Acting Out of Character (GL) - Chapter 1

Chen Ge finished her shower in the gym locker room. When she grabbed her phone from the cubicle, she saw several WeChat notifications from her manager.

A string of voice notes, each ten to twenty seconds long, made Chen Ge’s heart skip a beat.

Could it be work? A role to film?

She immediately tapped the voice notes, resting her phone on her backpack as she listened while buttoning up her shirt.

Her manager, Sister Si, was never one for small talk. She skipped the pleasantries and got straight to the point:

“I managed to snag a spot for you on a web variety show. You’ll join the cast in two weeks. It’s filming in a beautiful little village down south. The cycle is a month at most, and the pay is decent.”

So, it’s just a web variety show…

Chen Ge had overthought it. It wasn’t a movie or a TV drama. Her movements slowed as she continued to listen.

“I know you’re bound to be disappointed, but you understand that investors are much more cautious these days. Never mind an unknown actress like you; even A-list movie stars are struggling to find projects they like. Let’s not be picky. If there’s work, take it. If there’s a chance to show your face, take it. Who knows? You might just blow up by accident.”

Chen Ge fastened the final button of her shirt, concealing her faint, well-defined abs. As she pulled her damp hair out from her collar, a slight frown creased the space between her sharp, cool eyes.

Blow up by accident? Could this web variety show be a major production?

As if having long-distance telepathy, Sister Si added:

“But don’t get your hopes up too high. After all, it’s a small team and a small production. The cast is entirely made up of newcomers and non-celebrities…”

Chen Ge: “…”

Right. A small production with no famous faces to carry it. Just how “accidental” would it have to be to blow up?

“…But what’s wrong with making money? Not only can you earn a paycheck, but you don’t even have to treat it like boring work. Just think of it as a vacation to a picturesque mountain village to clear your head.”

Sister Si continued her persuasive pitch:

“Plus, Xiao Song from our company is going with you. You know Song Ruyu, right? She just got back from that idol survival show and already has a fan support club and a trending topic page.

The two of you can pair up as a ‘sister duo’ to drive traffic to each other. It’s lonely for a young girl like you to spend all day grinding at the gym. Doesn’t your fan club constantly scold the company for not giving you resources? This is your chance to show them you’re alive and well, proving the company hasn’t kidnapped you.”

Puzzled, Chen Ge messaged back: “I have a fan club?”

Sister Si replied instantly: “How could you not? Did you forget? Didn’t they send you a cake for your birthday last year?”

“Oh, the time it arrived a month late. I thought they had disbanded.”

“Stop joking. Even if there are only a dozen of them, they still care about you. It doesn’t matter if they got the date wrong—you still ate the cake, didn’t you? It’s your own fault; you don’t even do livestreams, so how are people supposed to remember you? Who doesn’t manage their image these days? Careful, or those dozen die-hard fans will leave you too.”

Chen Ge grabbed her bag and headed out, replying as she walked:

“I am an actress, not an idol.”

Sister Si countered: “Doesn’t matter if you’re an actress or an idol—talk to me once you can support yourself.”

Normally, getting a new job should be exciting, but after this conversation, Chen Ge felt a sense of melancholy.

This was her first job in a year. Knowing her company, the show likely reached out wanting other artists but failed to sign them, so Sister Si had “picked up the scraps” to give to her.

Chen Ge was an “18th-tier” actress. She had filmed one project where she was actually the lead. That role earned her a small following and some praise, which had given her the strong illusion that she was truly cut out for this industry. She signed with a company, stayed in Beijing after graduation, rented an apartment, and tried to build a career.

But reality soon slapped her in the face.

In her first year in Beijing, she was lucky enough to be the lead in a small indie film, but due to censorship issues, the release was delayed indefinitely and still hasn’t seen the light of day. Since then, her career felt cursed, as if she were walking in circles without a single good opportunity.

She didn’t want to ask her family for money—they weren’t wealthy. To make ends meet, she appeared in the obscure corners of various dramas, commercials, and variety shows. After years of struggling, there was still no progress. Eventually, even those “scraps” of work disappeared, and she had to survive on her dwindling savings.

However, Sister Si always believed in her and tried to scrape together whatever resources she could. Sister Si felt Chen Ge had potential and told the company boss as much. She argued that Chen Ge was professionally trained at one of the country’s top art universities, had acting skills that put popular stars to shame, and possessed a distinctive face—one of the key factors for a good actress. Most importantly, she was dedicated and willing to improve.

Sister Si loved telling her success stories of famous people, constantly feeding her “chicken soup for the soul” to keep her going:

“Don’t slack off. Opportunities are for those who are prepared. Once you’re ready and the timing is right, you’ll definitely become a star overnight!”

Besides an 18th-tier actress like Chen Ge, Sister Si also managed an 18th-tier girl group. They had just finished a major survival show; although they were eliminated in the first two rounds, they had gained some name recognition, moving from “18th-tier” to “17th-tier.”

Lately, Sister Si seemed brainwashed by the idol business and was treating Chen Ge like one.

Chen Ge didn’t want fame; she just wanted a good script and a good character. To stay in peak condition, she went to the gym regularly despite being broke.

Chen Ge was twenty-six, turning twenty-seven soon. She felt lost, unsure whether to give up on her unrealistic dreams or keep persevering. She didn’t even know if she was suited to be an actress, given that she could barely support herself.

Leaving the gym, she thought about calling a taxi, but then she looked at the price, then at the nearby bus stop…

Forget it, I’ll take the bus. It was likely the last bus of the night—not many people, and it saved money.

On the bumpy ride home, her beautiful, melancholy eyes stared out the window from above her mask. The neon lights blurred past, lighting up her eyes in vibrant, mottled colors.

They looked like the opportunities she once held. They would arrive one by one, giving her extraordinary dreams, only to leave heartlessly time and time again.

Chen Ge hugged her backpack and sighed, deciding to take the variety show job.

In truth, she had no reason to refuse. She could barely afford rent. She had to survive first; only with a full stomach would she have the energy to keep fighting for her ideals.

Chen Ge messaged Sister Si, agreeing to the job.

Sister Si, currently in the company van, saw the message and smiled. “She agreed.”

Sitting next to her, Song Ruyu, who was playing on her phone, said, “Really? Great! I happen to need an assistant!”

Sister Si slapped her thigh. “What assistant? She’s your legitimate colleague! Watch your mouth out there! Especially on the show—if you talk nonsense, you’re just waiting to get cancelled, you hear me?!”

Song Ruyu was a member of the four-person girl group under Sister Si, the aforementioned “17th-tier” celebrity. After the survival show, the company felt she had gathered enough fans to touch the edge of “traffic” status and wanted to monetize it quickly through acting.

They originally wanted her for a supporting role in a web-drama, but her acting was so “explosive” (in a bad way) that the crew hesitated, and the role was snatched by another idol.

Just then, the variety show team posted in a WeChat group looking for cast members. Sister Si jumped on it immediately. It was clear the show was destined to be a flop—Sister Si was the first to inquire, and the other side responded with desperate enthusiasm.

After Sister Si suggested Song Ruyu, the team asked if she had any other artists to bring along. Sister Si wondered just how short-staffed they were. But it worked out; Chen Ge needed work, and even a mosquito’s leg is meat.

Song Ruyu winced. “You actually hit me… we’re among friends here. I’m not stupid; I wouldn’t say that on camera. Hey, Chen Ge agreed so quickly? I thought a ‘serious actor’ like her would look down on web variety shows.”

Sister Si said, “Everyone has to eat. Stop the nonsense. When you’re with Chen Ge, get along well. Don’t be a brat.”

“I know, I know,” Song Ruyu said, rubbing her leg. “When have I ever been a brat? I’ll treat Sister Chen Ge well. Aren’t I supposed to film a CP (couple) dynamic with her anyway?”

Sister Si said seriously, “You’ll have to lead Chen Ge on the CP stuff. She’s never done it and will probably be awkward. If it’s awkward, it looks fake, and the audience won’t buy it. Meet at the company tomorrow to plan your ‘business’ strategy and personas.”

Song Ruyu hummed distractedly while scrolling through her fan page.

Another message from Chen Ge arrived: “Sister Si, send me the script for the variety show. I want to look it over and digest it before we start.”

Sister Si replied: “It’s a variety show about farming in the countryside. What script is there to digest? Don’t overthink it. Just go. Do whatever the director tells you. Your acting skills are more than enough for a web show.”

Chen Ge: “…Farming. I guess going to the gym every day counts as preparation for this show. That’s good.”

“By the way, remember to come to the office early tomorrow morning to meet Xiao Song. We’re having a meeting.”

“A script table read?”

“…What table read? We’re deciding your personas and business strategy!”

Chen Ge replied with a confused emoji. Song Ruyu leaned over to look at Sister Si’s phone and laughed:

“I’ll be the ‘Alpha/Top’ and she’ll be the ‘Bottom.’ I’m the handsome, powerful ‘1,’ and she’s the ‘Silly Sweetheart’.”

Finally having work made Chen Ge quite happy. When she returned to her rented room, a rare smile touched her usually cold face—even though her roommate was once again arguing loudly on the phone about whether to move back to their hometown.

Chen Ge quietly entered her room. She wanted to sleep, but the noise outside was too loud. She put on her headphones, opened her tablet, and played the movie The Last Year.

It was her favorite film, written five years ago by her favorite screenwriter, Luo Jingyi. It was the film that had won Teacher Luo countless awards.

The Last Year followed an eighty-year-old woman during her final year on earth. In that year, she buried her husband and daughter, euthanized the dog that had been her companion for over a decade, and attended her best friend’s funeral. She was walking alone on the edge of life when she met a fifteen-year-old girl who wanted to commit suicide.

Chen Ge had downloaded the script from the official website. Using her phone to reference the script, she analyzed the actors’ performances frame by frame. She had watched this movie countless times and knew the lines by heart, yet every viewing revealed a new detail.

This time was no exception.

Excitedly, Chen Ge opened a movie review site and logged into her account, “MuGe0411.” She posted a new comment in the discussion section for The Last Year.

“…No wonder Xiao Ling decided to live for the sake of a cat. She was reminded of the sick cat her father threw away years ago—her only friend in childhood. The old woman helped fill that massive void in her heart. Teacher Luo’s handling of this is so subtle and brilliant. The director’s approach is also profound; they didn’t show the cat being abandoned directly, but seeing the cat’s body among the rubble of the demolition had a much stronger impact.

It’s hard to imagine the real age and experiences of the low-profile Teacher Luo. She must have gone through so much to write such a delicate script. Every detail is worth savoring.”

Shortly after she posted, people began to reply.

[Student Mu Ge, are you back to blow ‘rainbow farts’ (flattery) at Teacher Luo again?]

[Today’s Student Mu Ge is still a Mu Ge who loves Teacher Luo.]

[Hard to imagine her real age? What do you mean? Are you hinting that Teacher Luo is old? [doge emoji]]

Chen Ge replied: “How could I? I respect her too much. Teacher Luo is probably only in her forties, right? That’s the prime age for a screenwriter. But the depth of her scripts makes it feel like she’s even older than forty.”

[I heard she’s a difficult old lady.]

The corners of Chen Ge’s mouth lifted: “Why are you speaking ill of Teacher Luo? Even if Teacher Luo is an ‘old lady,’ she must be an incredibly cultured and charming one.”

The Author has something to say:

Luo Jingyi: Wait for me to show up and radiate charm.

New story alert! Throws flowers

Updates every night at 9 PM~

This is a “Su”, refreshing, and sweet lighthearted romance, just for fun.

[No real-life prototypes; please do not mention real people.]

Thank you for the support!