Chapter 7 Signing the Contract

The atmosphere on set was so bizarre that Lu Chunqiu’s mind spun with countless speculations. These included, but were not limited to, worries that her adorable charge had caught the director’s eye for some unsavory backroom dealings, or that the poor thing was being bullied by other actors for being too handsome, or perhaps was stuck shooting endless slapping scenes simply for lacking connections.

With such thoughts swirling, Lu Chunqiu steeled herself for the sight of a pitiful, battered Mo Fei. She rehearsed in her mind the tone she would use to convey her fearless, rebellious spirit against authority. But what she saw was Mo Fei sitting comfortably with Director Wang, both cradling teacups and laughing together.

Lu Chunqiu’s mind short-circuited. What kind of scene was this? Where was her little darling, her pitiful charge? He looked perfectly normal. Did this person even know what fear meant? He hadn’t seemed nervous at the police station, and now, opposite a veteran director like Wang—someone who could shut down their careers with a word—he was just chatting away?

Lu Chunqiu couldn’t quite comprehend it. At first, she hadn’t pegged Mo Fei as a social butterfly. He was supposed to be an introverted recluse. As she questioned her reality, Mo Fei noticed her, and his smile brightened, “Lu, you’re here!”

Director Wang followed Mo Fei’s gaze. He hadn’t seen this young manager before. Lu Chunqiu realized now wasn’t the time to stand dazed, so she stepped forward to exchange pleasantries with Director Wang.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Director Wang. I’m afraid Mo Fei might have caused you some trouble.”

Director Wang waved it off. “Trouble? Not at all. Quite the opposite—Mo Fei has brought me many surprises.”

“Um, we haven’t signed the contract yet, have we?” Director Wang turned and shouted to the script supervisor, “Print me a contract for the fifth male lead!”

Jiang Shaoyu had recommended Mo Fei, and now that Director Wang was satisfied, it was settled for good. Hearing about the contract, Mo Fei’s smile grew even more genuine. “Once the contract’s signed, does that mean I’ll get paid?”

Lu Chunqiu elbowed him, “Is that any way to talk?”

Director Wang chuckled, rubbing his belly, “Of course you’ll be paid. I’m not some evil capitalist who withholds wages. It’s just that the filming schedule will be tight, so keep your calendar clear.”

Let’s get the shoot done quickly. On the very first day, they’d already found an arm—who knows what else might turn up if filming drags on. Maybe a smashed skull next. What a bad omen.

“I’ve got plenty of free time,” Mo Fei muttered, only to be silenced by Lu Chunqiu’s sharp glare. In this industry, appearances are everything; even if you have no schedule, you shouldn’t admit it outright.

Director Wang had lived through enough to know all these unwritten rules, but he didn’t care much. He pulled out his phone. “Let’s add each other on WeChat. There might be chances to work together again in the future.”

Lu Chunqiu was nearly dizzy with delight at the surprise. Director Wang’s status combined with hers was a leap to the top. She fumbled for her phone, added Director Wang, and made sure to mark his contact with three A’s and pin the chat.

Mo Fei paid them no mind, flipping through the freshly printed contract from the script supervisor. He was pleased with the salary column. Not quite what the top stars earned, but far more than his old jobs. He could finally say goodbye to instant noodles.

His joy was obvious, and Lu Chunqiu’s embarrassment made her toes curl. “Sorry, Director Wang, it’s Mo Fei’s first time on a big production—he might be a bit too happy.”

“No trouble at all,” Director Wang replied, his eyes full of appreciation as he gazed at Mo Fei. “There’s nothing shameful about earning money. Who doesn’t love it? I certainly do.”

Lu Chunqiu immediately changed her tune, “Exactly! Mo Fei, you should learn from Director Wang!”

Mo Fei was considering whether to repair his phone or simply buy a new one, and nodded politely.

Once the contract was signed, a police car pulled into the film base. Only six or seven minutes had passed since Mo Fei called the police—a testament to Officer Xiao Xu and his team’s swift response.

Other crews heard the sirens and grew curious.

“Which set is in trouble this time?”
“Did someone cut the wire or take drugs?”
“They came blaring in—maybe some stalker followed the lead actor and stabbed someone?”

Other directors were annoyed and cursed, “What are you staring at? Never seen a cop before? Stick around this business long enough and you’ll see the disciplinary committee too!”

“Get back to work! Every second the equipment runs costs money!”

Human nature craves excitement.

Director Wang, wanting to keep his set peaceful, immediately issued a gag order. Otherwise, the paparazzi would soon flood in, blocking even police vehicles.

Arriving at the scene were Officer Xiao Xu—the same one they’d met that morning—the elder officer, and a middle-aged man carrying a box.

This time, their demeanor was grave. The elder officer began by asking where the arm was, who discovered it first, and how it was found. Officer Xiao Xu snapped photos of the prop, while the man with the box donned gloves and carefully placed the arm inside, the box still steaming cold.

Mo Fei’s mind wandered, thinking, “That thing could chill plum juice as well as it stores arms.”

Lu Chunqiu, after frequent trips to the station to bail Mo Fei out, was calm even in the face of police, and tugged at Mo Fei, hoping to ask what was going on. But now was clearly not the time for gossip.

The elder officer questioned the prop master. The arm had been mixed in with a pile of prop limbs—the kind any battle royale production would have in abundance. The prop master, preparing for filming, had decided to check and organize the props. As she sorted through them, she found the arm.

Usually, prop limbs are made of wood or plastic unless there’s a special need; the best ones are silicone. Closeups are typically of fingers, and arms covered in fabric and fake blood don’t require much detail.

But this arm was different—it was whole, but the fingers were smashed. The young prop girl thought it was ruined and prepared to discard it. When she picked it up, the limp, heavy feel scared her witless.

Prop makers know the difference between real and fake. She screamed, alerting the whole set. Even the prop team leader was stunned.

They’d joked over drinks about making arms and legs all day, fearing one day a real limb might slip in. Who would have thought the joke would come true?

Officer Xiao Xu circled the area. The props room, freshly opened for filming, was a chaotic mess; to an outsider, it could easily be mistaken for a garbage dump. With so many people coming and going, there were no visible clues—only the surveillance footage might help.

Director Wang had resigned himself, lamenting that on the very first day of shooting, they’d run into such trouble. What a terrible omen.