Chapter 13: The Larger the Sphere, the Stronger the Gravity

Any successful film always has at least one major benefactor behind it. This benefactor might be the lead actor or actress, a supporting character, the director, the screenwriter, or even the financial backers behind the scenes.

In the film “Sewing Machine Band,” Da Peng considered himself one of those major supporters. Another was Nazha, whose resources over the past few years were undeniably top-tier. Since her debut, she had worked with Hu Ge and Liu Shishi, then the following year with Cheng Long and Jing Tian in “Police Story 2013.” She had also collaborated with Huang Bo in a modern action movie, and in 2014, she starred alongside award-winning actors Liu Ye and Zhao Wenzhuo in “Citywide Manhunt.”

Without a doubt, she was the undeniable star power of this project.

Yet, Da Peng had a faint sense that Zhou Le possessed similar potential — an innate ability to ignite trending topics. In just a few days, Zhou Le had appeared on trending searches twice, and many were already speculating whether he was about to star in another film.

Da Peng knew very well, however, that he hadn’t spent a penny on promoting these trends. This was something that Li Hongqi, whom Da Peng had previously considered, simply couldn’t achieve.

Therefore, Da Peng decided to revise part of the script he had added earlier. He would omit the romantic subplot between himself and Nazha; after all, it wasn’t essential.

The next morning, the group set out by car to the location for the commencement ceremony.

The venue was in Pinggu District, Beijing.

They had specially constructed sets there and arranged everything in advance: posters, acrylic boards, roll-up banners, and horizontal banners.

The cameras were draped with red cloths.

Offerings were placed on a long table.

Soon, it was time to begin, and Da Peng gave the opening speech.

“Film is never the work of a single individual. It is the strength of every team member, every single screw tightened...”

Zhou Le listened attentively — not because the speech was particularly inspiring; after all, he had heard such words countless times at construction sites. Even the project managers and party secretaries he had worked under had delivered more rousing speeches.

The real reason was that cameras were rolling, and he couldn’t afford to lose focus.

Next came the ceremony of paying respects to the four directions. They circled around, placing incense sticks into the censer. Afterward, the red cloth covering the equipment was lifted, and Da Peng declared the start of filming.

Even so, by the standards of film crews Zhou Le had encountered, this was quite modest. The stage was small, and including staff and actors, there were barely over thirty people present.

The offerings on the table contained no meat.

Zhou Le recalled that on previous sets, he had once eaten roast suckling pig.

This time, the offerings consisted only of apples, bananas, dragon fruit, and oranges — four of each — and that was everything.

“Zhou Le,” Nazha asked curiously, “I heard that the start-of-filming ceremony originated in Hong Kong and later spread here. But why do it? In foreign countries, they usually just have a cocktail party or something.”

Zhou Le smiled and explained, “I actually know this because when I was working in construction, we did similar rituals. Back then, Hong Kong’s commercial films and TV dramas were more advanced than ours, but they used expensive film reels and were afraid of damaging them. So they held these ceremonies to express good wishes.”

Nazha remained curious. “But who exactly do they pay respects to?”

“Some pay homage to Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, Li Longji, while others honor General Guan Yu, the Great Immortal Wong Tai Sin, and so on.”

Nazha looked at Zhou Le with bright, questioning eyes. “How do you know all this? I remember our teachers mentioned it once, but I never really remembered.”

“Because I used to work on construction sites,” Zhou Le replied. “We had similar rituals there, and when I became an extra later, I asked about them.”

“Do you also pay respects to Guan Yu on construction sites?”

“Sometimes, but what I’ve experienced was paying respects to the Earth God and offering Mount Tai stone guardians.”

“That’s fascinating,” Nazha said.

Zhou Le thought to himself that if she lived on a construction site with a dormitory right above a tunnel, she might not find it so strange.

He had experienced it firsthand; those two female dormitories were relocated to the other side precisely because of this.

Following the ceremony, they filmed a continuous scene with the new equipment — symbolizing a smooth filming process ahead.

The first scene naturally starred Da Peng, who chose to act opposite Qiao Shan. After makeup and styling were completed, filming began, while others watched nearby.

By Zhou Le’s side stood Yu Qian, holding a Pekingese dog named Lili, who was also part of the cast.

“Godfather,” Zhou Le said, “this dog looks like an old man.” He wasn’t fond of this breed; they seemed listless. He had petted Lili just before the ceremony and ended up with greasy hands.

“Ha ha, that’s a Shar Pei,” Yu Qian explained. “Like that hairless cat, these breeds tend to have oily skin, but they’re very gentle and not aggressive.”

Zhou Le nodded. “That’s good — hopefully it won’t bite anyone on set.”

After Da Peng and Qiao Shan finished their scene, they approached Yu Qian’s side to chat.

“Teacher Yu, oh, Lili is here too.”

Da Peng reached out to pick up the dog, but suddenly Lili started growling and bit Da Peng’s hand.

“Ah, damn!” Da Peng cried out in pain, and everyone immediately gathered around worriedly.

“Are you okay, Director?”

“Where’s the car? Hurry, take him to the hospital!”

“Remember to get a rabies shot!”

“Where did this dog even come from?”

“Sorry, Director Da Peng.”

Voices buzzed all around.

Meanwhile, Yu Qian, Nazha, and little girl Xixi gave Zhou Le strange looks.

“Was that you?” Nazha asked.

Zhou Le looked puzzled. “Wasn’t it the dog?”

“You just said that, and then Da Peng got bitten right after...”

“Pure coincidence, absolutely pure coincidence,” Zhou Le said innocently, looking at the equally innocent Shar Pei, Lili. “I really am innocent.”

Of course, no one truly believed Zhou Le was responsible.

But since the director had been bitten and had to go to the hospital for treatment and vaccination, the rest had to stay behind to shoot promotional photos.

Zhou Le was cast as the drummer.

His appearance needed to be somewhat outgoing: a buzz cut, necklace, loose T-shirt, ripped jeans, and worn canvas shoes.

“You’re really handsome. Have you never had a girlfriend before?”

“Never.”

“Good thing you didn’t stick with construction work. I hear civil engineering is tough — good-looking guys turn into dark, middle-aged men pretty fast.”

“So that’s why you bailed with the bucket,” Zhou Le joked, chatting with the makeup artist.

After a while, she said, “Look down, but don’t close your eyes. I’m going to put some eyeshadow on you.”

She squatted slightly and bent over.

Zhou Le lowered his head and blinked, then gasped softly.

“Sis?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I saw it...”

“Saw what?”

“The shoes.”

“Like the shoes? These are unisex; I’ll send you a link later.”

“No, sis, I saw from inside...”

“I know.”

“Know?”

“You can pretend you don’t.”

In that moment, Zhou Le understood a truth: the greater the star power, the stronger the gravitational pull.

And, regardless of the version, a numerical prodigy is always formidable.