Chapter Ninety-Eight: Xiangzi, You Big Fool

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(Thanks to Brother Beidou, Brother Anchao, and Brother Xujie for their support; thanks also to ‘++ Musical Insights ++’ for their donations. Much appreciation to everyone for their support.)

“Oh, haha!”

“Beautiful grasslands, my home...”

After filming this great battle scene, a few close-up shots were added, and the grassland segment came to an end. Once filming was over, the ten thousand warriors didn’t immediately leave; they lit a bonfire and held a grand celebration together.

This was Wu Xiang’s idea—after all, the soldiers deserved some cheer and reward.

The signature dish was a huge pot of stewed whole lamb, a delicacy not cheap by any means. In later times, some even complained it was a tourist trap on the grasslands—many had fallen for it.

But now, Wu Xiang was very generous, and everyone indulged heartily!

Joy and happiness filled the air; all the hard work over these many days was finally bearing fruit, and everyone was in a state of excitement.

“Come on, come on! Let’s have a drink, brothers!”

“Come on! Raise your glasses!”

“Cheers!” followed by the sound of toasts clinking.

The film crew and the troops mingled freely, everyone was delighted. Those who could dance performed, and since many were Mongolian, there were quite a few skilled singers and dancers.

Xiao Ming, Huang Jibo, Deng Zhuo, and others had all blended into one big group—the young shared many common interests.

Meanwhile, Wu Xiang was deep in thought, also reminding everyone,

“Don’t litter; this is our beautiful grassland, let’s not spoil it.”

Surprisingly, Wu Xiang did have a bit of an environmental awareness. But beyond that, what troubled him most were the problems that arose during filming.

The first issue at hand was the props. When it came to props, there was indeed a gap domestically. For instance, the film academy didn’t have a specialized program to train prop experts; most who handled this had started elsewhere, often in fine arts, so they were essentially amateurs in this field.

This naturally led to a problem—they weren’t very familiar with history, which resulted in a lack of rigor. It was unavoidable; with the massive output of domestic film and TV productions, strict accuracy was often sacrificed. It was like when he worked as an editor on anti-Japanese dramas—he had seen all sorts of absurdities.

Mixing up MP3s and Sten submachine guns, using Type 56 rifles against Japanese soldiers—these weren’t even the worst. Wu Xiang had personally witnessed ‘Japanese troops’ wielding a five-wheeled Type 59 tank. At that moment, he thought to himself, “The enemy’s Type 59 has come down the mountain!”

“Maybe we need to train some professional prop experts, or even better, go big and establish a specialized prop company?” Wu Xiang couldn’t help but entertain this idea. The props on this film had truly given him a headache.

“Xiangzi, what are you thinking about?” At that moment, Zhang Jingchu came over holding a bowl of mare’s milk wine, looking for Wu Xiang to chat.

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“Oh, nothing much.” Naturally, Wu Xiang didn’t feel the need to share his idea about starting a company with Zhang Jingchu.

“No way.” Under the glow of the bonfire, Zhang Jingchu’s face was slightly flushed, as if she had drunk a bit too much—playful and charming.

Watching a beauty under the firelight was indeed a rare pleasure, and for some reason, Wu Xiang couldn’t help but think of Hai Qing. If Hai Qing knew he was filming such a magnificent movie in such a beautiful place, she would surely regret it deeply.

Lost in thought, Wu Xiang unconsciously smiled.

“Hee hee...” Zhang Jingchu laughed sweetly, a smile that could captivate any man on earth. “Xiangzi, you can sing, right? You should sing something now—I want to hear you.”

“Sing?” Wu Xiang thought for a moment. Wasn’t she just exposing his weakness? He knew very well how poor his singing was. “No thanks, I really sing terribly.”

“Who says?” Zhang Jingchu pouted. “You even write songs for others. Wang Feng calls you a genius.”

“Writing songs is one thing; my singing is another.” Wu Xiang modestly declined. So many here could sing and dance well, and his style didn’t quite fit the grassland vibe anyway.

“Then just write one.” Zhang Jingchu smiled, half-joking, half-serious.

“Huh?” Upon hearing “write a song,” for some reason, a melody suddenly came to Wu Xiang’s mind:

“The vast horizon is my love,
Beneath the endless green hills, flowers bloom,
What rhythm sways the most,
What song brings the greatest joy,
The winding river flows from the sky,
Into a sea of countless blossoms...”

“Holy crap!” Wu Xiang hurriedly pushed that tune away. No, he couldn’t copy that song—it was too famous, really couldn’t plagiarize it.

“No, no, no...” Wu Xiang denied vehemently, “I can’t write, really. It’s all nonsense, just messing around. My musical talent is basically dead.”

“...” Zhang Jingchu looked unconvinced, a little annoyed, pouting, “Is it only when Sister Hai Qing asks you that you can write?”

“Sister Hai Qing?” Wu Xiang immediately understood what Zhang Jingchu meant, but he absolutely could not admit it. “No way! You must’ve heard them talking nonsense. I just wanted that girl Hai Qing to know that there are always people better than you; I was just trying to fight for justice...”

He had to spin the story—no other option!

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“...” Zhang Jingchu stared at Wu Xiang, as if saying, “Can’t you just tell the truth?”

“...” Wu Xiang was at a loss. Normally, he was a master of spinning tales; he had fooled so many along the way. But now, he simply couldn’t.

“Hee hee hee...” Suddenly, Zhang Jingchu laughed again. Her laughter was so charming, so playful, so lovely.

“Xiangzi, you big fool! You must have liked Sister Hai Qing back then. Hee hee, only if you liked her would you try to attract her attention, right? Hee hee...”

How could Wu Xiang ever admit that?

“That’s just gossip. Really, it’s nonsense. Huang Jibo, right? It’s him, isn’t it? That guy just doesn’t want me to look good. I was just giving it my all. Besides, that song was in my heart long ago. If you don’t believe me, ask Huang Jibo. I don’t even know how to read sheet music, and I wrote that in such a short time?”

Wu Xiang almost swore by it. For some reason, he just couldn’t bear to see Zhang Jingchu like this; no matter what, he couldn’t admit that he liked Hai Qing.

“Hee hee hee...” Zhang Jingchu’s smile was still so beautiful. “I believe you! Of course I do! Hee hee...”

But for some reason, Wu Xiang felt uneasy listening to her.

“Yay! Yay yay yay!” More and more people danced around the bonfire, including Huang Jibo and Xiao Ming.

“Come dance!” someone shouted toward Wu Xiang.

“Hey! Sure!” Zhang Jingchu grabbed Wu Xiang’s hand. “Xiangzi, dance with me!”

“I—I can’t.” Wu Xiang was telling the truth. This was Mongolia, a folk dance—he had no idea how to dance.

“No excuses! Get up!” Zhang Jingchu threw a little tantrum and pulled him to his feet.

Wu Xiang was 1.87 meters tall; if he didn’t want to get up, there was no way Zhang Jingchu could pull him. But he couldn’t refuse.

“Dance! Dance! Oh hahaha!”

“Yay hey hey...”

Joy and happiness—this was the mood of everyone at that moment, including Zhang Jingchu...