Shang Yechu left the audition location, humming a distorted version of a song, and leaned against a bench on the street, starting to search for dance class advertisements.
Seeing this, 103 coldly asked, "Do you think you've already got that role?"
“It’s not ‘I think’,” Shang Yechu corrected, “She’s already mine.”
103 said: "Objectively speaking, I think you are sometimes too confident."
“This kind of small-scale casting won’t waste too much time. You can tell me on the spot whether you want it or not,” Shang Yechu said without looking up. “Directors who have reached this level don’t need to give face to small roles anymore. What, do you think Director Yi Tianzhao didn’t reject me in person just now because rejecting me on WeChat would have been more gentle?”
103 didn't engage in a verbal battle with Shang Yechu, but mechanically pointed out: "But Ms. Du on the far right seems to be quite dissatisfied with you."
“Of course she’s not satisfied.” Shang Yechu had collected several dance class advertisements. “For me, dance is just a means to get roles. For her, however, it’s a lifetime’s work, and perhaps even an artistic pursuit.”
“In that case, I think her opinion might influence the director’s casting decision,” said 103.
Shang Yechu walked forward while talking to 103. As evening approached, small stalls had already appeared on the street. An old man was standing in front of a sweet potato oven, calling out to sell roasted sweet potatoes.
The sweet aroma of roasted sweet potatoes temporarily interrupted Shang Yechu's conversation with 103. Shang Yechu immediately took out some money and picked out the largest roasted sweet potato from the old man's stove.
Now she's become quite wealthy and powerful; she can buy such a huge sweet potato without batting an eye!
The sweet potatoes were wrapped in a brown paper bag, emitting steam and a fragrant aroma. One bite revealed glistening, golden, flowing flesh that melted in your mouth like sweet cream.
Shang Yechu sighed contentedly, "Where were we?"
“In that case, I think her opinion might influence the director’s casting.” 103 repeated.
Shang Yechu took a sip of sweet potato and mumbled, "Her opinion is the least important."
103 clearly doesn't understand human logic. "Why?"
“The logic is simple.” Shang Yechu’s tongue was burning from the hot sweet potato. “What movies need are courtesans, not dancers.”
"Professional tasks should be left to professionals." Shang Yechu was in a good mood after getting the role. She patiently explained, "There's a saying: the layman watches the spectacle, the expert watches the details—"
"But has anyone ever told you that there are always far more people watching the spectacle than those understanding the intricacies?"
103: "Oh."
Perhaps it was the sweet taste of the sweet potato that inspired Shang Yechu's desire to express herself. Ignoring 103's indifference, Shang Yechu continued enthusiastically:
"I've been in the entertainment industry for over a decade, and one of the most valuable lessons I've learned is to find your audience."
"You don't have to please everyone, just your audience."
"Movies are not musicals; audiences don't come to see a beautiful water sleeve dance. What they want to see is a story, interactions between people, a dramatic plot—it's exhilarating! Exceptional dance skills are just icing on the cake; actors who can interpret the plot well are the real lifesavers."
"For a film, dancing skills are not necessary; acting skills are."
The sweet potato had already caramelized, and its sweet, glutinous, and delicious taste was incredibly appealing. Shang Yechu regretted only buying one.
"Actors don't need to specialize in any skill other than acting; as long as their performance convinces the audience that they are 'professional,' that's enough," Shang Yechu concluded.
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