Chapter 36: Chen Ping, Why Don't You Become a Screenwriter?

"Cut."

"Good, that's a wrap."

"Chen Ping, you're done for the day."

Unlike action scenes, dramatic scenes—when performed well—can sometimes be completed in minutes. However, it is rare for directors to encounter such excellent actors, so even dramatic sequences often take a considerable amount of time. If an actor fails to get into character, it can be even more exhausting than filming an action sequence.

Chen Ping was exactly the kind of actor who could finish his work in a matter of minutes. After Gao Xixi called "cut," the crew members couldn't help but sigh in relief.

"Director Gao, I wish every day of filming were like this."

"Exactly. If all the other scenes were like Chen Ping’s, we’d finish *Legend of Chu and Han* in a month."

"A month? I could do it in half a month."

The assistant directors joked among themselves, clearly having gained respect for Chen Ping’s performance. Director Gao Xixi nodded and told him, "Chen Ping, not bad." But since this was a major production, he quickly moved on to prepare for the next setup.

Over the next few days, things remained the same. Chen Ping’s workload wasn't heavy; sometimes he had no scenes for days, and other times he only needed a few minutes on set. Nevertheless, the entire crew, including the actors working opposite him, loved shooting with him. The reason was simple: whenever it was Chen Ping’s turn, the scene was almost always nailed in one take. It was an incredibly smooth experience.

However, despite Chen Ping’s excellent acting and his ability to capture the charming side of Han Xin, the character was not easy to portray. Director Gao Xixi had hit a snag: the "humiliation of crawling between the legs."

When talking about Han Xin, this incident is inevitable. It is a stain on his reputation. If the goal were purely historical accuracy, there would be no issue—they would simply film it as it happened. But this was a television series, and as one of the most important characters, Han Xin required a degree of idealization. Yet, no matter how much they polished it, the humiliation remained the humiliation, unless they cut the scene entirely. But doing so would make it impossible to fully portray the life of Han Xin.

"Chen Ping, come to Director Gao’s office tonight," assistant director Sun Guangyi said over the phone.

Though curious, Chen Ping arrived at the production office that evening. Inside, Gao Xixi was in a heated discussion with screenwriter Yan Gang.

"Old Yan, this approach won't work."

"Director Gao, everyone agreed on this part of the script at the time."

"That was then, but now that we're filming it, I feel this approach is wrong. If we do it this way, the character of Han Xin loses some of his luster."

"What if we add a reason for why he must endure the humiliation? Like, saving a damsel in distress or something?"

"No, that’s too far from history."

"Then what do you suggest, Director Gao?" Yan Gang, a gold-standard screenwriter, was also feeling a headache over this plot point.

"Oh, Chen Ping, come in, come over here. Tell us, how should we film tomorrow's scene?" Gao Xixi said as soon as he saw him.

"Director Gao, Teacher Yan, I don't have any strong opinions on how it should be filmed; I’ll follow your lead." Although Gao Xixi had asked for his input, Chen Ping wasn't foolish. The entertainment industry is a small circle; if your status isn't high enough, it’s best not to voice your opinions too freely—especially when it involves rewriting a script. Without the stature of a big star, you have no authority to speak. The best course of action is silence.

Even so, Gao Xixi pressed him. "Don't give me that. During the audition, your understanding of the character was quite unique. Tomorrow is your scene; if it isn't filmed well, it won't just hurt the show—it will hurt you, too."

"This..."

"Enough with the 'this' and 'that.' I’m telling you to speak, so speak. Don't worry about the rules."

"Alright, Director Gao, I’ll share my humble opinion." Since he was forced to speak, Chen Ping began. He had, in fact, been thinking about this scene for a while. He knew he was just a minor actor; if you walk up to a director and tell them their script is bad, even if you’re right, the director might not appreciate it. You might even offend the screenwriter or other actors. But now that he had been ordered to speak, this was an opportunity.

After a moment of thought, Chen Ping said, "The Grand Historian mentions in the *Biography of the Marquis of Huaiyin* that a butcher insulted Han Xin, saying, 'Though you are tall and carry a sword, you are actually a coward. If you aren't afraid of death, kill me with your sword. If you are, crawl between my legs.' Han Xin looked at him steadily, bowed his head, and crawled through. The people in the marketplace laughed."

"Chen Ping, you’ve clearly done your research on Han Xin," Yan Gang remarked.

"Of course." Gao Xixi nodded, then added, "The problem is, while we know this incident shows that a great man can bend and stretch, any ordinary man would find it hard to endure such shame. If he actually crawls through, the audience might initially find it hard to accept, thinking Han Xin is spineless."

This was exactly why they had called Chen Ping over.

"Director Gao, Teacher Yan, I’ve been thinking: is Han Xin afraid of the butcher, or is he simply afraid of death?"

"That’s hard to say," Yan Gang shook his head. "Historical records aren't detailed. As a youth, he might have been scared, or perhaps he didn't want trouble, or maybe he already possessed a long-term vision."

"Teacher Yan, you're right. I lean toward the idea that he had a long-term vision. He didn't want to lose his chance to achieve his ambitions by killing the butcher, nor did he want to be killed himself. So, he chose to crawl."

"Chen Ping, what are you suggesting?"

"I mean, if we film this scene, we just need to show that Han Xin isn't a coward—that he is perfectly capable of killing the butcher. But for the sake of his future, he chooses to endure the humiliation. I think the audience will understand."

"That’s a great idea." Yan Gang immediately agreed. He realized this shifted the focus from a simple wager to a demonstration of capability. As long as Han Xin’s ability was established, it would only highlight his grand ambition.

"Hahaha, I knew I should have asked Chen Ping!" Gao Xixi sighed with relief. While not perfect, this arrangement was undoubtedly more clever.

"Director Gao, you’re right. The younger generation is truly surpassing the old. Chen Ping, have you ever considered becoming a screenwriter?"

"Teacher Yan, you’re joking. I’m just a small actor; how could I have the talent to be a screenwriter?"

"Don't say that. What’s wrong with being an actor? Sometimes, an actor’s perspective is no worse than a writer’s."

Chen Ping didn't take the bait. Though he secretly mused that if his acting career didn't work out, being a screenwriter might be nice, he knew better than to take the comment seriously. Yan Gang was just being polite—if every actor became a screenwriter, what would be left for the writers to do?