Chapter 3: The American-made Smith & Wesson M1917 (Please vote for recommendations and monthly tickets)

Wu Jing smiled. These words were identical to what his wife had once said to him. Consequently, he naturally took a liking to Zhou Le.

However, liking someone was one thing; this film was his life’s work, a total gamble. He certainly wouldn't show favoritism just because of a personal connection.

"Alright, your instincts aren't bad, but are you really 180 centimeters tall?" Wu Jing asked, looking at Zhou Le suspiciously while holding his resume.

Zhou Le nodded firmly. "That’s right, I am 180. I just look taller right now because of my shoes."

Wu Jing glanced at the basic pair of Vans canvas sneakers Zhou Le was wearing—they were a bit worn, but scrubbed very white. "Are these shoes... tall?"

Zhou Le didn't panic at all. "Hidden lifts."

Wu Jing felt like that wasn't quite right, but it wasn't the main issue. He immediately followed up, "I see on your resume that you know combat techniques?"

Zhou Le nodded. "A little."

Wu Jing became interested. He hadn't sparred with anyone in a long time, especially given the injuries he’d sustained over the years. Yet, facing someone who claimed to know combat techniques, his hands were itching for a go. He stood up, walked to the table, and beckoned to Zhou Le. "Come on, let's try it."

Zhou Le instinctively took a step back. "I definitely can't beat you. You’re a national martial arts champion; you’ve won more championships than I’ve had acting roles..."

"What are you afraid of? It’s just a friendly spar, I won't hurt you."

Zhou Le shook his head. "No, it's not that. I’m afraid of hurting you. Even though I know some combat, my moves aren't exactly restrained."

"What, did you learn 'killing techniques'?" Wu Jing shook his head helplessly, suddenly feeling that Zhou Le was talking a bit too big.

"Well, alright then. But watch yourself, Brother Wu."

The two took their stances. In Wu Jing’s eyes, however, Zhou Le was full of openings. He couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed; it was fine to talk big, but if you claim to know kung fu, it had better be true.

Wu Jing struck first. A straight punch flew toward Zhou Le’s shoulder like a steel nail—sharp and precise. But Zhou Le didn't dodge. In street fighting, other than running away when you're being pummeled, you have to fight until someone drops. Otherwise, how can you call it a brawl?

At the same time, Zhou Le threw a kick straight at Wu Jing’s crotch.

"Damn it, you’re using that move!"

Wu Jing had to dodge. Zhou Le immediately followed up with a punch toward Wu Jing’s face, which he dodged again. Then, Zhou Le gained the upper hand, swinging his arms wildly and without any form. His fists were like missiles without guidance, devoid of any trajectory. Sometimes he swung diagonally from the left with raw brute force, as if trying to sweep away everything in front of him; other times he whipped upward from below, a clumsy yet ferocious posture, as if he were in a chaotic brawl with an invisible enemy.

Every punch caused his body to sway violently, his footsteps stumbling, looking like a scarecrow tossing in a gale, yet fueled by a desperate, reckless ferocity. It was full of openings, yet intimidating. His moves were increasingly dirty, aiming for the lower regions every time.

Zhou Le wasn't a weakling, and combined with these chaotic "turtle fists" and Wu Jing’s old injuries, he momentarily left Wu Jing with no way to counterattack.

"Stop, stop, stop!"

Zhou Le quickly cupped his hands and bowed. "I yield."

"Yield, my ass! Is this a combat technique? Isn't this just a street brawl style?" Wu Jing was a bit dazed. He also felt a sense of frustration at being caught off guard by such moves. If this were a decade ago, Zhou Le would have been on the floor already.

"It is. It’s practical combat," Zhou Le insisted, though he felt a bit guilty inside.

"Are you sure?"

"Alright, it's street fighting." Seeing he couldn't hide it, Zhou Le changed his tune.

Wu Jing took a deep breath. "I’ll give you one more chance."

"Street brawling techniques." Zhou Le really had no choice.

"See, I told you, these moves are way too rough," Wu Jing said with an "I knew it" expression.

"Yes, yes, Brother Wu is right," Zhou Le said with a fawning smile.

Wu Jing glared. "Are you mocking me?"

"Not at all, Brother Wu. You’re my idol."

Wu Jing had taken a few hits for nothing. Although he had landed some of his own, looking at how nonchalant Zhou Le was, he felt like he’d gotten the short end of the stick.

Afterward, he asked a few questions about firearms. Zhou Le answered them fluently. Finally, it was time to test his acting. Wu Jing thought for a moment, then held up his hand like a gun and pointed it at Zhou Le. "How do you feel right now?"

"Feel? I feel like I've arrived in America."

Wu Jing: "..."

"No, I mean for you to act." He wanted to see if Zhou Le could portray fear, toughness, or a bluff.

But Zhou Le raised his right fist high, his eyes fixed on Wu Jing with a look of firm, fanatical devotion, and said in a slightly raspy voice, "Make America Great Again!"

Wu Jing: "???"

He understood English, but he couldn't figure out why he could see such fanaticism in Zhou Le's eyes! Still, it didn't seem wrong. He had indeed acted, and quite vividly at that.

"How was that, Brother Wu?" Zhou Le quickly returned to his cheeky self. He had been serious, but after the spar, he found Wu Jing quite approachable.

"Pretty good. Now, you’re a bankrupt boss, the kind who can never turn his life around."

Zhou Le entered the role instantly. His eyes turned red, and he held his hand like a gun, placing it slowly in front of him.

"Wait, what is this?"

Zhou Le held his "pistol." "This? An American-made Smith & Wesson M1917."

Wu Jing realized, "Suicide, right?"

"Now, act as if you've met your enemy, the one who killed your whole family."

Zhou Le repeated the previous action, his eyes even redder.

Wu Jing: "???"

"And what is this?"

Zhou Le returned to his normal expression. "An American-made Smith & Wesson M1917."

Wu Jing: "..."

He sighed deeply. Well, that held up. Finally, he said, "Now, you've met your first love. You separated because of a misunderstanding, and now that it's cleared up, you finally meet again."

He didn't expect Zhou Le to repeat the same action for the third time.

"Wait, are you crazy? The misunderstanding is cleared up and you still want to shoot her?"

But Zhou Le didn't stop. He held up his hand, tears rolling down his eyes, looking at Wu Jing with deep affection. "Eight years! Do you know how I’ve lived these eight years? I love..."

Wu Jing’s eyes widened. "Stop, stop, stop! Enough!" He felt goosebumps all over. He acknowledged Zhou Le’s acting, and there was no denying that his reactions were incredibly quick.

Wu Jing was very satisfied. "Very good. In my heart, you are fully qualified. The only drawback is that you haven't played a lead role before, so you might not have much box office appeal."

Hearing this, Zhou Le immediately added, "Brother Wu, I’ve already landed the third lead in Director Da Peng’s new film. Of course, if I can join your crew, I’ll tell them I can’t go."

Wu Jing was satisfied with this answer as well. He had heard about Da Peng’s new film; Yu Qian had mentioned it.

"Alright, go back for now. I’ll give you an answer by tomorrow at the latest, how about that? And don't worry, even if you join, it’s not that urgent. We have to film other parts first, so even if we start, it’ll be at least half a year from now."

"One last thing. I like to be direct. I have another candidate for this role who is more famous than you and doesn't ask for much."

Zhou Le: "Who?"

"Do you know Zhang Han?"

"Murong Yunhai?"

Wu Jing laughed. "Haha, that's the one."

Zhou Le shook his head. "He won't work."

"But he’s famous, and he only wants one million. How much do you want?"

Zhou Le thought about it. This would be his first real paycheck; everything before was just a labor fee. "I'll give you a final price lower than his: 950,000, how about that?"

Wu Jing: "???"

"500,000."

Zhou Le: "Good. Brother Wu, shall we sign the contract now?"

Wu Jing: "???"

He suddenly felt like he’d been played! Based on Zhou Le’s previous experience, he probably wouldn't have even refused 100,000!

"Damn it, I lost out."