The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 304: Dignity? Under the Muzzle, It’s Worthless!

The middle-aged policeman’s words

wafted like a thin cold smoke, not yet dissipated by the night wind.

Jiang Wen stood where he was, unmoving for a long time.

He faced away from everyone, the outline of distant mountains pressing behind him into a heavy, silent black line.

After a few seconds, he suddenly turned.

There was none of the earlier solemnity on his face, only an excitement that had been completely ignited.

“Move the set! Everyone move, now!”

The roar sliced through the set’s dead silence.

“Props team! Clear out the dorms! Throw everything into the courtyard!”

“Background actors! Change clothes! Grab the gear!”

Half an hour later.

The night wind was fierce, carrying a bone-piercing chill as it howled through the empty courtyard.

Dozens of extras disguised as thugs gripped clubs and formed a vicious circle.

In the circle were several “henchmen” who had just been yanked from their beds, their clothes in disarray, trembling.

Bang!

The wooden door of the dorm was violently kicked open.

Two burly men stormed in and roughly dragged Jiang Ci, who was curled up in a corner of the bed, out.

He was hauled to the center of the yard and slammed heavily onto the mud.

The cold cut like a blade, instantly penetrating his thin clothing and raising a fine, prickling gooseflesh on his skin.

“Strip him.”

Cha Cai, played by Lei Zhong, stepped out of the darkness and spat those two words.

The thugs stepped forward and, in three quick moves, tore Jiang Ci’s clothes into rags until only his underwear remained.

Naked, his body was exposed to everyone’s gaze, exposed to the biting cold.

It was a rainy, overcast day, and with the crew’s wind machine,

Jiang Ci’s body began to tremble uncontrollably, his teeth chattering with faint clacking sounds.

Lei Zhong walked slowly up to him.

He held a pistol that was jet-black all over, its metal giving off a cold gleam in the dim light.

He crouched, and the muzzle slowly rose.

Finally, it pressed heavily against Jiang Ci’s temple.

The icy contact made Jiang Ci’s body freeze.

Cold spread from the point of contact, instantly drilling into his skull and traveling down his spine to his limbs.

At that moment, all acting techniques and the system’s stray thoughts evaporated.

He was Jiang He.

An undercover whose life hung by a thread, ready to be snuffed out at any moment.

His mind contained only fear magnified to an unbearable degree.

“Say it.” Lei Zhong’s voice was heavy, “Are you Ice Chisel?”

Jiang Ci’s lips moved, but no sound came out.

He wanted to protest, to scream, but his muscles were rigid.

Lei Zhong didn’t press further.

He studied Jiang Ci’s face, drained pale by cold and fear.

Then he pulled the trigger.

Click.

A faint, metallic, empty sound.

No bullet left the chamber.

Everyone on set knew the gun was fake, but that sound contained every element needed to shatter a psychological defense.

Jiang Ci did not scream.

The instant the click echoed, his chest spasmed.

“Hic!”

A short, strange sound burst uncontrollably from his throat.

He hiccuped.

His diaphragm convulsed violently from sheer terror.

“Hic!”

A second time.

His entire upper body jolted forward from the spasm.

Lei Zhong was stunned.

Jiang Wen, behind the monitor, stiffened straight,

springing up from his chair and pressing himself against the screen.

This wasn’t in the script.

This was more real and more brutal than anything the script had planned.

“Hic... hic...”

Once the convulsions began, they couldn’t be stopped.

Jiang Ci, acting as Jiang He, curled on the ground, his body twitching again and again with unstoppable hiccups.

He tried to cover his mouth with his hands, but his arms were stiff as if they did not belong to him.

Jiang Ci knew the moment had come; he closed his legs inward and braced them straight.

A stream of liquid ran down the inside of his bare thigh, seeping into the mud and forming a dark stain.

The props team’s precisely controlled water bag had been triggered at the perfect moment.

All that remained on set were the howling wind and Jiang Ci’s hiccups, each more violent than the last.

Lei Zhong looked at the puddle on the ground, at the youth trembling from shame and fear.

His face remained immovably ruthless in the role of Cha Cai,

but deep in his cloudy eyes flashed the actor Lei Zhong’s own shock and... instinctive disgust.

For a split second—one tenth of a second—he had the illusion that the person kneeling at his feet was not an actor at all.

Jiang Ci—no, Jiang He.

After a brief moment of distraction, he showed no anger or resentment.

Dignity had long ago been ground to dust by repeated torture and humiliation.

Survival was the sole thought in his mind.

Using hands and feet, he crawled forward and knelt at Lei Zhong’s feet.

Hiccuping uncontrollably, he reached out a trembling hand,

futilely trying to wipe the puddle from the ground with his palm.

A pleading, twisted smile contorted his face.

“Sor... hic... sorry... boss...”

Mumbled apologies were forced out between hiccups.

“I... hic... I couldn’t hold it...”

Bang!

A loud sound.

But Jiang Ci paid it no mind; his bloodshot eyes were glued to the monitor,

as if he wanted to devour the image.

He even extended a trembling finger, touching the screen where Jiang Ci’s distorted face appeared,

as if caressing an invaluable treasure that had been found again.

Then he grabbed the walkie-talkie, his voice split from excessive excitement:

“This! Goddamn! This is the undercover I wanted!”

Not an invincible superhero or a debonair spy, but a living, breathing human!

A person whose dignity had been stomped into the mud, whose body had betrayed him completely,

yet who, for the mission and for survival, had sunk into humiliating dust...

Lei Zhong’s pupils changed for that tenth of a second—actor’s shock—

but it was immediately consumed by a deeper, darker rage.

He looked at the “waste” at his feet who could barely hold onto human shape,

and a mix of the role’s murderous intent and the actor’s own fear surged to his head.

He needed a move to break that suffocating reality.

So he lifted his foot and, with all his strength, kicked Jiang Ci flat on the ground.

That kick was Cha Cai’s brutality and Lei Zhong’s attempt at self-rescue.

“Fuck!”

A curse not in the script burst from his mouth.

He shrugged off his slick silk jacket and casually tossed it onto the ground.

He flung it over Jiang Ci’s twisted, pleading face.

“Clean it up!”

Lei Zhong towered over him.

“Don’t you dare dirty my ground.”