Chapter 1

In January, at the break of dawn in Hengdian, thick gray-blue clouds hovered over the sky.

At a little past five in the morning, Xitang tightened her coat around her and shivered as she walked past the red walls of the Qing Palace Ming Garden. The sky was still dark, but a faint glow of light seeped through the buildings in the distance.

That was the crew working through the night.

When she arrived at the Guangzhou and Hong Kong streets of the Anti-Japanese War Base, shadows of people were already moving among the ruins. A photographer directed lighting assistants to set up ladders. She stepped into a room where a row of actors dressed in yellow Nationalist Army uniforms stood—each gaunt and pale, their ghostly figures blending eerily into the dim surroundings. Next to a canvas folding chair stood a makeup artist, a young girl wearing a blue mask, her sleep-deprived and disheveled hair framing her face as she smeared soot and fake blood onto the actors’ faces, finishing one in under a minute before blankly calling out: “Next.”

Xitang went inside to change into her costume.

This morning, they were filming an explosion scene where enemy power plants would be blown up just before dawn. Xitang was one of the extras storming the field. Amidst the earth-shattering blast, everyone fell into trenches, convulsing briefly before freezing still. The director called “Cut” through the megaphone.

They did it again.

They filmed repeatedly until daylight finally broke, and the director was satisfied. After wrapping up the scene, they moved on to the next location.

The van took them back from the remote wilderness to the scenic area. As Xitang stepped out after changing clothes, she ran into Dao Ge, the crowd coordinator, who grinned at her with teeth stained yellow from smoking. “Oh, the big star, early bird today, huh?”

Xitang smiled brightly and greeted him: “Good morning, Dao Ge!”

She handed him a breakfast set provided by the production team: “You haven’t eaten yet, right? Here’s some soy milk and buns.”

Dao Ge didn’t hesitate, taking the food with one hand while reaching out to pat her cheek with the other. Xitang nimbly dodged his hand, still smiling cheerfully.

“You little rascal,” Dao Ge chuckled.

Xitang quickly bowed her hands together and laughed as she backed away: “Don’t forget to book me for more scenes!”

With a cigarette dangling from his lips, Dao Ge casually checked off her name on his list.

Extras in Hengdian earned sixty yuan for an eight-hour day. Even this rate was double what it had been four or five years ago. Scenes shot before six in the morning came with an extra ten yuan, and stunts involving beatings or deaths started at an additional ten yuan.

During Hengdian’s peak season, there were reportedly thousands of extras rolling around in the mud. Yet even the lunchbox vendors dreamed of stardom.

After leaving the set, Xitang glanced at the time and headed toward her next shoot. Her talent agency was currently filming a historical palace drama in Hengdian. Last night had been an all-nighter, and they were scheduled to start again at ten in the morning.

As she walked along the cobblestone path, Xitang chuckled silently to herself. It was no wonder she was teased every time she worked as an extra; her agency’s current project, Love in the Imperial Palace , boasted an investment of tens of millions, though most of that apparently went straight into the pockets of the director and lead actors. Costumes and props were rented as cheaply as possible, let alone the absurdly clichéd script and plot. Since Xitang joined the industry in Hengdian, countless fly-by-night film companies had popped up like mushrooms, churning out shows that were all trash—but who cared? With flashy editing, gilded palaces, handsome men, and beautiful women entangled in passionate love stories, the audience ate it up. Marketing teams hyped up scandals, fans fawned over idols, and copyrights sold like hotcakes. Producers made fortunes, TVs aired the shows feverishly, and viewers watched with relish.

In this series, Xitang played a maid to a neglected concubine, with about ten episodes of screentime. Three days ago, her character had tragically been poisoned to death by the empress of another palace.

Having lived in Hengdian for nearly two years, Xitang had done every kind of job imaginable and excelled at each. This time, her company hadn’t even hired a production assistant—they left everything to her and a colleague.

When Xitang entered the set, it was already bustling with activity. Actors in costumes bustled back and forth, some fully made-up. At first glance, the palace maids appeared like blossoms in a spring garden, a riot of colors. For a moment, she felt transported to another era.

But then, through the window, she heard the production manager yelling inside: “Wake him up! The rental for this venue is twenty thousand yuan per session! Is the entire crew supposed to wait around while he sleeps in?!”

Xitang knew he was referring to Jiang Chao, the male lead—a former Hong Kong singer-dancer turned actor whose fame had waned but who still held steady recognition. Known for his solid acting skills and reasonable pay, he’d been cast opposite Wu Zhenzhen, playing a mature prince to her innocent young heroine. Despite their age gap of over a decade, the pairing brought fresh appeal to the story.

However, Jiang Chao had recently divorced, and since joining the set, he’d become notorious for partying late into the night. If his assistant wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t wake up on time.

It was understandable why he sought distractions—months trapped in this dilapidated town, working endless hours, could drive anyone mad.

Colleague Akai spotted her under the eaves and hurriedly waved her over: “Xitang, come here.”

A girl stood beside him, wiping tears and sniffling as she spoke.

It was Ning, the assistant assigned to the female lead, Wu Zhenzhen.

Seeing Xitang, Ning pouted: “Sister Xitang, I don’t want to work with Zhenzhen anymore.”

Wu Zhenzhen was the agency’s most popular actress in recent years and considered top-tier in period dramas. Beautiful and talented, she had a temperamental streak common to celebrities but rarely clashed with her assistants.

“What happened?” Xitang asked.

Ning sniffed: “There were changes to today’s script. When I brought it to her, she yelled at me.”

Xitang studied her for a moment, then asked quietly: “Who’s in her dressing room?”

Akai pulled her aside and whispered: “Her new boyfriend. He’s visiting the set for the first time and seems very possessive. Rumor has it he’s planning to invest in her next project—a big-budget production starring her. The boss is treating him like a godsend.”

Xitang understood immediately. She’d heard whispers of gossip spreading quickly in Hengdian’s dull environment. Wu Zhenzhen had risen to fame early and remained youthful despite earning substantial wealth. Always proud and ambitious, her dinner engagements reportedly fetched six-figure prices, though such deals were rare. In entertainment circles, wealthy businessmen often pursued high-profile actresses—it boosted their status.

But it seemed Wu Zhenzhen had finally found someone special. This man must be extraordinary indeed.

Earlier, Xitang noticed Ning wearing a white down jacket over a thin black veil, accentuating her figure.

Xitang couldn’t help but admire her boldness.