Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 33

Ran Lin didn’t see the reply until the second day and, after some thought, ultimately chose not to respond. In case he started talking to Lu Yiyao again, the feelings he had finally suppressed would definitely reignite. He would be the one suffering in the end, with no one to turn to.

Besides, a night had already passed. Whether he replied or not, he guessed the other person wouldn’t care much.

With this thought, Ran Lin felt refreshed and picked up the script again, immersing himself in the troubled inner world of Xu Chongfei.

Ran Lin secluded himself for three days. When Wang Xi came to pick him up, she was startled by Ran Lin’s dark circles and almost wanted to scold him.

“Lucky I came two hours early. If I had let you go like this, you should just play a corpse instead of a hero!”

In the nanny van, Ran Lin sat still for the makeup artist to work on him while obediently listening to his agent’s scolding.

The makeup artist, following Wang Xi’s instructions, applied light makeup, mainly to cover the dark circles, aiming for a natural look. As the makeup artist was finishing and Wang Xi’s rant was coming to an end, she finally calmed down and asked about the main issue. “How well have you grasped the character?”

“Don’t worry, Xi Jie,” Ran Lin confidently responded.

Wang Xi, rarely seeing Ran Lin so confident, asked with a hint of surprise, “Do you have a secret weapon?”

Ran Lin innocently looked at her. “What?”

Wang Xi, frustrated, asked, “Where’s your confidence coming from?”

“Didn’t you say to give 200% even if there’s only a 1% chance? I can’t control the probability of the opportunity, but 200%…” Ran Lin blinked slightly. “I think I can do it.”

Wang Xi narrowed her eyes, suddenly feeling that today’s Ran Lin seemed a bit unfamiliar, especially his eyes, which shone with unprecedented handsomeness.

Shaking her head to dispel the unrealistic illusion, Wang Xi thought it must be because she was too hopeful for Ran Lin to perform well today, unconsciously viewing him through an agent’s lens.

The audition was in a conference room of a star-rated hotel near the North Third Ring. According to Wang Xi, the main filming base in Hengdian had started setting up. Director Chen was very strict and supervised everything. He had specially taken a week off to return to Beijing to see the last group of actors audition. This round of auditions would decide everything, as per the investors’ strict rule for the director.

Wang Xi had her sources of information, and Ran Lin just needed to listen and remember.

“Oh right, you might meet Zhang Beichen later,” Wang Xi suddenly said on the way to the hotel.

Ran Lin, unprepared, asked foolishly, “Is he also auditioning for the third male lead?”

Wang Xi looked at him disdainfully. “What are you thinking? Of course, he’s the male lead. Have you ever seen someone who has played several leading roles go back to playing a third male lead?”

Ran Lin’s heart finally settled. Healthy competition, relying on one’s own abilities, he wasn’t afraid, but if possible, he still didn’t want to compete with friends.

But…

“Do the lead roles also need to audition for this drama?” Ran Lin was a bit surprised. Usually, for big productions, the male lead is chosen after considering various factors, and auditions aren’t that important—even the director has to consider the wishes of investors and the market.

Wang Xi explained. “Tang Jingyu doesn’t need to audition. The production team will decide personally. There’s still room for discussion for Fang Xian, so many people want to compete for it.”

As expected.

Ran Lin steadied himself, went through the audition script he knew by heart in his mind, and then realized that the third scene was a confrontation between Xu Chongfei and Fang Xian. He asked again, “Will Zhang Beichen act with me?”

Seeing Ran Lin finally catch on, Wang Xi didn’t hide it. “Possibly.”

Ran Lin complained a bit, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“If I wasn’t afraid you’d be too surprised later and make a mistake, I wouldn’t have told you now,” Wang Xi said in a low voice, looking deeply into Ran Lin’s eyes. “Remember, what you need to do is focus on performing well, regardless of who you act with.”

Ran Lin calmed down oddly and nodded firmly.

Wang Xi sat back down and asked the driver, “How much longer?”

“About ten minutes,” the driver replied.

Wang Xi nodded, thought for a moment, then turned back to Ran Lin. “Since we still have time, tell me about your understanding of the character. The director will probably ask later.”

Ran Lin swallowed and, after a long pause, slowly shook his head.

Wang Xi was surprised. “Can’t do it?”

Ran Lin honestly confessed. “Yeah, can’t do it. If I talk about it, I’ll definitely cry, and the makeup will be ruined.”

Wang Xi had read the script and knew Xu Chongfei was indeed tragic, but she wondered. “Aren’t you getting into character too fast?”

Ran Lin lowered his eyes and, after a moment, looked up again with a burning gaze, as if it was no longer the semi-famous Ran Lin in his body but the noble and righteous young master of the Hidden Sword Tower. “I haven’t come out of it for these three days.”

Ran Lin was crazy.

Wang Xi didn’t know if this was good or bad, as she had never managed an actor so absorbed in their role. Liu Wanwan, however, was fascinated. The immersed Ran Lin’s handsomeness soared.

The car stopped at the hotel’s entrance. Ran Lin got out first, followed by Wang Xi and Liu Wanwan.

Today, Ran Lin wore a light camel-colored wool coat, looking clean, fresh, and maturely steady. Wang Xi dressed more soberly than usual, abandoning her favorite red, opting for black and white—sharp but not too eye-catching. Liu Wanwan was as plain as ever, following behind, carrying things.

The hotel corridor was carpeted and quiet. Approaching the conference room, they could faintly hear the sound of lines being recited inside.

Wang Xi stopped two meters away from the conference room door, signaling Ran Lin and Liu Wanwan to stop as well, and then took out her phone to make a call.

Soon, a girl in her late twenties appeared from inside. She had short hair, glasses, a sweatshirt, and jeans, and held a somewhat crumpled A4 paper that seemed to have a list printed on it.

The girl smiled upon seeing Wang Xi and then spoke in a low voice. “Are you here for the audition?”

Wang Xi nodded and whispered, “Ran Lin, scheduled for 10:30.”

The girl checked the list, quickly found Ran Lin’s name, and told Wang Xi. “Wait at the door for a while. I’ll call you when it’s over inside.”

Wang Xi nodded politely and watched the girl return to the conference room.

The heavy solid wood door closed again, and Wang Xi made a playful face at Ran Lin. Wang Xi rarely made such an expression, usually meaning she was helplessly amused and couldn’t get angry.

Ran Lin smiled, not minding it. Why does everyone in the circle want to be famous? Because fame means you might not need to audition, or even if you do, you don’t have to wait. Fame is like a green light in the industry. Take this movie, for example; there are people like him who desperately fight for a chance to audition, and there are those who sit at home and get handpicked by investors to be the lead.

Ran Lin envied this but was calm about it. Two months ago, he didn’t even have the chance to audition.

After waiting for about twenty minutes, the conference room door opened again. An actor about Ran Lin’s age came out with his agent. Ran Lin didn’t recognize him but had seen him on TV. However, he didn’t look as good in person as on TV, and his dejected expression now made him even less impressive.

Wang Xi and the other agent weren’t familiar, they just nodded to each other, and then the agent led his actor away. Before they got far, the girl from before stuck her head out of the door and said softly, “You can go in now.”

Wang Xi asked Liu Wanwan to wait at the door and patted Ran Lin on the shoulder, leading him into the conference room.

The conference room was large, and the table had been moved aside, leaving only a camera set up in the middle of the cleared space, apparently to record the auditions of all the actors.

Chen Qizheng, Song Mang, and a few others Ran Lin didn’t recognize sat in a row behind the table. From the moment Ran Lin entered, their gaze was fixed on him.

Director Chen Qizheng was around forty. He had a square face, a crew cut, and an unremarkable appearance. He wore a drab gray coat and sat in the middle of the row, inconspicuous, but if you looked into his eyes, you’d feel pressured.

By contrast, the screenwriter Song Mang was much more approachable. Probably because he was younger, around thirty, wearing black-framed glasses. Among the group, he was the most brightly dressed yet tastefully so, both stylish and energetic.

Song Mang’s world of martial arts in his scripts had the vitality of youth but also the depth of traditional martial arts. Ran Lin could see the vitality, but it was hard to associate the depth with such a person.

Perhaps this is the magic of screenwriters.

Wang Xi looked at Ran Lin, who was lost in thought, and helplessly pinched him from behind. Ran Lin reacted to the pain and immediately went forward to greet respectfully. “Hello, Director Chen, Screenwriter Song. I am Ran Lin, auditioning for the role of Xu Chongfei.”

Wang Xi sighed. Couldn’t you say a few flattering words?

Director Chen Qizheng had no expression, as if Ran Lin’s enthusiasm or lack thereof wouldn’t affect his stern face.

Song Mang still politely smiled, then said, “We have limited time. Let’s start.”

Wang Xi began to feel nervous. She had taken artists to auditions before, and usually, directors would give some face and make small talk. She had never encountered someone as stern as Chen Qizheng. Overall, she had a bad feeling.

Ran Lin saw Wang Xi step aside, clearing the middle space, and without wasting words, took off his woolen coat, wearing only the white knitted shirt inside. The white was strange—not pure white but tinged with a bit of blue. In terms of color, it was quite refreshing, but the style was really not outstanding—not ugly, but not particularly good-looking either.

Wang Xi, sitting in a corner chair, regretted not having Ran Lin change his shirt. Ran Lin, standing in the center, faced the director and screenwriter, but his eyes were not on them. Instead, he stared at the empty space in front of him as if a true brother was standing there.

Time passed by. The conference room was silent, except for the camera on the tripod. Ran Lin didn’t make any movement, just stared at the “brother” in front of him, his eyes slowly reddening.

“Tang Jingyu.” Ran Lin finally spoke, his voice suppressed with almost unbearable pain. “Fang Xian is our brother. We’ve exchanged hearts and lives. Didn’t you feel even a bit of hesitation when you used him?”

In the large conference room, no one responded, but the air seemed to turn bitter with “Xu Chongfei’s” questioning.

But Ran Lin could see and hear. He could see the wavering in the eyes of the “Tang Jingyu” opposite him, but he could also hear his cold words: No. It’s a blood feud, irreconcilable.

As soon as those words fell, Ran Lin raised his voice. “What does that have to do with Fang Xian? He always treated you as a brother!”

Tang Jing Yu: He is the son of Fang Huanzhi, so he is related.

“Tang Jingyu, you’re crazy. You are obsessed now; do you know that? Fine, if you want to kill Fang Xian, then kill me first!”

“Stop—” Director Chen Qizheng, who hadn’t said a word since entering, suddenly called cut.

Ran Lin’s chest heaved wildly, still not out of the intense emotions, and looked at the director with unsteady breathing and confusion. Song Mang also seemed puzzled, but his face didn’t show it.

Chen Qizheng didn’t explain. Just wrote a few words on some paper, then directly said to Ran Lin, “Next scene.”

The next scene was about being hurt by love. Completely different emotions from angrily questioning Tang Jingyu.

Ran Lin turned his back, breathing deeply, trying to adjust while comforting the tragic character Xu Chongfei in his mind.

Turning back to face the director, no, his partner, Ran Lin watched as “Tang Jingyu” slowly disappeared, and in a daze, a quirky, smiling girl, “Li’er”, a cute little thief he admired, became clear. She was the girl he liked.

Now, that girl put on an unfeeling face, wanting him to give up, so she said the cruelest things. She said: Xu Chongfei, I don’t like you. I already have someone I love.

Ran Lin looked blank, his lips slightly moving, as if he had something to say but didn’t know how to start. After a long time, he slowly said, “Tell me his name. Tell me, and I will give up.”

There was no resentment, no anger—only a magnanimous calmness, but a barely restrained hint of sadness.

Li’er: I can’t tell you, nor will I let you find him.

“Xu Chongfei” gave a bitter smile, his confusion turning into helplessness, and the atmosphere of sadness surged suddenly. “What kind of person do you think I am? If you really like him and think being with him makes you happier, I am willing to let you go.”

Li’er: You’re lying.

“Xu Chongfei” still smiled, but in his smile, in his eyes, there was an indissoluble love and sorrow. “I’m not lying to you, Li’er. I never knew what liking someone was from a young age. It was you who taught me that feeling. So now I also tell you, what I, Xu Chongfei, love is for your happiness. I will do anything that makes you happy, including letting you go.”

Li’er: So you’re really letting me go?

“Xu Chongfei” took a deep breath, gazing at the stars in the sky, as if his beloved girl was about to become one of those twinkling, yet distant stars.

Li’er didn’t speak and turned to leave.

“Xu Chongfei” suddenly called out to her. “Can I ask one last question?”

Li’er stopped, and after a long time, slowly turned halfway around.

“Xu Chongfei”, looking at her from a distance, spoke under the starry sky in a clear and bright voice. “You always tell me to let you go, but I have never restrained you. Have you ever thought, the one who really doesn’t want to let go of you, is not me, but your own heart?”

“Stop—”

Director Chen Qizheng spoke again, but this time, he waited until Ran Lin had finished all the lines of the scene.

Ran Lin stood in the middle, not looking at the director, only lowering his head, reorganizing his emotions. The next scene was the last words before death, without the anger of the first scene, without the deep affection of the second, only carrying the calmness in the face of death and good wishes for his brother.

Ah, this character is a saint.

“Let him come in,” Director Chen Qizheng suddenly said something seemingly unrelated.

Ran Lin looked up in confusion and saw Chen Qizheng speaking to the young girl who had notified them to come in. The girl, upon receiving the order, quickly went out and soon brought in someone who was supposed to audition half an hour later.

First came Agent Wu Xuefeng. Ran Lin always felt he had gained more weight. Then came Zhang Beichen.

Their eyes met, Ran Lin felt a bit awkward, but Zhang Bei Chen smiled naturally at him, obviously knowing he was auditioning. Zhang Beichen’s smile made Ran Lin’s awkwardness disappear, as if they were back to the times of shooting reality shows, naturally returning a smile to his partner.

Zhang Beichen and Wu Xuefeng also politely greeted the director and screenwriter. The screenwriter was as amiable as ever, the director as cold-faced as always.

‘So it’s not about fame,’ Ran Lin thought. ‘The lack of smiles must be Director Chen’s personal style.’

“Ran Lin… right,” Director Chen Qi Zheng suddenly said.

Ran Lin quickly nodded. “Yes, Director Chen, what can I do for you?”

Director Chen Qizheng glanced at him briefly, then looked back down at the script and said, “For the third scene, try it with Zhang Beichen. He’s playing Fang Xian.”

Ran Lin blinked in surprise and then softly agreed. “Okay.”

Zhang Beichen, without a word, took off his coat and decisively joined in.

Zhang Beichen wore a well-tailored shirt under his coat, with rolled-up sleeves, clean-cut, and handsome, with less youthful naivety and more of an elite vibe.

Ran Lin glanced at him.

Zhang Beichen understood, immediately knelt on one knee, extending his arm.

Ran Lin hesitated no longer and fell into the “friend’s” arms with a slap.

When two familiar people act together, it’s easy to break into laughter, especially in such a life-and-death parting. Ran Lin looked up into Zhang Beichen’s eyes and always felt there was a hint of laughter in them. Maybe Zhang Beichen wasn’t really smiling—it was just his own overthinking. But Ran Lin couldn’t control it.

Taking a deep breath, Ran Lin moved his gaze from Zhang Beichen’s eyes to the tip of his nose. From the perspective of others, even on camera, it would seem he was staring into the other’s eyes. So as long as his emotions were in place, there shouldn’t be any problem.

“Chongfei—” Zhang Beichen hugged him, suddenly shouting, his voice full of the sorrow of a friend’s impending departure.

The dying person, Ran Lin, made his voice weak and breathless. “I, I’m fine…”

“Stop!”

Zhang Beichen’s body shook, and the arm holding Ran Lin trembled.

Ran Lin quickly propped himself up with one hand.

Both of them stood up and looked at the director nervously, like two elementary school students facing their teacher.

Director Chen Qizheng stared at Ran Lin and said, “Xu Chongfei, I’ll give you one last chance. If you can’t look directly into Fang Xian’s eyes, then there’s no need to perform this scene. Do you understand?”

Director Chen Qizheng’s voice wasn’t loud, but the pressure was overwhelming.

Ran Lin gritted his teeth, held on, not avoiding his gaze, and nodded slowly and firmly.

Director Chen Qizheng threw his pen onto the table with a snap. “Again.”

Lying back in Zhang Beichen’s arms, Ran Lin closed his eyes, quickly discarded all distractions, and when he opened them again, the face above him was still Zhang Beichen, but the image in his mind was Fang Xian…

This time the director didn’t interrupt, watching coldly until the end, then said, “Okay.”

He then stopped looking at them, picked up his pen, and started scribbling on paper again.

Ran Lin was curious about what he was writing, but from his bold and commanding penmanship, he felt that even if he saw it, he might not understand it.

Ran Lin had tried three scenes, but Zhang Beichen only one. Now both stood in the middle, the atmosphere cooling down with the end of the performance. The director, furiously writing, showed no sign of looking up, making the air somewhat awkward.

Screenwriter Song Mang smiled at them and suddenly asked, “Can you talk about your understanding of the characters?”

Ran Lin and Zhang Beichen looked at each other; the latter whispered, “You go first.”

Whether speaking first or last, both had to speak, so Ran Lin didn’t refuse, took a deep breath, raised his head, and said, “Xu Chongfei is a saint.”

Song Mang was stunned.

Wang Xi was dumbfounded.

Even Director Chen Qizheng looked up, his usually deep eyes finally showing a bit of amusement.

Ran Lin continued, “But in the martial world, we need such a saint. He’s filial to his parents, loyal to his friends, and deeply loving to his lover. He, as a person, is the charm of the martial world. His upbringing as the young master of the Hidden Sword Tower has made his soul pure. He doesn’t have Tang Jingyu’s deep-seated hatred, doesn’t have Fang Xian’s inferiority of living in his brother’s shadow. He lives freely, easily, sincerely, and purely. Even when facing deceit and hurt, he can forgive with the greatest tolerance, but he’s not a blind good person. At critical moments, he has clear stances and will protect what he cherishes most with his life…”

“What do you think is the most cherished thing to him?” Song Mang narrowed his eyes, staring intently at Ran Lin.

“Loyalty and righteousness,” Ran Lin answered Song Mang. “Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian also value loyalty, but what they value is the loyalty among brothers and friends. Only Xu Chongfei values the greater righteousness of the world. He is the only one in this martial world who is willing to die for loyalty and righteousness. Therefore, his death can bring about reconciliation between Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian.”

Song Mang quietly looked at him, not speaking, with a smile that seemed to be thinking about something, or perhaps just finding it interesting.

“Uh…” Zhang Beichen hesitated to speak.

Song Mang turned his attention to him and nodded. “Go ahead.”

Zhang Bei Chen cleared his throat. “Fang Xian, in my view, is the most contradictory and pained character in this drama…”

……

After Zhang Beichen finished speaking, Song Mang didn’t ask further, and the director asked Ran Lin and Wang Xi to leave first. Ran Lin didn’t know if Zhang Beichen would have to act against the air like he did, just as he couldn’t see through the director’s cold expression whether it was usual or a sign of rejection.

“Xi Jie, do you think I stand a chance?” On the way back, Ran Lin, increasingly unsure, directly asked Wang Xi.

Unexpectedly, Wang Xi also couldn’t figure it out. “This director is famously idiosyncratic. Who knows what he’s thinking. But—” Wang Xi patted Ran Lin’s head, giving a rare praise. “You performed very well today. You impressed me.”

Ran Lin always felt Wang Xi’s pat on his head was like petting a dog, but hearing the praise, he didn’t mind. “Really? You really think I did well?”

Wang Xi looked at him with a mix of wonder and amusement, uncertain if she was mistaken. “Why are you so different on and off stage? When you act, you really have charm, but as soon as you’re off stage, you become timid again.”

Ran Lin laughed, playfully asking, “So do you like me being bold and imposing on stage, or do you like me being timid like this?”

Wang Xi narrowed her eyes, sizing him up, and corrected unceremoniously, “You weren’t bold and imposing on stage either!”

Ran Lin laughed out loud.

Wang Xi calmed down, thinking that perhaps she should plan Ran Lin’s acting career more seriously.

Liu Wanwan, listening to their conversation, felt a surge of sadness—she had eavesdropped on the whole process from outside, struggling with the door that wouldn’t open a crack. She was the most eager fan to see Ran Lin act!

……

Wang Xi received an “inside” call a month later, right on Labor Day.

“Xu Chongfei is preliminarily set to be Ran Lin. The list will be reported to the investors and the lead male actor this week. If both sides have no issues, it’s settled.”

This “inside” source was developed by Wang Xi through various connections after the audition. They didn’t have the power to make final decisions but could gather some intelligence.

“Really? Out of so many people, they chose Ran Lin?” Despite her expectations, Wang Xi was still incredulous.

“Yes, out of so many, the director chose two for the screenwriter to pick one, and the screenwriter chose Ran Lin.”

“Did they give a reason? Like phenomenal acting or something?”

“Sister, you’re thinking too much. There aren’t that many phenomenal performances.” The voice on the phone chuckled, adding, “But I think I heard him and the director mention something about Xu Chongfei’s favorite clothing color being moonlight white, as written in the script.”

Moonlight white?

Wang Xi couldn’t figure out the significance, and seeing the other side wanting to hang up, she quickly asked another question, “Is the lead male still Lu Yiyao?”

“Yes, it’s been settled for a long time. Unless he changes his mind in the next few days, the contract will be signed soon.”

“Why wait until now to sign the contract?”

“Probably want to see who the other actors are. Even the best scripts, without a solid cast, don’t have much persuasive power.”

“Alright, thank you.”

“Sister, don’t be so formal with me. We’re all on the same team. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay, I’ll treat you to a meal sometime.”

After hanging up, Wang Xi thought for a while, still unsure whether to let Yao Hong know in advance.

It was fine whether it worked out or not, but now it was just one step away from success. If the investors, director, and screenwriter all approved, but the lead male actor vetoed it, she would be frustrated.

Lu Yiyao…

From Wang Xi’s observation, his relationship with Ran Lin seemed quite good after the reality show, but she couldn’t rule out that he and Yao Hong might overthink upon knowing Ran Lin was a candidate for the third male lead. With a history of riding on popularity, if they believed Ran Lin was targeting Lu Yiyao this time too, then Ran Lin would definitely have no chance.

Wang Xi rarely regretted things she had done.

Using Lu Yiyao for hype was one such regret.

Should she let Ran Lin talk to Lu Yiyao? Play the sentiment card?

No, if that kid got impulsive and refused to act just to clear his name, she’d go crazy.

Wang Xi used to have confidence in controlling Ran Lin, but ever since the hotel drama, she began to reassess this artist, feeling that any day, Ran Lin might silently do something earth-shattering.

After much deliberation without a conclusion, Wang Xi, troubled, remembered the moonlight white reference.

Not only did she not understand the screenwriter’s intention, but she also didn’t even recognize the color.

Searching “moonlight white” on her phone, the answer was—a color between blue and white, not light blue, but white with a hint of pale blue.

The knitted shirt Ran Lin wore that day!

Wang Xi realized in her memory.

That shirt really wasn’t particularly attractive, but according to Screenwriter Song Mang, it was the favorite color of the character Ran Lin played—Xu Chongfei.

Opening the phone gallery, she carefully went through the audition scripts from a month ago, scrutinizing until her eyes hurt. Finally, in the character bio, Wang Xi saw that inconspicuous line—

Favoring clothes in moonlight white, just like himself, calm and clear.

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