LR – Chapter 30

***
Chapter 30 – Audition

As if he’d just heard something deeply pleasing, He Yujing gave a low, quiet laugh.

“You said it yourself.”

There was weight to his voice—an unmistakable implication, as though he fully intended the person on the other end to remember precisely what they’d just promised. Having worked with him for so many years, Shen Jie immediately sensed something unusual about him.

Only after He Yujing chatted a little longer and ended the call did she speak, her tone unusually serious “If you’re thinking about getting into a relationship, you have to tell me ahead of time.”

From the moment he’d said the word gege, Shen Jie’s composure had been hanging by a thread.

He Yujing was clearly teasing someone. Thinking that after so many years of being single he’d finally found someone he fancied, Shen Jie felt a flicker of relief—for exactly one second—before it was drowned out by an oncoming headache.

Fame attracts trouble. Since his debut, He Yujing had been embroiled in countless rumors, big and small. Addressing every single one would only lower his status. On top of that, his fans were notoriously fierce: catch even the faintest hint of gossip, and they’d rip the instigator apart without mercy. The studio’s approach had always been pragmatic—handle the ones that truly mattered, and ignore the rest.

Born into privilege and possessed of a playful streak, He Yujing had shown up at more events than anyone could count and been photographed smoking and drinking on numerous occasions. Most fans simply accepted that he was a worldly playboy with a colorful dating history and had no particular expectations regarding his love life.

After all, he’d been in the industry for years and had never sold a “boyfriend” persona. so dating wouldn’t harm his career. Even if he did date, it wouldn’t hurt his career. Some fans even took it a step further—asking only that he find a dependable sister-in-law[mfn]嫂子 (sǎo zi) – fandom slang for an idol’s hypothetical or real partner.[/mfn], and that he stay far away from certain drama-prone, trouble-stirring types who would only weigh him down.

While external pressure was minimal, what worried Shen Jie was He Yujing’s unrestrained nature.

Dealing with He Yujing on a normal day was challenging enough. If he actually started dating—given his willful, do-as-he-pleases nature…

Shen Jie reiterated, “You must keep me informed so I can prepare contingency plans.”

Based on past experience, He Yujing was likely to ignore her advice or offer a perfunctory response. She hadn’t expected him to reply at all. Instead, He Yujing set his phone down, looking oddly cheerful. “Don’t talk nonsense. Nothing’s set on stone yet.”

Shen Jie: “……”

Shen Jie felt her vision darken, nearly choking on her breath.

***

As the audition date drew nearer, Qin Yi specifically called Jiang Liusui to inform him that he had contacted Pei Wen, the director of ⟪Eternal Bell⟫ and recommended him for the role.

Jiang Liusui hadn’t expected Qin Yi to remember such a small matter and quickly expressed his gratitude. Qin Yi, however, replied, “My recommendation alone won’t help. Director Pei is very strict. Whether you get in or not ultimately depends on you.”

“I know,” Jiang Liusui said with a smile. “But thank you all the same, Qin‑ge. I’ll treat you to a meal next time we meet.”

“Barbecue again?”

“Something else is fine too.”

Qin Yi also shared some of Director Pei’s habits, explaining that Pei Wen didn’t mind actors improvising during auditions. In fact, he liked seeing something with spirit and creativity more than stiff, by‑the‑book performances. As long as it made sense, having your own interpretation was totally fine.

Jiang Liusui took note of everything and thanked Qin Yi once more.

Almost as soon as he hung up with Qin Yi, he received a message from Xu Miao: Suisui! I heard some big news!

She added mysteriously: Do you know Xie Chen?

Xu Miao had an outgoing personality. After the show ended, she would occasionally chat with Jiang Liusui. She knew many people and was well-informed about various industry news.

But… Xie Chen?

Jiang Liusui’s gaze paused.

Sui: What about him?

Xu Miao: I heard that ⟪Fantasy Holiday⟫ originally contacted him too. Not sure if it was a scheduling conflict or they couldn’t reach an agreement, but in the end he didn’t participate.

Seeing this message, a flicker of emotion quickly passed through Jiang Liusui’s eyes.

⟪Fantasy Holiday⟫ had invited all of this year’s most popular artists. Although he didn’t have many dedicated fans yet, the buzz from ⟪Fading Colors⟫ had made him an overnight sensation—anyone remotely following the industry knew who he was. Jiang Chuan had previously told him that ⟪Fantasy Holiday⟫ had initially planned for another guest, and it was only after the MV for ⟪Fading Colors⟫ was released that the production team took notice of him and add him at the last minute.

Was Xie Chen originally supposed to be on the show?… No wonder Jiang Chuan had spoken so meaningfully at the time.

He and Xie Chen had been roommates for four years and had a fairly good relationship. There were things Xie Chen had done that he’d always been grateful for. They used to chat from time to time, but after graduation contact basically faded. The last message Jiang Liusui had sent him was on the day of the graduation ceremony.

Later, when he tried reaching out to Xie Chen again, he never received a reply. Jiang Liusui had originally thought Xie Chen was just too busy and had forgotten, but now it seemed it might not have been forgetfulness—perhaps he simply didn’t want to reply.

Jiang Liusui drifted off for a moment, and Xu Miao continued: Xie Chen’s family background seems pretty good. I remember they recently collaborated with your company too. It’s quite bold of ⟪Fantasy Holiday⟫ to drop him.

Jiang Liusui replied: Oh, I see.

After saying this, Xu Miao went off to attend to work matters. Jiang Liusui spent some more time reading the script, trying to write a character profile for the role he was auditioning for, but he couldn’t quite focus.

He decided to temporarily set aside work and watch a movie instead.

He chose an English crime film directed by an Asian director. The cinematography was exquisite, the pacing slow, and the fractured storytelling and editing turned a simple plot into something intricate and bizarre. Jiang Liusui was drawn in by the film and gradually calmed down, no longer thinking too much.

By the next morning, it would be time for the audition of ⟪Eternal Bell⟫.

Jiang Chuan had arranged for a driver and Ding Yan to pick up Jiang Liusui from his apartment. ⟪Eternal Bell⟫ was funded by Tianguang Media, and the core creative team had been working with Director Pei Wen since his debut film, which had won a major award at an overseas independent film festival three years ago. Pei Wen had quickly gained fame but hadn’t released any new works since.

The industry wasn’t optimistic about ⟪Eternal Bell⟫. Rumor had it that Pei Wen had traveled far and wide to secure funding for the project and finally found Tianguang, a company with deep pockets that’s willing to take a chance.

The story of ⟪Eternal Bell⟫ was highly complex. Jiang Liusui hadn’t received the full script yet and only knew part of the storyline for the character “Ling[mfn]铃 (Líng) – lit. bell[/mfn]” whom he was auditioning for.

When the Crown Prince of Zhenbei was young, his father brought home another young boy around his age. The boy was highly skilled in martial arts and more beautiful than any man or woman the Crown Prince had ever seen. The boy had only one name—Ling.

The Crown Prince often saw Ling accompanying his father. Compared with the cold formality his father showed toward his own mother’s consorts, the way he treated Ling was entirely different — indulgent in a manner the Crown Prince had never witnessed from someone of such power. Out of pride and revulsion, he dismissed Ling as a male favorite[mfn]以色侍人 (yǐ sè shì rén) – lit. to serve someone by using one’s looks; historically refers to a male or female concubine kept for aesthetic or sexual purposes.[/mfn] kept for the pleasure of others.

Yet Ling possessed a strange, almost magnetic charm. Despite the Crown Prince’s disgust, his eyes betrayed him, always following Ling wherever he went. Years passed. The Crown Prince married, had children, and reached his thirties, yet Ling’s appearance remained unchanged—still as youthful, delicate, and beautiful like the boy he had been.

When the King of Zhenbei fell critically ill, he summoned the Crown Prince on his deathbed and revealed Ling’s true identity.

It turned out that Ling was a humanoid weapon the King of Zhenbei had brought back years ago. This sharp and strangely beautiful weapon normally possessed its own consciousness and could communicate with others, appearing no different from an ordinary person.

However, as soon as his master shook the Soul-Binding Chain used to control him, Ling would obey without question, his will subsumed entirely by command.

Ling’s skills were unparalleled, unmatched by anyone of his era. Unless the Soul-Binding Chain was destroyed, no weapon in the world could harm his life. Even the King of Zhenbei did not know Ling’s exact origins—only that he was ageless, immortal, and indestructible.

After the Prince of Zhenbei’s death, Ling was passed down to the succeeding Crown Prince, and so it continued through generations, with the royal family using Ling as a hidden weapon of slaughter.

Just as the Crown Prince had spent years following Ling with his gaze, his descendants also held a similarly complex attitude towards him. For over a century, the struggle for succession within this lineage had been fierce, driven not only by the allure of power but also because the ultimate heir would inherit Ling directly from his father, a weapon both beautiful and deadly.

This part of the storyline serves only as a setup for the main plot; the main narrative of ⟪Eternal Bell⟫ begins a century later.

The old king was plotting a rebellion and needed to choose an heir between his eldest and second sons. The eldest—destined to be the male lead—had always treated Ling with indifference, unlike the rest of his family. The second son—the third male in line—had never concealed his affection for Ling, displaying it openly from a young age.

The portions of the script Jiang Liusui had in hand covered only this setup. In the original novel, Ling occupies the role of the second male lead, yet he outshines everyone else. Even if the screenwriter tweaks the final script, the audition excerpts Jiang Liusui had studied showed that Ling’s core essence—enigmatic, magnetic, and unforgettable—remained largely intact.

Jiang Liusui was assigned the number 22, with several actors still ahead of him. Many were here for the role of Ling, but most were relatively unknown actors. After all, the script was too niche[mfn]偏门 (piān mén) – lit. unorthodox; implies the script is not mainstream or commercially attractive.[/mfn] for popular actors to consider participating. If it weren’t for Director Pei Wen’s relative reputation and fame, the room would feel even emptier.

The moment Jiang Liusui stepped inside, all eyes turned to him.

His recent surge on trending searches made him instantly recognizable. Moreover, his face was unforgettable at first glance. Even without the hype from trending searches, he was clearly a formidable competitor.

“Jiang Liusui…”

“Is he auditioning for this too?” someone whispered. “Maybe I should just leave.”

Jiang Liusui paused slightly, thinking to himself that perhaps their comments were a little loud—he could hear everything.

Ding Yan walked alongside Jiang Liusui, experiencing for the first time what it felt like to be the center of attention. He unknowingly straightened his posture, finally feeling a real sense of change in status.

Jiang Liusui, under the subtle scrutiny of the young actors present, simply found a seat and sat down without changing his expression. Ding Yan knew he didn’t harbor any real hostility, competing for a role that required both beauty and ruthlessness with that face, Jiang Liusui’s very presence felt like the greatest threat to everyone.

The young man beside him stole several glances before finally working up the courage to say, “Hello, Teacher Jiang.”

Internally, Jiang Liusui sighed, feeling an unavoidable sense of awkwardness.

Perhaps it was because the artists he had been interacting with lately were more easygoing, even He Yujing wasn’t the type to act high‑and‑mighty[mfn]端架子 (duān jià zi) – lit. putting up a frame[/mfn], but he had almost forgotten how cautious most actors tended to be, always reading the room.

It wasn’t like he was some big star now…

Was there really any reason to be so intimidated by him?

“Hi,” Jiang Liusui said with a warm smile, his voice gentle. “You don’t need to call me Teacher.”

Ding Yan watched as the boy beside him froze for a moment before stammering out a reply. Within seconds, his face flushed a deep, tomato‑red. He couldn’t help but inwardly marvel at how Suisui’s charm had only grown more potent over time.

At the end of the hallway was the audition room, where number 8 was currently being called. Jiang Liusui roughly estimated that, at an average of ten minutes per person, it would likely be his turn in a little over two hours, if he was lucky.

Around him, many people nervously flipped through their scripts—some cramming lines at the last minute, while others calmly played on their phones. Jiang Liusui, however, remained relatively calm. He had already memorized the script thoroughly, and last-minute reviewing wouldn’t make much difference.

He was staring ahead, lost in thought, when someone called his name.

“Jiang Liusui?” Xie Chen had walked in with all the confidence of someone who expected no competition, but when he spotted the figure sitting on the bench, his gaze flickered. He stopped in his tracks, his expression one of surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Seeing Xie Chen caused a wave of hushed whispers around them, even louder than when Jiang Liusui had first arrived.

As a child star who had been in the industry for years, Xie Chen had several solid works to his name and was unquestionably the most famous artist in the room. His public image had always been that of a youthful, boy-next-door type, which was far removed from the character of Ling in the script. Jiang Liusui was equally surprised to see him here. After a moment, he replied, “I’m here to audition.”

As luck would have it, they had crossed paths once again.

After Xu Miao mentioned Xie Chen yesterday, Jiang Liusui had thought it over carefully. On the day of the graduation ceremony, Xie Chen had mentioned an opportunity he desperately wanted but couldn’t even get an audition for. Later, Xie Chen had messaged him, asking if he had filmed He Yujing’s music video. If Jiang Liusui wasn’t mistaken, Xie Chen had likely tried to secure that MV role for himself.

And now, with ⟪Fantasy Holiday⟫ suddenly recasting, both Jiang Chuan and Xu Miao had made it clear—Xie Chen was the one who’d been replaced. Although all of this had happened without his knowledge, he had indeed offended his former roommate.

Sure enough, Xie Chen’s expression was taut, almost unreadable, as he murmured, “Want to talk alone?”

Jiang Liusui rose and signaled for Ding Yan to stay back. The two walked to the corner of the hallway, and only when they were certain no one was watching did Xie Chen come to a stop.

Their relationship had once been quite good, but now, silence hung heavily between them. Jiang Liusui understood that, from Xie Chen’s perspective, he had stolen opportunities that belonged to him. He had no idea what to say to break the ice.

Xie Chen watched him stay silent for a long moment, his annoyance growing. Finally, with a hint of sarcasm, he said, “Do you have to compete with me for everything?”

“……” Jiang Liusui frowned.

He wasn’t the kind of person who let others push him around. Xie Chen’s blunt tone could have provoked him, but Jiang Liusui held his temper. “The director chooses the actors. I can’t steal your role.”

Xie Chen sneered, “Cut the crap. All the people auditioning are nothing but rejects[mfn]歪瓜裂枣 (wāi guā liè zǎo) – lit. crooked melon and cracked jujube; a colorful slang for mediocre, unworthy people; often used in casual speech to dismiss a group as inferior[/mfn]. We both know this role is either yours or mine.”

Xie Chen had been practically certain he would land the role of Ling. But seeing Jiang Liusui show up at the audition felt like a bucket of cold water had just been dumped over his head.

Running into Jiang Liusui time and again felt like bad luck. He had tried every means possible to get an audition for He Yujing’s music video but failed, yet Jiang Liusui had obtained it effortlessly. That alone might have been tolerable—after all, such opportunities were rare. But ⟪Fantasy Holiday⟫ had originally been set for him! Watching the buzz these past few days, he could already imagine how popular it would be once it aired. Xie Chen’s heart was full of resentment, yet there was nothing he could do.

Jiang Liusui remained silent. Xie Chen took a slow breath, realizing this wasn’t someone to be easily bullied, and shifted his tone. “This isn’t a good role anyway, and the script is weird. Honestly, Pei Wen still hasn’t found a male lead—no one wants to play it! You’ve filmed He Yujing’s MV, so you should have access to better opportunities. Why wade into this mess?”

“If this script didn’t suit me, I wouldn’t be here at all,” Jiang Liusui said evenly.

Xie Chen softened his tone and said to Jiang Liusui, “I need to change my image, you know? We’ve known each other for so many years, you’re well aware of my situation.”

Although Xie Chen had started as a child star, the public saw him as the “nation’s little brother[mfn]国民弟弟 (guó mín dì dì) – refers to a male celebrity with a cute, youthful, innocent image, loved by the public[/mfn].” As he grew older, the types of roles he could play became increasingly limited. At almost 23, he couldn’t keep playing wide-eyed, naive students forever—he needed to change his image and expand the kinds of characters he could take on.

He had often complained to Jiang Liusui about this before, while simultaneously thinking Jiang Liusui was far worse off than him. Being comforted while thinking himself superior gave him a quiet sense of satisfaction. Back then, Jiang Liusui posed no threat, and Xie Chen truly considered him a friend, someone he could confide in.

“I need a role that’s completely different from my usual image. ⟪Eternal Bell⟫ fits perfectly.” Xie Chen said after a brief pause. “And besides, the second male lead is a scapegoat. You know what that means.”

⟪Eternal Bell⟫ was a film that is hard to categorize by genre. The male lead was deep, calculating, and complex, but his restrained early portrayal left few chances to shine. Playing him well would test an actor’s skill, and it would be easy to make the character flat. Ling’s charisma far surpassed that of the male and female leads. A film like this, where the second lead overshadowed the male lead, is uncommon. If the film flopped at the box office, he could shift the blame onto the first lead and walk away unscathed, avoiding any backlash.

“Just let me have it this once,” Xie Chen said. “For old times’ sake. I’ve helped you before, so don’t take what I want this time, okay?”

Xie Chen had used every tactic, both sweet-talking and threatening, thinking that by now, Jiang Liusui would surely back down—

“I really appreciate what you did that time,” Jiang Liusui said, his tone calm. “But I’ve already stepped aside for you once. Remember ⟪Wind and Flowers⟫? You said you wanted that role, and I ended up not auditioning.”

“Besides, Director Pei might not choose me.” Jiang Liusui met Xie Chen’s gaze, and in his eyes, Xie Chen saw the same faint glint he had seen once before—

“If you perform well, the role will be yours.”

In an instant, scattered memories rushed through Xie Chen’s mind: in a cramped, chaotic room, Jiang Liusui’s eyes had cut into him like blades dipped in poison. That eerie, almost sinister aura was something Xie Chen had never seen in anyone else.

Once, this sharp and outstanding side of Jiang Liusui had deeply impressed Xie Chen, but now it made him seethe with irritation..

Jiang Liusuis expression made it clear he wanted this role. Xie Chen grew increasingly agitated, knowing Jiang Liusui was far more suited for the role of Ling than he was, and his expression gradually darkened.

After a moment, Xie Chen abruptly asked, “So stubborn… is that because someone’s got your back?”

Jiang Liusui was taken aback, not expecting such a remark.

“You really became He Yujing’s lover, huh,” Xie Chen said, his gaze casually scanning him up and down. Aren’t you all high and mighty…? Turns out it’s not that you refuse to submit—it’s just that no one else was ever worthy in your eyes.”

As if struck by sudden understanding, Xie Chen smirked mockingly. “Of course, how could any of them compare to He Yujing? Begging him in bed, whatever resources you want would be at your fingertips. If you ask me, you might as well stop working hard at acting and just let him support you…”

Seeing Xie Chen drag He Yujing into this and speak with increasing vulgarity, Jiang Liusui’s expression turned icy. He cut him off directly: “Are you insane?”

“What?” Xie Chen tilted his head, smirking. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“This has nothing to do with him.”

Jiang Liusui stepped forward, his face calm, his eyes fixed on Xie Chen. Slightly taller, he leaned, his gaze pressing down heavily. Those normally soft, tender eyes now held a glint of something sharp and unpredictable—enough to send a chill down the spine.

“Watch your mouth.”

Xie Chen’s heart skipped a beat. For an instant, he was somewhat intimidated by him.

“Good, as long as you have nothing to do with him.” Coming back to himself, Xie Chen gave a strange smile. “Then let’s each rely on our own abilities.”

— — — —