Zhuang Qin changed into a low-key black outfit in the car. The traditional long robe and mandarin jacket were too eye-catching, especially in a hotel like this, making it easy for people to remember him.
As he took the elevator up, he was still chewing gum, clutching a thick script in his hand. He rarely felt this nervous.
He adjusted his breathing, while Xiao Lian next to him was browsing food delivery options nearby, “A bowl of porridge would be perfect for tonight, warm and soothing.”
They arrived at the top floor, and Zhuang Qin stepped out, realizing this hotel probably wasn’t arranged by Guo Baozhen. Director Guo didn’t have much money, so there was no way he’d book such an expensive hotel, let alone a presidential suite.
Standing at the door, he rang the doorbell, and within seconds, the door opened.
“Coming, coming!” Guo Baozhen quickly let him in. Zhuang Qin entered, greeted the director, and glanced around, spotting Li Mu.
Even though it was already late, Li Mu had changed out of his pajamas and into a thin white V-neck sweater, through which his lean muscle lines were faintly visible. He paired it with matching sports pants that softly outlined his long legs. He was wearing indoor slippers.
Li Mu was sitting and flipping through the script. Upon seeing someone fully covered enter, he stood up and nodded in greeting.
Seeing Li Mu nod, Zhuang Qin nodded back, “Hello.”
He wasn’t sure whether he should act surprised since they had seen each other abroad just a month ago.
However, Zhuang Qin figured Li Mu probably didn’t remember. He removed his hat and mask, and only then did he realize that the hairstyle he had carefully done during the day was now slightly messy. He raised his hand to fix it and suddenly remembered—he hadn’t spat out his gum yet!
“Let me introduce you two,” Director Guo, who had arrived earlier, pulled Zhuang Qin over. “This is Zhuang Qin, and this is Li Mu. It’s your first time meeting today, kind of rushed.”
“Nice to meet you,” Zhuang Qin wasn’t sure if he should offer a handshake. Everyone knew that aside from filming, Li Mu didn’t like physical contact with others, so after a moment of hesitation, he didn’t reach out.
Li Mu nodded again, “Have a seat.”
Zhuang Qin was still thinking about how to get rid of his gum. “Sure, you sit too.”
They sat on the sofa, about a meter and a half apart. Xiao Lian, standing next to Zhuang Qin, sneaked glances at the other male actor, thinking, Is this guy really a handsome amateur?
Sensing the slightly awkward atmosphere, Guo Baozhen coughed lightly and cut to the chase, “I’ve prepared some slips of paper. You two can draw one to decide which scene to try out. Who wants to pick?”
He pulled out several crumpled slips from his jacket pocket. Earlier, he had asked Li Mu, who said it was up to the other actor. Zhuang Qin, being easygoing, also said it didn’t matter, so Guo Baozhen decided drawing lots would settle it.
Li Mu glanced at Zhuang Qin and yielded, “You can pick.”
“Alright,” Zhuang Qin didn’t decline, reaching for a slip.
Guo Baozhen opened it, “Scene 31.” Honestly, he thought the best test for the actors would be a kissing scene to see if they had chemistry, but he feared that suddenly throwing two strangers into an intimate scene might cause resistance.
Zhuang Qin immediately felt relieved. The romantic scenes were much later in the script. By now, he was very familiar with it. Scene 31 was pivotal, marking the point where the relationship between the two characters began to thaw, and Jiang Zhuo started feeling things he shouldn’t.
“I brought my script.” Zhuang Qin flipped to Scene 31.
Interior / Day (slightly later) / Bedroom
He quickly scanned the page. Most of it was dialogue with a few action cues and hardly any physical contact. It was a psychological confrontation. Jiang Zhuo suspected An Ke wasn’t really blind and was trying to test him.
It was clear this was a scene Director Guo had intentionally chosen.
Director Guo also turned to the page, “How about this scene? Let’s stop at the end of the second take, right where Jiang Zhuo’s lines end. Sound good?”
Zhuang Qin had no objections, and Li Mu, after glancing at the script, gave a quiet “Mm.”
“So, how about 20 minutes to prepare?” Director Guo checked the time, suggesting they start at 10:50.
When actors are unfamiliar with each other, acting together might come across a bit stiff, but he figured with Li Mu’s personality, there was no way they could interact without running lines.
Zhuang Qin nodded, still trying to figure out how to discreetly spit out his gum. Suddenly, Xiao Lian blurted out, “Ah, Brother Zhuang! Did you spit out your gum yet? Or did you accidentally swallow it?”
Li Mu glanced over at him upon hearing that.
Zhuang Qin: “…”
Did you really have to shout that?
Completely unaware of what he had just done, Xiao Lian quickly handed him a tissue. Zhuang Qin quietly spat the gum into the tissue, tossed it away, and avoided making eye contact with anyone, burying his head in the script.
Guo Baozhen adjusted the lighting, making it softer, creating a more comfortable, relaxing atmosphere compared to the bright lights. Seated more than a meter away from Li Mu, Zhuang Qin picked up the script and closed his eyes.
He was getting into character.
Zhuang Qin had already outlined An Ke’s entire life based on the script, filling in the background details with his imagination where the script didn’t provide them. Today’s audition was crucial. If Li Mu rejected the role today, the future of the project would be uncertain.
To perform convincingly, Zhuang Qin had to discard his personal feelings and immerse himself fully into the character.
Xiao Lian sat far away, browsing Weibo. The raw photos from tonight’s red carpet event had already been posted. The fans hadn’t edited much, just added a filter, and the cool tones, paired with Zhuang Qin’s stunning outfit, had the comment section filled with screams. It was bound to trend soon. Xiao Lian quickly entered the fan groups, rallying the leaders to manage the comments.
The company had canceled the long-term deal for paid commenters to boost Zhuang Qin’s popularity, but it didn’t matter—his fan base was massive.
Meanwhile, Director Guo stood by the window, sneaking a few pictures of the presidential suite with his phone.
He used to be a reporter, so his habit of taking sneaky shots when no one was watching hadn’t faded. Once, while the homeowner was off making tea during an interview, he’d taken so many pictures that their bodyguard almost threw him out.
Twenty minutes passed quickly.
“Ready?” Director Guo asked as he approached.
Zhuang Qin nodded, his eyes still closed, hands clutching a photo from his wallet—one of him, his master, and the rest of the troupe.
Li Mu set his script aside, immediately getting into character. His voice changed, “What are you looking at?”
Director Guo nodded to himself, impressed. Although Li Mu wasn’t a professional actor, he was clearly intelligent, seamlessly blending into the character through control of his expressions, voice, and body language.
An Ke opened his eyes.
Director Guo, standing nearby, was momentarily stunned by the look in his eyes.
An Ke’s character was severely nearsighted, nearly blind due to an accident in childhood. Acting as a blind person is notoriously difficult, often requiring special contact lenses.
But Zhuang Qin’s unfocused gaze was spot on!
Jiang Zhuo stood up and walked over, glancing down at the photo. “Is this you in the picture? Are those your parents?”
An Ke quickly withdrew his arm, covering the photo without saying a word.
“That kid in the picture, is it you? You could see back then?” Jiang Zhuo crouched down, staring into the boy’s eyes. His voice was steady, with a faint, almost imperceptible hint of gentleness.
An Ke stared blankly into space, smiling faintly, “Yes, that’s me. Look at me now—do I still look the same?”
Director Guo hadn’t expected such an effective performance from Zhuang Qin and regretted not bringing a camera. Hastily, he pulled out his phone to record.
“You look the same, not much has changed. How did your eyes get hurt?” Jiang Zhuo’s gaze was direct, meeting An Ke’s dark, sightless eyes without flinching. His eyes traveled over the boy’s features—brows, nose, lips, chin—taking in every detail before returning to those same, changed-yet-unchanged eyes.
People do change from childhood to adulthood.
Li Mu’s subtle acting drew Zhuang Qin in, allowing him to momentarily experience the assassin’s emotions.
“A car accident,” An Ke calmly replied, tucking the photo back into his wallet. His voice was steady, “My parents died, and glass shards pierced my eyes. There was a lot of blood.”
“I was only eight then,” he added. “After my parents died, my uncle brought me here, but he hasn’t returned in a long time…”
Jiang Zhuo knew that An Ke’s uncle was a notorious drug dealer, recently killed in a shootout. But he asked, “Do you want to see him?”
“…No.” An Ke’s chest rose and fell, indicating his emotions weren’t as calm as his tone suggested, but he gave no explanation. His gaze was hollow, dark.
The two actors locked eyes for a good seven or eight seconds. Their faces were close, and Li Mu stared into those eyes, which were completely different from how they appeared off-screen. For a brief moment, he felt a strange, subtle emotion well up from within, as if he could smell a faint almond scent—perhaps cologne, maybe shampoo.
An Ke’s eyelashes trembled. According to the script, at this point, Jiang Zhuo had to gently brush his fingers over An Ke’s eyes.
Li Mu raised his hand, his fingertips brushing past the lashes, not touching any skin, only grazing the lashes.
His fingertips tingled slightly, and he delivered his line, “Your eyes are beautiful. Don’t hide them.”
For a killer, curiosity is a fatal flaw, and Jiang Zhuo had already crossed that line.
The two actors maintained eye contact. Then, after a pause, Zhuang Qin closed his eyes and turned away.
Li Mu looked at him for a few seconds before sitting back down, his emotions gradually calming.
Zhuang Qin’s emotions also stabilized. Though this was just a small trial, his method of acting was akin to a form of dissociation, with his true self retreating deep inside while the character’s persona took control. During this state, his actions were entirely natural, not consciously performed. This made coming out of character slower.
His acting coach had once warned him that this approach was dangerous.
Director Guo turned on the lights, brightening the room. As the light shone down, Zhuang Qin exhaled slowly, finally regaining control.
Director Guo, filled with excitement, clapped enthusiastically. “You two are meeting for the first time, doing your first scene together, and you already have such great chemistry! This is like a match made in heaven!”
On the surface, the scene seemed calm, but underneath, there was a deep emotional intensity. Zhuang Qin’s performance far exceeded Director Guo’s expectations—it was flawless! As for Li Mu, while his performance wasn’t quite as immersed as Zhuang Qin’s, likely because he hadn’t had much time with the script, his acting was clearly skillful. The two of them together had an unexpected tension, drawing the audience in and making it hard to look away, as if inviting people to explore the hidden depths of the characters.
Xiao Lian handed Zhuang Qin a thermos of water. To be honest, Xiao Lian wasn’t familiar with the script and didn’t fully understand acting, but even he was surprised.
Brother Zhuang had completely transformed into someone else!
His acting had improved significantly compared to the drama from last year!
Seeing that Zhuang Qin seemed tired, Director Guo didn’t say anything more and turned to Li Mu, “Let’s wrap up today’s audition? It’s getting late. As for the contract…”
He was about to suggest discussing it online tomorrow when Li Mu interrupted, “I’ll take the role.”
Zhuang Qin looked up sharply.
Director Guo was overjoyed, “Really? That’s fantastic! I’ll go ahead and add you both to a group chat then. Once the contracts are finalized for the other actors, I’ll add them too. Zhuang Qin, is that okay?”
Zhuang Qin gave a soft “Mm” and stood up. Xiao Lian, noticing how exhausted he was, immediately said, “Director, Brother Zhuang’s had a long day, and he’s still hungry. I’ll take him to rest now.”
“What? You haven’t eaten yet?”
Xiao Lian replied, “I ordered takeout; it’s already at the front desk.”
Director Guo nodded, “Oh, then go grab it and head back to rest.”
“We’re not sure if any paparazzi are lurking outside, so Brother Zhuang will stay at the hotel tonight instead of going home. I’ve already booked a room for him.”
“That’s fine. And don’t forget your cup.”
Zhuang Qin nodded at Director Guo and Li Mu, saying goodbye, “Bye.”
As soon as they left the room, Xiao Lian exclaimed, “Brother Zhuang, what’s this script about? It’s so intense, it gave me goosebumps!”
“It’s a crime story. It’s about a professional assassin in Southeast Asia who gets into trouble and ends up sharing an apartment with a reclusive Chinese teenager…” He continued to describe the plot as they entered the elevator, “If you’re interested, you can read the script.”
At this point, Zhuang Qin had fully snapped out of character. During the acting process, he was so absorbed that he couldn’t remember the lines he’d said or the actions he’d taken. Many details had become a blur.
Xiao Lian swiped the card to unlock the door and said, “You rest first. I’ll go get the takeout.”
Shortly after, Xiao Lian returned with the porridge takeout and saw Zhuang Qin looking for something. “Brother Zhuang, what are you looking for?”
“Have you seen my scarf? Did I take it off when I got out of the car?”
“It should still be in the car?” Xiao Lian wasn’t sure either. “Oh, Brother Zhuang, by the way, while you were rehearsing earlier, I took a call from Song Ke. He said you left your trophy at his place. Maybe send him a message when you have time.”
Zhuang Qin let out a couple of “Oh, oh” sounds, pulling out his phone to message Song Ke, saying he’d pick up the trophy another day.
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
“Who is it?”
A voice from outside answered, “Room service.”
Xiao Lian went to open the door, and a staff member wheeled in a cart, “Your order has arrived.”
“Eh?” Xiao Lian looked back into the room and asked, “Brother Zhuang, did you order food?”
Zhuang Qin replied that he hadn’t. Xiao Lian turned to the staff member, “Is there a mistake?” He glanced at the dishes on the cart, which were covered, but the aroma was already wafting through the air.
“There’s no mistake,” the staff member checked the slip. “It’s from the gentleman in the top-floor suite. The meal is included in his room charge. He’s dining out tonight, so it’s complimentary.”
Xiao Lian widened his eyes as he realized what was going on. “Oh, I see. Thanks.”
The staff member pushed the cart into the room and set it up on the balcony dining table before leaving. Zhuang Qin, in another room, had remained unseen.
After the door closed, Xiao Lian called out to Zhuang Qin, “Brother Zhuang, Brother Zhuang! It’s from the guy in the top-floor suite—y’know, the actor you were just rehearsing with! Is he trying to curry favor with you?”
