By the end of the morning, they’d barely shot five scenes.

Chen Peng observed that Chunan had real acting talent. Perhaps the male lead’s personality mirrored his own in real life—he slipped into character quickly. Even his rare flubs barely disrupted the flow.

But Xiaohan was another story.

She’d lost the spark from her audition. Most takes felt stiff. Though she rarely forgot lines or cracked up now, Chen Peng wasn’t satisfied. This project was his dream—no compromises. He’d delay shooting threefold if needed. Money was no object.

Under such exacting demands, Xiaohan suffered.

As she’d once bluntly put it:

*"It’s like filming an adult movie while photographers circle you during… intimate moments. A full-blown public execution."*

Thankfully, Chunan covered her mouth fast. If Chen Peng heard that, he’d question how Chunan even knew this unhinged girl. Birds of a feather, after all.

Her enthusiasm plummeted. Flubs multiplied.

Take the final morning scene: post-school cleanup duty. The male lead, exploiting a past favor, made the female lead work alone while he napped on desks—sparking her resentment. Simple? Not at all.

"Chunan! I can’t do this alone! Help me!"

"No."

"Will you help or not?!"

"No."

"Fine! Bastard in human skin!"

"?"

"Sorry. Forgot my line."

...

"Chu~nan~! Onii-chan~! Please help~!"

"..."

"Scumbag. Deadbeat. Pants-up traitor. You won’t even clean? Recommend chemical castration."

Chunan couldn’t hold back: "Was that intentional?"

Xiaohan, perched on a chair with a broom, blinked innocently. "Of course not! Just improvising after forgetting lines!"

"Your ‘improvisation’ is creative insults?"

"I’m getting into character!"

"The heroine doesn’t curse like a sailor."

Xiaohan stared at the ceiling.

Behind the cameras, Chen Peng couldn’t help but laugh—whether from anger or exhaustion, even he didn’t know. "That’s wrap for morning. Pack up. Lunch break. We resume afternoon."

Crew scrambled to tidy gear. Xiaohan bounded to Chunan like a freed prisoner. "Food! Now!"

She was starving. Acting was brutal labor.

Chunan watched her for a silent moment before sighing. He stood, walking with her toward Chen Peng.

"Bro Chen, sorry for the delays."

"No worries," Chen Peng waved it off. "For first-timers, your instincts are sharp." He paused. "But Xiaohan… find the heroine’s core. Study the script over lunch. Acting isn’t taught—it’s felt."

"Understood. Thanks for the guidance." Chunan nodded.

"Go eat." Chen Peng didn’t stop them. He needed rest too.

The shoot hadn’t tired him. What drained him was their off-screen chemistry—so vivid, so *alive*. It made him ache.

He’d chosen this youth romance project chasing a buried dream. Everyone craves that perfect first love. Most never live it, so they seek it in films, in novels.

Yet Chunan and Xiaohan… their bond was the dream he’d lost. Watching others live his fantasy left him sour as a lemon.

He’d cast them *because* of that chemistry. Now, after one morning of accidental dog-feeding (as he saw it), he braced for two more months of this. Maybe longer if filming dragged.

*My actors. My lemon heart. We’ll finish this.*

But why did their magic vanish on camera? Chen Peng pondered this as they left.

---

Nearby, Chunan and Xiaohan slurped noodles at a tiny eatery.

Jiujiang’s film hub buzzed with crews—ten shooting simultaneously. A food street thrived nearby. Basic crew meals came in boxes, but real food meant this street. Fans hoping to spot stars added to the chaos.

Three other crews filled the restaurant, debating shots and scripts. Xiaohan found their chatter more fascinating than her own filming.

Chunan watched her. "Tired of acting already?"

He knew her. Her energy had flatlined by late morning. No wonder she’d "forgotten" lines so creatively. The novelty had worn off.

Xiaohan paused mid-slurp. "I want big scenes. Explosions. Swords. This?" She gestured dismissively. "Boring."

Hearing other tables discuss wuxia epics or sci-fi battles sounded thrilling.

Chunan smirked. "You think this is a game? We signed contracts. Quit now? Pay the penalty."

"How much?"

"Five million."

"...Slurp."

Xiaohan froze, noodles dangling from her lips.