Initially, when Ye Zhou invited Cheng Ran to audition, he didn’t have high hopes. He just felt that Cheng Ran’s image was a good fit for the role, and Cheng Ran happened to call him, so he casually mentioned it.
But who would have thought that Cheng Ran not only expressed willingness to audition but also was willing to risk being caught by Jiang Yu and returning to the country. He even cried.
Ye Zhou couldn’t stand it when someone cried in front of him, especially when it was a grown man – a grown man who had caused him trouble several times before.
In fact, Cheng Ran’s current situation wasn’t great. Although he had undoubtedly screwed Jiang Yu over pretty badly, he had also landed himself in this predicament due to his revenge.
Even abroad, he still had to be cautious. If Cheng Ran really returned to the country, he would undoubtedly face Jiang Yu’s towering rage. Ye Zhou had only met Jiang Yu a few times and his understanding of him was solely based on the plot in the book.
From the moment Jiang Yu appeared until he ended up with Cheng Ran, Ye Zhou had a lot of questions in his head.
Seriously, strip away the protagonist halo and his identity as a CEO, and Jiang Yu was essentially a low-life psycho! Not to mention his various idiotic operations described in the novel, just his personality alone – irritable, temperamental, self-centered, and, most appallingly, prone to physical violence and domestic abuse!
What left the deepest impression on Ye Zhou was when Jiang Yu and Cheng Ran argued over the white moonlight Yu Qiuze. In the heat of the moment, Jiang Yu ended up slapping Cheng Ran hard enough to rupture his eardrum.
The scene of Jiang Yu apologizing afterwards also left Ye Zhou puzzled. He bought wine and cake, went to Cheng Ran’s doorstep, and then… started slapping himself.
Ye Zhou: Grandpa on the subway looking at his phone.jpg
Although the protagonist shou, Cheng Ran, was equally brainless, Ye Zhou always felt that his idiocy escalated in tandem with Jiang Yu’s psychotic behavior.
Overall, from any perspective, getting involved with the nutcase Jiang Yu didn’t seem like a wise choice.
Nevertheless, Ye Zhou agreed to let Cheng Ran audition for three reasons. First, he felt that after leaving Jiang Yu, Cheng Ran didn’t seem as brainless as before and appeared to be more normal.
Second, Cheng Ran’s image was truly a perfect match for the male lead in ‘Rewind,’ and finding a suitable actor wasn’t easy – it was a rare opportunity. For this reason alone, Ye Zhou believed he should give Cheng Ran a chance and, in turn, give himself a chance.
The third and most important reason was that no matter what, Cheng Ran was a character with a protagonist’s halo. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to walk away from Jiang Yu with so much money back then.
Having been transmigrated for so long, Ye Zhou had always been extremely interested in the protagonist’s halo and wanted to see whose halo, the protagonist shou or the gong, was more powerful. He also wanted to observe the power of the halo up close and maybe even bask in its glory if possible.
Ye Zhou’s mind was buzzing with calculations as he eagerly anticipated the audition.
The agreed time with Cheng Ran was the beginning of next month. After confirming the schedule with his team, Ye Zhou sent Cheng Ran the script for ‘Rewind.’
Upon receiving the script, Cheng Ran felt like he had gone back to his senior year of high school. Every day, he was either studying the script or working on character biographies.
He even ordered an oversized mirror as wide as a wall to practice his expressions, movements, and speech patterns, meticulously studying every detail for a long time.
Although it was extremely busy, during that month and a half, Cheng Ran felt a sense of joy and purpose he had never experienced before. Studying the script and memorizing lines might have seemed tedious, but for Cheng Ran, it brought him unprecedented happiness.
It had been many years since Cheng Ran had been involved in acting. By Jiang Yu’s side all these years, he had learned many things – how to be a capable decision-maker, how to negotiate for maximum benefit in business, how to be a competent producer, and even how to be a qualified lover.
The only thing he hadn’t learned was what he truly wanted to learn – acting and pursuing his dream, which had been buried the moment he fell for Jiang Yu.
Cheng Ran was like a dehydrated sponge, hungrily absorbing the knowledge of acting and performance.
If initially, Cheng Ran had viewed Ye Zhou’s audition invitation as a lifeline to pull him out of the quagmire, then after going through this period of hard work and effort, he could finally face this opportunity.
If he proved himself capable enough, it would no longer be a mere lifeline but the door to a new beginning.
Cheng Ran’s feelings toward Ye Zhou, the person willing to give him a chance despite their history, have always been complicated.
At first, Cheng Ran’s attitude towards Ye Zhou wasn’t so much hatred as it was envy.
They had walked the same path, yet to Jiang Yu, he was nothing but disposable trash, while Ye Zhou had become the cherished person of the coldly aloof and hard-to-approach Jiang Tingyuan.
Such a stark contrast, how could one not be envious?
But since Ye Zhou’s phone call that saved him from the fire and water, Cheng Ran finally realized that people were truly different from one another.
Later, when Cheng Ran heard Ye Zhou invite him to audition for a male lead role in his film, Cheng Ran could finally give Ye Zhou an accurate definition.
A fool.
From birth, he had seen all sorts of ugliness in human nature, and working at Jiang Yu’s company exposed him to the myriad facets of humanity, no matter how repulsive, yet he had never encountered a fool like Ye Zhou.
To pull an enemy who had once harmed him out of the fire pit and give him a new chance at life, how… foolish, stupid, idiotic.
In the past, Cheng Ran would have scoffed at such foolish kindness, but he never thought he would one day fall for this nonsense himself.
He even felt his blood boiling, eagerly wanting to prove himself before Ye Zhou, to show him that he had a good vision, that he could become the person Ye Zhou envisioned, no matter the cost.
On the day of the audition, Cheng Ran performed his final act in front of the mirror, then turned off the lights and locked the door.
The venue was a temporarily rented, dilapidated warehouse of about 300 square meters, arranged by a friend of Assistant Director Meng.
“Isn’t this warehouse a bit too run-down?” Ye Zhou turned and complained to Assistant Director Meng beside him.
Assistant Director Meng rolled his eyes and leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Be content. You have a lot of weird requests, saying it must be hidden but not too inconspicuous. If people didn’t know this was an audition, they would think you’re conducting underground party activities. It’s already good enough that we found this place, so be grateful.”
Ye Zhou scratched his nose, slightly embarrassed, and coughed lightly, fanning Assistant Director Meng with the files in an obsequious manner. “Thanks for your hard work, Meng-ge!”
Assistant Director Meng found it somewhat amusing but didn’t want to stay mad at him, shaking his head helplessly. “You’re too much. Holding auditions across the ocean like this, I want to see what kind of actor could make you go through all this trouble.”
Upon hearing Assistant Director Meng’s question, Ye Zhou initially wanted to introduce Cheng Ran to him but fell into contemplation, unable to find the right way to describe him.
After hesitating for a while, Ye Zhou reluctantly forced out a sentence that went against his conscience, “He’s a very talented actor with great potential. You’ll see for yourself.”
Although his words sounded pleasant, he lacked conviction. Despite knowing the protagonist shou’s acting talent in the novel, there was a vast difference between written descriptions and real performances. Since arriving in this world, he had yet to witness the protagonist act, leaving him uncertain about today’s audition.
Assistant Director Meng, being familiar with Ye Zhou’s mannerisms, sensed his lack of confidence and immediately felt disheartened.
He had assumed Ye Zhou’s insistence on holding an overseas audition meant he had already found a suitable actor. But now… even this kid himself was uncertain!
But since they were already here, they couldn’t just give up on the audition because the odds seemed slim and return home empty-handed.
Assistant Director Meng sighed, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost time. Has your actor for the audition arrived?”
Ye Zhou also glanced at the time, realizing there were only ten minutes left until the agreed time. He took out his phone from his pocket, intending to call Cheng Ran.
However, the phone rang for a long time, and even when it went to voicemail, no one answered.
Ye Zhou had a sinking feeling—had Cheng Ran stood him up? After all this effort and expense, with plane tickets alone costing tens of thousands, it would be a complete embarrassment if Cheng Ran didn’t show up today.
Refusing to give up, Ye Zhou made several more calls, but each one went unanswered.
Noticing Ye Zhou’s grim expression, Assistant Director Meng asked with concern, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
Ye Zhou forced a smile. “His phone is unreachable. He’s probably on his way and can’t answer.”
Hearing this, Assistant Director Meng’s expression changed, his lips moving as if to speak but holding back.
Ye Zhou understood his meaning, shaking his head. “Let’s wait a bit longer. He might arrive soon.”
Assistant Director Meng sighed and didn’t say anything more.
Yet contrary to his hopes, by the appointed audition time, there was still no sign of Cheng Ran in the dilapidated warehouse, and his calls remained unanswered.
The crew of over a dozen people in the warehouse stared at each other, their gazes eventually converging on Ye Zhou.
Checking the time, Ye Zhou gritted his teeth and said, “Sorry for the trouble, everyone. We’ll wait another half hour. If he still doesn’t show up, we’ll call it a day.”
“Consider this trip as a vacation. I’ll cover all expenses for everyone to stay here for three days.”
With Ye Zhou, the director, making such a statement, the other crew members didn’t say anything and the decrepit warehouse fell into silence once again.
As time ticked by, the minute hand reached forty-five, yet Cheng Ran had not appeared.
With a wave of his hand, Ye Zhou declared, “Alright, no more waiting. Those who want to rest, rest. Those who want to play, go play. I’ll wait for you all at the hotel lobby at eight o’clock the day after tomorrow.”
After the crew left, Assistant Director Meng noticed Ye Zhou still seated and asked, “Xiao Ye, aren’t you leaving?”
Ye Zhou rubbed his temples and waved at Meng. “You go ahead, Meng-ge. I’ll sit a while longer before heading back.”
Though Assistant Director Meng shook his head, he didn’t persuade further and left.
Left alone in the empty, abandoned warehouse, Ye Zhou finally cursed, tapping his head as he muttered to himself, “Stupid! So stupid!”
What was wrong with his brain to actually cross the ocean and hold an audition just because of Cheng Ran’s few tears?
Ye Zhou fumed, grumbling, “The most basic trust between people! Trust! Gone!” as he stood to gather his belongings.
As he tucked the last script into his bag, a faint ‘creak’ came from the warehouse door.
Looking up, he saw a disheveled Cheng Ran limping in from the entrance.
‘Thud.’ Startled, the script slipped from Ye Zhou’s hands, landing with a soft sound.
The noise caught Cheng Ran’s attention. Disbelieving, he raised his head towards Ye Zhou. Upon recognizing his figure under the light, he opened his mouth.
Uttering softly, “You… haven’t left yet.”
Ye Zhou rolled his eyes, replying sourly, “Hmph.”
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