Chapter 57: Miracle Momo

Lu Chunqiu still felt uneasy about Mo Fei.

Although he appeared clear-headed, articulate, and showed no sign of aftereffects, the fact remained—he was talking to a cat! What sort of normal person talks to a cat?

She pondered whether she should take Mo Fei to the hospital for another check-up. What if those mushrooms had damaged his brain?

Mo Fei scratched at his neck, looking rather uncomfortable.

“Take that thing off,” Lu Chunqiu said, frowning at the studded collar. “That one you just looked at, I’ll buy it for you—as a celebration for landing your first leading role.”

On hearing there was a gift, Mo Fei’s ears perked up. “Do you mean it?”

Lu Chunqiu sighed helplessly. “I mean it.”

The next second, Mo Fei yanked off the studded collar and tossed it aside.

A red ring had formed around his neck, with marks where he’d scratched—a jarring sight.

“Tsk.” Lu Chunqiu shook her head in exasperation.

Mo Fei pulled out his phone and began tapping away. “I’m leaving a bad review—has to be a bad review.”

Cheap was one thing, but stabbing his neck was another.

Just as he unlocked his phone, an incoming call flashed on the screen.

“Ji Xingyu?” Mo Fei blinked, then tapped to answer.

“Thank heavens, I finally got through to you.” Ji Xingyu’s voice buzzed through the receiver, slightly distorted. “Are you alright? I heard you ended up in the hospital?”

“I’m not dead. The mushrooms were delicious, I’d totally eat them again,” Mo Fei replied, earning a glare from Lu Chunqiu.

Ji Xingyu didn’t quite know how to react to his stubbornly reckless attitude. After a pause, he said, “If you really like mushrooms, I’ll take you to Yun City someday to try them.”

At least in Yun City, they had the most professional mushroom-poisoning treatment teams.

“That would be wonderful,” Mo Fei replied with a bright smile. “Was there something else you needed?”

“Yes.” Ji Xingyu’s tone grew serious. “That film, ‘The King Who Wore Prada,’ has a fake long shot—the sequence where the protagonist changes outfits repeatedly on the way to work. Director Qian wants to shoot that part first.”

“See if you can clear a few days to try on costumes and shoot that segment.”

“Alright.”

Mo Fei was more than eager for this million-yuan job, though he was still a bit puzzled. “But—why start with that scene?”

“It’s because…” Ji Xingyu sounded a little embarrassed even explaining it. “Because we haven’t found any of the other actors yet. We can only shoot your solo scenes for now.”

Mo Fei frowned and mulled it over, but in the end, he agreed.

After he hung up, Lu Chunqiu, who’d been sitting across from him, finally spoke up. “You’re the only actor?”

She grabbed her bag, rummaging for her phone. “No way, I have to get Director Qian to finalize the contract. What if they lose interest and call the whole thing off? All our hard work would be for nothing.”

She dialed as she walked out, but didn’t forget to remind Mo Fei before leaving: “You stay home, no going out. Wait till you’ve fully recovered from your mushroom episode before thinking about work.”

“And those two tacky studded collars, throw them out, will you? Just looking at them annoys me.”

She continued talking as she walked out the door, her voice drifting back: “Remember to eat dinner tonight! Don’t you dare try to save money by skipping meals—you can afford it now!”

“Okay!” Mo Fei responded loudly.

Once the door closed, silence fell over the room.

‘Mo Fei, let’s discuss your little act of falsely passing off my wishes,’ came a voice.

A Slit leapt onto the dining table, green eyes gazing steadily at Mo Fei.

Mo Fei clutched his head, groaning. “Am I still not awake, or is the mushroom toxin still in my system? I’m actually seeing a cat talk. I’m doomed, doomed…”

A Slit: …

Shameless people are invincible.

The next day, Ji Xingyu drove over to pick Mo Fei up for costume fittings.

Once in the car, Mo Fei first replied to Officer Xiao Xu’s message of concern, confirming he was willing to accept financial compensation. Then he switched off his phone and focused entirely on work.

This pseudo-long-shot wasn’t exactly difficult to film—but it wasn’t easy either.

After all, it was a fake long shot, so it wasn’t as demanding on the actors and director as a real one would be.

But this crew was anything but ordinary, so if you thought it would be easy, you’d be sorely mistaken.

They hit a snag right from the start.

Director Qian had roped in two friends to help with styling—a guy with a tiny ponytail and glasses, and a short-haired girl with tattooed arms.

The guy was a fashion design student in charge of wardrobe, while the girl, an oil painting student, was responsible for makeup. The two immediately butted heads.

The guy picked Morandi-hued outfits, aiming for a sophisticated, high-end look.

The girl’s makeup was bold and experimental—pure avant-garde.

She said his outfits were too drab and lacked flair; he said her makeup was so outlandish it’d never be seen on anyone’s morning commute.

Neither would yield, each convinced their way was the right one, and Director Qian just grinned, calling it a creative collision—maybe their arguing would spark new inspiration.

Mo Fei soon found himself dragged into this battlefield, as both sides decided to try their own ideas and see which worked best.

Then Ji Xingyu was pulled in as well—they needed to see how things looked under proper lighting.

Mo Fei felt like a childhood dress-up doll, swapping outfits without emotion, while they painted the strangest things on his face.

They bickered and snapped photos nonstop. Mo Fei cycled through more than twenty different costumes and accessories, feeling utterly transformed.

He’d never imagined that getting dressed could be so exhausting.

He’d once envied models for only needing to stand around without delivering lines and still earning a paycheck. Now, he realized every job had its own challenges.

During lunch, the two stylists called a temporary truce. Huddled over takeout boxes with the director, lighting, and camera crew, they scrolled through the photos they’d just taken.

Mo Fei had lost even the heart to gossip. He wolfed down two portions of food, finally feeling a little satisfied, only to look up and find himself the focus of a round of curious, varied gazes.

Mo Fei: … He couldn’t shake the feeling of a chill crawling up his back.

In the end, their solution was to shoot everything!

Every outfit, every scene—they’d film them all, and use whichever looked best in the final edit.

Apart from being a bit of a strain on time, money, and the actor, it was the best of both worlds.

Fortunately, they weren’t short on time or money—just the actor had to bear the brunt.

Mo Fei knew he was being paid for this, so he had no right to complain. Even as his eyes glazed over from exhaustion, he pressed on.

A background actor earned a hundred a day, and with so many extras, plus rent and utilities—even though he wasn’t footing the bill, Mo Fei felt the pinch.

Near the end of the day, a fashionable woman strode up to the monitor, sunglasses perched on her nose and heels clicking.

She watched the lively Mo Fei on screen and smiled. “This is looking great.”

Director Qian straightened up, a little flustered. “Mom, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see whether you were just pulling together some random footage to fob me off,” Mrs. Qian said, her tone gentle and gracious.