Chapter 63
With the investment secured, the first order of business was casting.
The male lead was set as Qin Wen, but they still needed to cast the female lead and some supporting roles. The initial round of auditions focused on supporting characters.
Pei Zhuozhi sat in the lead seat, with Gu Xingshi beside him in his role as the film’s producer. On the table before them lay a stack of actor profiles, already pre-screened by the casting director.
As Gu flipped through the profiles, he was surprised to see that the caliber of talent was much higher than he had expected.
After all, this film’s production team consisted of an unknown director and screenwriters, and though Qin Wen was talented, he’d mostly been cast in supporting roles and hadn’t yet proven his box-office appeal. It wasn’t exactly the most attractive project in the industry.
At that moment, the system’s voice broke into his thoughts: [They’re not here just for this project—they’re here for you…]
Gu Xingshi:[What?]
System: [You’ve only been involved in two projects so far, but both have blown up. Plus, in The Secret of Six Gates, both the main and supporting actors rose to fame, and Reincarnation did even better. Sheng Yueqing’s character has become the definition of ‘white moonlight’; he’ll be set for life if he stays out of scandals. Which actor wouldn’t want a shot at that?”
Gu Xingshi: […Wait, what?]
System: [Oh, and some of the actors here are seasoned pros looking to see if there’s a chance to sign with your company. Haven’t you noticed that most of the candidates this time are scandal-free?]
Gu Xingshi: [???]
By now, the first group of actors had entered the room, and Gu set aside his banter with the system to focus on the auditions.
He barely spoke during the auditions, letting Pei Zhuozhi lead and only occasionally making a few notes.
The morning auditions mainly consisted of minor roles, so they moved quickly. By lunchtime, they’d gotten through most of the candidates.
During the break, Gu and Pei stayed in the room, eating boxed lunches while discussing a few undecided roles. On the table before Gu were two resumes for the fourth male lead. One actor had solid skills, while the other had the right look. Both had their pros and cons, leaving Gu at a bit of a crossroads. An idea suddenly struck him.
“Xiao Pei, take a look at this,” Gu said, gesturing Pei over.
Pei Zhuozhi, mid-bite, blinked and scooted closer.
“Help me pick one?” Gu asked.
Pei looked slightly puzzled but obediently pointed to one of the actors.
Gu Xingshi: [System, can you double-check this guy’s background for any scandals?]
System: [Sure…oh, wait. He was actually caught in a solicitation scandal. Well hidden, I almost missed it myself!]
Gu Xingshi: […Unbelievable!]
Gu looked at Pei, suddenly enlightened—Pei’s scandal-sensing radar was sharper than the system’s!
Picking up on the discovery, he slid two more resumes for another undecided role over to Pei. “Xiao Pei, choose again.”
Pei nodded and pointed to one of the resumes.
Gu Xingshi: [System, quick, check this one out.]
System: [Incredible! This guy has dirt too!]
Gu could hardly believe it. This was how to use Pei Zhuozhi to his fullest potential!
From that moment on, whenever they were uncertain about a candidate, Gu would give Pei a benevolent smile and say, “Xiao Pei, care to make a selection?”
Pei Zhuozhi: “…This one?”
Gu would immediately pick up the other profile and announce, “Alright, then he’s the one!”
Pei Zhuozhi: “???”
The casting process sped up dramatically. By the time Sun Hongfei finally finished his own tasks and came to check on their progress, the casting was nearly complete.
Sun Hongfei was stunned. “You’re almost done already?”
From his experience, casting for a film is usually a drawn-out process, often taking at least a month or two. He had assumed they’d barely be getting started, yet here they were, almost finished within a week!
Gu Xingshi, with a bright smile, replied, “It’s all thanks to Xiao Pei here!”
Pei Zhuozhi: “…”
Sun Hongfei looked at Pei Zhuozhi in astonishment and admiration. He had been a bit concerned at first—he’d heard about Pei’s infamous luck and was worried this project might fall through. He’d tried to tactfully advise Gu against hiring Pei, but Gu had insisted.
Now, it seemed his concerns were unfounded. Pei Zhuozhi did indeed have some real skills. Once again, Gu Xingshi’s judgment had proven accurate.
Although the casting process was moving along smoothly, not everything was perfect. They still hadn’t found an actress suitable for the second female lead. They had been through several rounds of auditions, but no one quite matched the image of the character they had in mind.
Feeling the mounting pressure, Sun Hongfei turned to Pei Zhuozhi and Gu Xingshi. “Are none of these actresses suitable? The last one looked pretty good to me.”
Pei Zhuozhi lazily pulled out a cigarette and bit down on it, muttering, “No soul.”
Sun Hongfei: “?”
Gu Xingshi furrowed his brows as he looked over his notes, then turned to the casting director. “Xiao Chen, are these all the actors we have?”
The casting director nodded and then suggested, “Would you like us to expand our search? Maybe try the drama schools?”
Gu Xingshi pondered the idea. This approach would certainly broaden their options, but it would also be more time-consuming and costly.
Even though Sun Hongfei had consistently reassured him to go all out on expenses, Gu Xingshi knew he couldn’t always rely on this generous funding from Wen Corp. For now, they were in a period of goodwill, but in the future, he’d have to work with other investors too.
Over the past few weeks, he’d met all types of investors. He realized how rigorous and demanding they could be when it came to project budgets—definitely not as hands-off and generous as Wen Corp had been this time. As a new producer, he was determined not to develop bad habits when it came to managing money.
With this in mind, Gu Xingshi said to the casting director, “Let’s take another look at the resumes we initially filtered out.”
They’d exhaust their current options first, and only if that didn’t yield results would they expand the search.
Sun Hongfei was a bit surprised. He agreed with the casting director, especially given the ample budget Wen Corp had provided. There really was no need for Gu Xingshi to be so thrifty. But it was clear to Sun that, despite what Gu said about just “being friends,” he still cared about Wen’s support deep down.
Before long, the casting director returned with a hefty stack of resumes that hadn’t made it past the initial filter. The sheer thickness of the pile hinted at a lot of tedious work ahead.
But Gu Xingshi, unphased, picked up the first resume and began going through it, one by one.
Pei Zhuozhi followed suit, picking up a stack as well.
Sun Hongfei sighed. Since they were both fully committed, he had no choice but to join in.
As he skimmed through each resume, though, it was hard not to notice just how underwhelming the profiles were—no wonder they hadn’t made it past the first round.
Sun Hongfei had lost interest after flipping through a few resumes, but seeing Gu Xingshi and Pei Zhuozhi still going through them carefully, he gritted his teeth and continued.
Just then, Gu Xingshi slowed his pace as he came across an intriguing resume.
The resume belonged to an actress named Yan Xiang. She was not professionally trained and listed her experience as having starred in fifteen short web dramas.
Short dramas had gained popularity on social media platforms in recent years but were often low-budget productions with minimal quality control. Actors in these dramas were usually untrained, lacking in both experience and skill. So despite her claim of fifteen starring roles, it wasn’t surprising that she didn’t make it through the initial filtering process.
But what caught Gu Xingshi’s attention was a few pages of character analysis she had attached to the resume. Yan Xiang had applied for a minor role with only five or six scenes, yet she had taken the time to draft an in-depth character profile and her interpretation of the role.
The analysis wasn’t professionally written—there were even a few typos—but the care and passion embedded in her words resonated with Gu Xingshi.
He looked at the photo on her resume. It wasn’t a polished headshot but rather a candid image from the set of one of her short dramas. Yan Xiang wore a cheap, almost laughable costume and makeup of questionable quality. Her features were ordinary, her complexion a bit sallow, but her gaze was fierce, exuding a vibrant, tenacious energy.
Her appearance might not be striking, but her spirit mirrored that of the female second lead in their script.
Gu Xingshi was intrigued. He pulled her resume out and handed it to the casting director. “Please contact her to come in for an audition.”
Sun Hongfei, dizzy from skimming through countless resumes and failing to find a decent candidate, looked up, surprised that Gu Xingshi had found someone. He glanced at Yan Xiang’s resume and was taken aback. “Uh… Gu, are you sure?”
Gu Xingshi hadn’t shown much interest in the trained actors they’d seen, yet here he was selecting an amateur from the world of short dramas.
Sun Hongfei couldn’t help but reason with him, “Gu, we really have enough budget! No need to be this thrifty.”
Gu Xingshi blinked. “I’m not being thrifty. I just think she’s a good fit.”
Sun Hongfei was speechless.
With skepticism, he waited until the next day.
That night, they picked seven actors from the stack of resumes, four of whom were chosen by Sun Hongfei. He had prioritized quantity over quality, thinking it would at least increase their chances.
Among the seven, Gu Xingshi had only chosen Yan Xiang, seemingly confident in his choice.
The next day, the three of them took their seats, and the casting director began bringing in the actors for their auditions.
The first actor’s performance was so excruciating that all three of them simultaneously called to stop it, exchanging pained glances.
Afterward, Sun Hongfei wiped the sweat from his forehead, especially as it had been one of his choices.
Thankfully, the subsequent auditions were more acceptable, though none of the actors delivered anything truly remarkable. Sun Hongfei’s initial excitement faded into a weary numbness, hoping only for the process to end soon.
Finally, only one actor remained.
The casting director called out into the hallway, “Next up, Yan Xiang.”
But no one responded.
The casting director called out again.
The few people in the audition room could hear it as well.
Sun Hongfei wondered, “Could it be that she didn’t come?”
Just as Gu Xingshi was feeling puzzled, the system explained: [Actually, she set out really early today, but her place is very far out. It took almost four hours to get here, and along the way, she hit the subway during rush hour, got squashed inside, and couldn’t get out for three or four stops. She even lost a shoe, then had to sprint here on a shared bike…]
She could have made it on time, but a few of the previous auditions were over too quickly, leaving her with not enough time.
The casting director entered. “President Gu, Yan Xiang didn’t come. Should we…”
Gu Xingshi shook his head. “Let’s wait a little longer.”
Five minutes later, the elevator doors opened, and a young woman rushed out, panting, “I… I’m Yan Xiang. Did I make it in time?”
The casting director breathed a sigh of relief and quickly said, “Everyone’s waiting. Go on in.”
With an anxious heart, Yan Xiang stepped into the audition room.
It was her first time experiencing such a professional audition: a clean, organized room, high-quality equipment, and a creative team that looked competent and dependable. This was the scenario she had always dreamed of.
She came from a rural background, didn’t have much formal education, and wasn’t particularly striking in looks, but she had a deep love for acting.
Whether it was bit parts or short web series nobody watched, as long as it was acting, she was willing to take it on.
Without any formal training, she found tutorials online, covering everything from acting and directing to screenwriting. She absorbed everything she could like a sponge.
And after she landed a role, no matter how small or ridiculous the character, she prepared seriously, drafting backstories and thinking through how she wanted to portray the role.
Most of the time, all this effort ended up in the trash.
Yan Xiang had never imagined that one day a miracle would come her way.
When the casting director told her that the role she was auditioning for was the second female lead, her first reaction was to think it was a scam. Only after confirming the director’s credentials did her mind explode in a flurry of joy.
She hadn’t slept a wink last night, working hard to analyze the character, writing out more than ten pages of notes.
She took out her prized sample of expensive makeup, carefully applied it, and headed out before dawn, braving the cold on the earliest bus.
She had been so full of hope—only for it all to be crushed during the morning rush.
Now, covered in sweat, her makeup ruined, with trembling limbs from biking and running, and missing a shoe, she realized she’d messed up the moment she had longed for the most.
As Yan Xiang stood there, helpless and lost, a hand suddenly appeared in front of her, holding a box of tissues.
She looked up to see a young man with a handsome, gentle face, smiling warmly at her, “Don’t worry. Take a moment to collect yourself. We can wait.”
Yan Xiang froze.
Then, a female staff member led her to the bathroom.
She stared in a daze at her reflection in the mirror—a face that looked utterly disastrous, with splotches of white and gray on her cheeks, smeared eyeliner streaking down like two black tears, and lips chapped from the cold, lipstick caked in the cracks as if she had just eaten something gory.
Thinking of how she had appeared just moments ago before the director and producer, Yan Xiang clenched her teeth, wishing she could slap herself.
But then she caught sight of the tissue box on the sink.
The young man’s gentle voice seemed to echo in her mind, calming her fear and despair like a Buddhist chant.
Suddenly, she felt a deep serenity—a fierce resolve to let go of everything.
Today’s audition was probably a failure.
But it didn’t matter. To have a chance to perform in a place like this, and for the role of the second female lead, was already something she could be grateful for.
She recalled the character’s profile in her mind.
Her name was Song Qing, meaning “light”—as in light and weightless.
Since she was young, she had been drifting like a leaf on a current, her life always on the brink of collapse, yet each time she managed to survive, barely holding on.
Everyone looked down on her, but she was determined to live with dignity, no matter what!
Yan Xiang wiped off her makeup bit by bit. As her true face emerged, her aura seemed to transform as well.
At that moment, it was as if she truly embodied the soul of Song Qing.
When she finished and walked out of the restroom, she noticed a pair of slippers placed at the door.
Seeing her pause, the female staff member explained, “These are from President Gu. Don’t worry, they’re brand new.”
The image of the young man’s face sprang into her mind.
For some reason, she felt certain that he was the President Gu the staff member referred to.
He must have noticed her missing shoe, but to protect her fragile pride, he didn’t say anything; he simply sent a pair of slippers.
Such gentle consideration and respect were rare for Yan Xiang.
She felt a sudden sting in her nose, a prick of emotion welling up.
She hadn’t cried despite everything that had gone wrong and how badly things had gone, but now, the tears were hard to hold back.
Swallowing them down, she slipped her feet gently into the slippers and returned to the audition room.
Her eyes found the young man sitting off to the side immediately, and he gave her a small, encouraging nod.
Yan Xiang pursed her lips, her resolve to give a perfect performance growing stronger.
The moment Pei Zhuozhi saw her enter, his previously drooping eyelids suddenly lifted. He spoke, “Your name is Yan Xiang.”
She nodded, holding his gaze with calm confidence as she gave her self-introduction, one she had practiced in her mind countless times.
Pei Zhuozhi made no comment. “You’ve read the audition script, right? Act out the second scene.”
It was a scene before Song Qing’s death. She was desperate to live, struggling to escape, but in the end, she was still killed.
This scene demanded intense emotional force; if performed poorly, it could easily turn comical.
Following the script, Yan Xiang sat on the chair in the specified position as the staff began tying her up with rope.
Yan Xiang tested the ropes binding her hands and feet, then turned to the staff member, saying, “Could you please tie them a bit tighter? And the cloth in my mouth too.”
Once she was secured, Pei Zhuozhi signaled for her to begin.
At the word “action,” Yan Xiang’s eyes flew open in terror, staring ahead with such intensity that veins popped up on her forehead.
Seeing this, Sun Hongfei, who had been slouched in his seat, sat up straight.
Yan Xiang began to thrash wildly, her body straining backward, tears and mucus streaking her face as she struggled to scream, only to emit muffled sounds through the cloth.
She paid no mind to how she looked, as if forgetting she was even at an audition.
Her eyes were locked on empty space as if, in this room, there was a terrifying presence that only she could see.
Sun Hongfei felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
At that moment, as she struggled desperately, the chair suddenly tipped over to the side. A staff member gasped and was about to help her, but Pei Zhuozhi stopped them with a sharp look.
Lying on the floor, Yan Xiang seemed oblivious to any pain, continuing to wriggle backward, even scraping her face against the ground in her frantic attempt to escape.
Then, suddenly, her bloodshot eyes froze.
Everyone in the room could almost feel the blade piercing her body.
Her gaze slowly shifted as though trying to see who was killing her, only to go still in that final moment.
Pei Zhuozhi abruptly stood up, excitement flashing in his eyes. “Yes! That’s it!!”
The girl who fought so hard to live, killed and left with one last look—not of fear, but of anger!
This was the Song Qing who clawed her way through life, determined not to be looked down upon!
This was the Song Qing he had envisioned!
Gu Xingshi called “cut,” and only then did Yan Xiang close her eyes as the staff hurried forward to help her up and untie the ropes.
Sun Hongfei rubbed his arm, still covered in goosebumps. He might not fully understand what exactly moved Pei Zhuozhi, but Yan Xiang’s explosive performance had certainly won him over.
For a split second, he’d nearly wanted to call the police.
Gu Xingshi glanced at Yan Xiang approvingly and then looked at the others. “Well?”
Pei Zhuozhi nodded. “She’s perfect. No one else would suit the role better!”
Sun Hongfei had no objections either.
Gu Xingshi turned to Yan Xiang. “Congratulations. The role is yours.”
Yan Xiang was still wiping tears and snot from her face when she heard those words that sounded like a heavenly chorus, and she was stunned.
She… she actually got the role?!
She pinched herself hard to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
This was real!!
Overcome with joy, she kept bowing to Gu Xingshi and Pei Zhuozhi. “Thank you, thank you so much…”
Gu Xingshi walked over to help her up. “Do your best. I believe in you!”
Still in a daze, Yan Xiang was led out by the casting director.
Sun Hongfei felt a tinge of envy. After all, he had a hand in making the decision too—why didn’t she thank him?
But he had to admit, he was now completely convinced of Gu Xingshi’s keen eye.
President Gu really did have an exceptional eye for talent!
How could he spot such a gem among that pile of unusual resumes?
Just when it came to casting, he had boundless confidence in him now!!
Sun Hongfei suddenly felt a surge of motivation. “President Gu, Director Pei, I think only the lead actress is left to cast, right? How about we keep going and finalize her today?”
Gu Xingshi seemed to remember something. “Now that you mention it, I do have someone in mind for the lead…”
Sun Hongfei’s eyes lit up.
Honestly, casting the female lead was proving tough.
Firstly, the lead’s appearance needed to be stunning, to the point that one look would leave an impression.
Then, she would have a lot of scenes with Qin Wen. If she couldn’t hold her own against him, the balance of the story would suffer. But finding a young actress whose acting skills could rival Qin Wen’s was no easy task.
With these two criteria, Sun Hongfei had wracked his brain trying to think of someone suitable.
But leave it to President Gu—he had already thought of someone.
“Who is it?” Sun Hongfei asked eagerly.
“Bu Qianwei,” replied Gu Xingshi.
Sun Hongfei’s face went blank for a second. “…Who?”
“Bu Qianwei,” Gu Xingshi repeated.
Pei Zhuozhi had already started a search, and soon a photo of a stunning beauty appeared on his phone screen. Her presence was so striking that it seemed to brighten the entire room.
Pei Zhuozhi’s gaze shifted. “She definitely has the look for the role.”
“Wait, hold on!” Sun Hongfei hurriedly stopped them. “Don’t just look at her photo! Haven’t you seen any clips of her acting?”
He quickly pulled up a video titled, “You Have to Check—Doesn’t Look Like Acting.”
The video opened with a clip of Bu Qianwei on the red carpet, looking breathtakingly beautiful. But the next moment, it cut to her acting—a scene where her facial expressions ran wild and her face contorted, a stark contrast from the elegant beauty in the first clip.
It was almost like a mental assault.
Sun Hongfei spoke with heartfelt anguish. “President Gu! After watching this, do you still want her as our lead?”
Gu Xingshi nodded without hesitation. “Of course!”
Sun Hongfei: “…”
How did those 5.0 vision eyes of yours pick both Yan Xiang and Bu Qianwei?!
In that moment, his confidence shattered to pieces.
