This Best Actress is a Bit Annoying - Chapter 5

“I already released the news saying I invited you and Lu Yu to anchor the show, and now you tell me your schedule is full? Hah!”

“Shh, keep your voice down, Director Xun. One must learn to be content; with a Great Film Emperor like Lu Yu on board, this drama is guaranteed to win awards, no problem. Next time, I’ll join your drama without even asking for a fee, okay?”

“You actually wanted a fee?”

“What I mean is, next time I will definitely be proactive…”

What followed was Nie Zhuying’s one-sided, persistent attempt to coax and persuade Director Xun.

Hearing this, Xia Qingye was just about to turn back when she saw a woman step down from the business van, saying with a look of high alert, “What are you doing standing here?”

No matter how slow Xia Qingye might be, she understood this wasn’t the car of some producer or investor, but the nanny van of Film Queen Nie Zhuying, and the person before her was Nie Zhuying’s manager, Zhou Ling.

She remained unruffled, explaining with a calm smile, “Just looking for the restroom, I’m leaving now.”

Xia Qingye noticed that as she spoke, the voices that had been discussing heatedly just a moment ago came to a dead stop; presumably, Nie Zhuying and Director Xun had discovered her presence.

She left quickly, pondering the information she had accidentally overheard along the way. When Sister Xiang mentioned that Director Xun had invited a Film Queen and Film Emperor, she thought it was just a rumor. She hadn’t expected him to actually invite Lu Yu and Nie Zhuying—two international stars—to participate in this drama. More fortunately, it seemed Nie Zhuying had come in person to apologize because her schedule wouldn’t allow it.

In other words, she still had a chance.

The auditions were in full swing. Xia Qingye had told Wei Xianghong the day after receiving the script, and her registration was among the early batch, so as Wei Xianghong predicted, she was scheduled for the afternoon, nearing evening.

Meanwhile, Nie Zhuying and Xun Guang finally managed to settle the matter. Upon entering the car, the assistant Yao Wei quickly handed over a cup of mung bean soup. “Sister Nie, did you notice when you were talking to Director Xun just now? That young girl was standing there the whole time.”

“Mhm.” Hearing Zhou Ling’s voice, Nie Zhuying had peeked out, catching only a glimpse of a side profile and a back. She narrowed her beautiful phoenix eyes. “Who was it?”

“Not sure for now, but Sister Ling took a photo.” Yao Wei quickly pulled out her phone. “A few people came over here to use the restroom, and we kept an eye on all of them. She was the only one who looped around from the back of the car. We didn’t notice at first, but then we saw her standing at the corner where you were talking for a while. Sister Ling thought she was a paparazzi, so she got out to check herself.”

Nie Zhuying pursed her lips. When she wasn’t smiling, her eyes looked particularly stern. She took the phone from Yao Wei and swept a glance over the photos—side views, back views. “An unfamiliar face.”

“Where is Sister Ling?”

“She said she saw an acquaintance and went over to say hello. If you’re tired, Sister Nie, take a nap first. I’ll have Brother Zhao drive you back.”

Nie Zhuying sprawled onto her specialized chair, her legs unceremoniously crossed over the front seat. She reached out, and Yao Wei quickly handed her the iPad, asking cautiously, “Sister Nie, do we need the PR department to keep an eye on this?”

Nie Zhuying quickly logged into her private “sockpuppet” account, her fingers scrolling through the latest headlines. After a while, she let out a sneer. “Clowns.”

Yao Wei didn’t know if that remark was directed at the woman from earlier. She craned her neck to peek and saw the iPad screen was on a post featuring Film Queen Zhong Ruanqin’s runway photos from Milan Fashion Week. She watched as Nie poked into the post, flipping through the photos. To an outsider, it might look like Nie was a fan of Film Queen Zhong, but in reality, she knew the two likely “had a grudge.”

Sure enough, within three seconds, cold snorts echoed in the car, followed by the Film Queen’s critique: “Too ugly. What kind of taste do these people have? If you ask me, she’s an old woman who insists on acting like a seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl. Look, you can practically see the fine lines on her face.”

Yao Wei didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and could only nod in agreement.

Actually, the thirty-five-year-old Film Queen Zhong was quite well-maintained—at least more beautiful than when she first debuted. But for some reason, she must have offended Sister Nie, because ever since Yao Wei became her assistant, she heard Sister Nie trashing the woman every few days. She felt a bit of pity for Film Queen Zhong.

“Also, do you think this outfit suits her? No temperament, no figure. I’m telling you, this woman’s body is starting to lose its shape,” Nie Zhuying gloated.

“Sister Nie, you can even tell that?”

“Of course I can.”

…

Nie Zhuying refreshed the feed again, critiqued everything one by one, then tossed the iPad aside, pulled a blanket over her head, and muttered, “How boring. Don’t wait for Sister Ling, let’s drive.”

Yao Wei immediately gave a look to the driver, Master Zhao, who nodded understandingly and drove the car steadily all the way.

“Sister Xia, Sister Xia! Sister Xiang told me to tell you: don’t be nervous, just perform however you want. We’re just here to gain experience anyway,” Yu Lan said while nervously stamping her feet.

Xia Qingye rubbed her temples and let out a light laugh.

“Xia Qingye? Is Xia Qingye here?”

“I’m here.”

“Wait for my good news.”

Yu Lan was bewildered. Good news? What good news?

As soon as Xia Qingye entered, her eyes landed on Director Xun Guang sitting in the center. Just as Nie Zhuying had bluntly described, Xun Guang’s appearance was very “distinctive.” A large patch of hair was missing from the top of his head, glowing brightly; he frequently tried to comb the hair from the sides to the middle, but it couldn’t change the fact that he was balding at forty.

Suppressing a smile, Xia Qingye bowed to the row of judges and introduced herself. “I am here to audition for the lead role, Bai Qinying.”

As soon as she finished, the room went silent for a full minute.

Almost everyone present knew that because Director Xun had invited a Film Queen and Film Emperor, those two roles were essentially “reserved.” Anyone smart should have understood that.

However, it was clear they hadn’t received the new information yet.

Xun Guang looked at Xia Qingye twice through his squinted eyes, his voice booming. “Perform a crying scene for Bai Qinying.”

The Twin Flowers appeared to be an anti-Japanese drama, but based on the content, it was actually a war of wits and espionage. The entire play revolved around the Japanese occupation of Shanghai and their attempt to root out the underground Communist and Nationalist intelligence officers. Specifically, they were hunting the intelligence chief codenamed “Eagle.” Every day, people were being taken away by the Japanese Gendarmerie; for a time, all of Shanghai was gripped by panic.

Bai Qinying, having returned from studying in Japan, appeared to have joined the Japanese Special Higher Police, but in reality, she was a Communist spy providing vital intelligence. Throughout the entire play, she only had two crying scenes.

One was when a mole appeared in the Communist intelligence department and many comrades were implicated, not even sparing children only a few years old. The other was when she received intelligence to kill a mole planted by the Japanese inside the Communist party—only to discover the person on the list was her own younger sister. She struggled and suffered, even wavering between her family ties and her faith. Finally, remembering the comrades who had sacrificed themselves for their beliefs and seeing the scenes of thousands of compatriots oppressed by the Japanese, she resolutely fired that shot.

That shot was fired apart from her personal identity—it was for faith, for the country.

There were no lines, only the struggle, pain, and sorrow revealed through her eyes, moving one to tears.

The entire room was as quiet as death. Everyone felt the same resonance, seeing through Xia Qingye’s eyes the complex emotions belonging to Bai Qinying: the reluctance of being forced to separate from her sister as a child, the guilt of failing her mother’s deathbed wish, the regret, the remorse, the hatred for the invading nation, and the unwavering conviction. These complex emotions blended together, making the pain too much to breathe.

“Sister Xia, you… you… why are you crying?” Yu Lan stared with wide eyes, looking at Xia Qingye’s red, teary eyes in disbelief.

People nearby saw this and couldn’t help but let out a few sneers, mocking her: “She must have been scolded to tears by the director.”

Yu Lan glared at them, quickly pulled Xia Qingye aside, handed her a tissue, and comforted her clumsily, “Sister Xia, don’t be sad. If it didn’t work this time, we’ll just try a few more times. Something will eventually work out.”

Xia Qingye wiped the tear stains from the corners of her eyes and smiled softly. “Let’s go.”

After returning, Yu Lan even called Wei Xianghong to tell her how Xia Qingye had been scolded to tears by the director. “Sister Xiang, you have no idea how heartbroken Sister Xia was that day. Her eyes were swollen when she got back.”

Wei Xianghong had already guessed that Xia Qingye would hit a wall during this audition. She offered a few words of comfort, planning to help her pick a simpler script once Xia Qingye’s emotions had settled.

To her surprise, a few days later, joy descended from the heavens.

Xia Qingye was woken up early in the morning by the doorbell. These past few days, because she was contemplating Bai Qinying’s emotions—including the specific feelings and reactions for every person in every scene—she had been practicing repeatedly in front of the mirror. She felt she was still missing something to truly embody the character of Bai Qinying. Because of this, she often lost track of time, and her biological clock had become a mess.

“Sister Xiang, morning.”

“Morning. Qingye, why are your dark circles so heavy? Didn’t I tell that girl Yu Lan to take you out to relax these past few days? What’s wrong with her?”

Xia Qingye went into the kitchen to boil water, letting out a yawn. “It has nothing to do with Yu Lan. I’ve just been staying up late reading the script these past two days. By the way, Sister Xiang, what did you come to see me for?”

Only then did Wei Xianghong remember the phone call from this morning. She grabbed Xia Qingye’s hand excitedly. “Qingye, you passed the audition! You. Passed!”

Xia Qingye’s eyes suddenly widened, her beautiful peach blossom eyes filled with joy. “Really?”

Wei Xianghong nodded. When she received the call from Director Xun Guang’s assistant, she thought she was dreaming. “I confirmed it over and over. You, Xia Qingye, passed. Director Xun said there’s a second audition you need to attend, and if you pass that, you’ll sign the contract directly. But—” Her tone shifted, and she narrowed her eyes to stare at the person in front of her. “Exactly when did you upgrade yourself from a supporting role to the lead role? You certainly kept me in the dark. If I hadn’t confirmed it repeatedly today, how much longer were you planning to hide it from me?”

Xia Qingye’s eyes darted around quickly as she laughed it off. “Well, I didn’t think I’d pass when I went for the audition anyway. I thought the female lead was a well-crafted character, and since I’d been studying her for over a month, I just wanted to see how far off I was from the role.”

Wei Xianghong understood her “nothing-to-lose” mentality and didn’t bother to press the matter further. “Fine. Just don’t hide things from me like this again. I am your manager; you can communicate anything with me first.”

Xia Qingye nodded like a woodpecker, though how much she actually took to heart remained to be seen.