Spy film?
Shang Yechu's interest had indeed waned a bit. Ninety percent of spy dramas are male-centric, with female characters often portrayed in a one-dimensional and stereotypical way. They're either relegated to the sidelines, have a romantic subplot, or are involved in some kind of love-hate relationship with the male lead. A small number manage to gain fans, most receive lukewarm responses, and some even end up being met with a barrage of criticism after their performances.
Out of respect for Zheng Bohan, Shang Yechu did not show her disappointment and still seemed very interested: "This is novel. I don't think you've written this type of script before?"
Zheng Bohan stopped and leaned against the hotel wall, saying, "After writing so many period dramas for so many years, I'm really getting tired of it. I want to try something different."
After thinking for a moment, Shang Yechu said, "Spy dramas don't seem to be considered unpopular."
“Male-led spy dramas are not unpopular.” Zheng Bohan’s expression became even more serious when he talked about his work, looking a bit intimidating. “This one is different; this one is a female-led spy drama.”
"Huh?" Shang Yechu's hand clenched slightly. "No wonder it was custom-made. I've hardly ever seen spy novels told from the female protagonist's perspective."
“That’s not the reason,” Zheng Bohan said solemnly. “This script is based on a real person.”
Shang Yechu involuntarily straightened her posture: "Who is it?"
"I have no idea."
Shang Yechu asked in confusion, "Hasn't that local station notified you yet?"
Zheng Bohan shook his head: "She was a legendary agent who used three or four names. As for her real name—because all her comrades died heroically, and most of her documents were burned to maintain secrecy before their deaths, no one knows it to this day."
"The few remaining records only mention that the local station was her hometown. As for her life story, it is all incomplete."
Many heroes who fought on the hidden front remained anonymous even after their deaths. Their names are unknown, but their deeds live on forever.
Shang Yechu felt a pang of sympathy: "Which local TV station wants to commemorate this martyr?"
“Yes.” Zheng Bohan sighed. “Even if no one knows her name, someone should know her story.”
After a moment of silence, Zheng Bohan spoke again: "That local TV station initially hired an author who was good at writing spy novels to write this script. After finishing it, he was so angry that he threw it away—the story was exciting, but it was crammed full of romance! Nonsense! Then they came to me."
Shang Yechu now understood why the scriptwriters had approached Zheng Bohan. Zheng Bohan had a major weakness: writing romance scenes. Because he was too serious and lacked any romantic flair, his romance writing was always clumsy and unnatural. So most of the time, he simply didn't write them himself, or he'd ask someone else to polish them. This weakness might be a weakness elsewhere, but in a hardcore spy drama, it was a strength.
Shang Yechu nodded: "This kind of script does indeed need to be carefully considered."
“Yes,” Zheng Bohan said. “I need to work on it properly. It will take at least a year and a half.”
For such a large project, the lead actor couldn't be decided by Zheng Bohan alone. Shang Yechu tentatively asked, "Does Mr. Zheng think there's a role in this script that would be suitable for me?"
Zheng Bohan glanced at Shang Yechu and snorted coldly: "You kid, you're too calculating—I haven't even started writing the script yet, and you're already asking me, 'Which role do you think is suitable for you?'"
Shang Yechu coughed lightly and smiled: "You really think I'm suitable?"
Shang Yechu didn't think he possessed any heroic qualities. Such a great being instilled in Shang Yechu a sense of awe, even making him want to keep his distance.
Zheng Bohan did not answer immediately, but pondered for a while.
"That martyr started his undercover work when he was a teenager, and actors can't be too old. But young artists in the entertainment industry often have acting skills that are either superficial, slick, or shallow. You're very good."
“Besides, she’s a special agent, so she definitely can’t be frail and delicate.” Zheng Bohan adjusted his glasses. “I asked Yi Tianzhao, and he said your action scenes are quite good, so your physique shouldn’t be too bad.”
103 gave a strange, cold laugh.
Shang Yechu ignored 103's sarcastic remarks and smiled, saying, "You really flatter me—"
“No.” Zheng Bohan shook his head without hesitation. “Princess Pingzhao, you acted very well. But I always feel that you haven’t yet reached your true potential.”
Zheng Bohan scrutinized Shang Yechu with a critical eye, his gaze like a carving knife: "I can tell you've gained some fame now. But I've seen too many actors whose fame is fleeting."
Zheng Bohan's gaze made Shang Yechu feel pressured; it wasn't the look a teacher gives a student, but rather the look a craftsman gives a work of art. This feeling was both novel and uncomfortable for Shang Yechu.
“With your current acting skills, you have a long way to go.” Zheng Bohan made a gesture. “But I hope you can have an even wider path.”
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