Most of “Crane Umbrella” was filmed in the United States, with only a few scenes shot in Paris towards the end.

When Cheng Ping joined the crew, he brought along a personal assistant and a translator who also served as his language coach. His manager also accompanied him, planning to stay with the crew for a while to ensure everything went smoothly before leaving.

The coach was an American girl who spoke Chinese. On the first day of filming, during breakfast, she said, “With your current level, your lines are still problematic, and it will affect your performance. I strongly suggest you seize every opportunity to chat with all crew members, listening and speaking as much as possible.”

Cheng Ping replied, “Wouldn’t that be too awkward?” He imagined himself stammering while the other person tried hard to understand, and his toes started curling with embarrassment.

The coach said, “Afraid of losing face? Let me tell you, the most important thing in learning a language is not to worry about face! When I was learning Chinese, my face was washed away into the Pacific Ocean!”

Cheng Ping: “.”

The coach pointed to the restaurant entrance: “Let’s see your determination, starting with the director.”

The director had just walked in, accompanied by Li Baixi, and they were discussing something.

Li Baixi had arrived half a month earlier. Upon seeing Cheng Ping again, he smiled before speaking: “Morning.”

Following his gaze, the director saw Cheng Ping and greeted him: “Great, I can see the results of your weight loss.”

Cheng Ping opened his mouth. He didn’t want to show weakness in front of Li Baixi.

The coach whispered encouragement in Chinese: “Don’t worry about your face!”

Li Baixi: “?”

Cheng Ping gritted his teeth and struggled to find the right words: “I… have been a vegetarian for a month.”

He managed to say it!

The director looked impressed and praised him: “Wow, that must have been tough.”

The director’s biggest concern about Cheng Ping was his lines. Seeing him so dedicated and noticeably improved, his confidence surged.

Cheng Ping breathed a sigh of relief.

He knew the coach was right. To improve his speaking skills quickly, he had to put aside his embarrassment.

So, on the first day of filming, Li Baixi noticed that the once unsociable Cheng Ping had turned into a social butterfly, flitting around the crew.

Cheng Ping chatted with the photographer about the weather, discussed dinner plans with the script supervisor, and talked about hometowns with the extras. He welcomed everyone with sincerity, and when he forgot a word, he would gesture enthusiastically.

The crew members remarked that they had never seen such an eager socializer.

During a makeup touch-up, Li Baixi asked him: “What’s going on?”

Cheng Ping, looking lifeless, replied: “I love learning. Learning makes me happy.”

Li Baixi understood and laughed: “I thought you had changed overnight.”

He silently observed for a few days and found that only two people escaped Cheng Ping’s social spree.

One was the actor playing the painter, a literary film god named Albert, with melancholic blue eyes and an aristocratic aura of detachment, not one to easily mingle with colleagues.

Since reading the intimate scenes between their characters in the script and seeing Albert’s handsome face, Li Baixi had felt a thorn in his side.

Cheng Ping commented, “He doesn’t chat. He responds one sentence for every three spoken to him, and his fake smile shows he’s a pretentious prick.”

Li Baixi, insincerely: “Maybe he’s just introverted.”

Looks like he won’t need to make him look ugly during the styling tomorrow, Li Baixi thought generously.

The other person Cheng Ping avoided was the assistant director.

Logically, with the film already shooting, the assistant director’s bias in casting should no longer be an issue. They had no past grudges, and both were just working for a living, with no reason for conflict.

But the assistant director just didn’t like him.

Though their interactions were limited, whenever they did cross paths, trouble followed.

The assistant director always pretended not to understand Cheng Ping’s English, repeatedly asking, “Sorry, can you say that again?”

If he had to take an actor somewhere, he would find an excuse to leave halfway, pointing Cheng Ping in a usually wrong direction.

These petty acts, taken individually, were minor and calculated to ensure Cheng Ping couldn’t make a fuss.

Cheng Ping couldn’t understand the source of the animosity.

What he didn’t know was that the assistant director was having an affair with the female script supervisor.

Whenever Cheng Ping was awkwardly chatting with the script supervisor to practice his English, the assistant director would stand in the corner, looking sullen.

He had reproached the script supervisor, only to be mocked in return. As revenge, she flirted with Cheng Ping even more.

Thus, unknowingly, Cheng Ping became a tool and a target of resentment.

The assistant director was a long-time follower of the director, trusted deeply by him. Knowing that Cheng Ping couldn’t challenge him, he grew increasingly bold.

Cheng Ping could only grit his teeth and bear it, unable to confront him in a foreign country with his limited language skills.

One day, the crew finally got the ideal rainy weather and adjusted the schedule to shoot Hiro’s mother’s funeral.

The funeral was simple. The woman’s disreputable profession meant no relatives attended, leaving the painter to help Hiro bury her.

By then, the painter had become famous overnight with a portrait of Hiro and was striving to enter high society. He was both sad and satisfied because Hiro, having lost his mother and last blood connection, could only rely on his protection. He wiped his tears with a handkerchief, taking on the role of protector with some solemnity.

Hiro, on the other hand, stood silent, watching the coffin being lowered into the ground.

Perhaps due to the artistic nature of the film, the director’s instructions to Cheng Ping were quite abstract: “Your sadness is too real, like someone experiencing a sudden tragedy. But a boy who has suffered so much wouldn’t express despair this way. His expression should be lighter than a cloud.”

Cheng Ping couldn’t imagine what “lighter than a cloud” looked like.

He shot several takes in the drizzle, and his perpetually hungry and exhausted body began to protest.

The more uncomfortable he felt, the more irritable he became, and the harder it was to achieve the desired lightness. He felt like a lead weight.

After another take, the director frowned: “Let’s break for lunch.”

Cheng Ping returned to the trailer, had his assistant dry his wet hair, and groggily ate some salad for lunch. Someone knocked on the door to inform him: “Mr. Cheng, we’ll reconvene at 1:50 PM.”

Cheng Ping’s head throbbed, and without paying attention to who was speaking, he replied, “Okay.”

He set an alarm, told his assistant to keep quiet, and fell asleep.

It felt like he had just closed his eyes when the assistant woke him up: “Boss, they’re calling you over, saying you’re late…”

Cheng Ping’s head hurt even more. He cursed, checked his phone, and saw it was 1:30 PM.

He ran to the set and saw everyone already there. “Sorry, I was told 1:50 PM.”

The director looked at the assistant director.

The assistant director shrugged: “I said 1:15 PM.”

Cheng Ping: “…”

Cheng Ping stared at him: “I remember clearly; you said 1:50.”

The assistant director raised his hands in surrender: “Okay, you misheard. It’s no big deal.”

Cheng Ping could feel his patience snapping.

He clenched his fists, ready to argue but hesitated, fearing his language skills would let him down. He scanned the crowd, hoping to call for his coach.

Instead, he saw Li Baixi.

Li Baixi looked at him and subtly shook his head.

Cheng Ping: “.”

He took a deep breath, pieced together his shattered patience, and ignored the assistant director, heading to his mark.

The assistant director, left standing, raised an eyebrow at the director, who patted him to calm the situation and announced, “Action.”

The coffin slowly descended again.

Standing in the rain, Cheng Ping began to tremble, unable to contain his anger.

Albert, following the script, placed a hand on Cheng Ping’s shoulder and, noticing something was wrong, stopped acting and touched his forehead: “You’re burning up.”

Cheng Ping was stunned and touched his own forehead, realizing he was indeed feverish.

Albert turned to the director: “He’s sick and needs rest.”

Cheng Ping: “It’s just a cold, I can continue.”

The assistant director chimed in: “Go back to the hotel and rest. You’re sick, so it’s understandable you wanted more sleep. There’s no need to pretend you misheard the call time…”

The malice in his words was barely concealed.

Something snapped again.

This time, not even the king of heaven could stop Cheng Ping. He roared: “You said 1:50. Why can’t you admit it? Afraid people will know you’re a (muted) liar?”

He said it fluently, surprisingly so.

The assistant director remained unfazed, feigning helplessness: “Let’s just say I misspoke.”

Cheng Ping: “You—”

Someone grabbed him.

Li Baixi half-forcedly supported him and turned him around: “Director, I’ll take him back.”

Cheng Ping struggled but couldn’t break free. Li Baixi’s strength was astonishing, or perhaps Cheng Ping was too weak from hunger.

Li Baixi spoke in Chinese: “Don’t make a scene.”

He escorted Cheng Ping back to the hotel room, even calling his manager on the way.

In the room, Cheng Ping collapsed on the bed. Li Baixi went to the bathroom,

 fetched a towel, and handed it to him: “Dry yourself off and change clothes.”

Cheng Ping quietly complied.

Li Baixi held a hairdryer and dried his hair.

Cheng Ping, no longer trembling, asked flatly: “Didn’t you believe me earlier?”

Li Baixi: “Of course I believe you.”

But Cheng Ping didn’t believe him: “Then why didn’t you let me argue?”

The manager hurried in with medicine, seeing Li Baixi drying Cheng Ping’s hair. Li Baixi calmly put away the hairdryer, took the medicine from her, and thanked her: “Thank you.”

Manager: “…”

What right do you have to thank me for Cheng Ping?

Li Baixi then explained to Cheng Ping: “Both sides lack evidence. Arguing won’t resolve it. If you want to compete for the director’s trust, you might lose.”

Cheng Ping: “But…”

Li Baixi: “There are a thousand ways to deal with someone. Why choose mutual destruction?”

The manager gave him a curious look.

Li Baixi thought for a moment and pulled out his phone: “Let me check his social media. His affair with the script supervisor seems like a secret. Don’t you find that odd?”

Cheng Ping, dizzy from the fever, couldn’t grasp it: “The script supervisor? They have a relationship?”

Manager sighed: “Haven’t you been chatting with everyone recently? How did you miss this gossip?”

Li Baixi chuckled: “It’s fine. A little naivety saves worry.”

Cheng Ping: “?”

Li Baixi: “Got it. His relationship status says ‘in a relationship.'”

Manager leaned in: “Could it be outdated?”

Li Baixi: “No, he interacted with his girlfriend yesterday.”

Manager squinted: “If his girlfriend finds out he’s cheating, she’ll be furious.”

Li Baixi: “But if she quietly breaks up, it’ll be too kind to him.”

Manager suddenly asked: “When’s his birthday?”

Li Baixi checked his phone: “Not during our shoot. But there’s a Valentine’s Day.”

Manager immediately understood: “We can plan a surprise for him.”

They exchanged a knowing look.

After a moment, Li Baixi commented: “You’re quite something.”

Manager admitted: “You’re not bad yourself.”

Cheng Ping: “???”