He plays Feng Yuxiu, and his girlfriend is a fairy-like beauty.

Change of scenery.

The wind on the rooftop was two levels stronger than on the ground, causing Liu Weiqiang's storyboard to flip through pages with a whooshing sound.

The crew was setting up reflectors, the camera crew was adjusting camera positions, and Ah-Qiang was squatting in the corner pressing down sandbags.

The view from the rooftop is excellent, offering a distant view of the buildings across Victoria Harbour reduced to a gray silhouette.

Liu Weiqiang stood next to the monitor and gestured with his chin toward Ye Mo.

"Should we go over the scene first?"

"No need." Ye Mo stretched his shoulders. "If Qiu Sheng is okay with it, just come on over."

The staff around him slowed down their work for a moment.

This is the first time a newcomer has acted opposite a two-time Hong Kong Film Awards Best Actor.

The director offered him a way out, letting him try it out first—but he refused.

Huang Qiusheng stood on the edge of the rooftop, his back to everyone. Hearing this, he turned around, glanced at Ye Mo, and said only two words: "Okay."

Lin Jiadong was flipping through the script on the lounge chair, but he closed it at this moment.

Andy Lau walked quietly to the monitor and moved his position half a step so that he could see the entire rooftop.

Zeng Zhiwei leaned against the wall by the rooftop entrance, holding his iced lemon tea. He didn't say anything, but he pulled the straw out of his mouth.

Sammi Cheng and Kelly Chen also stopped chatting.

"In that case, let's get ready!"

......

"Action!"

Ye Mo walked to the center of the rooftop.

I closed my eyes and started to dissect the scene in my mind.

Chen Yongren, an undercover agent for ten years, has long been forgotten by everyone in his file.

The first thing I do every morning when I wake up is to confirm who I am.

Looking in the mirror—is this face a policeman or a gangster? He lies more naturally than he tells the truth, but he's more tired than anyone else.

The reason I invited Huang Zhicheng up today wasn't to exchange information; it's because he couldn't hold on any longer.

He needs to find someone to complain to.

There is only one person in all of Hong Kong who can make him complain.

He opened his eyes.

I walked to the edge of the rooftop, turned my back to everyone, and stood there for five seconds.

Then he kicked the low wall at the edge of the rooftop.

It wasn't an angry kick—it was a frustrated, stifled kick, like the kind of kick someone who's been locked up for ten years suddenly discovers the door is still locked.

Then his whole posture relaxed.

It's not that it's really relaxed, it's that it can't hold on any longer.

His shoulders slumped, his neck tilted forward, one hand was in his pocket, and the other hand waved meaninglessly in the air.

"We clearly agreed on three years."

His voice was half-blown away by the wind, which howled into the microphone from the rooftop.

Huang Qiusheng leaned against the wall, looking at him with a slight frown.

This line is from the script.

What's the next line? It's not in the script.

Huang Qiusheng waited a moment and found that Ye Mo did not stop.

Ye Mo turned around.

He looked at Huang Qiusheng.

His eyes were bloodshot—not from makeup, but from not sleeping last night.

I tossed and turned thinking about this scene until 4 a.m. last night, so I decided not to sleep.

Now that layer of red blood vessels has become the best prop.

"We clearly agreed on three years, then another three years, then another three years—" His voice rose slightly, not as a shout, but as if he couldn't hold back anymore, as if a valve in his heart had been turned on, the water pressure too high to be shut off, "—It's been almost ten years, boss!"

The last five words were not spoken aloud.

It was smashed on the ground, and its throat was cracked.

Hoarse, aggrieved, devastated—all the things that had been suppressed in the darkness for ten years were contained in those five words.

Only the sound of wind could be heard on the rooftop. All the stagehands had stopped. Ah-Qiang's hand, which was pressing down on the sandbag, was frozen in mid-air, while Andy Lau's fingers, which were crossed in front of his chest, tightened.

Huang Qiusheng's pupils contracted slightly.

He wasn't acting as Huang Zhicheng—he genuinely froze for a moment.

Because these lines weren't in the script.

But he is a two-time Hong Kong Film Awards Best Actor winner.

He caught it, he didn't say anything, leaned against the wall, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

What kind of scenes hasn't Huang Zhicheng seen? But he's never seen Chen Yongren in this state before—not an angry complaint, but a broken, aggrieved, questioning tone, like a child asking their parents why they haven't come to pick them up yet.

Ye Mo took a step forward.

He raised his hand and pointed to his chest.

My finger trembled, then trembled again.

"The first thing I do every morning when I wake up is remind myself that I am a police officer. When I brush my teeth, I look in the mirror and tell myself, 'You are a police officer.' When I eat, I tell myself, 'You are a police officer.' When I sleep, I even dream about it and say, 'Put down your gun, I am a police officer.'"

His tone suddenly turned somber, as if dry firewood had been suddenly pulled from the bottom of a pot that was about to boil.

Tears welled up in my eyes but didn't fall; instead, they clung to my eyelashes in the wind.

The sound was so low that only the wind could hear it.

"Ten years, ten years, boss. I don't even dare to talk in my sleep. I'm afraid Han Chen's people will hear me. The first thing I say in my sleep is, 'Put down your gun, I'm a policeman.' Do you know that for the past ten years, every time I see a police car on the street, I have to hide. When I see a policeman, I have to bow my head. I am a policeman! When I see my fellow policemen, I have to bow my head."

He sniffed, but the tears still didn't fall.

He reached down and wiped the back of his neck roughly, as if wiping sweat, or perhaps wiping something unseen.

His lips moved slightly, and he uttered four words.

"I'm almost forgetting."

Huang Qiusheng moved. He took a step forward and stood in front of Ye Mo. He pulled something out of his pocket, the movement neither fast nor slow, just right. Huang Zhicheng wasn't there to comfort people; he was there to solve problems. His method was silence, action, pulling you back from the edge of the cliff, not telling you not to jump.

It's a watch.

"A birthday present," he said. His voice was flat.

Ye Mo took the watch, looked down at the dial, and saw that the second hand was still moving.

He stared at the watch for a long time, rubbing his fingers on the strap.

"When can I go back?" he asked.

The voice was no longer one of collapse, but of exhaustion, of calm after being brought back to reality.

"Wait until this order is finished," Huang Qiusheng said.

"You always say that." Ye Mo smiled, not a happy smile, not a mocking smile, but a smile that said, "I believe you, but I really can't take it anymore."

"This time it's for real."

Ye Mo did not answer.

He put the watch on his wrist and turned the strap.

Then he raised his head and looked at Huang Qiusheng.

"Han Chen has a shipment arriving at the dock tomorrow."

His tone had completely calmed down.

The man who was on the verge of collapse has retracted; he is using the last bit of his sanity to exchange for information.

Because this is the only thing he can rely on—to finish this deal, and to fulfill a promise he's been hearing for ten years.

Liu Weiqiang stood behind the monitor, staring motionlessly at Ye Mo's bloodshot eyes on the screen.

The script supervisor forgot to strike the paddleboard, which was hanging in mid-air.

Lin Jiadong stood up from his chair at some point.

Zeng Zhiwei held the bottom of his iced lemon tea cup to his lips, but never put the straw in.

"Card," Liu Weiqiang said.

Then he clapped his hands.

He didn't just clap politely; he stood up and clapped.

Slowly clapping your hands together, once, twice, three times.

"—Ye Mo, this line isn't in the script."

"I'm sorry, Director Liu, I added this at the last minute." His voice was still a little hoarse.

The scene fell silent for a moment.

Zeng Zhiwei finally put down his iced lemon tea.

Lin Jiadong stood up from his chair, walked to the monitor to watch the playback, watched for more than ten seconds, turned his head to look at Ye Mo, and his lips twitched.

"Director Liu really dares to add lines to his plays." Lin Jiadong shook his head, his tone carrying a complex sigh. "For the first scene, with two-time Best Actor winners, that's already quite good—and he still dares to add lines."

"The key is that his additions made the script even better than the original script—" Andy Lau spoke up, his voice not loud, but everyone heard him, "Three years after three years, ten years have passed—you explained Chen Yongren's predicament clearly in one go. The audience doesn't need anyone else to explain how miserable he is; he says it himself, which is ten times more effective than narration."

Huang Qiusheng leaned against the wall, the cigarette burning almost to his knuckles.

He took a final drag, flicked the cigarette butt into the corner, and exhaled a long plume of smoke.

"I almost missed catching it."

His voice was hoarse, and his tone lacked the politeness of a senior to a junior. It was an equal evaluation from actor to actor. "Your line about not daring to talk in your sleep, saying that Han Chen's people were next to you, and the first thing you said in your dream was to put down your gun and say 'I'm a policeman'—that scene made my heart ache. I've worked with actors for many years, and very few people can make me truly feel emotional on set."

He paused for a moment and stubbed out his cigarette.

"You're the second one."

Ye Mo stood in the center of the rooftop, his hair disheveled by the wind.

He looked at Huang Qiusheng, opened his mouth as if to say something polite—thank you, Brother Qiusheng, for taking care of the newcomer. I've learned a lot from acting alongside you—but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Huang Qiusheng's praise did not need to be responded to with polite words.

"Thank you, Brother Qiusheng." He only said five words at the end.

Huang Qiusheng nodded.

The nod was small, but it carried great weight.

It's not encouragement from seniors to juniors, but recognition from veterans to new recruits.

.......

P.S.: Please give me more five-star reviews, godfathers! I'll add more chapters today, I'll just keep working hard!