Seven Days and Nights with the Werewolf

Day 1·03

Back in the van, Fang Daichuan knew logically he should chat more, make more gestures to grab camera time—but he was simply exhausted. The all-night shoot had left his whole body aching, his muscles and bones numb. The scene where he’d fallen off the horse last night had apparently pulled a muscle in his groin, and right now he felt as if he’d been forcibly forced into a split.

Don’t mad at me, Xiao Zhou. I’ll just take a nap. I’ll play the fool and perform my heart out once we get there. With that thought, Fang Daichuan slipped into a deep, dark sleep in the blink of an eye.

When he woke again, the van had stopped.

He’d handed over his phone, so he had no idea what time it was, but judging by the sky, it must have been six in the evening at the very least. They’d driven for over five hours and were well into Shandong province now.

Fang Daichuan pushed open the van door, and a damp wind rushed into the cabin at once, shattering the stagnant, stuffy air that had lingered all afternoon. The wind carried the unique salty, briny tang of the sea. Fang Daichuan scrambled out excitedly, tilted his head back, and breathed in the sea breeze with a look of rapture.

“The sea! It’s really the sea! I’ve never seen the sea at night in my life! It’s gorgeous!” Fang Daichuan shouted, half in earnest, half for the camera. The sea before him had shed its gentle, peaceful daytime guise; waves rolled in, piling up in dark swells, crashing against the rocks at his feet, the foam churning endlessly.

He glanced back—and sure enough, the camera was still rolling faithfully. The mixed-race guy was carrying it, filming his back with an expressionless face.

Fang Daichuan immediately put on a pretentious show, striking a profound pose: “To see the ocean is to truly realize how insignificant we humans are! This magnificent expanse, stretching as far as the eye can see! Boundless in space, eternal in time! This was the sea billions of years ago, unchanging since the beginning of time—who knows where we were then!”

Old Chen stood beside him, lighting a cigarette: “Billions of years? The Earth is only 4.6 billion years old. No one knows what was here billions of years ago! Besides, this place wasn’t always the sea. Did you ever learn about plate tectonics? Do you know what ‘the sea changes to mulberry fields and vice versa’ means? Unchanging since the beginning of time, indeed.”

Epic fail at being profound…

But Fang Daichuan had his own ways to grab camera time. These days, the persona of a down-to-earth academic underachiever was just as popular. He switched tactics at once, no longer hiding his back and pretending to be a brooding heartthrob. Instead, he spun around, shoving his face right into the camera frame and pulling an awkward expression. He figured the post-production team would cut this into a funny gag, adding a line of fancy text or three black lines above his head.

“Where do we go next? Where’s everyone else?” Fang Daichuan forced a topic change.

The mixed-race guy looked up at him: “A helicopter will be here to pick us up soon. We’re heading to a deserted island.”

A deserted island didn’t faze him. Dragon Fruit TV really was rolling in cash, Fang Daichuan thought—they’d even rented out an entire island. A helicopter entrance was nothing out of the ordinary, either. These days, the reality show market was more competitive than ever; helicopters were common, and plenty of shows used paragliders for entrances. There were even fake hijackings by robbers or terrorists. Compared to all that, the gimmicks for *Werewolf Kill* were child’s play.

The helicopter arrived soon after—an all-black fuselage emblazoned with the bright red logo, its propellers roaring loudly. It skimmed the sea in the distance, a truly awesome sight.

Fang Daichuan flipped on his variety show mode at once, tilting his head up at the plane and playing the fool for the camera.

“Whoa! Rolling in cash, seriously! So cool! What a badass entrance! You *have* to add some kick-a*s special effects for me in post-production!” He said this while nudging the mixed-race guy’s shoulder, jostling the big camera in his hands.

The guy steadied the camera silently, shot a glance at his profile, and didn’t say a word.

So cool he won’t even play along? Fang Daichuan felt a little abashed.

Old Chen beside him clearly had no reality show experience, and was even less likely to play along with his jokes. Not only did he not go along with it, he shot Fang Daichuan a look that said he thought he was an i***t. Fang Daichuan grumbled to himself: Why are you looking at me like that? If you don’t ham it up for the camera now, do you expect the director and post-team to do it for you?

But cutting the old man some slack—he was a veteran artist who’d spent his life in supporting roles—Fang Daichuan said nothing.

The helicopter hovered above the sea a short distance away.

Beneath the boundless, storm-tossed ocean, a single rock jutted out of the waves, and the sleek black helicopter hung above it. Next to the cold steel of humanity’s cutting-edge technology and the awe-inspiring power of nature’s raging waves, the three warm, flesh-and-blood humans standing below were utterly, infinitesimally small.

Dragon Fruit TV had always loved these unique camera angles. In past scenes like this, there was always a drone flying behind the helicopter, shooting down from above to capture this stark contrast to the fullest. Fang Daichuan glanced behind the helicopter—but there was no drone in sight.

“Who’s the producer this time? Is it not even Dragon Fruit TV’s own director and cinematographer? They’re not playing by the rules at all.” Fang Daichuan wondered to himself.

The helicopter circled and descended a little, stopping when it was still over ten meters from the ground. The wind from its propellers buffeted the earth below. A rope ladder dropped down from the cabin, along with safety harnesses.

Old Chen clearly hadn’t watched many reality shows—he was terrified by the spectacle, shrinking back repeatedly. Then again, it was asking a lot for a man his age to climb a helicopter rope ladder. Fang Daichuan stepped aside to let him go first: “After you, Old Chen. It’s fine, really—there are safety harnesses.”

Old Chen waved his hands frantically, stepping back and trying to head for the van they’d come in: “No, no, I can’t do this. This is impossible. Can I drop out? I don’t want to play anymore. I’m too old for this.”

The mixed-race guy said nothing. Slinging the camera over one shoulder with one hand, he pulled a g*n out of his pocket with the other and pointed it at Old Chen.

Whoa, Fang Daichuan thought. I misjudged the old man—he’s a pro at stealing the camera’s focus, this is brilliant! Why didn’t I think of this trick? He felt a twinge of regret; the audience *loved* this kind of dramatic twist.

True to his veteran actor status, Old Chen’s acting was flawless. His face turned white as a sheet, and he put on such a convincing show of fear it looked real: “Okay, okay, I’ll go. I’ll go.”

He fumbled to fasten the safety harness around his waist, then grabbed the rope ladder and climbed up step by step. Several times he glanced down at the sea, and each time he froze for a long while, too scared to keep climbing. He squeezed his eyes shut, clung tight to the harness, and trembled on the ladder, his calves shaking uncontrollably.

Fang Daichuan seethed at this blatant camera-hogging. He stared up at the old man’s performance, counting his heartbeat to himself. He estimated the old coot had dragged it out for at least half an hour before finally clambering up clumsily. And at the very last second, he slipped his hand and nearly fell—thankfully, the safety harness held, and a crew member on the helicopter grabbed his hand quick as a flash.

This clip alone would make ten minutes of the main show, not to mention that heart-stopping near-fall that even made the helicopter jolt. This segment would definitely be replayed several times, and might even be left as a big cliffhanger in the trailer.

Fang Daichuan watched Old Chen clamber into the cabin, his anxiety spiking. He knew reality shows had a fixed editing time for each contestant—the more screen time the old coot took, the less there would be for him. Ugh, a man with one foot in the grave, who’s seen everything in his life, and he still has to do a variety show for clout, fighting with us young folks for screen time. But there was nothing he could do now except console himself: the old man’s movements are clumsy, his posture ugly—he won’t hold the audience’s attention for long. It’s not the length of the screen time that matters, it’s the impression you leave.

The mixed-race guy turned the g*n on him, jerking his chin to signal him to hurry up. Fang Daichuan played along perfectly, feigning fear: “Don’t point that at me. I’m coming up right now.”

He’d made up his mind to show off. He slung the safety harness around his waist haphazardly, pushed off the rock with his foot, and leaped up to the third rung of the ladder in one fluid motion. Fang Daichuan had trained in martial arts since he was a kid; his muscles were lean and well-defined, not the flashy, hollow kind you got from a gym. He knew this was the era of male beauty, and young girls ate this kind of thing up. So he gave it his all, climbing with effortless grace, his tight T-shirt stretching over his chiseled muscles, feeling utterly pleased with himself.

Fluid as water, light as a swallow. Fang Daichuan mentally added a bullet comment for himself. For the final rung, he went all out: he let go of the ladder with both hands, twisted his body in a backflip using only the strength in his core and back, and landed neatly inside the cabin.

Bravo! He shouted to himself, mentally spamming the screen with more bullet comments: The god is so handsome! That final flip was perfect! Not only does he have a pretty face and a great body, his acting crushes all the A-list young idols out there—he’s even amazing at extreme sports! It’s a crime he’s not famous! Clap for the god!

He closed his eyes and leaned against the cabin door, reveling in the moment, as the fierce wind of the helicopter’s rotors rushed over him.

“Wait—who’s the extra?!” Fang Daichuan was still lost in his own little world when a voice beside him asked in confusion—*in English*, no less.

Fang Daichuan snapped back to his senses. He clung tightly to his persona of a slow-witted academic underachiever, feigning confusion and not understanding a word. He looked left and right, taking in the scene inside the cabin.

The cabin was filled with crew members in black suits—all foreigners, as far as the eye could see, dressed exactly like the mixed-race guy below. They were all burly with tough, mean faces, their biceps insanely thick. Fang Daichuan wondered where Dragon Fruit TV had found such a group of extras.

A camera in the corner was still rolling. Old Chen was already being held captive by two big men on either side of him, sitting in a corner with a look of utter despair on his face.

Still acting? He’s really gotten into it, huh. Fang Daichuan curled his lip in silent disdain.

In an instant, two more big men grabbed him, pinning his shoulders down hard. He could tell at once they were real martial artists. Fang Daichuan tried to twist free with a subtle martial arts move—but he couldn’t break their grip.

Another figure climbed into the cabin from the rope ladder behind them: the mixed-race guy, with the camera slung over his left shoulder, climbing up one-handed, his long legs swinging over the edge and landing him neatly inside.

Incredible. Fang Daichuan sat obediently in another corner, silently applauding his skill.

One of the crew members spoke in English: “What’s going on? Why’s there an extra? We were told to pick up only one person.”

“I don’t know. He got in the van on his own, said he signed the contract too.” The mixed-race guy replied in English too. He looked every bit the cool, taciturn type, saying only the bare minimum before sitting down and falling silent.

Fang Daichuan hurried to explain in Chinese: “I was stuck at the airport because of the heavy rain—my flight was canceled, and I couldn’t make the original schedule. I couldn’t wait for the other van coming for me, so Old Chen and this guy here were kind enough to give me a lift. I hitched a ride with them.”

The crew members nodded, dropping the matter. The helicopter turned and flew at full speed toward a small island in the open sea far ahead.

At the exact same time, Qingdao Liuting International Airport. Flight CA256 touched down.

As soon as the plane came to a stop, Xiao Zhou unlocked her phone in a hurry. In an instant, over twenty missed calls popped up—all from the same number. Xiao Zhou jumped, fearing something was wrong, and quickly called back.

“Hello, this is the *Werewolf Kill* production team from Dragon Fruit TV! Oh my god, is this Fang Daichuan’s line? What’s going on—are you guys here yet?” A shrill female voice came through the phone.

Xiao Zhou hurried to explain: “Oh! Hi! This is Xiao Zhou, Daichuan’s assistant! We’re here, we’re here—I just landed in Qingdao! We waited at the airport for ages but your van never showed up, so as soon as the flights resumed, I hopped on the next one here! I’m at Liuting Airport right now!”

“Great! Just come straight out—we’ve got someone here to pick you up,” the woman said hastily. “Daichuan’s all made up and ready, right? The cameraman’s with the pickup team—we’re starting to film as soon as you walk out!”

Xiao Zhou froze: “Huh? Daichuan’s not with me! He left ages ago in another contestant’s van from the show—he should have arrived way before me!”

The voice on the other end sounded even more confused than her: “What? You must have gotten the wrong van! We only sent a pickup for Daichuan from Beijing—there are no other contestants coming! Daichuan’s follow-up PD and cameraman went to the airport, and they didn’t pick up anyone at all!!?”