"How are you holding up? Can you still take it?" Laila contacted them through the communicators attached to their bodies. With the wind so fierce, shouting would've been completely useless.
"I'm fi—" Roy tried to say "fine," but as soon as he opened his mouth, a gust of wind rushed in, nearly choking him.
Compared to him, Leslie Cheung appeared far more composed. Maybe he had experience with similar situations—his whole body was pressed tightly against the cliff, and since he was smaller than Roy, the wind's force had less impact on him.
Hearing Laila's question, he didn't speak, but simply raised his right hand in a thumbs-up gesture to indicate all was well.
Laila relaxed a little. But she knew she couldn't afford to waste even a second—every moment they stayed on the cliff was another moment of risk.
No time to delay. Once the two actors confirmed they were ready, Laila gave the signal to start filming.
To ensure everything could be captured in one take, she'd brought all available cameras and positioned them at carefully calculated spots. Each angle was planned in detail—no random placements. A misplaced camera could result in only half a person in frame or accidentally filming another camera, which would ruin everything.
The island's weather was notoriously unpredictable. It could be bright and sunny one minute and pouring rain the next.
Laila glanced at the thick clouds forming overhead, a gnawing sense of unease creeping into her chest.
"CUT! That's it for now, wrap it up!" After finishing one shot, she made the firm call to halt filming.
The crew immediately began hoisting the two men back up from the cliff.
But just then, a violent gust of wind slammed into them, smashing their bodies against the jagged cliffside.
Roy let out a muffled groan, feeling like the bones in his chest had nearly shattered.
Thankfully, the crew acted fast, managing to pull both men up before the next wave of wind struck.
"You okay? Are you hurt?" Laila rushed over in alarm.
Roy rubbed his chest, just about to go to her and play up his injury for a bit of sympathy, when a young woman's shriek rang out nearby.
"Ah! So much blood!"
It turned out Leslie Cheung had injured his hands. When the wind had blasted them against the rock, he instinctively used his hands to shield himself, scraping them against the rough cliff face. The sharp surface had left several gashes. They weren't deep, but the wounds were large, and blood was flowing freely, staining both hands a shocking crimson.
The vivid red seared Laila's eyes. She suppressed her pounding heart and quickly called for the doctor who had come along with the team.
The doctor was someone who had worked with them on several previous productions and had flown in with the crew from Hollywood. For films with action or stunt scenes, having a doctor on-site was always a wise decision.
As the doctor began cleaning and bandaging the wounds, Laila's heart twisted painfully.
"How is it? Is it serious? Will it leave a scar?"
The doctor chuckled, "It looks worse than it is. The bleeding is mostly because the wound area is wide, not deep. But you'll need to be careful for the next few days—no water contact, and avoid spicy or greasy food."
The assistant, sniffling, objected, "How can you say it's not serious? There's so much blood! That must hurt like hell!"
To the doctor, this wasn't much. He'd seen plenty of open surgeries. But he didn't take the girl's reaction personally. If someone important to him were hurt, he'd be just as worried.
He simply smiled and said nothing, but Leslie Cheung replied in his gentle voice, "It's okay. It doesn't hurt."
His expression was calm and convincing—there wasn't a trace of pain on his face. But with all that blood, how could it possibly not hurt?
Laila knew he was trying to reassure them, but she still felt incredibly guilty. "Take a few days off and rest. Let your hands heal properly. I'll rearrange the schedule and film Roy's scenes first."
"I'm fine, I can—"
He didn't even finish before Laila cut him off firmly, "No. The wound is large and prone to infection. The upcoming scenes are physically demanding. I need you at your best, understand?"
Now that she was invoking the quality of the film, Leslie Cheung had no choice but to agree.
After Laila left, Chen Shufen gave him a disapproving look. "You shouldn't have insisted on continuing. If she were the kind of director who only cared about the movie and not the actors, you really would've ended up shooting with that injury."
"One extra day on location means a huge spike in production costs. Feeding and housing hundreds of people—it adds up fast." Leslie Cheung glanced down at his bandaged hands and let out a silent sigh. If only he had trained more when he was younger, he wouldn't have been so easily knocked around by a gust of wind.
Chen Shufen rolled her eyes. "Did you forget who she is? She's Laila Moran. Do you think she's the type to fret over a few extra days of cost? If she cared that much, she wouldn't have relocated the entire VFX company to this island."
Leslie Cheung couldn't argue with that. He just smiled and shook his head. What others did was their business—as long as he lived up to his standards, that was enough.
The film centered around the relationship between the two male leads, with nearly every scene revolving around their dynamic. There weren't many scenes that required solo filming.
Laila had said she'd shoot Roy's scenes first to ease Leslie Cheung's guilt, but when she returned to their lodging that night, she discovered Roy wasn't doing much better either.
"Why didn't you say you were hurt too?!" When she saw the bruises on his chest—like someone had painted over him in shades of deep purple—her eyes welled up. God, it hurt just to look at those contusions. She couldn't imagine how much it must've hurt to endure them in silence.
Roy rubbed his chest and abdomen, brushing them off. "Just a knock, nothing serious. It just looks worse than it is." He hadn't bled, but the earlier gust of wind had slammed him hard into the cliff, leaving him covered in bruises.
"What do you know?! That kind of impact could cause internal injuries!" Laila snapped at him, eyes blazing with worry as she called the doctor back again.
Roy originally wanted to tell her not to make such a fuss. When you practiced martial arts, it was normal to end up with a few bruises. Who got internal injuries from a little wind?
But when he saw the redness in her eyes, he couldn't say a word in protest.
The doctor arrived and, upon seeing the large patch of bruising on Roy's chest, was visibly shocked. His expression turned scolding, just like Laila's. "Why didn't you say anything earlier? Do you realize how easy it is to suffer internal damage with trauma in this area?"
"…Internal damage?" Roy stared at the doctor, then looked down at his chest. Fine. He said nothing.