msmithbooks Chapter 342: A Glimpse Under the Divine Tree
Chapter 342: A Glimpse Under the Divine Tree
Chapter 342: A Glimpse Under the Divine Tree
The screening room was utterly silent.
Only the lingering echo of Zhang Mouyi's command to "turn off the lights" still hung emptily overhead.
No one spoke, and no one moved out of place.
"What on earth is this old man trying to do?"
Old Zhou clenched the wad of soaked tissue in his palm.
If they played another scene of A Li crying at the grave,
he swore that even if it meant being blacklisted in the industry, he would write a ten-thousand-word denunciation tonight to tear this film crew to shreds!
Just as everyone's patience was on the verge of snapping.
The previously silent screen lit up.
Only a few clear, crisp sounds of cicadas chirping.
"Zhi liao—zhi liao—"
Immediately after, a shade of green so dense it seemed to melt, rudely forced its way into their field of vision.
A swath of life so verdant it could cleanse the soul.
That once grotesquely shaped Divine Tree was now lush with foliage, swaying gently in the warm breeze.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, sprinkling specks of golden light onto the grass.
The camera slowly panned down.
Under the tree's shade, a simple yet warm little wooden hut had appeared at some unknown moment.
In the clearing before the hut, several bamboo winnowing baskets were placed.
Su Qingying, portraying A Li, wore the plainest linen clothes, her sleeves rolled up high, revealing fair arms.
She was looking down, intently turning over and sun-drying the medicinal herbs in the baskets.
Her movements were practiced, exuding a sense of stability belonging to ordinary days.
"This... what place is this?"
"It's an illusion, right? This must be A Li's life flashing before her eyes before she dies..."
"Don't believe it! Absolutely don't believe it! That old thief Zhang Mouyi is rotten to the core. The sweeter it is now, the harder the knife will be later!"
That black fan leader sniffled, staring fixedly at the screen while warning those around him in a trembling voice.
Everyone was like startled birds, too afraid of being stabbed by the plot.
Even though the scene before them was as beautiful as a painting, they instinctively tensed up, waiting for the cruel blow of that "moment of waking from the dream."
On the screen.
A Li's hands, busy turning the herbs, suddenly stilled.
She sensed something, lifting her head in response to a silent call.
She straightened her back, raising a hand to wipe the fine sweat from her temple.
Then, she slowly raised her head.
In her eyes, there was none of the sorrow everyone had anticipated, nor the weariness one would expect after surviving a calamity.
There was only a kind of... helplessness mixed with a touch of annoyance, yet unable to hide a sense of indulgence.
She looked up towards the dense canopy above.
The camera followed her gaze, moving steadily and resolutely upward.
Passing through layer upon layer of green leaves.
Passing through dancing, shimmering spots of light.
Finally, it settled on a thick, horizontal branch.
There, a person was lying.
Dressed in a loose, casual red robe, no longer a blood-stained battle garment.
Jiang Ci, portraying Ye Chen, lay lazily on the branch, one leg crossed over the other.
His hands were pillowed behind his head, a fluffy foxtail stalk clenched between his teeth,
swaying back and forth in the air to the rhythm of his softly hummed tune.
Noticing the gaze from below, Ye Chen stopped humming.
He slightly turned his body. Those eyes, which had been dull and lifeless in the ending, were now filled with fragmented sunlight.
He spat out the foxtail stalk, looked down, and met A Li's gaze from below the tree.
Raised an eyebrow.
Grinning.
A standard, somewhat roguish, mischievous smile bloomed.
Just a single exchange of glances.
That sense of relief, of "the light boat has already passed ten thousand mountains," that sense of peace and well-being after surviving a disaster,
in this moment, pierced through the screen and struck straight at the heart.
The frame froze on that smile.
The tone warmed, the edges softened.
In the bottom right corner of the screen, two small white characters appeared, their strokes gentle.
—【The End】
The screen returned to darkness.
The screening room remained quiet for three seconds.
Everyone's brains were processing this massive informational reversal.
Really... alive?
Not a dream?
Not an illusion either?
"Fuck!!!"
A loud expletive exploded from the black fan leader's mouth.
The curse held no malice, merely an outburst of pent-up emotion.
"Alive! Really alive! I knew it! The wicked live a thousand years! How could this red-clad monster die so easily!"
He cursed and laughed simultaneously, tears and snot still streaking his face.
"Director Zhang is awesome!!"
"Jiang Ci! Pay me back my tears! I was crying so hard I almost passed out from lack of oxygen!"
"Ahhhh! That look-back smile killed me! Even if it's fake, I accept it!"
"This isn't an easter egg, this is my life-saving elixir!"
Applause, mixed with whistles and cheers, surged forth.
Old Zhou slumped in his chair, feeling as if all the strength had been drained from his body.
He stared at the dark screen and let out a long sigh.
"That old fox..."
Old Zhou muttered a curse under his breath, but the corners of his mouth involuntarily turned upward.
This film review would be easy to write.
He didn't even need to think hard; he already had the title in mind—"On Zhang Mouyi's Hundred Ways to Die and Jiang Ci's God-tier Save."
First row.
Su Qingying stared at the screen, not snapping back to reality for a long time.
Until a soft "click" sounded beside her.
She turned her head and saw Jiang Ci leisurely tightening the cap of a mineral water bottle,
then stuffing the remaining half-pack of tissues back into his pants pocket.
His movements were practiced and natural, as if everything before him was within his expectations.
"Let's go," Jiang Ci stood up, smoothing his already wrinkle-free white shirt, "This time, it's really over."
Su Qingying looked at his composed demeanor and suddenly felt an itch in her teeth.
"You knew all along?" she asked.
"It was written in the script." Jiang Ci shrugged, his expression innocent,
"Although I didn't know the old man would cut this scene to the very end when we were filming, since we shot it, it had to go somewhere."
At that moment, the lights in the screening room blazed on.
Zhang Mouyi stood at the side of the stage, rubbing walnuts in his hand, the smile on his face much more pleasant than before.
But clearly, some audience members weren't planning to let him off so easily.
"Director Zhang!!"
A female reporter stood up, her eyes red-rimmed, even the microphone in her hand trembling,
"Doesn't this count as consumer fraud?! Killing the characters first and then reviving them, doesn't your conscience hurt?!"
Zhang Mouyi was amused.
He picked up the microphone and pointed in Jiang Ci's direction.
"How can you blame me for this?"
The old man wore a mischievous grin, cleanly shifting the blame,
"That BE ending happened because this kid Jiang Ci acted too well, so well that I couldn't bear to cut it. As for this HE easter egg..."
Zhang Mouyi paused, his tone becoming meaningful.
"Life is bitter enough as it is. We have to leave people with a little hope, don't you think?"
His words were flawless, even carrying a hint of philosophical wisdom befitting an old artist.
The resentment in the room instantly dissipated by more than half.
The film critics and media personnel exchanged glances, seeing the same message in each other's eyes—
It's a done deal.
This film has depth, acting prowess, spectacle,
and this final move of "extreme emotional manipulation" is absolutely going to ignite both box office numbers and public discourse.
Jiang Ci looked at these media people already typing frantically on their phones, the system's notification sounds in his mind ringing incessantly.
The easter egg was sweet, but the rollercoaster of emotions just now had allowed him to reap another bountiful harvest at the last moment.
At the passage entrance as the crowd dispersed.
The crowd hadn't completely dispersed yet, excitedly discussing the plot.
That black fan leader squeezed through the crowd and rushed up to Jiang Ci.
Tear stains were still on his face, and he held up the notebook he'd used to wipe his tears.
"Jiang Ci!" he shouted.
Jiang Ci stopped and looked at this young man who had cried the hardest earlier, bracing himself for an attack.
After all, making a black fan cry like that could be considered a crime in itself.
"What?" Jiang Ci asked.
The young man sniffled, thrusting the notebook forward, awkwardly forcing out the words: "Sign... sign an autograph."
He added, "I'm not admitting I'm your fan! It's just... I think that pack of tissues was pretty expensive, gotta get some interest back!"
Jiang Ci was taken aback for a moment.
Then, he took the pen and, on the damp notebook, signed his name with a bold, flowing flourish.
After signing, he handed the notebook back, looking seriously at the young man.
"Next time you come to watch my movie, remember to bring a towel."
"Tissues don't absorb well. They're a waste of money."
The young man stood there dumbfounded, clutching the notebook.
A wave of good-natured laughter erupted around them.