Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

He Xu was pressed down with an ice pack by Jonathan for a full ten minutes before he was finally allowed to stand up.

"Alright, alright, I can do it myself." He took the ice pack off his shoulder, switched it to his left hand, and waved to Jonathan, "You go ahead and do your thing, I'm fine."

Jonathan glanced at him, his gaze lingering for a moment on the reddened skin on his right shoulder, then snorted and turned to walk towards the film set.

He Xu stood there, looking down at the skin on his right shoulder that had turned slightly white from the pressure of the ice pack—the redness had subsided somewhat, but the edges still had an unnatural pinkish tinge.

He moved his shoulder to make sure his bones were fine, then walked towards the dressing room.

The lights were still on in the dressing room.

The makeup artist was leaning against the edge of the table looking at her phone when she heard footsteps. She looked up and saw He Xu. Her expression immediately switched to work mode: "You're here? Have a seat. I'll help you remove your makeup."

He Xu sat down in the makeup chair, closed his eyes, and let the makeup artist apply makeup to his face.

The makeup removal process is much faster than the makeup application process—makeup remover, wipes, cleansing milk, and then another wipe. In less than fifteen minutes, the movie makeup on his face was completely removed.

"All done." The makeup artist patted him on the shoulder. "Need any help changing into your tactical uniform?"

"I'll do it myself."

He Xu stood up and walked into the changing room next to the makeup room.

The changing room was small, with dark gray curtains on three sides and only one overhead light on.

He pulled the curtain closed and then began to take off his tactical uniform.

First, the coat.

The dark gray tactical jacket had Velcro buttons. He ripped it open with one hand, and as the fabric slipped off his shoulder, he noticed that the reddened skin on the outside of his right shoulder was more noticeable than before.

But he didn't pay attention, hung his coat on the rack next to him, and started taking off his turtleneck undershirt.

He frowned and pulled his undershirt off his head.

Then he stood in the changing room, looked down at himself in the light of the overhead lamp, and stopped moving.

Indentations from the ligature.

It's not just one or two paths.

It's densely packed.

Starting below the collarbone, extending all the way to the waist and then to the back and shoulder blades, the entire area is covered with embossed patterns from the tactical uniform lining and marks left by the edge of the harness.

In some places, it is dark red, as if it has been repeatedly bound by some wide ribbon; in other places, the color is lighter, with traces of pale pink.

The longest stripe started below his left shoulder blade, diagonally across his entire back, and tightened at the waistline—the mark left by the edge of the harness when it was under tension.

He Xu stood under the overhead light, turned his head, and tried to see his back clearly in the mirror.

He turned around and found that it wasn't just his back—there were several parallel pressure marks on his side as well.

It's a mark left after the tactical uniform waistband was tightened; the skin is now slightly red, and it's especially clear under the warm yellow light.

He paused for a moment, then muttered under his breath, "...Fuck."

He hung his undershirt on the hanger, took his usual white T-shirt from the hook in the changing room, and put it on.

When he pulled back the curtain and walked out of the dressing room, the makeup room was already empty.

He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair, which he hadn't worn because it was too hot, and walked out of the dressing room, heading down the corridor toward the film set exit.

As he passed the edge of the set, he heard Mike's voice from the side: "Hey! You're all changed?"

He Xu turned his head and saw Mike squatting next to the wire control panel, holding a wrench and tightening a screw.

"Okay, it's changed."

"How's your shoulder?" Mike put down the wrench and stood up. "I felt pain just watching you hit the wall."

"It's alright, it's nothing serious."

Mike walked over and looked him up and down.

He Xu was wearing a white T-shirt, and his tactical jacket was off. He looked several years younger than Langdon Waugh, who was fully armed on set—but he was also a bit thinner.

"Go back and get some rest," Mike said. "Work doesn't start until tomorrow afternoon, so there's no need to get up early."

"understood."

He Xu turned and took two steps towards the exit, then heard Mike add from behind, "What's wrong with the back of your t-shirt? Is it soaked with sweat?"

He Xu paused for a moment.

He turned his head and saw Mike staring at his back with a slight frown.

"...What?"

"That patch on your back," Mike pointed to the corresponding spot on his back, "is wet, looks like sweat, but the color is off—are you injured?"

He Xu paused for a second, then turned around, lifted the hem of his T-shirt a little, revealing the deep red mark on his side caused by the seatbelt.

When Mike's gaze fell on the mark, his mouth opened slightly.

"...You fucking—this wasn't the same bump we just had, was it?"

"No," He Xu put down his T-shirt, "it's marks from the wires and tactical uniform."

Mike stared at him for two seconds, then turned and called out towards the film set, "Jonathan! Come here for a second!"

He Xu frowned: "Why did you call him—"

"Look at yourself," Mike said, his voice carrying a "don't argue with me" tone. "You're covered in marks; anyone would think you've been abused."

Jonathan walked over from the other side of the set. He saw Mike's expression, then glanced at He Xu's posture. Without asking "What's wrong?", he walked directly up to He Xu and looked him up and down.

"Lift it up so I can see."

He Xu glanced at him but didn't move.

"I said lift it up." Jonathan's tone left no room for negotiation.

He Xu paused for a moment, then lifted the hem of his T-shirt, revealing an area from his waist to his ribs—deep red marks crisscrossed haphazardly, the longest of which stretched from the lower edge of his ribs all the way to his lower back.

Jonathan's gaze lingered on the marks for two seconds, then he reached out and patted He Xu on the shoulder: "You looked so handsome on set, but when you lifted your shirt, it looked like you'd been tied up for three days?"

"...This is called a work injury."

"Work injury - there are very few work injuries like this."

A crowd had gathered around them without them even noticing.

The props girl stood two meters away, holding a wrench in her hand, her mouth open and forgotten to close.

"Oh God... what's wrong with your back—"

"What happened to you???"

"No way, these marks are way too deep... How much equipment did you wear while filming?"

He Xu felt like an exhibit, being watched by a group of people.

He put down his T-shirt and glanced around: "...Have you looked enough? If you have, I'm going back to sleep."

"Not enough." Mike's voice carried an undeniable air of dominance. "Come here, I'll take a picture of you."

"Why are you taking pictures?"

"Send this to Carter, tell him to tell the props team to change the lining of your tactical uniform to a softer material tomorrow." Mike had already taken out his phone. "If the marks on your body are captured on camera, it'll cause trouble for post-production."

He Xu stood there, watching Mike raise his phone and point it in his direction. He opened his mouth, but in the end, he could only manage to utter, "...The way you Hollywood people work has really opened my eyes."