Today is the first day of reshooting for “City of Colors.”

Unlike the usual atmosphere of everyone working happily and collaboratively, the set today was silent, occasionally interrupted by Director Meng’s restrained, irritated shouts.

“This take won’t do, retake!”

“Retake, retake!”

“Quick, touch up her makeup!”

“Sister Qin, why don’t you sit over here and rest for a bit!”

Everyone was on high alert, moving quickly and cautiously to finish their tasks. Su Qin had not removed the harness attached to her, with her assistant holding it above her head. She looked slightly pale, her lips pressed tightly together, and she didn’t accept the water offered by the staff for a long time.

“Drink a bit; you don’t look well. We have several fight scenes to shoot this afternoon,” her assistant urged.

“…I’m fine.”

She bit her lip and gazed toward the studio.

Director Meng’s messy hair stood on end, resembling an exaggerated, modern version of someone furious. He stared intently at the playback, watching it repeatedly, his demeanor so serious it was intimidating.

They had already filmed more than ten takes; they had done their best to deliver perfect performances. Why was it still not satisfactory?

Was this an intentional effort to make things difficult for her?

Just because the funding was reduced, causing some major scenes to be cut and the shooting schedule to be rushed, did they have to vent their frustration on her?

Su Qin’s expression grew increasingly grim.

On the other side,

The assistant director stood nearby, afraid to breathe. He hesitated, glancing at Director Meng’s tense expression, and finally said, “Actually, it’s already quite good. Movies don’t usually have such high standards…”

He was subtly implying that film productions didn’t typically demand this much.

For a rising star like Su Qin, her performance was already worthy of trending and receiving significant praise online.

“If there were no precedents, it would pass,” Director Meng replied, arms crossed. The figure on the screen, elegantly suspended by wires, moved fluidly and gracefully. Although her action scenes didn’t quite match Su Wan’s beauty, they were still impressive enough to outshine many other rising stars.

But still, he felt something was missing.

Director Meng pondered for a moment before suddenly slapping his forehead.

Yes.

It was that carefree, nonchalant attitude, that raw brilliance that hadn’t been polished. Even if she wore ragged clothing and stood in a corner of the crowd, she would still attract everyone’s attention.

That was the true reason for her half-sister’s jealousy.

Su Qin was trying harder and harder, yet the essential nonchalance seemed to elude her.

The more Meng watched, the more disappointed he became, the more he sighed. He didn’t want to fight with the investors; he just suddenly hoped that with such good resources, they could achieve something great—who would have thought it would falter midway?

The actress he most wanted to use was unavailable, and watching her become a mere supporting player—what could be more frustrating than that?

Assistant Cheng approached with a bottle of water, smiling eagerly as he said, “Director, is it still not working? Why don’t you talk to Qin Qin about the scene? Her back is all bruised; if this goes on, it might delay tomorrow’s schedule.

She has an awards ceremony to attend in a couple of days, wearing a backless gown that she had custom-made.”

“Look…”

Director Meng shot her a cold glare.

“Did Su Qin send you over?”

“Of course not,” Assistant Cheng replied, startled, the smile on his face faltering. “You don’t need to be angry. If it’s about the funding, our side has said that we won’t compromise on quality.”

While he was being careful to appease him, he was actually warning Director Meng.

Su Qin had brought in the investment, and if she couldn’t film normally, the entire crew would suffer.

The muscles in Meng’s face twitched slightly.

He half-closed his eyes and said, “Fine, let it pass. We’ll move on to the next take soon.”