After finally managing to hold down the restless, red-faced Chacha, Rong Guang felt more exhausted than if she had run a ten-thousand-meter marathon.
Chacha looked at Rong Guang with a face full of regret, extremely disappointed about the things she couldn’t do.
“I’ll buy you a Doraemon plushie as a reward when we get back.” Rong Guang, knowing Chacha’s weakness all too well, held up a single finger.
Chacha was instantly bought, nodding very solemnly. “Feelings need to be cultivated. You can’t…”
Her gaze shifted to a small advertisement on the wall beside them. “Be rash with a beauty!”
Rong Guang was deeply gratified. “That makes sense.”
Scaring her would be a secondary concern; it would be much worse if she developed a dislike for her.
The Eldest Princess was a big-investment, big-production film. It was a joint creation of CCTV and Eastern Television, set to air on major satellite channels from its debut, clearly poised to dominate the ratings.
Its director was Zhang Nanchuan, a veteran specializing in historical dramas who had won numerous awards, including the “Top Ten Television Dramas” from the national television production industry. He had also hired a top-tier screenwriting team for joint supervision. It could be said that from the plot to the costumes, makeup, and props, everything was of the highest quality.
Once broadcast, the benefits this drama would bring to its actors were enough that they could live off them for an entire year.
An entire year was, in the entertainment industry, a very long time indeed.
As far as Rong Guang knew, the male and female leads for this drama had been personally selected by Zhang Nanchuan the day the script was completed.
The actress playing the Eldest Princess was, of course, Chu Feiliang. As for the two male leads playing the emperors of the former and latter dynasties, one was the charming veteran Zhao Xiuqi, and the other was the newly crowned Best Actor, Tan Chuan.
With such an experienced team as a backstop, and with Chu Feiliang, Zhao Xiuqi, and Tan Chuan—who practically commanded half of the viewership traffic in film and television—leading the cast, the post-broadcast reception and ratings were predictable.
This was almost a guaranteed victory.
Because of this, the audition area was crowded with people. Fresh, inexperienced faces came into view, filled with aspirations for the future and the impending, exam-like audition opportunity.
Rong Guang had already received the audition script. It was for a minor, cannon-fodder palace maid, but the character was quite devoted to the Eldest Princess. So, in the forty-minute episode that might air, the scene she was auditioning for would give her a full… ten-second close-up.
It was the scene where she shields the Eldest Princess from a hidden arrow and gets stabbed to death by a blade.
A white knife goes in, a red knife comes out. Rong Guang stared at the script and fell into a deep silence.
Chacha, holding an ice cream from who-knows-where, was intently reading the script. “What’s it about?”
“It’s about your big sister getting stabbed to death,” Rong Guang said, her face expressionless as she pursed her lips.
This was not good.
“Not good,” Chacha said, like a little mind reader, voicing Rong Guang’s thoughts.
Then, she shook her head, found a spot to squat under a tree, and looked at Rong Guang with eyes full of sympathy. “You’re so pitiful, Big Sister.”
Rong Guang sighed, frowned, and still moved closer to the window of the audition room.
Perhaps Zhang Nanchuan had done it intentionally, but the audition venue this time was not completely sealed off. The actors waiting outside came and went, watching one after another.
“Is this ever going to end? It’s just for a minor maid role, and they’ve been casting for three days without finishing.”
“I just don’t know what kind of performance they can get out of this plot…” another girl couldn’t help but mutter, her head covered in sweat from the heat. “I’ve asked a lot of people. There’s only one template for this little maid’s script, just getting stabbed to death. No other information is available. So many people have been told their acting is cliché. They try to act it out in a new way, but then they’re told their acting is greasy or that they’re trying to be too clever. Why is Director Zhang so hard to please?”
“Keep your voice down…” The girl who spoke first looked around nervously, gave Rong Guang an awkward smile, and moved to a shady spot on the side.
Rong Guang squinted, looking at the A4 paper that seemed a bit glaring in the sunlight.
The text on the paper was very sparse, with only a few simple lines of dialogue and the required emotions noted on the side.
It was exactly as Rong Guang had said before—spot the assassin in the rafters, protect the princess, and get stabbed to death in the process.
Inside, Zhang Nanchuan waved his hand, his face showing unconcealed fatigue. He gulped down some water to dispel his irritation.
“I don’t know what the schools have been teaching these years. It’s all formulaic, like they were carved from the same mold. I don’t even need a second look in the mirror; it’s unwatchable at first glance.” Zhang Nanchuan looked at the people present and couldn’t help but feel both angry and helpless.
Although it was just a minor maid, she was a character who carried a lot of foreshadowing and served as a pivot, causing a shift in the Eldest Princess’s personality and goals.
The script was simple, but what he wanted wasn’t a one-dimensional PowerPoint presentation that mindlessly performed according to the script.
He wanted a WMV, brought to life by a living person who could extrapolate something new from that simple script.
“This batch is all students from nearby schools.” Li Yan patted his shoulder. “This afternoon, there are a few specially invited ones who were selected before. Their quality is a bit better, and their acting skills are decent. Let’s see then.”
Zhang Nanchuan nodded, signaling a break until the afternoon.
The crowd of onlookers gradually dispersed to get their meals. The production provided box lunches, which were quite generous: three dishes and a soup, one of which was a meat dish.
Chacha saved their spot while Rong Guang went to get their food.
During the break, Li Yan noticed something. Her eyes lit up, and she patted Zhang Nanchuan’s shoulder. “Hey, look over there.”
Zhang Nanchuan raised his head and glanced over uninterestedly. He naturally saw the exceptionally beautiful Rong Guang in the crowd. He gave her a couple more looks but showed no further reaction. “What is it?”
“I know this girl,” Li Yan said. “She was the leader of the super popular group NO.1 a couple of years ago. She’s amazing at singing and dancing, and I heard she knows martial arts. She has a ton of die-hard fans.”
Hearing this, Zhang Nanchuan curled his lip even more. “A pretty face.”
Just another person who couldn’t endure hardship.
Many people were using the break to watch how others practiced or to memorize their lines. But she was different, sitting brazenly under a tree with another little girl, eating and cooling off.
So what if she was great at singing and dancing? What did that have to do with their filming?
So what if she was great at martial arts? It was just stage combat. What did that have to do with their filming?
Li Yan shrugged and said no more. She had just spoken up casually because she saw a familiar face.
“Xiao Chu said she’s also coming over this afternoon,” Li Yan said. “I’ll send her the audition list later and let her see if anyone catches her eye. After all, we’re picking an actor who will have scenes with her.”
“Alright,” Zhang Nanchuan nodded.
During the break, Rong Guang ate while pondering the script.
She was here to audition only because Chu Feiliang was here.
Plus, in her previous life, The Eldest Princess had indeed become a massive hit, with its rating once reaching as high as 9.8. Its popularity didn’t wane for a whole year, and it laid the foundation for Chu Feiliang’s acting to be highly acclaimed in the future.
But she hadn’t had the chance to watch this drama.
Because at that time in her past life, she was still mired in the turmoil of her contract termination, and with her grandmother’s passing, she was so overwhelmed with everything that she nearly ended up in the hospital.
Back then, it was the still-young Chacha who, all alone, stumbled through learning how to use electrical appliances and, day after day, cooked her three balanced meals. She would stuff food into her mouth whenever she had a spare moment, acting more like a doting mother hen than anything else, and managed to pull her body back from the brink.
So, in terms of the drama’s plot, she had no advantage.
Chacha finished her meal and proactively collected the trash.
On her way back, she made a loop around the set, earning a chorus of “so cute” from many people, and returned triumphantly with two whole bags of candy.
Rong Guang didn’t look up. “What were you doing?”
“Begging,” Chacha said, then pulled open her pocket.
Rong Guang still didn’t look up, habitually reaching in for a feel. She found something other than candy wrappers and couldn’t help but glance down.
Her eyelid twitched. “Why is there five yuan in here?” And there was more than one bill.
“Some big sisters gave it to me,” Chacha said with a serious face, popping a lemon-flavored candy into her mouth and mumbling, “They said I was cute and gave me five yuan every time they pinched my cheek.”
Rong Guang counted. A full fifty yuan.
After a moment of silence, Chacha finally sensed danger. She tentatively wagged her tail and said, “The little palace maid is really amazing.”
“Hmm?” Rong Guang confiscated the ‘ill-gotten gains,’ putting them in her own pocket, intending to act like a guardian who says, ‘Big sister will hold onto this lucky money for you, and I’ll give it back when you’re older.’
Then she thought for a moment and said, “From now on, don’t let anyone touch you, even if they give you money, understand?”
“Mhm. I’m not stupid.” Chacha nuzzled against her.
“There were big sisters who auditioned for other roles,” Chacha said, her eyes sparkling. “They said the little palace maid has to know martial arts, and she’s a personal bodyguard. She fought with other characters. She’s a significant supporting character, not a simple one.”
Rong Guang paused, lost in thought.
It was, after all, a script from eight years ago. Even though she often saw fragmented clips online, it was hard to piece together a complete logical chain.
Especially for clips of an obscure minor character.
But hearing what Chacha said, Rong Guang seemed to have figured something out.
There was a reason why the Eldest Princess could become the Eldest Princess of the dynasty, not even needing to perform the full ceremonial bow and having her own seat in the imperial court.
She was the only female general of her time who was skilled in commanding troops, known as the ‘God of War.’
If that was the case…
The personal maid by her side couldn’t possibly be some weak little servant with no strength to even truss a chicken.
Rong Guang narrowed her eyes, finally understanding why all those people had been rejected.
A maid who knew martial arts and was responsible for the personal protection of a great general, who spotted an assassin hidden in the rafters before the highly skilled general did—how could she be a delicate, weak figure who would calmly face death with open arms?
And it was even more unlikely that after dying, she would say something sentimental like what the other actors were performing, such as, “For the general, your servant dies with no regrets.”
With this script, Zhang Nanchuan’s original intention was probably to let them figure it out for themselves.
After all, the information revealed by the production team was by no means scarce.
It was just that Rong Guang had suddenly returned to this day eight years ago and knew nothing about the production, otherwise she would have guessed it sooner.
Now that she knew the true intention, it would be easy to handle.
Rong Guang let out a breath, pinched Chacha’s cheek, and under Chacha’s expectant gaze, pulled out a five-yuan bill. “Chacha, you’re such a treasure!”
Just then, a series of incessant screams came from the entrance.
Rong Guang subconsciously looked over. The noise was too chaotic to make out what they were talking about.
But the crowd gradually parted, and a low-key black nanny van drove in from outside.
The car door opened, and the person who stepped out had shoulder-length hair and a beautiful face. She wore only light makeup, but she was still breathtakingly beautiful, with an innate, natural nobility.
As Rong Guang, holding Chacha, stared in a daze, her eyes unexpectedly met Chu Feiliang’s as she got out of the car.
