The moment he stepped onto the set...
Friendly commands and the familiar, oily smell of boxed lunches hit him.
It was a world away from the superficial orderliness of a Hollywood set.
This place was buzzing—bordering on chaotic.
"Lights! Where the hell are the lights? I want a rim light, not lighting for your uncle's tombstone!"
A director in a baseball cap was roaring through a megaphone, his voice naturally louder than the amplifier itself.
"Coming, coming! Director, these American circuits don't match our plugs, we're rigging the adapters now!"
The gaffer was sweating bullets, clutching a handful of cables with a screwdriver clamped in his mouth.
Cassius was immediately assigned to help the props team move a pile of faux Republican-era furniture.
Unlike the image of productions burning cash overseas, most of the props here reeked of budget-conscious frugality.
A few crew members were gathered around a small cart.
On it were frozen dumplings and Napa cabbage bought from the local supermarket. The cost control was tight as a drum.
While he worked, Cassius kept his eyes and ears open.
Soon, he spotted his target.
A fight scene being prepped.
An actor in a Zhongshan suit (Mao suit) and a stuntman playing the villain's thug were walking through the blocking under the guidance of the fight choreographer.
The choreographer was a lean, wiry man. His movements were sharp and clean as he explained:
"When you throw this punch, it needs to carry wind! Then I block, turn, and do a sweep kick..."
"Watch the rhythm!"
"Crack! Crack! Crack! Make it crisp!"
Cassius held his breath, staring intently.
When the stuntman followed the instruction and threw a punch that cut through the air with a short whoosh, a grey orb dropped.
[Physicality Attribute: Power Generation +1]
Absorb!
Immediately after, the choreographer demonstrated the sweep kick himself. The movement was swift, his base solid as a rock. A green orb dropped.
[Physicality Attribute: Lower Body Stability +2]
Good stuff!
Absorb!
Cassius felt like a college virgin who had accidentally stumbled into the Red Light District—greedily absorbing everything he saw.
Even though they were basic level stats, the quantity was high, and they were incredibly practical.
He could feel a subtle shift in his understanding of power mechanics and body balance.
During a break, he sidled up to an old grip squatting in the corner smoking a cigarette.
The old grip was Cantonese. He'd traveled the world with film crews and seen it all.
"Young man, here to watch the show?"
The grip glanced at him, speaking in Cantonese-accented Mandarin mixed with smoke.
"Just learning, learning!"
Cassius handed him a bottle of water he'd snagged from a Hollywood set.
"Must be tough for a crew like this to shoot in LA, huh?"
"Tough? Hah."
The old grip sneered and took the water.
"You think we're shooting Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon? We call this 'Culture Going Global' to sound nice. To put it ugly, we're just here to leech some scenery."
He pointed around them.
"Look at this. A lot of the equipment was brought over from China. Why? It's cheap! Renting locally costs an arm and a leg!"
"And labor? Forget about it. The core team is from China. For grunts like us, they hire local whenever they can to keep wages rock bottom."
"Is the collaboration with the Hollywood side smooth?" Cassius asked curiously.
"Smooth my ass!"
The old grip blew a smoke ring.
"Union rules are thicker than a dictionary. One minute of overtime costs extra. Back home, pulling an all-nighter is just another Tuesday. Look over there!"
He jutted his chin toward a few expressionless white guys standing at the edge of the set.
"Those are the supervisors sent by the local union. Watching us like hawks, terrified we're gonna abuse the staff. Damn, we aren't even this polite to our own people!"
Cassius was speechless.
This was completely different from the "China Capital Sweeping Hollywood" narrative he'd imagined. It was more like the awkwardness of trying to survive in the cracks between rules.
"You know what the most frustrating part is?"
The old grip lowered his voice.
"After all this, most of these films just go back to China to be shown. Here? Nobody watches them! Americans don't give a damn about who was spying on who in the Republican era."
"I heard a big blockbuster that made hundreds of millions back home came here for a release. The box office was so pathetic it didn't even cover the marketing costs. It's just for show, man. Just to say they did it."
Just then, the fight scene started rolling again.
This time it was a shot of the male lead getting kicked flying by the villain.
The actor was on a wire. His movements were sharp, but to get the landing right, they did three or four takes.
With every impact, he dropped a grey [Physicality Attribute: Breakfall +1].
Cassius absorbed them while roasting internally: This guy isn't dropping attributes, he's dropping his HP bar.
Making money was truly hard work.
He also noticed that during the breaks, the actor was on a video call with someone who looked like an agent from an American agency. He was huddled over a laptop in the corner.
He had a smile plastered on his face, his tone careful and eager.
The scene weirdly reminded Cassius of Li's scene in Echoes of Silence, pretending to be fine to his family. Except here, the plea was:
"I hope I can have a chance to try out for your company's project..."
This was the microcosm of crews in America: desperately rushing work using domestic cost-cutting methods, while simultaneously yearning to crack open the tightly shut door of Hollywood, even just a crack.
After a day of working as a temporary assistant, Cassius was dog-tired.
But the number in the [Physicality] column on his attribute panel had risen significantly.
Although there was no qualitative change yet, the muscle memory for power generation, stability, and breakfalls was something he couldn't have learned from watching kung fu movies.
When he got back to the apartment that night, Lee So-yeon was shocked by his sweaty, dusty appearance.
"Oppa! Did you go work at a construction site?"
Cassius collapsed on the sofa, waving his hand weakly. "Close enough. Went to experience life in 'Hollywood'."
"How was it? Learn anything?"
"Learned a lot!"
Cassius looked at the ceiling, his eyes bright.
"At the very least, I learned that to make a name in Hollywood, working behind closed doors with our own people isn't enough. We have to learn how to play by their rules."
The next day, Cassius gritted his teeth and pulled a few bills out of his thinning wallet.
He bought two packs of Marlboros at a smoke shop in Koreatown.
Not the cheapest, but not high-end. Just standard hard currency that wouldn't embarrass him.
He stuffed the smokes in his pocket.
Returning to the noisy Republican-era set, he navigated his way to the lean fight choreographer and the main stuntmen from yesterday.
They had just finished a intense chase scene and were sitting on equipment cases, sweating and panting, chugging water from bottles with labels.
Cassius saw his chance. He put on a harmless smile and approached.
"Big brothers, hard work today. Have a smoke to relax!"
He pulled out the Marlboros, clumsily opened a pack, and offered them around.
Stuntmen who lived on the road were sharp. They knew the drill immediately.
"Brother Qiang," the choreographer, took a cigarette, squinted at the brand, then looked Cassius up and down. He grinned, revealing teeth slightly yellowed from smoke.
"Ooh, little brother knows the way. Saw you watching us yesterday like a hungry dog. Wanna learn a few moves?"