After Cheng Ran finished speaking, he glanced cautiously at Ye Zhou. His pale lips quivered as if he wanted to say something, but he ultimately lowered his head, staring at the ground in silence.
Seeing Cheng Ran’s disheveled appearance and limping gait, Ye Zhou knew something must have happened. He actually wanted to ask what had happened, but seeing Cheng Ran’s indifferent attitude, he immediately changed his mind.
Averting his gaze, Ye Zhou looked down to find the script that had fallen to the ground. He bent to pick it up, stuffed it into his backpack, zipped it closed, and slung it over his shoulder before walking towards the warehouse exit.
As he reached the doorway, cutting off all power to the warehouse and preparing to leave, a cold sensation touched his arm.
Ye Zhou paused his steps, his brows slightly furrowed, but he remained silent.
The contrast between the bright light outside and the dimness within the warehouse was stark. Behind Cheng Ran was the blinding brightness beyond, while before him lay endless darkness.
His hand tightened on Ye Zhou’s arm, knuckles whitening from the force. Had the warehouse lights still been on, Ye Zhou would have seen Cheng Ran’s pale face and his red-rimmed eyes brimming with tears of despair.
Unfortunately, the warehouse was dark enough to swallow all of Cheng Ran’s emotions.
Ye Zhou felt the grip on his arm intensify. He tried to pull away but couldn’t break free. They remained at an impasse for about two minutes, neither speaking.
Ye Zhou sighed, “Let go.”
Instead of releasing him, Cheng Ran’s grip tightened further, as if deliberately defying him.
“You’re late.”
“The staff for your audition left half an hour ago.”
Ye Zhou’s tone was slow and gentle, devoid of anger, only calm remained. He pried Cheng Ran’s fingers from his arm one by one, then reached out to pat his shoulder.
“No matter the reason why you couldn’t come as scheduled, today’s audition can no longer continue.”
Ye Zhou’s words pierced Cheng Ran’s heart like daggers. His complexion, already pale, turned ashen. His chest heaved violently, and he bit his lip so hard it bled, though he didn’t notice.
Ye Zhou expected him to say something, but after a long wait, he only heard a very soft apology.
“I’m sorry.”
Ye Zhou shook his head, “Come out, I need to lock the door.”
Cheng Ran’s entire body trembled. His fair, delicate palms were now marred with bloody crescents from his nails. He struggled to speak, his voice barely audible and broken.
“Can I… perform once?”
Ye Zhou glanced at him, calmly replying, “Everyone’s gone. Your performance now would be meaningless, not even counting as an audition. Do you still want to do it?”
Seeing that Ye Zhou hadn’t outright refused, Cheng Ran’s tightly pressed lips relaxed slightly. His voice grew firm, “I want to act.”
Checking his watch, Ye Zhou asked, “Even if your performance is excellent, you won’t receive any validation. Do you still want to do it?”
“I do.”
“Even without getting the role, without a single camera or scene partner, you still want to act?”
“I want to act,” Cheng Ran said softly. Though his voice was quiet, his unwavering affirmation three times in a row left no doubt about his determination.
Ye Zhou looked at him. His understanding of Cheng Ran initially came from that book and their few interactions since arriving in this world. But now, the Cheng Ran before him seemed somewhat different from the one he remembered.
Ye Zhou found it hard to pinpoint exactly what was different, but he was certain that this version of Cheng Ran seemed… much more pleasing to the eye.
After a moment’s silence, Ye Zhou released his grip on the door handle, turned around, and went back into the warehouse.
The lights came on, illuminating every corner. Ye Zhou clearly saw Cheng Ran’s disheveled state but said nothing and strode back to his original seat.
He took out the script from his bag, flipped through it, and paused at a particular page. Folding the corner, he pushed it towards Cheng Ran. “This scene.”
“You have ten minutes to prepare. We’ll start after that.”
Ye Zhou’s response made Cheng Ran’s nose tingle, nearly bringing him to tears.
It wasn’t from feeling wronged, but rather a long-forgotten sense of being respected.
Ye Zhou didn’t ask why he was late or why he looked so disheveled. He didn’t make him recount his embarrassing and unspeakable experiences.
His professional attitude allowed Cheng Ran to momentarily set aside those unpleasant events and fully immerse himself in the character he was to portray.
Cheng Ran quickly scanned the script. Having read the thick booklet countless times, it took only seconds for the scene’s plot and dialogue to surface in his mind.
This scene wasn’t easy. It was the male lead’s internal struggle, requiring the actor to convey all emotions through facial expressions and subtle movements, without the aid of voiceovers.
Previously, Ye Zhou had used this scene to eliminate many candidates, including two popular male actors. They performed adequately but fell far short of Ye Zhou’s expectations.
Of course, among the numerous auditions, there had been an actor capable of mastering this scene – an undoubtedly skilled performer with excellent character control. If not for the vast difference in appearance, Ye Zhou might have already cast him.
Ye Zhou refocused, looking at Cheng Ran, who was now muttering to himself while reading the script. He seemed to be immersing himself already. Though still disheveled, his aura had begun to subtly shift from when he arrived.
This change was hard to describe in words, but for a director like Ye Zhou, who had observed countless individuals, it was immediately noticeable.
As time ticked away, Ye Zhou asked when the ten minutes were up, “Are you ready?”
Cheng Ran nodded, closing the script and handing it to Ye Zhou.
With Ye Zhou’s “You may begin,” Cheng Ran sat on an abandoned, paint-stained iron barrel. He lowered his head, seemingly lost in thought.
His once calm eyes instantly glazed over with numbness. Though he looked only in his early twenties, an age that should be full of vigor, Cheng Ran now seemed drained of all vitality. He sat there, maintaining the same posture, like a lifeless sculpture.
Suddenly, his hand, previously resting on his leg, twitched slightly. His slender, pale fingers curled faintly, and a fleeting spark of light crossed his eyes.
But this light was ephemeral, disappearing as quickly as it came. As if remembering something, after a brief struggle, he ultimately returned to a deathly stillness.
His foot unconsciously tapped the ground, creating soft sounds that echoed clearly in the quiet warehouse.
Ye Zhou watched Cheng Ran’s performance intently, hands clasped under his chin. He had to admit, Cheng Ran was clever, choosing an excellent entry point. With just these simple gestures and facial expressions, he had already successfully piqued Ye Zhou’s interest.
While Ye Zhou contemplated, Cheng Ran’s posture changed. He sat with his legs together, hands placed properly on his lap, like a teacher’s favorite student in class.
Yet the apathy and impatience in his eyes grew increasingly apparent, churning in their depths like the buildup to a terrifying tidal wave.
Even from a distance, Ye Zhou could sense the restlessness emanating from Cheng Ran. His expression seemed unremarkable at first glance, but a closer look revealed his detachment, as if he were out of sync with the world.
Ye Zhou stared intently at Cheng Ran, observing every emotional shift, no matter how minute.
Cheng Ran’s fingers on his knee twitched, slowly moving towards his side. He seemed incredibly nervous yet utterly determined. His hand reached out and retracted several times before finally stopping about five centimeters away.
He quickly grasped something invisible, brought it back, and repeatedly explored it with his fingers. His performance was incredibly natural, every movement as if the object truly existed in his hand, not missing even the smallest detail.
After a few seconds of caressing, Cheng Ran’s fingertips began to tremble slightly. Yet his facial expression remained remarkably calm, his lifeless eyes even revealing a hint of pleasure.
He placed the hand holding the object on the slender wrist of his other hand, fingertips touching the blood vessels, quietly feeling the pulse.
This stillness lasted for tens of seconds. Suddenly, Cheng Ran’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. His tongue tip was tinged with blood, and the pleasure in his eyes intensified.
Feeling the beating pulse, Cheng Ran’s right hand made an unexpected motion, using the object in his palm to violently slash across the pale wrist.
The performance ended there.
To someone unfamiliar with the script, Cheng Ran’s performance would seem bizarre. But to Ye Zhou, who knew the script and character profile well, Cheng Ran’s interpretation was… pleasantly surprising.
Ye Zhou approached the still-seated Cheng Ran and said, “That’s enough.”
Only then did Cheng Ran snap out of character, his eyes momentarily bewildered before regaining focus. He smiled sheepishly.
As Cheng Ran’s performance concluded, Ye Zhou, true to his word, neither praised nor criticized, offering no evaluation whatsoever.
“Do you have any plans later? I can give you a ride,” Ye Zhou asked while gathering his things.
It would be a lie to say Cheng Ran wasn’t disappointed, but he had mentally prepared for this outcome. He hadn’t expected to be chosen based on one performance.
He had simply worked so hard and didn’t want to leave himself with regrets. Also… he wanted Ye Zhou to know that he had been genuinely preparing, not just playing around.
Cheng Ran shook his head, “No need, I can get back on my own.”
Ye Zhou didn’t comment on this. After packing up, they left the warehouse together. Cheng Ran’s mind wandered, filled with jumbled, directionless thoughts.
The sound of a car door opening snapped him back to reality. He saw Ye Zhou holding the door open, gesturing for him to get in.
Cheng Ran wanted to refuse, but seeing Ye Zhou’s insistence, he couldn’t bring himself to decline. He obediently got into the car.
The day’s events and the intense concentration earlier had taken their toll. As Cheng Ran relaxed in the car, fatigue overwhelmed him. He dozed off, his head lightly resting against the window.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself at the entrance of what appeared to be a hospital.
Ye Zhou was no longer in the driver’s seat. He was tapping on the window, gesturing for Cheng Ran to get out when he saw he was awake.
Cheng Ran instinctively wanted to refuse, “No, I… I don’t need this.”
Ye Zhou looked somewhat impatient, his tapping on the glass growing more insistent. Cheng Ran had no choice but to grit his teeth and limp out of the car, intending to explain properly to Ye Zhou once outside.
But Ye Zhou gave him no chance to speak, saying firmly, “Either you go in yourself, or I’ll call for a stretcher to carry you in.”
“I have an appointment in an hour. You don’t want me to be late because of you, do you?”
With things put that way, Cheng Ran pressed his lips together, ultimately saying nothing more. He limped along behind Ye Zhou, looking dejected as they entered the hospital together.
Since we’re down to the less than 10 chapters before KMCF is completed, please help me decide what series to work on next. You can check the poll posted on my kofi page. It is open for everyone, and will be open until July 3.
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