The script was tossed onto the table by Chu Feiliang. Rong Guang had to crane her neck just to see a little of the content.
She was a little nearsighted, less than 1.0 diopters, but from a distance of about a meter… she couldn’t make out the small words. She could only stare eagerly, hoping to magically make sense of it.
A long, slender, fair hand reached out and pushed the script, landing it squarely in front of her.
Rong Guang blinked, surprised that Chu Feiliang had noticed. She said nervously in a low voice, “Thank you, Teacher Chu.”
Chu Feiliang glanced at her but said nothing.
Zhang Nanchuan also rubbed his head, feeling a headache coming on.
Chacha looked at Zhang Nanchuan’s increasingly sparse scalp and patted her own head with lingering fear, saying, “I don’t want to go bald.”
“It’s fine.” Ye Zi nudged her, glanced at the top of Chacha’s head, and then pinched Chacha’s small pigtail. “You have a lot of hair. You won’t go bald.”
Chacha nodded seriously, weighing it in her mind. “If I grow it for another year, I can sell it for money again. I can get two hundred yuan for selling my hair.”
“That much!” Ye Zi’s eyes lit up. “What about mine? What about mine…”
The two young ones whispered to each other in the corner, completely oblivious to the undercurrents at the table.
Rong Guang took a careful look and felt… she could somewhat understand Chu Feiliang’s point.
This character… was simply too perfect.
So perfect that she wasn’t grounded at all. There wasn’t a single thing to connect her to reality. She was like an unattainable deity, not a mortal.
As the only Eldest Princess of the dynasty, Ji Ying’s life could be described as a legend.
On the day of her birth, she was enfeoffed as Princess Taikang by the reigning emperor. She was also the only princess of the Li Dynasty to receive her own title at birth.
As for her other sisters, whether through marriage or political alliance, they all gradually left the imperial capital.
Only she accompanied her father on military campaigns, where the emperor discovered her talent for leading troops. She relied on her own strength to rise step by step to the position of Grand General and even became the first female marquess of her time.
Later, she was granted an imperial decree allowing her to forgo bowing and saluting in his presence. In the imperial court, aside from the emperor himself, a seat was even specially placed for her.
Ji Ying never suffered a single defeat in her life, so the titles “God of War” and “God of Slaughter” always accompanied her.
Unfortunately, she developed a chronic illness from her early years on the battlefield and passed away in her thirties. After her death, the entire Li Dynasty mourned. The capital was draped in white, and the entire city spontaneously wept for her spirit. The new emperor even suspended court for three days, personally wore plain clothes, and had her moved into the imperial mausoleum, burying her with the highest royal honors.
Rong Guang’s brows furrowed as she read.
It was legendary, yes.
But when something is too legendary, it becomes an obvious caricature, easily becoming so legendary it’s bland.
Zhang Nanchuan decisively slapped the table, his expression animated. “Yes, that’s right! She’s just too perfect—I want a heroic female lead who is flawless for her country, that’s true, but this character, she doesn’t stand on her own. She has no soul! This way, the potential for discussion and buzz is greatly reduced. Xiao Chu, this is your character. Do you have any thoughts?”
Chu Feiliang frowned.
Seeing her troubled expression, Rong Guang felt a pang of heartache and wanted to smooth the crease between her brows.
It’s common for a drama to film supplementary scenes for the early plot midway through or late in production to enrich the characters and storyline.
But now, they hadn’t even started filming; they were just doing a table read and creative session for a portion of the script.
This was about how to bring a woman down from her pedestal to solid ground, so the veteran actor Zhao Xiuqi, sitting to the side, didn’t say anything either.
The scene reached a stalemate.
However, at least the main actors present had noticed the problem, so things were still moving in a good direction.
Zhang Nanchuan shook off his somewhat dejected attitude and said, “But overall, the script is complete. You can communicate with the screenwriters at any time, or you can come directly to me. Let’s start filming for now. It’ll be hard on everyone, and we’ll likely have a lot of reshoots later on.”
“As we should.” Zhao Xiuqi waved his hand dismissively.
He was the veteran actor playing the founding emperor, and his scenes with Chu Feiliang spanned from her childhood until the emperor’s own death.
Since the senior veteran had spoken, the others couldn’t say anything more and all nodded in agreement.
Rong Guang looked at Zhao Xiuqi’s righteous-looking face and his famous micro-expressions, and something suddenly occurred to her.
She jotted the idea down in a blank space, secretly glanced at Chu Feiliang, and thought about finding a chance to ask for her guidance later.
The table read continued. Putting aside the flaws in the character design, the script was still a good one.
Once they got to the main topic, Zhang Nanchuan became much more serious. “Overall, although this is a serious drama centered on a strong female lead, it can’t lack moments of wit to help the audience resonate and keep watching. On this point, you can all do more improvisation.”
“For example, Wen Mou, played by Rong Guang, is naive about the ways of the world, so she often says shocking things, which can be quite surprising. If you handle it well, it will also help your future acting career.” Zhang Nanchuan singled out Rong Guang.
Rong Guang knew this. The portrayal of the character Wen Mou, or Jiang Wenmou, was extremely important for her.
So when she heard Zhang Nanchuan say this, she immediately nodded and agreed.
“The emperor played by Teacher Zhao is the founding emperor—wise and decisive. But he has been in a high position for too long and has too many heirs, so he is very suspicious. Yet, while being suspicious, Teacher Zhao also needs to portray an ordinary father in his twilight years who craves familial affection. This point is full of conflict and contradiction. Teacher Zhao will need to grasp it well,” Zhang Nanchuan said to Zhao Xiuqi.
Zhao Xiuqi nodded, reading very intently.
At his age, for someone still active in the industry, things like salary and popularity were all external matters.
The most important thing was a good script.
A good script could be polished over several years, making every single word meaningful.
For an acting enthusiast like him, although The Eldest Princess was a female-led drama, the role of the founding emperor, Ji Zheng, was also a character full of dramatic conflict and was very challenging.
The first day’s workload wasn’t heavy, but being cooped up in a room reading all day… was still draining. They were all mentally exhausted.
After all necessary matters were discussed, many people began to plan their return to the hotel to rest.
Rong Guang’s luggage was still in Chu Feiliang’s car, so she waited eagerly in her seat for Chu Feiliang to finish her discussion with Zhang Nanchuan before she could go up to her.
After a short while, Chu Feiliang returned.
Rong Guang shot up from her chair and subconsciously tugged at her skirt, which had stuck to her legs.
Chu Feiliang looked down at her, then suddenly reached out and gently adjusted Rong Guang’s collar.
Rong Guang froze, not knowing what to do with her hands and feet. Her face instantly turned red, and she could almost feel the warmth from Chu Feiliang’s fingertips.
Chu Feiliang adjusted it a couple of times, seemed quite satisfied, and nodded. “Today’s outfit is not bad… Come to my room. I want to talk to you about the script.”
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