost in the performance, Pascal accidentally stepped through the ice and fell into the river.

“Help—help—!”

The extreme cold instantly engulfed Pascal, turning even that short cry for help into broken fragments.

Shi Qian was closest and jumped into the frozen river after him.

Icy water surged in, piercing through his thick fur. Water that tigers loved in summer was now as cruel as stabbing ice needles—thousands of them at once.

Enduring the cold, Shi Qian dove completely into the icy water to search for Pascal.

Fortunately, it went smoothly. Shi Qian clamped Pascal in his jaws and brought him to the riverbank.

Everyone rushed in, pulling and hauling, getting Pascal to safety and administering emergency treatment.

Shi Qian climbed ashore as well, where Merlin and specialists took care of him.

Because Shi Qian had rescued him in time, Pascal was fine overall—but he did catch a bad chill.

Shi Qian thought Pascal would rest for a while, but to his surprise, after just one day, Pascal appeared back on set, continuing to film—professional and relentless.

What could you do? Just keep acting alongside him.

When filming Apocalyptic Man-Serpent, Shi Qian had been very happy—he could meet requirements with ease.

By the time of The Kingdom of Morbis, Will’s storyline stood out against the grand backdrop, but the workload wasn’t especially heavy. Filming while learning, Shi Qian adapted well, and his acting skills improved during that time.

Shi Qian had been lucky. The first two productions were both good, especially The Kingdom of Morbis, which was exquisitely made. But now, having experienced Laman’s high demands and strict standards, Shi Qian understood the gap created by true perfectionism.

It was a difference hard to put into words, yet one that future audiences could easily recognize as an outstanding quality.

In any case, whenever Shi Qian was awake—aside from eating, drinking, relieving himself, and the mandatory rest time imposed by Merlin—the rest of it all belonged to Laman.

During this period, Shi Qian’s friendship with Pascal, his fellow sufferer, warmed up rapidly.

One man and one tiger could lie down together under the camera and sleep, and had nearly fallen off a cliff together. Thankfully, the crew had prepared in advance—truly a bond forged through life and death.

To form such a relationship just from filming a movie—it was absurd.

During a break, Shi Qian stared at Laman with his big eyes, filled with admiration.

Laman kept his promise to his wife and did not touch the white tiger. But in his heart, he already acknowledged “Qian” as an exceptionally outstanding colleague—just like Pascal, that dedicated actor.

He loved such performers, and the gaze he cast on Shi Qian was full of appreciation.

“Qian, you did really well today. You’re almost overpowering Pascal, that Golden Globe-winning actor.”

Shi Qian: “Rooaaar—”

Pascal just caught another chill and wasn’t in top form, that’s all.

Shi Qian knew his limits. He knew there was still a gap between himself and a true “big shot.”

After roaring, Shi Qian sneezed.

Only then did he realize—he seemed to have caught a “cold” too.

But the next shoot was the best sunset the crew had waited two full days for.

This sick tiger, together with Pascal the patient, filmed beautiful, poetic scenes beneath the most magnificent sunset—ending with both of them sniffling.

After filming wrapped, Pascal wiped his own nose with one hand and helped the white tiger with the other.

“Qian, do you think I should eat a pig trotter to replenish myself? Merlin says she’s stewing pig trotters today.”

Shi Qian: “Roar—”

We’ll eat it right in front of Laman—and not give him any.