Chapter 75: Yao Xiaoqiang Has Fainted!

"……"

As the last note faded, everyone was stunned.

An utter silence enveloped the scene.

"In countless crowds I search for him a thousand times, then, turning suddenly, I find him where the lights grow dim!"

Each line and syllable Garen had recited seemed to linger still, echoing in everyone's ears.

Every member of the crew stared at him, mouths agape.

Even those who had been whispering among themselves moments before fell silent.

Within the scriptwriting team were two graduate students specializing in classical Chinese, invited as consultants to craft the dialogue for the period drama. Though not writers themselves, they had spent day after day with the drama’s scriptwriters, becoming colleagues of sorts. Naturally, they had stood beside Yao Xiaoqiang, waiting to witness Garen’s embarrassment.

But after hearing only the first half of the poem, they were awestruck!

They had always believed that none here understood ancient poetry better than they did; for scholars of classical Chinese literature, poetry was the most basic, superficial knowledge.

Yet, upon hearing Garen’s verse, they realized their error.

In rhyme and meter, they could not achieve such perfection.

In flavor and atmosphere, they could never capture such elegance.

All they felt now was admiration, nothing more.

Were it not for the cameras still rolling, they would have applauded then and there.

Even though most had struggled to follow the earlier lines, the final phrase, paired with Garen’s gesture and expression, brought a sudden understanding.

No matter how dazzling the previous descriptions, they merely painted the lively scene of the Lantern Festival—fireworks, round moon, lanterns, carriages; music, dancing, beauties in fragrant attire.

Yet none of that belonged to him, nor was it what his heart desired.

This radiant night was nothing more than his search for someone who truly stirred his heart.

But in the sea of people, he had searched in vain.

Unexpectedly, with a casual glance back, he saw her in the quiet, shadowed corner.

Cao Xiwen was the most astonished of all.

At this moment, she was completely immersed in Garen’s poetry, unable to extricate herself.

"Was this poem recited for me?… No! Surely not!"

"But that look in his eyes…"

Unable to control herself, Cao Xiwen asked dreamily, "What is the name of this poem?"

"‘Green Jade Table—Lantern Festival Night,’" Garen replied slowly.

"Ah…"

Cao Xiwen took a deep breath. For reasons she could not explain, a faint disappointment lingered, yet as a consummate actress, she quickly regained her composure. "You’ve won!"

Yao Xiaoqiang’s face was ashen; the words Garen had just recited had struck him deeply.

And neither had followed the script with their lines.

The final words should have been spoken by Cao Xiwen with an admiring look, "Congratulations! You have won!"

Now?

What nonsense—‘You’ve won!’

She was implying Garen’s victory, and his own defeat.

In that instant, Yao Xiaoqiang understood what it meant to be utterly shattered.

He stood there as if his soul had been drained, frozen, lifeless.

No tears, no silly laughter, no tantrum to disrupt the shoot—he simply stood there.

"Cut!"

Zhao Xin, holding his megaphone, called out, then strode briskly to Garen, grabbing him in a fierce embrace. "Magnificent! Truly magnificent!"

Garen finally emerged from the role, returning to normal, and laughed, "Check the playback, see if there’s any mistake!"

"Alright! Alright!" Zhao Xin promptly pulled Garen to view the footage.

Cao Xiwen followed, no longer regarding Garen with the same dismissiveness as before; in fact, she now felt a strange nervousness in his presence.

All the staff crowded in to watch.

Four cameras had been used. Four monitors replayed the scene from different angles as everyone scrutinized for flaws.

Yet no major issues appeared.

Minor details could easily be fixed in editing.

"It’s good! Everyone take a break!"

As Zhao Xin called out, everyone breathed a sigh of relief; cheers and applause erupted like thunder.

Especially the cameramen, lighting technicians, and stagehands.

Garen’s impromptu change and Zhao Xin’s on-the-spot direction had made them extremely anxious, sweating profusely.

Now that the scene was finished, they all looked as if they’d survived a great calamity.

"Garen! Garen! From now on, you’re my only idol!"

Zhao Xian bounced over, leading several minor actors in lively chatter.

The two graduate students from the script team came up to introduce themselves to Garen, expressing their hope to discuss classical Chinese literature with him in the future.

An elderly actor patted Garen’s shoulder, "Young man, you’re remarkable! With your literary attainment, it’s a shame to be merely an entertainer!"

"Not at all!" Garen laughed, "I’m just a singer!"

Oh…

Who would dare see him as only a singer now?

In literary prowess, he surpassed the scriptwriters.

In acting skill, his heartfelt performance had matched the old actors.

Everyone praised Garen, which made him rather embarrassed.

The poem’s real author belonged to another world; he was simply borrowing the glory.

Just then, the meal cart arrived. Zhao Xin glanced at his watch—it was late—so he told the assistant director, "Let Sister Hao serve dinner first."

"Alright!" The assistant director, flush with winnings, cheerfully went off.

It was Garen’s first meal with the crew. When he opened his lunchbox, he was stunned.

Scallion-braised ribs, pork stew, fried egg, mushrooms and greens, four dishes plus rice and a small bowl of sea cucumber soup. He couldn’t help but marvel at the crew’s luxurious fare.

He glanced at Mai Le, hunched over his own meal.

Mai Le’s lunch consisted of spicy cabbage, tomato with egg, peppered pork with just a few pieces of meat, no soup, but plenty of rice.

Suddenly, Garen understood—Mai Le’s was the standard crew meal.

He hadn’t expected Sister Hao to treat him so well!

He was truly touched.

At that moment, Zhao Xin, carrying his lunchbox, came over and sat beside Garen, opened his meal, picked out a piece of braised duck wing, and casually placed it in Garen’s lunchbox. "Here, try this…"

Seeing Garen’s meal, he paused in surprise, "Did you bring this yourself?"

"No," Garen shook his head, "Sister Hao gave it to me!"

Zhao Xin glanced at Sister Hao in the distance and smiled wryly, "You’re popular—even Sister Hao treats you better than the main creators!"

"Really?"

Garen looked at Zhao Xin’s meal—quite decent, with one meat, two vegetables, rice, and seaweed egg soup, better than Mai Le’s. He picked out a rib and handed it to Mai Le.

"Thanks!" Mai Le looked up and grinned.

"I can’t eat much," Garen said, then lowered his head to eat.

Zhao Xin waited expectantly, seeing Garen didn’t share more, and grumbled, "Why won’t you give me a rib?"

Garen was momentarily taken aback—he realized he had favored one over another. Smiling sheepishly, he gave Zhao Xin a rib and some pork stew.

"Thanks!" Zhao Xin laughed, finally satisfied.

After dinner, everyone rested.

Many people came over to chat with Garen; he had become the focus of the crew, even Guo Cheng came over to curry favor.

In the distance.

Yao Xiaoqiang watched Garen with a lifeless expression; each person who approached was cursed in his mind.

Sister Hao and her team collected trash around the set. When she reached Yao Xiaoqiang, she asked, "Any trash?"

"None!" Yao Xiaoqiang replied gruffly.

"What about your lunchbox?"

"Next to me!"

Sister Hao frowned but said nothing, picking up his discarded meal. It felt heavy, so she opened it—untouched. "You didn’t eat?"

"Don’t feel like it," Yao Xiaoqiang answered, still gruff.

"That’s not good—what if you starve?"

"Mind your own business!"

Yao Xiaoqiang glared at her and stood to leave.

"How can you talk like that?"

Sister Hao was displeased; she had always been well-liked in the crew, and no one had spoken to her this way before. She began to nag.

Yao Xiaoqiang grew more irritated at her chatter and decided to go upstairs to be alone.

But after only a few steps, he felt dizzy; his vision darkened, and he knew nothing more.

Sister Hao saw him rise, scolded him a bit more, and then, to her shock, watched Yao Xiaoqiang suddenly collapse as if his soul had fled.

Startled, she cried out, "Hey! What are you doing? I didn’t touch you—don’t try to blame me!"

Crew members rushed over.

"Old Yao! What are you doing, joking with Sister Hao?"

A staffer tried to lift Yao Xiaoqiang but sensed something was wrong. He checked his eyelids and found he had truly fainted. "Ah! Old Yao? Old Yao? Wake up… are you alright?"

"Qiangzi! Qiangzi! Can you hear me?"

"Call an ambulance! Quick!"

"I’ll go get the car!"

"Director! Director! Something’s wrong! Yao Xiaoqiang has collapsed!"

Zhao Xin’s face had already turned pale; he rushed over, sending people to find a doctor and calling for help.

Even though Garen had just had conflict with Yao Xiaoqiang, now, with a life at stake, he set the quarrel aside.

He joined several male actors to carry Yao Xiaoqiang to the entrance for fresh air.

One actor, knowledgeable in first aid, directed everyone to lay Yao Xiaoqiang flat, pinched his philtrum, performed chest compressions, and, disregarding any awkwardness, attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

The actresses shrank back, trembling with fear, whispering to each other—was Yao Xiaoqiang dead?

The entire set was thrown into chaos…