Chapter Thirty-Five: The Charismatic Elder, Pausing Online

Li Shixin had just finished his game of cards and walked downstairs when he heard the screech of brakes at the entrance to the residential complex.

A large group of people spilled out of the car, their hair greasy and their eyes ringed with blue-black circles, looking for all the world like a horde of junior zombies straight out of a horror film. Led by Li Xiaomeng, who was still trembling in her rabbit slippers, they entered the complex.

Seeing this spectacle, Li Shixin stood at the entrance to the building, hands clasped behind his back.

“Sister Ying, they insisted on coming. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t,” Li Xiaomeng said, pitifully, upon seeing Zhang Ying at the doorway.

“Hello, I’m Jiao Chendong, director of the Spring Dawn film crew. Are you the person in charge of Zhang Ying Studio?”

From the crowd, Jiao Chendong stepped forward.

“Ah, yes, I’m Zhang Ying.” Zhang Ying hurriedly took the extended hand and gave it a gentle shake.

“The props yesterday were simply stunning! I’ve been a director for nearly ten years, and I’ve handled three period dramas. Never have I seen such thoughtful props. Young lady, your studio taught us a lesson yesterday!”

Jiao Chendong’s face was marked by dark circles, but he seemed energetic enough.

“Director Jiao, I’m not as skilled as you say.” Zhang Ying smiled faintly, turning to glance at Li Shixin. “Actually, all those props sent to the crew yesterday were processed by my godfather.”

With that, she stepped aside to reveal Li Shixin behind her.

Such commotion in the complex drew the neighbors out, especially those extras who had just been playing mahjong with Zhang Shuo; they gathered to see what was happening.

They pointed and whispered about the crew members standing in the small plaza.

But Jiao Chendong paid no mind, instead carefully sizing up Li Shixin and nodding deeply. “Well, that explains it! I didn’t expect a young lady to have such experience.”

He walked up to Li Shixin and took his hand.

“Sir, to be honest, I have another period drama about to start. After seeing your craftsmanship yesterday, I was so excited I couldn't sleep all night. I’ve brought all the prop masters from the crew today, hoping you could enlighten us about props for period dramas and share stories from that era.”

Li Shixin chuckled.

A period drama… About to start filming…

All right!

He raised his white eyebrows and waved his hand. “Director, you flatter me. When it comes to props, I’m really just an amateur, self-taught, tinkering on my own.”

No sooner had Li Shixin finished than one of the prop masters protested, “Sir, you’re being too modest! The pieces you tinkered together made the director scold us for not being dedicated enough.”

“Yes, sir, after the director spoke to us last night, I took a closer look at your props. No complaints—the work was beautiful. The aging techniques and lacquer treatments were superb! If you claim you taught yourself… I’d never believe it, not in a thousand years.”

Seeing the group of prop masters with expressions that seemed to say, “How can this old man be so evasive?” Li Shixin shook his head.

He searched his memory and spoke slowly, “I wasn’t lying. I really never formally studied prop making. When I was young, I worked in a drama troupe. Times were hard, so we made our own props for performances. If you want to talk about mentorship… Our troupe was near the film studio, and when we weren’t performing, we’d wander over there. There was a prop master named Chen Deming who often had us work for him…”

“Wait—hold on, sir.” A prop master in his thirties suddenly froze. “Who did you say?”

“Chen Deming?”

Li Shixin blinked. “That’s right.”

“Forgive me for asking, is that… the one from the August First Studio?”

Li Shixin nodded.

“Ah!” The prop master drew a sharp breath, suddenly straightening from his slouched posture. Under the puzzled gazes of those around him, he bowed deeply at ninety degrees. “Master, I was disrespectful earlier.”

His abrupt gesture left everyone nearby bewildered.

A younger prop master, confused, asked, “Teacher, who did the old man mention?”

“Chen Deming from the August First Studio! The former deputy director who passed away a few years ago! He was a national treasure in our prop circle! Don’t you remember? All those things I told you—you never paid attention! When they shot 'The Founding Ceremony,' the director's team studied the archival footage and realized that a mural called 'The Wall of Flesh and Blood' had already been destroyed, but it was essential for the opening scene to match historical reality. Chen Deming recreated the four-meter oil painting from a few scraps of footage in just two weeks! After the film was finished, the painting was taken by the authorities. The one now hanging in the museum isn’t the original—it’s a prop masterpiece created by a prop master!”

A collective gasp followed.

With this reminder, everyone recalled the story.

They’d endured a sleepless night before coming here, and each harbored some resentment, but hearing about the old man’s pedigree, they stood up straighter.

Li Shixin waved his hand nonchalantly. “It’s nothing. Chen Deming always said that in the prop trade, there’s no talk of mentorship or seniority. Skill comes down to sharp minds, dexterous hands, and a willingness to learn. If there’s anything else, it’s whether you put your heart into it. Props and costumes may be behind the scenes, but if you put your heart in, you’ll find that a prop master’s craft is no less than an actor’s performance.”

The prop masters nodded in agreement.

The craft of props covers such a broad spectrum of knowledge; basic handiwork requires physics and chemistry, artistic props demand art and even classical studies, ancient props involve history and archaeology, and science fiction props need boundless imagination.

Yet, the status of prop masters in film crews and their recognition in the domestic film industry remain low.

Li Shixin’s words hit home for them.

But Jiao Chendong smacked his lips in frustration.

The old man spoke profound truths, but he hadn’t said anything about period dramas!

What Jiao valued was not Li Shixin’s prop skills, but his knowledge of the details of life in the 1970s.

“Master, I think everyone understands the theory. Could you talk about the seventies? Like…” He pulled from his pocket a thimble riddled with holes. “Like this.”

Li Shixin raised an eyebrow. “Oh. There’s plenty to say about such details. For example, the clothes people wore then. Nowadays, the young leads in dramas are often dressed in military overcoats, and they look sharp, but back then, who could afford such clothes? Even cadres wouldn’t wear them as everyday attire! And some of the slogans shown in seventies dramas are so wrong it’s ridiculous! These seemingly minor details, if not presented accurately, prevent the audience from immersing themselves in that unique environment… For instance…”

Li Shixin rambled on, and the more Jiao Chendong listened, the brighter his eyes became.

Real substance!

This was the real deal!

Imagine these details on screen—what a scene that would be!

For every point Li Shixin mentioned, Jiao jotted it down in his notebook. His excitement mounted as he filled two pages, already envisioning how these period elements would enrich the plot.

Then, Li Shixin abruptly stopped.

The group was engrossed, but his sudden pause left them itching for more.

“Master, please go on! This is the best part!”

Li Shixin ignored their urging, only chuckling.

“No, I’m too old—my memory isn’t what it used to be. One moment I remember, the next I forget.”

“Tsk.”

Jiao Chendong looked at the old man squinting and grinning; he hardly seemed like someone suffering from memory loss.

“Sir, perhaps you should rest a bit?”

“Even after resting, I won’t remember.”

Jiao Chendong grew anxious. “How can you remember, then?”

Li Shixin cleared his throat. “Director, actually… I’m not a prop master. I’m an actor.”

At this, Zhang Shuo beside him was momentarily stunned before breaking into a grin.

As everyone in the yard wondered what Li Shixin was up to, he spoke in a slow, deliberate tone.

“If you can give me a supporting role in your new production, I’ll be happy—and then I’ll surely remember. If not, well, maybe it’s just senile dementia and I won’t remember a thing.”

“……”

Jiao Chendong was petrified.

He was itching to act, but also wanted to strangle the old man.

Where did he learn such tricks?

This was the classic cliffhanger routine!

In the courtyard, over a hundred extras with no jobs clenched their fists.

Sir, your method of landing a role is impressive!

Beep.

A soft chime rang in Li Shixin’s mind.

Received a wave of cheers imbued with [Utter Admiration], 14,302!