Trembling in the Skies

Chapter 21: Better to Live Than to Die

“There are many things in this world where seeing isn’t believing. It’s best not to jump to conclusions, or else when the truth comes out and the facts are turned on their head, it’ll be a painful wake-up call,” the man in glasses continued. “You’re just a know-it-all,” Gao Fei said, resorting to a personal attack since he couldn’t win the argument. “I think you’re the one who’s brainless!” The guy in glasses grew annoyed at Gao Fei’s remark. “Go ahead and keep arguing. People like you are the first to die on set,” Gao Fei retorted, growing annoyed with the man in glasses himself. “No matter how quickly I die, I’ll still outlive those brainless people who just blindly agree with everyone else,” the guy with glasses continued to argue. “Forget it. There’s no point arguing with a contrarian like you,” Gao Fei conceded defeat. “I heard from Brother Guo that as long as we’re still alive, we’ll end up on the same production crew again. So let’s just wait and see! Let’s see if the people with independent thinking skills bite the dust first, or if it’s the brainless ones who go first,” the guy with glasses continued. Although the argument had started because of Li Teng, Li Teng himself had no interest in getting involved. Instead, he sipped his coffee while furrowing his brow, lost in his own thoughts. As far as Li Teng was concerned, he had no way to back up what he’d just said, and it didn’t matter whether others believed him or not. What mattered to him was his own survival. Although he’d narrowly survived this shoot, whether he’d turn into a wax figure remained to be seen. After all, his current account balance stood at minus 18 points. If he couldn’t turn that number positive before leaving, his fate wouldn’t be much better than Guo Zhipeng’s. After the ceremony to seal Guo Zhipeng in wax concluded, it was time to distribute the points. The director, flanked by bodyguards, announced each person’s points on the spot. Numerous terminals were set up all along the street, allowing people to log in and check their points using fingerprints, facial recognition, and other methods. Every surviving extra—including Gao Fei and Li Teng—received the base 10 points. The woman in sunglasses was a “minor supporting role” extra—one rank higher than the others—so her base points were double those of the rest, and she received 20 base points. After receiving the 10-point bonus, Li Teng’s account balance dropped to -8 points. Even as he sipped his coffee, he still looked deeply troubled. Although he had been on the top of the stone pillar, he had repeatedly felt so desperate that he even wanted to jump off and end it all. But now that there was hope of survival, he wasn’t willing to let it slip away. For an ordinary person like him, dying with dignity was certainly no better than scraping by. At least while he was alive, he could still drink free coffee. Now, all he could do was pin his hopes on the raffle to come. With the points distributed, it’s time for the Q&A session. High-level actors answer questions from low-level actors. Each lower-level actor’s first question is free… well, not exactly free—the system pays points to the higher-level responder. But each lower-level actor’s second question requires an additional fee. Guo Zhipeng had turned into a wax figure, so only the woman in sunglasses was left to answer everyone’s questions. “Beautiful lady, how can I get promoted to a minor supporting role?” the man in glasses eagerly asked the woman in sunglasses. Once promoted to “Junior Special Appearance,” the pay for a single performance doubles—a prospect that makes the lowest-ranking extras green with envy. Li Teng also pricked up his ears. “Deduct 100 points from your account, participate in a promotion performance, and survive it—then you can be promoted from extra to minor supporting role,” the woman in sunglasses replied to the man in glasses. “Correct answer. You’re awarded 1 point,” the director said. “You have to deduct 100 points first? That’s quite a price to pay… What’s the promotion performance like? Is it hard?” The man with glasses quickly asked a second question. “The second question is a paid response and will cost you 2 points. Are you sure you want to proceed?” the director, standing nearby, reminded the man in glasses. “No, thanks,” the man in glasses quickly waved his hand. Points are so precious; he couldn’t just waste them on an ordinary question. “It’s my turn now, right?” the female office worker said, referring to the seating order. No one else seemed eager to jump in—after all, everyone was allowed one free question. “Go ahead,” the woman in sunglasses nodded to the office worker. This was her happiest moment—if Guo Zhipeng hadn’t been eliminated, she would have had to take turns answering questions with him during this segment. But now she didn’t have to; all the points for answering questions would go to her. “Once we get back to the top of the stone pillar, will we be able to get food and water? How do we get them?” The office worker carefully phrased the question she was most concerned about. “Simple. Just use points to lower the height of the stone pillar. Once it reaches a certain height, there will be a free supply of water and food,” the woman in sunglasses replied to the office worker. Li Teng couldn’t help but perk up; his biggest concern right now was the lack of water and food at the top of the stone pillar. From what the woman in sunglasses said, would it be possible to get free water and food on the stone pillar in the future? “Could you be a little more specific?” The female office worker didn’t quite understand the woman in sunglasses’ answer. The others also wanted a more specific answer. “Well, that’ll require a paid answer,” the woman in sunglasses shook her head. “This question falls under the beginner’s guide category. Please provide a more detailed supplementary answer. If answered correctly, you can earn up to 5 bonus points.” The director suddenly spoke up. “Alright… For the sake of 5 points, I’ll give you an ultra-detailed answer—which, of course, I heard from a veteran user.” After hearing the director’s words, the woman in sunglasses became noticeably more enthusiastic about answering the question. The woman in sunglasses pulled out a cell phone, scrolled through it for a moment, and began her explanation. Of course, she was simply reading the answers aloud. When the others saw the cell phone in the girl in sunglasses’ hand, they all looked surprised. “Where did you get that phone?” the girl asked the woman in sunglasses instinctively. “Don’t interrupt! It’s not your turn to ask questions yet,” the woman in sunglasses replied to the girl, sounding a bit annoyed. “Okay,” the girl said, and didn’t say another word. “As you all probably know by now, points can only be spent within the film studio. For the stone pillar, the main purpose of these points is to lower its height—one point reduces it by one meter—allowing us, who are trapped at an altitude of over a thousand meters, to gradually descend to safe ground.” “The time between shoots ranges from as short as three days to as long as five days or even a week. During those times, we have no choice but to stay at the top of the stone pillar.” “This is going to be a tough time to get through.”