Under the guidance of a female staff member, Yu Youqing changed into her costume.
Even though it was technically a costume, it was a modern-day drama, so it wasn't much different from her everyday clothing.
Next came makeup. She was already beautiful, but a bit of polish never hurt—especially when filming. Lighting was also crucial.
There was a reason selfies from regular folks looked so different from scenes in movies or TV. Besides camera equipment, those finer details made all the difference.
When Jing Yu and Yu Youqing emerged from the makeup room that morning, there was a subtle gasp from the dozens of crew members on set.
Jing Yu wore the outfit of a young man. The makeup artist had deliberately styled him to look a bit more youthful, with a slight sense of innocence. He had a certain vibe—reminiscent of Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, not the greasy water-gun-era uncle version.
Yu Youqing, on the other hand, had been styled with a more elegant, intellectual charm. Youthful, vibrant, and refined.
"Low-budget crew or not, the leads' visuals are totally on point!" Gao Wencang stared for two whole seconds in awe.
The two stood together, and the word chemistry naturally came to mind. This feeling was crucial—some shows just couldn't sell their romantic leads. Imagine pairing someone like Jia Ling with Louis Koo as lovers—it would completely take you out of the story.
"Honestly, it feels like a bit of a waste for Teacher Jing Yu to just be a screenwriter. With looks like that, he'd definitely be popular with the younger female audience," Liu Neng mused, rubbing his chin.
"Well, isn't he both screenwriter and actor now? Seems like the best of both worlds," Gao Wencang replied.
Both men were extroverted types and had grown pretty familiar over the past couple of days.
"This project's manageable—short-form drama, he wrote the entire script himself, so it's not a huge workload. But if it were a long-form series... writing while filming, updating episodes week by week? That's impossible," Liu Neng said.
"People only have so much energy, after all."
But in truth, there likely wasn't going to be a "next time."
These "backup dramas" were the kind no seasoned screenwriter wanted to touch. Just like how Yu Youqing had initially resisted taking the role of a "patch-in" lead actress, the same went for screenwriters.
Why should I lower myself to clean up someone else's mess? Am I just the kind of writer who patches holes in scripts?
That's how an opportunity like this had fallen into the hands of someone like Jing Yu, a writer who once rode the coattails of his well-connected father.
And even after this show, chances were that things would go back to how they were for him.
Liu Neng's underlying message was this: since Jing Yu had the looks, if audiences responded well to his performance, it might not be a bad idea to pivot fully into acting.
Time was tight, so the shoot couldn't afford to drag—but that didn't mean quality had to suffer.
Plenty of classics like Too Many Ways to Be No.1 or Eagle Shooting Heroes were filmed in just 10–20 days. And many were done while the script was still being written.
After an initial adjustment period, Yu Youqing was basically in the zone by afternoon.
Due to the lack of budget, the subway meet-cute scene was filmed in a prop subway car. Renting an actual subway line for filming would've been too costly and time-consuming—even just securing a single car was expensive. Fortunately, the film base had full mock-ups available, ready to rent.
This was where budget limitations really started to show. In the original movie from Jing Yu's previous life, the whole subway car had over a hundred extras crowding around the leads, creating an atmosphere of urban bustle.
In Jing Yu's version? Including himself and Yu Youqing, they had about twenty people. Half were hired extras; the other half were idle crew members pulled in to fill space.
But these were details the audience wouldn't notice. What mattered was the camera's focus—Jing Yu's Gaoshan and Yu Youqing's Shou Aimei.
Under the studio lights, Yu Youqing's flawless, porcelain-like face seemed to glow with an ethereal filter. Her gaze drifted lazily toward the subway window, and a serene, crystal-clear air emanated through the lens.
Meanwhile, Jing Yu—playing Gaoshan—stared at Shou Aimei with a look of dazed wonder.
Love at first sight, on a subway train.
"Not bad at all," Gao Wencang nodded approvingly.
People with talent were just different—they knew how to work with the camera. Neither Jing Yu nor Yu Youqing made any rookie mistakes during their performance.
Even though Gao Wencang was satisfied, he still had them shoot the scene three times. In editing, they could choose the best take.
It was the show's opening scene, after all. A little extra effort was worth it. If it had been a less important scene later on, they might've settled for just one good enough take.
Next came the follow-up:
After Gaoshan falls for Shou Aimei at first sight, he chases after her when she exits the train.
"Um, can I have your contact info?"
"I saw you on the subway just now, and… I think I fell for you."
Jing Yu's Gaoshan looked shy and awkward.
But Yu Youqing's Shou Aimei wasn't the least bit surprised by the confession.
According to the script, this was the first day of their one-month crossover—the moment when the timelines of the male and female leads briefly intersected at age 20.
But for Gaoshan, this was Day 1.
For Shou Aimei, it was Day 30.
To Gaoshan, this was the beginning—the moment he first met Shou Aimei and fell in love.
But for Shou Aimei, this was their last day together—the final meeting with the adult Gaoshan in her lifetime.
So Yu Youqing's performance had to strike a delicate balance: she had to act as though she was meeting him for the first time, while subtly conveying the sorrow of saying goodbye.
"I don't have a phone." Yu Youqing's smile was gentle, but there was something else behind her eyes.
First-time viewers probably wouldn't pick up on it.
But Gao Wencang, well-versed in the script, immediately perked up.
"This Yu Youqing… looks this good and can act? Why isn't she famous yet?"
Once that scene wrapped, the camera shifted angles. Jing Yu and Yu Youqing exchanged glances—it felt good knowing your scene partner wasn't going to mess things up.
The next scene was ready to shoot.
"I get it," Gaoshan said, visibly disappointed.
"That's not what I meant. I really don't have a phone."
Line after line was delivered smoothly.
The most pivotal scene in the first few minutes of the show had arrived.
Gaoshan and Shou Aimei, now standing together on the platform, had a brief conversation. But it was almost time to part ways.
"I should get going now. Goodbye," Shou Aimei finally said, her voice calm but resolute.
"Wait… will we meet again?"
Gaoshan's words made her pause.
She turned back.
Her eyes were already red, a shimmer of tears glinting in them as she looked at him, her expression full of sadness.
According to the script, this was the last day of their 30-day relationship—the day they would truly become strangers.
"We… will meet again."
To Gaoshan, it meant they'd see each other tomorrow.
To Shou Aimei… this was the end.