With the cast locked in, James, Berg, and I headed to Kodak Film Company in Hollywood to purchase film stock. This branch was the largest among Kodak’s subsidiaries, making it the best place to secure what we needed.

  After careful consideration, we bought 3,000 reels of 16mm film. If all went according to plan, this would be more than enough.

  Later that evening, as I went over our budget, I realized that after paying the actors, I was left with only $23,000. This money needed to cover not just marketing but all the unforeseen expenses that would inevitably arise. The saying “Filmmaking is an art of burning money” had never felt truer. It wasn’t us making a film; it was the film making fools out of us.

  Yet, despite my financial worries, the crew’s enthusiasm remained sky-high. Everyone was busy with final set inspections, even Gist and Julie had joined in to help.

  "Boss, are we really starting tomorrow?" Berg wiped the sweat from his forehead, chugging water like a man stranded in a desert. As the cinematographer, he had to memorize every angle of the set—where the cameras would move, which spots offered the best shots, and which areas were problematic. In short, he was busier than me. In fact, I was probably the least occupied of anyone here. As the director, my job truly began only when the cameras started rolling.

  "That’s the eighth time you’ve asked me today!" I shot him an exasperated look. "Are you ready for the indoor shots tomorrow?"

  Berg peeled off his jacket and grumbled, "Relax, everything’s set. I even prepped the exterior shots. Boss, I still can’t believe this is happening. Just last month, we were broke students eating stale bread in our dorms, and now, we’re making a movie! Unbelievable!" He crossed himself, as if invoking divine intervention.

  I chuckled. "There’s a Chinese saying: After three days apart, see a man in a new light. That’s change for you."

  Berg gave me a suspicious look. "That’s another one of your Chinese proverbs. Where the hell did you learn all these? Back in school, you barely knew where China was on a map."

  I smirked. "I was Chinese in my past life. You believe me?"

  To my surprise, Berg nodded solemnly. "Yeah, actually, sometimes I feel like I was too!"

  I nearly choked on my tea, spluttering as Berg wiped tea leaves off his face.

  The morning on Harvey Street was nothing short of magical, perhaps the most beautiful in all of Hollywood. There were no towering skyscrapers, no chaotic traffic, no extravagant costumes, no yelling crowds—just a serene quiet. The golden morning sun filtered through the low hills, casting a soft glow over the empty streets. A thin mist curled around the small peaks, isolating them from the rest of the city like an island adrift in time.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Standing on the second-floor balcony of my office, I gazed down at Harvey Street. A sense of warmth filled me. This place, quiet and unassuming, would be where I made my stand. Where I would rise.

  "Mr. Corleone, breakfast is ready!" Gist called from the courtyard below.

  "Coming!" I grabbed my coat, straightened my tie, and hurried downstairs. Today was our first day of shooting—I couldn’t afford to be careless.

  After a quick breakfast, our forty actors had all arrived. Gance handed each of them two sheets of pre-printed paper.

  "These are your contracts," I explained, addressing the group. "Once you sign, you officially become part of DreamWorks. You’ll receive a monthly salary, and at the end of the year, a share of the company’s profits based on performance. Work hard, and you’ll be rewarded. The contract lasts for ten years, meaning DreamWorks will handle all your acting engagements during this time. Likewise, we will honor every commitment outlined in this agreement. It’s legally binding, and any breach will have consequences."

  I wasn’t na?ve. I knew this film would be a hit, and once it was released, these forty people—including Gist—had the potential to become stars. And stars were assets. If I didn’t secure them now, the big studios would poach them with higher offers, leaving me with nothing.

  Without hesitation, Gist signed first, followed swiftly by the rest. These were people struggling to survive—being guaranteed employment for a decade was an offer they wouldn’t refuse.

  Once the contracts were safely stored, we held a small opening ceremony in the courtyard.

  "Berg, is everything ready?" I asked.

  "Yeah, yeah. But, boss, are we making a movie or opening a restaurant?" Berg muttered as his team wheeled out a long table from the warehouse.

  On it was a roasted pig, dozens of plates of fruit and pastries, an incense burner at the center, and a bundle of incense sticks on the side.

  These were items I had specifically requested.

  Looking at them, my throat tightened.

  This was a Chinese tradition.

  "Boss, don’t just stand there—get on with it! We still have a scene to shoot!" Gance nudged me.

  Steadying myself, I stepped forward, lit the incense, and solemnly placed it in the burner. With a deep bow, I paid my respects to the heavens before stepping back. Gance, Berg, James, and the rest followed my lead.

  Once the ritual was complete, I pulled off the red cloth covering the camera and declared, "Production of Lust, Caution has officially begun!"

  At 9 a.m., our convoy set off for our first filming location.

  One mile from Harvey Street lay an open plain surrounded by forests and rolling hills. It was the perfect backdrop for our battle scene, already prepped and dressed for the shoot.

  This scene, depicting a decisive battle between the Confederate and Union armies, was pivotal to the entire film. The plot revolved around Confederate commander Plank suffering a crushing defeat due to the sudden intervention of George Bush. In response, Plank orders an assassination attempt on Bush. Meanwhile, Union General Clarke, unaware of the threat, is busy celebrating Bush’s success—much to the chagrin of Union officer Hankton, who resents Bush’s growing influence.

  To bring this battle to life, I had recruited 400 extras. They were dressed in period uniforms, armed with wooden prop rifles—silent film had its advantages, after all. No gunshots meant fewer expenses. The extras stood ready on the field, awaiting my instructions. James, playing Bush, was already in full gear, lying in wait behind a hill with his unit.

  Four cameras had been positioned for the shoot. Berg operated the main camera atop a hill, its rails laid for tracking shots. I handled a second camera positioned between the two armies, focused on capturing the pivotal charge. The remaining two were managed by hired cinematographers, embedded within the ranks for close-up shots.

  The clapperboard snapped shut as the assistant director announced the countdown.

  "Ten seconds to action—positions ready!"