The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 210

Film shoots are rarely conducted in chronological order. In the morning, Lin Zhen had a scene in a thatched hut, portraying a severely injured character from the middle of the story. By the evening, he was already shooting a rain-drenched night sequence set in the later stages of the drama.

Lin Zhen’s character, the younger brother, was now completely blind. After receiving a message from a trusted aide via carrier pigeon, he learned that his sister was trapped in Mount Buyan, facing almost certain death. In his desperation, he resolved to lead a group to the mountain to rescue her.

It was a reckless choice. Given his depleted forces and fragile condition, such a decision was highly inadvisable. However, his sister was his only remaining family. Even if it meant his death, he had to go.

At that moment, he had no idea that in the depths of Mount Buyan, within the Luanhe Palace, his sister—who had lost all her memories—was being tenderly cared for by the male lead.

This scene would be particularly grueling for Lin Zhen.

As soon as he infiltrated Mount Buyan, the male lead received word of his arrival. Yet, out of consideration for the female lead, the male lead did not intend to kill him. Instead, he set traps and illusions, hoping Lin Zhen would retreat.

The bond between the siblings was strong. Through cold rain and treacherous terrain, Lin Zhen stumbled and crawled, enduring immense suffering. It was this moment of pain and determination that triggered a connection in the female lead’s disoriented mind, ultimately paving the way for her to recover her memories.

Lin Zhen changed into the general’s costume, donning heavy armor. The director, dressed casually in shorts and a tank top, stood before him. “Let’s aim to get this in one take. The conditions here are harsh, and this is all the water we’ve got. If we try for too many takes, we’ll run out. Don’t worry about getting dirty or tired—you need to crawl through the mud.”

Lin Zhen nodded earnestly. “Don’t worry, Director, I’ll do my best.”

The director patted his shoulder. “Remember, you’re blind in this scene. Suppress your instincts—if there’s a rock or tree branch in front of you, you can’t dodge.”

Lin Zhen pressed his lips together. “Understood.”

Off to the side, Jian Fu stood holding a large towel, ready to wrap Lin Zhen in it as soon as the director called “cut.”

Sister Mei walked up to Jian Fu, motioning with her lips and speaking softly, “This scene is a highlight. One of the main reasons I chose this script was because of this scene.”

Jian Fu glanced at her, puzzled. Sister Mei smiled. “This scene is both challenging and rewarding. The director is especially skilled at shooting grand, tragic moments. He’ll make Lin Zhen look stunningly beautiful in his suffering. The more tragic, the more unforgettable—it’s the brilliance of this character’s design.”

Jian Fu frowned. “What kind of psychology is that?”

“It’s the audience’s psychology,” Sister Mei replied. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Normally, when Jian Fu watched Lin Zhen act on set, he rarely felt immersed. The raw environment lacked the post-production effects, filters, and background music that brought television scenes to life. On set, actors were surrounded by a crowd of crew members, with cameras and reflectors shoved close to their faces. Meanwhile, a deputy director would read out the inner monologues in unpolished Mandarin.

Only seasoned professionals, with their strong sense of conviction, could pull it off. Someone like Jian Fu would probably laugh through the entire process.

But the rain scene felt different.

To ensure they nailed it in one take, the director cleared the set, maintained silence, and created an environment conducive to Lin Zhen’s immersion.

The dark night, with its secretive stillness, enhanced the atmosphere. As the set fell silent, the rustling leaves and looming shadows of trees seemed to come alive.

Jian Fu unconsciously held his breath, feeling a surge of nervous anticipation for Lin Zhen.

Lin Zhen, clad in armor and gripping a sword, stood among the dim forest shadows. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Alright, everyone ready!” the director called out.

When Lin Zhen reopened his eyes, they had become vacant and lifeless.

“Action!”

As soon as the director gave the cue, Lin Zhen staggered forward, feeling his way through the dark. Behind him, someone worriedly glanced at the ominous sky and called out, “General! It looks like a storm is coming. The forest is dangerous—please take care of yourself!”

Clenching his teeth, Lin Zhen responded, “Don’t worry about me. I must rescue my sister!”

Though blind, Lin Zhen’s other senses had grown sharper. He could smell the metallic tang of rain in the air, feel the mountain’s fierce winds against his skin, and hear the distant rumble of thunder.

As the storm approached, he paused for a moment, letting out a self-deprecating laugh before plunging forward with renewed determination.

He had come with the resolve to die. The thought of survival never crossed his mind.

If lightning truly struck him down, so be it. It would simply be fate—heaven’s judgment on his family.

Seeing Lin Zhen’s determination, the deputy generals had no choice but to follow.

Playing a blind character, Lin Zhen had to ignore any obstacles in his path. Even when he saw tree branches in his way, he reached out to grab them without hesitation.

It wasn’t long before he felt the sharp sting of a branch cutting into his palm.

At the height of one’s emotions, pain becomes imperceptible.

The director signaled to the crew, and the water truck’s nozzles unleashed a torrential downpour on Lin Zhen and the others.

In an instant, rain poured relentlessly. The water seeped through Lin Zhen’s armor, soaking his inner garments. The already cumbersome costume became even heavier.

Lin Zhen pressed on purely through willpower, dragging himself through the mountain forest while wearing the waterlogged outfit.

But trouble seldom comes alone. Shortly after their journey began, Lin Zhen’s team unexpectedly collided head-on with the male lead’s patrol unit.

Both sides were instantly inflamed with hostility. Without hesitation, they clashed fiercely amidst the rain-soaked forest.

Lin Zhen’s character, once a highly skilled general, had seen his martial prowess greatly diminished after losing his sight. Now, with the heavy rain impairing his hearing, he struggled even more to locate his enemies.

The once heroic youth, who had dominated battlefields, was now held back by a mere patrol team.

Before long, Lin Zhen’s helmet fell, his armor was in tatters, and exhaustion overcame him.

He knelt heavily on the ground, supporting himself with his sword. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Though his eyes remained vacant, his entire demeanor exuded an overwhelming sense of sorrow and solitude.

It was beautiful—achingly beautiful.

Jian Fu was momentarily spellbound.

Lin Zhen’s hair came loose, cascading down as rainwater dripped steadily from the tips.

Raindrops mixed with the blood at the corner of his lips, washing it away into his disheveled clothing.

His thin eyelids trembled faintly, teetering on the brink of collapse. Lightning flashed, illuminating his pale face, making him resemble a ghostly, enchanting figure. He appeared fragile yet defiant, leaning on his sword for support.

The camera captured his face as he lifted it, gazing upwards in a posture that bordered on submission.

In the story, he was looking up at the heavens in despair. On set, however, he was staring into the black void of the camera lens.

The scene carried an indescribable allure, leaving Jian Fu holding his breath.

At that moment, he finally understood what Sister Mei had meant by the director’s ability to capture such moments.

Under the director’s guidance and framing, Lin Zhen was utterly captivating—his misery and beauty transcended gender. Jian Fu felt an almost uncontrollable urge to hold him close, to comfort and kiss him.

For the first time, Jian Fu fully grasped the magnetic appeal of Lin Zhen as an actor.

The scene was moving enough to linger in memory, a performance worthy of pride.

Jian Fu had seen Lin Zhen’s brilliance on stage before, but now he was witnessing Lin Zhen’s complete immersion in his craft.

At that moment, Lin Zhen seemed to shine in Jian Fu’s eyes. He had never been so entranced by anyone before.

“Cut! That’s a wrap!”

The director’s voice broke the spell. Instantly, the water truck stopped, and the actors collapsed onto the ground, throwing aside their weapons in exhaustion. Lin Zhen remained kneeling, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Jian Fu snapped out of his daze, hurriedly running over with a large towel.

The makeup assistants helped remove Lin Zhen’s heavy armor. Jian Fu shook out the towel and wrapped Lin Zhen snugly.

Lin Zhen lowered his gaze, obediently curling up in Jian Fu’s arms. In that moment, Jian Fu felt as if he were sheltering a small, proud yet battered tiger under his wings.

The indescribable impulse he had felt earlier was now fully satisfied.

The high-altitude location had a significant temperature drop between day and night. Coming out of the scene, Lin Zhen couldn’t help but shiver from the cold.

Soaked to the bone, with his hair clinging to his face, Lin Zhen was quickly half-supported, half-carried by Jian Fu to the heater.

Wrapped tightly in the towel, Lin Zhen huddled near the warmth, finally stopping his trembling after a while.

He stretched out a hand, casting a glance at Jian Fu, hinting, “My hands are freezing.”

“Does this help?” Jian Fu immediately took Lin Zhen’s hands and pressed them into his own chest for warmth.

“Ah—” Lin Zhen winced slightly, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

Jian Fu quickly let go of Lin Zhen’s hands, only then noticing the small cuts on his fingers and palms.

Lin Zhen said, “It’s nothing, just minor scratches. They’ve already stopped bleeding. Just keep warming them for a while.”

“I’ve got calluses all over my hands, but why are yours so soft?” Jian Fu muttered as he carefully took Lin Zhen’s hands again and tucked them back into his chest.

“Nonsense. I’ve played so many instruments; you have no idea how many calluses I’ve gotten.” Lin Zhen instantly felt the warmth spread through him. Sitting face to face with Jian Fu by the heater, the orange glow of the fire danced across their faces.

“They’re soft—I think they’re soft,” Jian Fu insisted.

Lin Zhen shook his head, too lazy to argue, and started gently intertwining his fingers with Jian Fu’s, playing idly. The two teased each other, one poking here, the other scratching there, as if the moment could stretch forever.

The harshness of their surroundings—the uneven mountain terrain, the crude filming setup, the chilly night breeze, and the tangle of branches—didn’t seem to matter to Lin Zhen.

He felt content. He had nailed a critical scene in one take, and now he was sitting by the fire with Jian Fu, whose eyes sparkled with his reflection.

It felt as if the whole mountain had faded away, leaving only the two of them.

Of course, this fleeting moment of intimacy was soon interrupted.

A crew member came barreling over, shouting loudly, “Lin Zhen! There are more than ten fans waiting for you outside the set all night. Do you want to go see them?”

Fans often came to visit the set, whether for the leads or for Lin Zhen himself.

Although the production team discouraged such visits to avoid leaks, it was hard to stop them completely, so they chose to turn a blind eye. Fortunately, fans these days were more mindful and refrained from revealing filming details.

“I’ll go take a look,” Lin Zhen said, withdrawing his hand from Jian Fu’s chest. He gave Jian Fu a light nudge with his shoulder. “Wait for me.”

Jian Fu felt his heart itch at the nudge. He wrapped an arm around Lin Zhen’s waist and back, helping him up, and teasing, “Hurry up, little brother. Big sister has been waiting for you all night too.”

Lin Zhen couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop messing around—you’re so annoying.”

After warming himself by the fire, Lin Zhen felt much better. Following the crew member to the edge of the set, he waved to his fans.

The fans erupted with enthusiasm.

“Ahhh, Zhenbao!”

 “Zhenbao, your performance was amazing! We heard the director say you nailed it in one take!”

 “Take care of yourself, Zhenbao! You’ve gotten so thin—eat more!”

 “Zhenbao, are you cold? Your hair’s still wet—don’t catch a cold!”

….

Lin Zhen smiled warmly. “A little cold, but it depends on whether the director wants to reshoot any scenes.”

“Then go back to the fire quickly! We’re fine; we just wanted to check on you. We were worried about the rough conditions here.”

“I’m doing great. You girls, be careful and stay safe. It’s late—head back to the city early, okay?”

After a few words of advice, the director called him over to review the footage. Lin Zhen quickly took a photo with his fans before rushing off.

As soon as he left, the fans huddled together, chatting excitedly:

“Did you see that? That guy wrapped Zhenbao in a towel and even warmed his hands with his body heat!”

 “Yes, yes! Zhenbao looked so happy when he nudged him and smiled at him like that.”

 “Ahhh, I’m dead. Even my boyfriend doesn’t treat me that well.”

 “Hey, did you notice how naturally he wrapped his arm around Zhenbao’s waist? Like he’s done it a million times. I heard they’re even sharing a hotel room.”

“Hold up, you two! That guy isn’t just anyone. He’s the son of the president of the Blue Pivot District One. I heard he’s the one who got Whale Sea to sponsor this project. Don’t go spreading rumors and making things awkward for Zhenbao and his friend.”

“Relax, we know they’re just good buddies. We’re just fangirling for fun—who’d take it seriously?”

Who’d take it seriously?