Chapter 5: Preparations

“Still, Mom wants you to succeed. After all, we’ve been neighbors for so long, and we work in the same industry. Seeing you like this makes her quite proud,” Tan Siyun said.

Though her real name differed by only one character from a well-known actress, their fates were worlds apart.

Zhou Le smiled. During the days they were neighbors, he truly got along well with Tan Siyun; after all, they had only each other to lean on.

They comforted one another through the ordinary days and did what needed to be done.

In fact, Tan Siyun was Zhou Le’s first woman.

They lived across the hall, worked in the same field, and Zhou Le was handsome—so it was natural for them to band together for warmth. The reason they never formalized their relationship was because both understood clearly what each needed.

Everything had unfolded naturally, a mutual understanding.

Yet for Zhou Le, she was his first woman, the one who helped him shed his boyhood and become a man, so he wished for Tan Siyun to stay by his side.

But he knew that purely from a career standpoint, whether in Hengdian or Beijing, without connections or capital backing, it was exceedingly difficult for a new actress to make a name.

Even if gender was disregarded, from Zhou Le’s understanding, only Wang Baoqiang had truly risen from the grassroots; others were few and far between.

So leaving early was the only viable way out.

“Have you thought about what business you want to go into when you return?” Zhou Le asked.

“Probably selling steamed buns. My parents run a breakfast stall, so I’d be continuing the family business.”

Zhou Le considered, “So can I get free buns when I visit?”

Tan Siyun sighed, glancing at him. “You’re a big star now, and you want me to give you free meals? Shouldn’t you be tipping me instead?”

“That’s not possible. We don’t promote tipping culture here; it’s just a capitalist way to shift costs.”

“Really, you just want my steamed buns.”

“That’s harsh. I simply believe our friendship is unbreakable. At least a few buns won’t change that,” Zhou Le said earnestly.

“Still just trying to freeload my buns,” Tan Siyun rolled her eyes.

At that moment, she felt unusually lighthearted. About to leave the entertainment industry, even the air seemed sweeter.

Zhou Le finished eating, washed the dishes, and went to rest.

He always took a nap around noon, and unless filming extended midday, he would find a spot on set to sleep briefly between morning and afternoon shoots.

He had no idea how long he slept before a shrill phone ring shattered the peaceful nap.

“Uncle Li wants to join the Red Army, but the Red Army doesn’t want that uncle…”

Zhou Le turned over, grabbed his phone, and answered.

“Hello, Teacher Zhou Le.”

The voice on the other end was Da Peng’s.

“Oh, Director Da Peng, what’s up?”

“It’s like this: your audition for Wolf Warrior 2 should be over. Do you have availability to star in our film Sewing Machine Band?”

Da Peng got straight to the point.

Since they were in the same building and both crews had Yu Qian, it wasn’t hard to find out.

Zhou Le was immediately wide awake. “Director Da Peng, no problem on my end. My scenes in Director Wu Jing’s film start midway, so shooting won’t begin for at least six months.”

“That’s great. Since it’s settled, let’s confirm it soon. We have our first script meeting tomorrow. Come by to meet the others and sign the contract.”

“That works, but about the pay…”

“How about 500,000 yuan? Considering…”

Before Da Peng could finish, Zhou Le agreed immediately, “Sounds good.”

Now wasn’t the time to haggle over pay.

Though 500,000 yuan was a bit low for a third male lead in a film of this scale, Zhou Le had little fame before.

Besides, since graduating, all his earnings combined hadn’t reached that amount.

Now, just from two films, he’d earned a million yuan—though taxes still applied—but he was quite satisfied.

Da Peng was pleased to hear Zhou Le’s quick agreement.

For him, Sewing Machine Band was his comeback project.

He had poured his heart into the script and casting.

He even humbled himself to ask Yu Qian for help inviting many rock legends to cameo, including the now-retired drummer Ye Shirong of Beyond, Huang Guanzhong from the same band, Gao Hu from Painful Faith, Liu Yijun from Tang Dynasty, Zhao Mingyi of Black Panther, Yao Lan of Second Hand Rose, and Xie Tianxiao from OK KING.

His goal was to make a film that would restore his reputation.

Although publicly he said he didn’t think Pancake Man was bad, privately he knew it had flopped.

As the public said, it had basically squandered all his prior goodwill.

Therefore, aside from those band members, for the remaining roles, he preferred mainland actors over those from Taiwan.

But the price had to be affordable.

His budget was around 60 million yuan.

If Sohu had invested, the budget could have been higher, but this time they had not participated, so he had to be frugal.

The big-name cameos had fixed fees.

Mostly cameos, so no large sums were needed.

Some roles were for Zhao Benshan’s disciples—brothers in the same craft—so they worked for friendship prices.

Naturally, Zhou Le’s pay couldn’t be high either.

Before this, Zhou Le was just an amateur; his acting income wasn’t even considered a fee, just labor wages.

The actor he had previously admired, Li Hongqi, was only modestly known.

Though he had acted in some art films, for a commercial film like Sewing Machine Band, he had little box office pull.

To mainland audiences, he was still an amateur.

So to Da Peng, Li Hongqi and Zhou Le were essentially the same.

Comparatively, Zhou Le was better on drums and had stronger acting skills, and as a mainlander, he was more relatable to the audience.

In this era, to attract viewers in Taiwan, they preferred Taiwanese actresses.

Another crucial reason was Zhou Le’s acquaintance with Yu Qian.

Da Peng had to respect Yu Qian’s influence.

The timing of the call was also because Yu Qian had received a call from Wu Jing in the afternoon confirming that Zhou Le was cast as Zhuo Yifan.

Zhou Le had stronger professional knowledge and suited Wu Jing’s style.

Moreover, in looks, Zhou Le surpassed Zhang Han by a wide margin.

After this call, Da Peng was even more convinced that choosing Zhou Le as Zhuo Yifan was a wise choice.

He knew Wu Jing was poorer than himself now, counting every penny carefully.

So the chosen cast had to be cost-effective.

“Come tomorrow to Jiuxian Apartments, the usual place. We’ll arrange accommodation.”

Zhou Le finally felt a weight lifted.

Though Da Peng had a less-than-stellar reputation—conflicts with Da Zhangwei, sharp critiques of Dao Lang and Yang Chenglin—none of that mattered to Zhou Le.

Box office success was irrelevant; he didn’t take profit shares.

His sole goal was to earn money.

Until now, Zhou Le’s life had been stuck between wanting to lie down but feeling restless, wanting to strive but not knowing how.

His mood was heavy.

So he felt a certain phrase suited him perfectly:

If one does not become bad through debauchery, then one becomes twisted in silence.