Chapter 9
The crisp "crunch" of the potato chips, like a small pebble thrown into a noisy film set, briefly attracted several astonished glances from those around.
Zhuohua paid no attention to this, her fingertips twirling the thin potato chip coated in golden seasoning, but her gaze was drawn by an invisible thread, fixed on the figure in the distance who was dizzy from the huge surprise.
Lu Xiao stood there, like a child stunned by sudden happiness. The assistant director was patting him on the shoulder, talking animatedly about the audition guidelines and the significance of the role of "Chen Yan".
Lu Xiao nodded repeatedly, his cheeks flushed red with excitement, and his glassy eyes shone brightly, like two small, burning flames, filled with ecstasy, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of anticipation for the future that he desperately tried to suppress.
Occasionally, he would unconsciously turn his head, his gaze piercing through the crowd, eagerly searching for Zhuohua's figure. When his eyes met hers, he would immediately break into a bright, dazzling smile, as if silently saying: Zhuohua, look! I did it! Then he would turn back and listen more attentively to the assistant director's instructions.
Zhuohua paused for a moment, holding the potato chip between her fingers, as she looked at him. The slight itch in her heart seemed to be amplified by that burning little flame.
She gave a barely perceptible smile, put the half-eaten potato chip in her mouth, and chewed it slowly and deliberately. This mundane snack...it actually tastes alright?
In the following days, the film studio seemed to be on fast-forward. Lu Xiao's life completely changed. The role of the shadow guard named "Feather Eagle" was long forgotten, and he devoted all his energy to preparing for the audition to compete for the third male lead role of "Chen Yan".
Time became an extraordinary luxury. During the day, she still had to complete her few scenes as "Maid A"—of course, with Zhuohua present, those so-called fight scenes became her own delightful "martial arts display," and the director was always so excited that he couldn't speak coherently, wishing he could shove all the cameras on her.
But Lu Xiao's mind was no longer on this.
As soon as filming wrapped up, he was like a wound-up toy. Carrying a thick stack of character biographies and script excerpts about "Chen Yan," he would appear and disappear like a ghost in every nook and cranny of the film set.
Behind the props pile, under the lighting fixtures, even at the entrance to the storage room in the rest shed... as long as he could find a little space where he wouldn't be disturbed, he would immediately sit down on the ground, holding those few pieces of paper with curled edges, muttering to himself.
“Chen Yan…a young general…family decline…burdened with blood feud…endurance…outburst…” he muttered to himself, his brows furrowed, his fingers unconsciously tracing patterns on the pages, trying to grasp the threads of that complex soul.
Zhuohua was mostly like a quiet shadow. After finishing her insignificant part, she would habitually find a corner to curl up in. Sometimes it was that folding chair that was about to fall apart, sometimes it was some unused prop box.
She might be holding an apple or a bag of newly bought snacks in her hand, her gaze lazily sweeping over the busy crowd on set, eventually settling on that figure who is either squatting or sitting, immersed in her own world, muttering to herself.
The film set was always noisy. The roar of the machines, the director's shouts, the shouts of the production assistants, the laughter and curses of the extras... all kinds of sounds mixed together, like a pot of boiling stew.
Lu Xiao paid no heed to this. He was completely immersed in Shen Yan's world, a world filled with pain and struggle. At times, his brows furrowed, his eyes as gloomy as unyielding ink, as if he were bearing a thousand-pound burden;
Sometimes he would suddenly stand up, silently throwing a punch into the air, his eyes flashing with the ferocity and determination of a lone wolf; other times he would slump down, hugging his knees, burying his face in them, his shoulders trembling slightly, as if suppressing a silent sob...
He was experiencing every emotion and state of Shen Yan, trying to completely break himself down and reshape himself into the young general in that script.
Zhuohua watched quietly. She watched his fingers tremble slightly from his intense concentration, watched the fine beads of sweat on his forehead, and watched his eyes redden from the intense emotions he was experiencing.
The surrounding noise automatically filtered into a blurry background sound in her ears. Only Lu Xiao's low, intermittent narration, as if amplified countless times, clearly penetrated her ears.
"Father... Mother... Blood... It's all blood..." His suppressed voice carried a barely perceptible sob.
"Live on... I must live on..." When he looked up again, his eyes were deathly cold, but deep inside burned the flames of revenge.
"Why...why me..." That moment of vulnerability and confusion was quickly wrapped up by an even thicker shell.
Zhuohua held a grape between her fingers, not putting it in her mouth for a long time. She looked at Lu Xiao's pale and tired profile, made from excessive concentration, and at the faint dark circles under his eyes. That slightly itchy feeling in her heart quietly spread, a strange feeling, similar to...heartache?
She frowned almost imperceptibly. Having lived for hundreds of thousands of years, witnessed countless partings and deaths, loves and hates, her heart had long been tempered like ancient ice. Heartache? How could such a fragile and troublesome emotion, unique to mortals, appear in her?
But seeing Lu Xiao working so hard and burning himself out for a fictional character, that strange feeling just wouldn't go away. Like a tiny feather, it gently and persistently scratched at the softest part of my heart.
"Lu Xiao! It's time for the audition! The director is urging us!" The production assistant's loud voice boomed like thunder.
Lu Xiao, who was practicing a painful turn in front of the wall, suddenly jolted awake as if from a dream. He looked up abruptly, his face still bearing the lingering gloom and pain of Chen Yan, but his eyes instantly switched to their own light, filled with tension and determination.
"Coming! Coming right away!"
He responded, quickly straightened his faded T-shirt, then subconsciously wiped his face, taking a deep breath as if to suppress all of Chen Yan's emotions and prepare for the real battle.
Just as he was about to run towards the audition studio, something light and cool brushed past his cheek and landed in his arms.
Lu Xiao caught it instinctively.
It's a small spray bottle with a cartoon cloud pattern printed on it. The bottle is cool to the touch and contains a clear liquid.
He looked up in surprise, meeting Zhuo Hua's lazy gaze. She was still nestled on the prop box, clutching half a bunch of grapes in her hand, as if she hadn't orchestrated that precise "airdrop."
"To refresh you." Zhuohua's voice was flat and simple, like a user manual.
Lu Xiao was taken aback for a moment, then a warm feeling welled up in his heart. He gripped the small, cool bottle tightly, looked at Zhuo Hua, a grateful smile appearing in his glassy eyes, and nodded vigorously: "Yes!"
Without further hesitation, he uncapped the bottle and casually sprayed it onto his face twice.
A refreshing mist, carrying a faint scent of herbs and trees, instantly enveloped my face. The coolness seemed to possess some magical power, penetrating my skin and reaching my somewhat drowsy mind. The fatigue from staying up all night, the excitement of being overly involved, the tension before the performance…
All negative states were gently brushed away as if by an invisible hand! The mind instantly became exceptionally clear, as if thoroughly washed by a mountain spring, and even the senses became more acute, and the thinking became incredibly clear and smooth!
Lu Xiao's spirits lifted instantly! He glanced incredulously at the small bottle in his hand, then looked at Zhuohua. Zhuohua had already looked away and was slowly picking a grape.
Lu Xiao had no time to think. He carefully tucked the small bottle into his pocket, turned around, and strode steadily and swiftly toward the audition studio. His back was straight, exuding a do-or-die spirit.
Zhuohua watched him disappear through the audition studio before finally putting the grape in her mouth. The cool touch of the spray bottle lingered on her fingertips.
Of course, she wouldn't tell him that what was inside wasn't some kind of energizing spray, but rather the morning dew that had condensed on a thousand-year-old spiritual plant in the corner of her space, diluted more than ten thousand times. For mortals, it was a true holy product that could cleanse the mind, calm the spirit, and nourish the soul.
Troublesome. She muttered to herself. Using spiritual dew for such a trivial matter was a complete waste. But looking at his desperate, work-scarce appearance, she thought... maybe it wasn't such a bad deal after all?
Time seemed to drag on endlessly as they waited. The audition studio door remained tightly shut, cutting off all sound from inside. Zhuohua stayed huddled in the corner, having finished her grapes. She then pulled out a small bag of sunflower seeds and listlessly began cracking them open.
The crisp "crack" sounds seemed somewhat abrupt amidst the surrounding murmurs.
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