The Martial Arts Stunt Double of the Entertainment Circle – Chapter 10
by Little PandaThe film and television base was packed to bursting, crowds surging shoulder to shoulder, production crews shooting on every side.
Assistant Director Chen led Tuoba Yan southwest through the grounds, soon stopping at the back door of a Republican-era hospital set. He greeted the old man standing guard, and the two of them entered the hospital’s rear courtyard together.
Tuoba Yan’s formidable martial prowess made her fearless; she was not in the least worried that Assistant Director Chen might harbor ill intentions. Her reasoning was brutally simple: if he turned out to be a bad sort, she would simply beat him half to death and be done with it.
Yet from Assistant Director Chen’s perspective, this young woman was composed and unperturbed, her pace unhurried, without the slightest trace of timidity. Her gaze was open and steady, as though she were strolling through her own courtyard. As a veteran who had clawed his way up through the entertainment industry, Chen prided himself on reading people, and his tone took on a shade of genuine warmth:
“What’s your name, young lady?”
“Tuoba Yan.”
“Oh, that’s an uncommon surname. Broadens my horizons. First time at Yuying?” Assistant Director Chen asked.
Tuoba Yan nodded. “I came to visit out of admiration, but unfortunately I did not bring enough for the entrance fee. I have Brother Chen to thank for letting me in to feast my eyes.”
“You’re a real straight shooter,” Assistant Director Chen laughed. “Normally, extras are screened through the union’s Extras Leader, but I could not find anyone suitable after searching all day. Your build and looks match the character in our show, so I took the liberty of asking you.”
Tuoba Yan said, “Since I am getting in on the crew’s coattails and taking a salary, giving it my best effort is only proper. But I truly have zero experience, so I will have to ask Brother Chen for guidance.”
They reached the makeup room while still talking. Assistant Director Chen pushed the door open, and the chatter inside froze. Over a dozen pairs of eyes swiveled toward them in unison. From the corner of his eye, Chen stole a glance at Tuoba Yan’s face. Not a flicker of expression crossed it under the scrutiny of so many adults’ evaluating stares, and his estimation of her rose another notch. He smiled and announced, “This is our new extra, Tuoba Yan.”
Tuoba Yan nodded. “Just call me Xiao Yan.”
Assistant Director Chen said to a young woman who was trimming her nails, “Xiao Liu, you do her makeup. Role No. 16.”
Makeup artist Xiao Liu acknowledged the instruction. Assistant Director Chen offered Tuoba Yan a few words of encouragement, then turned and left.
For a background extra, Tuoba Yan’s looks and figure were far too striking. The various actors and makeup artists in the room were all sizing her up. Xiao Liu waved Tuoba Yan over, cleansed her face, and started applying makeup, muttering, “Skin’s pretty good.”
Tuoba Yan watched layer upon layer of powder patted onto her face. In minutes, her complexion turned a sickly, mottled blue-black. She wondered inwardly what kind of role required such ghastly makeup.
Then she received a single sheet of script containing only a few lines, and Tuoba Yan was utterly dumbfounded:
She was to play a dead lingren1 performer! No wonder Chen could not find someone suitable—what young, pretty girl would take a few dozen yuan to play a dead woman with one shot and zero lines?
From the gossip in the makeup room, she learned that the role had originally been a cannon fodder prostitute who died of illness, but after no one was willing to take it, they had compromised and rewritten the part.
Assistant Director Chen talked fast and smooth, coaxing the about-to-walk Tuoba Yan into staying. His conscience prickled a bit—after all, he had more or less coaxed and conned her off the street like a conscript2. Since extras were paid monthly on a fixed schedule, Chen promised to settle her wages on the spot after the scene, and threw in a twenty-yuan red envelope3 out of his own pocket as compensation.
A single copper could stump a hero. The recently cash-drained General Tuoba reluctantly agreed.
Makeup done, Tuoba Yan changed into a crudely made costume. According to the shooting schedule, her scene was set for eleven o’clock that morning. With time to kill, she wandered the set holding her script page, watching everything with keen interest.
Blood Sacrifice was a cliché-ridden, low-budget Republican-era anti-Japanese War drama. The female lead’s cover identity was a nurse, but she was actually an undercover spy. The male lead, a high-ranking figure on the enemy side, was wounded and hospitalized, where sparks flew between them. For love, he decided to switch sides, only to be shot dead in the end by his own assistant, still clutching the ring he had meant to give the female lead.
A no-name little production like this could not afford major stars. The female lead was a pop idol named Huang Li, who had taken the role because she was getting older and needed to transition careers. Huang Li was aptly named—her voice was as melodious as a songbird’s trill, and she was petite and sweet-faced. The male lead, Fang Zhong’an, was a second-tier actor who specialized in playing antagonist officers in Republican-era dramas. He was on familiar ground, steady as they come.
Tuoba Yan stood in a corner watching Huang Li and Fang Zhong’an run their scene. In this sequence, Fang Zhong’an’s male lead confessed his love to the female lead. Overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, the female lead stood there dumbly, at a loss. The male lead mistook her silence for overwhelming joy, took it as tacit acceptance, and pulled her into his embrace—just as a supporting actress who had come to visit him walked in on the scene.
Fang Zhong’an sat on a bench in the hospital garden, watching Huang Li with a tender expression as she aired out a quilt. He spoke: “Nurse Huang, could you come over here for a moment?”
Huang Li walked over. They exchanged a few lines of bland small talk. Fang Zhong’an’s gaze flickered, and he said to her, “A man grown ought to marry; a woman grown ought to wed. I am twenty-nine this year. I live at the Fang Mansion in the French Concession4. Both my parents have passed, and I have no brothers or sisters. I have always wanted to find a mistress for my empty house—someone who will have a hot meal waiting when I come home, so I am no longer alone, curled up in bed with no one to talk to. Nurse Huang, I ask you in earnest: would you be the mistress of the Fang Mansion?”
Huang Li was stunned speechless. Her eyes went wide. “Bureau Chief, you’re—”
Before Huang Li could finish her line, the director called, “Cut!”
The director approached Huang Li. “Xiao Huang, you’re overplaying it here. In this scene, Nurse Huang does feel a spark of affection for the Bureau Chief, but the female lead is a steadfast, composed Communist warrior. She would never let her true feelings show so obviously.”
Tuoba Yan noticed Huang Li’s expression darken with displeasure. Understandable—it was a sweltering day, filming under the blazing sun in a garden while wearing autumn clothes. No wonder she was on edge.
They shot the scene two more times. Huang Li’s performance deteriorated with each take, and the director’s expression grew darker. Finally, he said, “Let’s move this scene to the afternoon. Xiao Huang, go take a break and prep for the next one.”
Huang Li stalked off with a black look. Assistant Director Chen nudged the spellbound Tuoba Yan: “Role No. 16, get ready.”
Ready for what, exactly? Tuoba Yan was laid out on a stretcher, eyes shut, motionless, playing dead. The camera panned across, caught her face in a close-up, and that was it.
By noon, Assistant Director Chen settled up on the spot: sixty yuan in wages and a twenty-yuan red envelope. It did not go through the production’s books—he paid it out of his own pocket. Tuoba Yan pinched the few thin, small bills inside the envelope. Qiao Chunyi worked herself raw standing all day at the supermarket and still did not take home this much. All she had done was close her eyes and play dead for a moment, and she had earned eighty yuan…
She took the bus home. Tuoba Yan skipped lunch and lay on her bed, restless, her thoughts churning over the morning’s shoot, her mind a jumble.
She tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Giving up on the nap, she got up, opened the computer, and carefully searched for information about acting. She even tried recreating the scene Huang Li had failed in front of the mirror—only to discover that her own performance was worse than Huang Li’s.
It was intensely challenging.
And Tuoba Yan loved nothing more than a formidable challenge.
Footnotes
- 伶人 | língrén | Traditional term for theatrical performers or entertainers in imperial China, often of low social status.
- 壮丁 | zhuàngdīng | Able-bodied men historically conscripted into forced labor or military service by Chinese authorities, often against their will.
- 红包 | hóngbāo | Red envelope containing money, traditionally given as gifts or bonuses during holidays and special occasions.
- 法租界 | Fǎ Zūjiè | The French Concession, a district in Shanghai and other Chinese cities formerly administered by France under unequal treaties.
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