FLME Ch36

After wrapping up the recording for the first episode, Yu Wen returned to his hotel and slept like a log for a full day and night.

It wasn’t that he was physically exhausted; rather, the storyline of this first Battle Royale episode had dealt him a rather powerful emotional blow. Even after leaving the filming site, his mind hadn’t snapped back to reality. The mental projection of the dragon coiling around the sword lingered in his thoughts for a long time, as did the image of the four guests looking down from the second floor to see him off…

He had already achieved the best possible outcome within the limits of his ability, yet it still felt insufficient.

Perhaps a “Bad Ending” is simply the default state of life, Yu Wen thought with quiet melancholy.

Though the first episode’s on-set recording had ended, the job was far from finished. The production team had already coordinated with each artist’s agency; beyond the actual filming, post-production voiceovers and promotional acting still required the cast’s active cooperation.

Each episode’s commitment spanned nearly half a month.

Such was the caliber of a top-tier national variety show.

That evening, Yu Wen received a WeChat message from a staff member that gave him quite a start.

The message read as follows:

[Novice instance concluded. Clear count: One player.

Yu Wen, Registration Number: xyum667. Your novice gift package has been bound. Please select your clear reward—]

At first glance, it appeared to be a message from a complete stranger. But when Yu Wen clicked in to inspect the profile, he realized it was the staff coordinator from the production crew who had liaised with him earlier. She had changed her WeChat display name to “Numbered Assistant 001.”

Her previous display name had been “Battle Royale Xiao Lin.” Yu Wen had thought it was clean and clear, so he had gotten lazy and hadn’t set a personalized contact remark for her. As a result, when she abruptly switched names, Yu Wen almost failed to recognize who it was.

Fortunately, he had previously saved Xiao Lin’s phone number, preventing him from losing track of the account entirely.

Yu Wen: [Xiao Lin?]

Buzz—

A vibration chimed as Xiao Lin sent an SMS outside the WeChat window:

[Teacher Yu, it’s the production team’s scripted flow! Just treat me like your personal assistant for the Battle Royale game! Don’t treat me like Xiao Lin!]

Yu Wen understood. Even off-camera, this meticulous and rigorous production crew loved indulging in full-blown roleplay.

Xiao Lin: [Teacher Yu’s reaction can be a bit more alarmed and bewildered! Because you’re playing an ordinary civilian who was inexplicably bound to the Battle Royale game. This WeChat exchange will be used by our post-production team to craft the season’s opening prologue!]

Yu Wen texted back an “Okay.” Returning to WeChat, his swift fingers quickly recalled his previous message. After pondering for a moment, he replied:

[?]

[STOP.]

Numbered Assistant 001: […]

Numbered Assistant 001: [Apologies, registration numbers cannot be deregistered, and the game cannot be exited. Please select your clear reward—]

Numbered Assistant 001: [Reward 1: “Wander with Blade in Hand.” O lonely Hero, though you have reunited with the Dragon, the wandering souls must ultimately return to the reed fields. Accompanying one another in spirit is merely an illusion of flowers mirrored in water and the moon reflected in a lake. Parting draws near in secret. Carry the blessings of all your companions and become a solitary, valiant hero.

Under this reward, the Hero will be invincible, free of illness and calamity, and live out a happy life to a ripe old age.]

…Reunited, only to part ways once more? What kind of cruel human agony was this?

Numbered Assistant 001: [Reward 2: “Wandering Soul Mode.” Refusing to accept such a conclusion, the ever-stubborn Hero resolves to clash with fate once more. Staking your life and everything you possess, you will join hands with your soul-bound companions whose time is running short to conquer the remaining eleven instances.

This reward carries immense risk. A single misstep, and the entire board is lost.]

Yu Wen read through the rules carefully. If it were up to him, he would definitely pick Option 2 without hesitation. But considering this was the overarching premise for the entire season, he felt slightly concerned about whether his choice would disrupt the schedules or contracts of the other guests.

So he switched back to the SMS screen and asked Xiao Lin: [Will my choice affect subsequent instances and the other guests’ filming schedules?]

Xiao Lin: [It won’t. As a matter of fact, Teacher Yu, you can only pick Option 2 anyway! crying_face.jpg]

Yu Wen: “…”

He flipped back to WeChat and typed: […Wandering Soul Mode. I do not accept the Hero’s party’s tragic end.]

Numbered Assistant 001: [“Wandering Soul Mode” selected. Description: “Wandering Soul Mode,” a veteran player mode with the ultimate objective of resurrecting lingering souls. Form a team with four other players; the higher the party’s survival rate per mission, the higher the player points awarded. High scores aid in achieving the ultimate objective.

The second instance is about to commence. Season Ultimate Mission: Resurrect the wandering souls and reform the Hero’s party.]

Numbered Assistant 001: [Welcome to… Battle Royale.]

The production team granted them a full day of rest. On the morning of the third day, Yu Wen hailed a cab to the recording studio. Every piece of written lore within the show required the cast to record personalized voiceovers.

Having arrived early, only staff members were bustling back and forth across the studio. Since this was an artist they would be working closely with for the better part of a year—and given Yu Wen’s genuinely pleasant disposition—everyone treated him with great warmth, greeting him with bright smiles amidst their hectic duties.

As Yu Wen sat on the lounge sofa, a passing production assistant handed him a cup of fresh juice.

It was even served warm.

It turned out to be mandarin orange juice, carrying a pleasant tartness.

He obediently sipped the juice down to the bottom of the glass. Just then, the staff coordinator assigned to him pushed open the door and stepped inside. She was a fresh college graduate with rock-solid professional skills and a lively, bubbly personality that clicked effortlessly with Yu Wen.

Xiao Lin wandered around the room for a few moments before spotting Yu Wen on the sofa. The moment she came to a halt, she snapped into a rigid military salute: “Reporting, Teacher Yu! Numbered Assistant 001 is wholeheartedly at your service!”

Chewing lightly on the plastic straw, Yu Wen looked up and mumbled vaguely, “Is this part of the footage too…?”

“Nope, hehehehe…” Xiao Lin giggled playfully. “Just helping you get used to my in-game persona in advance! It looked like Teacher Yu got quite a scare yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t say I was scared,” Yu Wen remarked. “Just a bit dumbfounded.”

The two chatted for a few more moments before Tong Li and Fan Xiangyang arrived at the studio, one right after the other.

Across every single season, Battle Royale exercised extreme prudence when casting its guests. As the flagship variety program backed by a titan entertainment conglomerate, the show never lacked commercial investment; the only challenge the directing team had to tackle was maximizing entertainment value and drama.

Beyond costume design, instance narratives had always been Battle Royale‘s ultimate trump card.

Therefore, despite being a deduction-based mystery show, the crew favored actors with exceptional improvisational flair over sheer intellectual masterminds when selecting regular cast members.

After all, the crew knew full well where their show’s magic lay: it had originally exploded in popularity because of its immersive, narrative-driven instances. That core advantage could never be surrendered. Other shortcomings could be patched over time, but once that fundamental charm was lost, the longtime viewers who had followed the show from its inception would drift away.

That was the dreaded state of “losing the flavor.”

And losing that special flavor had always marked the start of a variety show’s downhill slide.

Among the Season 3 regulars, aside from veteran host Fan Xiangyang, all the MCs had backgrounds in acting: Yi Ming was a powerhouse starlet of the new generation, Tong Li was a treasured veteran actress with years of acclaimed craft, and Daniel Lee went without saying—famous for his sentimental depth, he poured his entire soul into his character each episode.

Even Jian Heng, the guest star for this first episode, was currently in the midst of transitioning into an actor. Though his deduction skills were lacking, Jian Heng provided abundant comedic relief, injecting laughter into the tense, suffocating atmosphere of the game whenever needed.

From this alone, it was evident how meticulously the production team had curated the lineup.

Catching sight of his seniors, Yu Wen rose to his feet. Tong Li spotted him the moment she pushed through the door, calling out with a wide grin from afar: “Hey! Melon King!”

Yu Wen: “…”

He hadn’t spent much time browsing the web lately; hearing that nickname again felt like a lifetime had passed.

The only thing that hadn’t changed was the intense bashfulness that gripped him, making his toes curl in embarrassment.

As a hardcore internet surfer who had witnessed his coronation as the Melon King from start to finish, Tong Li’s curiosity had been itching uncontrollably. Unfortunately, during their brief encounter on that earlier show, she had forgotten to exchange contact information. During the first episode’s recording, cameras had been shoved in their faces the entire time, making it inappropriate to fish for celebrity gossip from Yu Wen. She had held it in until now.

Dropping all senior decorum, Tong Li dashed straight toward him, grabbing his arm like an undercover operative exchanging secret intel: “Well? How is it? Did you catch any juicy melons these past couple of days? Share a bite or two with me!”

Yu Wen looked into her expectant eyes.

“…For more thrilling celebrity gossip, please stay tuned to Xiao Yu’s Weibo,” Yu Wen smoothly delivered the standard fan-recruitment pitch. “Follow Xiao Yu, and you’ll always have melons to eat.”

“I already follow you!” Tong Li shot back. “Hahahahaha, didn’t expect that, did you? I even made an alt account to sneak into your fan support club! The day before yesterday during filming, aside from hunting clues, all I did was search for you—and you were nowhere to be found the entire time!”

Pivoting the topic back to the shoot, Yu Wen explained naturally, “I wanted to meet up with everyone midway through, but I got cornered in the crew’s secret rooms.”

Tong Li chewed on that for a second. “Speaking of which, how did you feel? The day before yesterday, when this jiejie told you to leave first, were you so touched you bawled your eyes out?”

Yu Wen chimed in with full flattery: “More than that! Xiao Yu buried his face beneath the blankets and wept secretly the entire night.”

Tong Li could tell from his expression that he was spouting complete nonsense, yet she didn’t feel brushed off at all; instead, she was thoroughly amused by his deadpan earnestness.

She was also immensely satisfied with how that spontaneous improvisation had turned out.

At the time, it had been a pure flash of inspiration—an attempt to fully inhabit the character of the ‘Princess’ pieced together from existing lore fragments. Once the dust settled, she had actually felt rather anxious, knowing her industry standing wasn’t particularly high among the cast.

Unable to contain her worry, she had discreetly probed the directing team last night, and the response she received finally granted her a restful night’s sleep.

The director was thrilled.

Not just the executive PD—the entire directing staff was over the moon. The god-tier improvisational acting delivered by all the guests in that final scene had meshed flawlessly with their assigned characters. In that singular instant, they truly appeared to be the Hero’s party. That footage had sent the post-production team into an overnight frenzy, nearly popping champagne to celebrate; it was clear to anyone that the broadcast cut would look spectacular.

Come to think of it, she felt deeply grateful toward Yu Wen. Back then, Yu Wen had stood there with such an unshakeable, resolute expression that he looked just like the living embodiment of the Hero. That had instantly ignited her actor’s urge to play off his energy, leading directly to everything that followed.

This was Yu Wen and Fan Xiangyang’s first formal meeting outside of filming. After exchanging polite nods and greetings, they sat on the sofa to chat.

Veteran hosts were masters at steering the room and possessed natural charisma. Yu Wen wasn’t overly reserved by nature either, so after a few casual remarks, they hit it off comfortably.

When the topic drifted to the Battle Royale messages received the night before, Fan Xiangyang laughed until his sides ached: “Hahahahahaha, you got one too?! Don’t worry about it… standard operating procedure for this crew. Back in Season 1 when we got those text messages, we were genuinely scared half to death!”

Season 1 had followed a nearly identical routine, though back then the production team had been considerably harsher on the cast. Not only did they refuse to arrange pre-shoot dinners for everyone to get acquainted, but they also introduced bizarre, unannounced game segments midway through recording without a single word of warning.

Back then, several guests had legitimately believed they had tumbled into an infinite-flow death game.

As a veteran who had been there since Season 1, Fan Xiangyang had watched every newcomer get frightened out of their wits by the production crew. He told Yu Wen, “This season is already much gentler. Xiao Lin actually tells you the truth! In the past, no matter how much we interrogated the staff, they wouldn’t breathe a single word—silent as a sawed-off gourd.”

Tong Li took out her phone. “I got one last night too. But since my assistant gave me a heads-up beforehand, it was manageable. My message went like this.”

Tong Li displayed her chat screen for them to see. Since this material was destined for post-production and would eventually be broadcast to audiences nationwide, Yu Wen felt no hesitation leaning in to take a look.

Tong Li’s message differed somewhat from his own; evidently, the production team tailored each script according to the player’s role and ultimate fate:

[Novice instance concluded. Clear count: One player.

Tong Li, Registration Number: xyum668. Novice instance failed; obliteration protocol initiating—]

[Obliteration protocol terminated—Player xyum667 selected “Wandering Soul Mode.” Player xyum668 automatically bound as teammate to Player xyum667 to clear subsequent stages together.]

[Description: “Wandering Soul Mode.” A veteran player mode with the ultimate objective of resurrecting lingering souls. Form a team with four other players; the higher the party’s survival rate per mission, the higher the player points awarded. High scores aid in achieving the ultimate objective.

The second instance is about to commence. Season Ultimate Mission: Resurrect the wandering souls and reform the Hero’s party.]

The final line was identical to Yu Wen’s: [Welcome to… Battle Royale.]

Just reading it was enough to raise goosebumps. If one hadn’t received advance warning, it truly would have scared someone out of their skin.

As they spoke, the remaining cast members arrived one by one. Overhearing their conversation, Daniel Lee chimed in with a gentle smile: “Once every season, the production crew tortures not just the audience, but the cast as well.”

Yi Ming agreed completely: “When I got that text yesterday, I almost had nightmares.”

Fortunately, Daniel Lee had dropped subtle hints to her beforehand. Although their contracts included clauses prohibiting cast members from discussing game setups, that restriction primarily applied prior to filming. Once recording wrapped, dropping discreet hints off the record was something the crew turned a blind eye to.

Having drained the orange juice, Yu Wen gave a tiny hiccup and set the glass cup down on the table. He heard Tong Li ask: “I was wondering earlier: why couldn’t they collect this footage before Episode 1? From what I’ve seen, every season’s Battle Royale overarching world-building is only introduced right at the tail end of the first episode…”

Fan Xiangyang explained: “You could call it a clever narrative trick by the directing team. In terms of lore, we are ordinary people who were bewilderingly bound to the Battle Royale system. The first instance of each season serves as our tutorial novice zone. Prior to it, we have zero guidance, and the players are unfamiliar with one another—which mirrors the authentic state of a brand-new cast.”

Daniel Lee added: “Furthermore, the first instance runs as a continuous thread throughout the season. Guests need an intense sense of immersion to make the thematic choices the crew wants to see. For example, Xiao Yu choosing ‘Wandering Soul Mode’—if he hadn’t fully inhabited the persona of the Hero from start to finish, even if he selected ‘Wandering Soul Mode,’ the audience wouldn’t buy it. To protect that immersion, they have to tone down the artificial presence of the game during the initial phase.”

Hearing this, Yu Wen was thoroughly stunned.

“So I’ve been living inside the production team’s grand conspiracy all along.”

Fan Xiangyang was amused by his phrasing. After waiting another ten minutes or so, a staff member came over to announce that all departments were set and ready to begin.

Jian Heng had another scheduling commitment that morning and had requested a brief leave from the director. Arriving tardily just as the others were filing into the booth, the moment he spotted Yu Wen, he leaned in with an intensely nervous expression:

“Xiao Yu… I think I’ve really fallen into an actual death game.”

Yu Wen: “…”

The production team’s psychological warfare knows no bounds.

The voiceover recording session was, in essence, a comprehensive retrospective of the game.

The clues the guests hadn’t uncovered and the emotional nuances they hadn’t deduced were handed to them in full script form before recording, helping them understand their characters and deliver their lines with resonance.

Yu Wen had to spend quite an effort convincing Jian Heng that this was purely the crew shooting post-production material rather than an actual life-or-death battle royale. Jian Heng squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his palms together in devout prayer: “This humble believer has accumulated virtue and performed good deeds his entire life—why must I endure such psychological torment…?”

Yu Wen figured he probably hadn’t slept a wink last night, noting the faint dark circles beneath his eyes. Fortunately, there was no on-camera filming scheduled for today, so he simply gave his shoulder a comforting pat.

The two slipped inside quietly. Everyone was huddled intently over their respective scripts, thoroughly focused, without a single head looking up.

After reviewing her pages for a while, Tong Li began testing vocal tones for the Princess.

The moment she opened her mouth, Yu Wen was taken aback. Tong Li’s natural vocal timbre leaned toward that of a mature woman, her articulation smooth and velvety with a distinct charm. Yet when she spoke now, though the voice remained recognizably hers, the pitch was elevated just a fraction, instantly radiating a crisp, spirited vivacity. Even her facial expressions carried the lively pluck of the Princess.

Is this the power of a veteran acting powerhouse?

Setting aside his cameo in Fenghua, Yu Wen had only one production to his name: Legend of the Immortal Sect. Rise! Best Actor. That had been a low-budget production where the director maintained modest standards for the cast: performing decently before the camera was enough; if they could handle their own dubbing, great; if not, just do their best—they had no budget for professional voice actors anyway, so whatever came out was up to fate.

Yu Wen had used his original voice in that drama, but because nobody on set paid much attention to the audio dubbing, he had simply recorded in his regular speaking cadence.

Chu Zhiyao was a high-spirited, brash young man, so using his everyday tone hadn’t felt out of place.

Hearing Tong Li’s voiceover now, however, Yu Wen felt another grand doorway of the entertainment craft swinging open before his eyes.

Vocal delivery, script interpretation, physical poise, expressive nuance… every single facet seemed to hold endless depths waiting to be mined.

He resolved to take Sister Tong as his master in a moment.

Tong Li ran through two lines of dialogue with astonishingly good results, prompting spontaneous applause from the others.

Jian Heng whispered in Yu Wen’s ear: “Insane… When will I ever achieve that level of voice control…?”

Her performance ignited Yi Ming’s competitive drive. Clutching her script, she braced herself to begin.

The Elf’s character concept was far from cliché. The only pity was that the cast hadn’t managed to assemble all the puzzle pieces of her storyline during filming, leaving her background rather murky.

She was meant to be a transformative character: someone who appeared timid and shy on the surface, but harbored a surging well of inner strength, longing for the day she could become a pillar of support for her companions.

Because the lore hadn’t been fully unlocked, even if the Elf’s complete characterization was recorded now, it could only be relegated to the bonus cut, which was truly a shame.

“I am the hope? What kind of hope am I? The hope that got the Grand Archmage killed?! No, it shouldn’t be like this! Healing magic may be precious, but I’ve cowered behind my companions for far too long. I will fight in my own way! Frozen time, bear witness to the resolve of a healing elf—!”

The Elf’s vocal register was naturally soft and delicate. From the written dialogue, one could tell she was a girl unaccustomed to raising her voice, whose words were routinely drowned out by the boisterous banter of her friends.

Yi Ming captured that gentle frailty, weaving subtle threads of steely determination beneath it.

Yu Wen looked at Yi Ming with newfound admiration.

He resolved to take Yi Ming as his second master in a moment.

Next up was Fan Xiangyang. Teacher Fan wasn’t a professional actor, but the vocal foundation of a veteran broadcaster was not to be underestimated. His tone was deep yet his diction razor-sharp, flawlessly channeling a scruffy, weathered, yet unshakeably resolute dwarf.

Finally, it was Daniel Lee’s turn. He had received no formal theatrical training, but possessed a natural asset: his warm, velvety voice. In terms of technical vocal technique, he couldn’t match the veteran powerhouses, yet his cadence carried an innate wistfulness that harmonized wonderfully with an aged, dignified Grand Archmage.

Once everyone finished their vocal tests, Fan Xiangyang was the first to step into the recording booth.

Yu Wen’s gaze went completely blank in contemplation. Jian Heng nudged him: “Xiao Yu, what’s up? What are you spacing out for?”

Xiao Yu asked in return: “Can a person have four masters at the same time?”

Jian Heng blinked, his eyes scanning across the other guests before dawning on him: “Oh, you want to take on a mentor! Who are you thinking of asking? The seniors all seem incredible…”

Yu Wen offered a shy, innocent smile.

“I want them all.”

Only children make choices.

Jian Heng: “…”

Yu Wen was the last to enter the booth.

With such dazzling benchmarks set by his seniors, he couldn’t help but approach his turn with solemn care, turning over in his mind what the Hero’s voice ought to sound like…

The Hero was extroverted, romantic, and brimming with childlike wonder. Using his natural vocal timbre would probably work fine. In the past, Yu Wen would have simply gone right ahead and recorded.

Today, however, he wanted to make a deliberate adjustment for a character he had grown genuinely fond of.

The Hero was a twenty-six-year-old adult man. No matter how cheerful he was, he was fundamentally different from the youthful brashness of Chu Zhiyao.

After a moment’s hesitation, Yu Wen spoke:

“O invincible Hero! Draw the blade in your hand once more, countless times over—!”

The moment he spoke, Jian Heng couldn’t help but shoot him a huge thumbs-up from outside the glass.

Tong Li’s face registered surprise as well, her hands clapping together almost involuntarily.

His cadence rose and fell with rhythmic power, fitting the emotionally vibrant persona of the Hero to perfection. What set it apart was that beyond the standard inflection, Yu Wen had layered a subtle, buoyant warmth into his tone.

It was almost imperceptible, yet it elevated the entire line from an empty heroic slogan into something undeniably inspiring—as though the person shouting it truly, unconditionally believed in those words.

The Hero’s voice was supposed to sound exactly like this.

At all times, no matter what he spoke, he sounded as if he were smiling.

An optimism so radiant it made the very sunlight pale in comparison.