The plot for this audition wasn’t particularly challenging.
In the script, the male lead Tang Yu was a sculpture student at the art academy. During his school years, he had won countless awards with his mud sculptures.
As graduation approached, however, he unexpectedly hit a creative wall with his graduation project. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t design a mud sculpture that satisfied him.
There were no specific lines, no prescribed actions.
The auditioning actors were simply required to convey Tang Yu’s frustration during his solitary creative struggles. After reviewing the character bio, they were free to interpret his expressions and movements as they saw fit.
Wen Chaosheng readjusted the positions of the classroom lights.
In that short time, all the curtains around the room had been drawn shut. The dim interior was illuminated only by a single orange-toned spotlight, positioned quietly just behind Xi Zhui at a diagonal angle.
The hazy interplay of light and shadow perfectly outlined Xi Zhui’s nearly flawless contour in the camera lens.
The creator of art was art incarnate.
The audition had begun.
Xi Zhui’s portrayal of Tang Yu had him standing before an unfinished mud sculpture, his gaze locked unwaveringly upon it. His face betrayed no strong emotions, but the subtle rise and fall of his chest revealed the anxiety churning deep within.
He raised his hand, his fingertip hovering over the blank, vacant “eyes” of the mud sculpture, yet he made no move. A flicker of inner conflict flashed in his otherwise steady gaze.
One second, two seconds, three—
Enveloped in the darkness, time seemed to crawl at an excruciatingly slow pace.
Finally, the young man before the sculpture acted with decisive resolve. His fingertip slashed downward in a cold, precise stroke, flattening those “eyes” into a smooth expanse of mud.
He took half a step back, letting his figure blend into the solitary beam of light. He picked up a nearby cloth and meticulously wiped the clay from his fingertips.
There was no violent kneading or wholesale destruction, no hysterical outburst. Instead, with the gentlest yet most ruthless motion, he drew a clear boundary between himself—the creator—and this painstaking but ultimately imperfect work.
…
In under a minute, the performance had completely won over Lin Keyang and Sun Xuan, who were watching.
Per the requirements, Xi Zhui, as the auditioning actor, left the room first.
Sun Xuan reviewed the captured footage on the camera, clicking his tongue in admiration. “I’m sold. Where on earth did you find this guy? With that height and face alone, I’m raising both hands and feet in support!”
“He’s genuinely handsome, and he acts well too. He fits the male lead perfectly in every way.”
The Tang Yu in the script appeared gentle as jade on the surface, but he was actually emotionally distant and aloof, bordering on arrogance.
Even when harboring resentment toward his own failures, he masked it behind a lofty demeanor, never letting a hint slip to the outside world.
The previous actors had delivered overtly expressive performances—some even smashed the mud sculpture outright to vent their frustration and highlight the character’s private contrasts.
Only Xi Zhui’s reaction was restrained and nuanced.
Lin Keyang felt the crew had struck gold. She turned to Wen Chaosheng with another question. “Chaosheng, you’re the director. What do you think? Did Teacher Qiao Liang recommend him?”
With the audition concluded, Wen Chaosheng finally spoke the truth. “He’s my friend. I invited him to give it a try. I didn’t expect him to perform so well.”
Truth be told, Xi Zhui’s acting had caught him off guard. It was hard to believe he wasn’t professionally trained.
Wen Chaosheng adjusted his glasses. “I didn’t mention it earlier because I was afraid you might think…”
Sun Xuan cut in. “That you were pulling strings for him? Come on. Xi Zhui’s no slouch compared to senior Qin Ke. Why didn’t you say you had a friend like this sooner? We could’ve skipped the auditions altogether!”
Lin Keyang laughed along. “Exactly.”
Shoving someone without talent through the back door was one thing. But someone like Xi Zhui was clearly the top choice for the lead role—saving the crew precious time.
Though the praise was directed at Xi Zhui, Wen Chaosheng felt his face grow warm.
He hurriedly handed over his laptop. “Sun Xuan, export Xi Zhui’s clip too, and send it to Teacher Qiao Liang along with the other four.”
“Got it.”
Sun Xuan took the tablet and stepped aside to draw open the tightly shut curtains, getting to work.
Natural light flooded back into the room.
Lin Keyang seemed to remember something all of a sudden. She leaned in close to Wen Chaosheng, teasing him. “Honestly, even if it’s not exactly pulling strings, you were playing favorites, weren’t you?”
Wen Chaosheng blinked. “Huh?”
Lin Keyang nodded toward the spotlight, whose position had been specially adjusted. “That.”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng picked up his water from nearby and took a sip, trying to play dumb. But his reddening ears gave him away.
For a mere one-minute audition clip, he had gone out of his way to find the most flattering angle for Xi Zhui, crafting the ideal lighting and atmosphere in the frame ahead of principal photography.
As the script’s creator and the film’s director—
That single beam of light was Wen Chaosheng’s private bias, shining beyond the boundaries of the script itself.
…
Wen Chaosheng tidied up the audition classroom before parting ways with his friends and heading out of the school alone.
Beep beep.
A nearby black sedan honked its horn, followed by a familiar voice. “Wen Chaosheng.”
Wen Chaosheng glanced over and spotted Xi Zhui sitting inside. He was surprised. “Xi Zhui? Have you… been waiting here this whole time?”
“Not too long.”
Xi Zhui unlocked the passenger door with a touch. “Heading home? Get in. I’ll drive you.”
Wen Chaosheng couldn’t bring himself to turn down the unexpected offer. He opened the door and climbed in, quietly taking in the car’s interior and furnishings. “Is this your car? It looks brand new.”
Xi Zhui admitted it plainly. “My grandfather gave it to me as a coming-of-age gift a couple of years ago. I only just started driving it after coming back to the country. Buckle your seatbelt and put in your home address.”
“Oh.”
Wen Chaosheng didn’t linger on the topic. Instead, he said, “I thought you might not show up today.”
Xi Zhui explained. “It was a rare family gathering with a big dinner, so I didn’t check my WeChat messages in time. Wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.”
After they had added each other on WeChat, Wen Chaosheng hadn’t said a word.
Xi Zhui had assumed that meant he had found a better actor and given up on convincing him to audition. He hadn’t expected to receive that audition invitation and message today.
Xi Zhui started the engine. “I finished reading the Contour script. It’s very well written.”
Hearing praise for his script, Wen Chaosheng’s eyes sparkled with delight behind his glasses.
Recalling Xi Zhui’s unexpectedly stellar audition, he said earnestly, “Xi Zhui, I had no idea you were such a natural actor. You’re better than some trained professionals.”
“…”
Xi Zhui smiled and turned the question back on him. “Is that so? Director Wen, do I have a shot at getting cast?”
The simple title, coming from Xi Zhui’s lips, carried an indescribable nuance that stirred the heart.
Wen Chaosheng took a deep breath. “It should be no problem.”
The clip still needed approval from his mentor Qiao Liang, but all things considered, the man before him was undoubtedly the best fit.
Wen Chaosheng double-checked. “You’re really willing to do it?”
“Hm?”
“We’re heading to Gannan mid-month, and there won’t be any real pay for the lead.”
Wen Chaosheng laid out the facts and added, “But if you need compensation, I could…”
Xi Zhui tapped the steering wheel lightly, interrupting him. “Wen Chaosheng, do I look like the type who’s short on pocket change?”
Wen Chaosheng shook his head.
The Xi family was wealthy—exceptionally so.
“I’ll do it partly for our friendship and partly to try my hand at acting.”
Xi Zhui quelled Wen Chaosheng’s unnecessary concerns, then remembered something else. “Besides, I still remember what you said…”
Wen Chaosheng drew a blank. “Me? What did I say?”
While waiting at a red light, Xi Zhui shot him a playful look and mimicked his childhood drawl:
“Xi Zhui, if I become a director someday, will you star as the lead in my movie?”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng immediately felt like a boiling electric kettle, steam practically rising from his head. He whipped his head away from Xi Zhui’s teasing gaze and cracked open the window for air.
It took a good while before he managed to stammer, “Y-you still remember that? I thought you’d forgotten all about it.”
Xi Zhui chuckled and resumed driving. “Of course. You were so dead serious about it as a kid—impossible to forget.”
“Oh.”
Wen Chaosheng hadn’t realized that childhood promise would come true.
Not only was he about to shoot his very first film, but the male lead would be none other than Xi Zhui!
His heart brimmed with anticipation. Once the heat faded from his face, he composed himself. “I’ll notify you of the exact departure time once my mentor gives the final go-ahead.”
Xi Zhui raised an eyebrow accommodatingly. “Sounds good, Director Wen.”
…
The film’s plot and real locations dictated shooting in Gannan.
As a student production—a so-called “student work”—the crew was tiny, with fewer than ten main members.
Director Wen Chaosheng, lead actor Xi Zhui, and a local Gannan actor for the other key role.
Lin Keyang served as assistant director and handled on-set logistics, while dragging along her boyfriend as the grunt labor.
Sun Xuan and his classmate Liao Qi covered camera work, props, and costumes. The makeup artist was a local whom Lin Keyang had coordinated with online in advance.
All minor roles with limited screen time, shooting locations, and equipment were arranged by the Gannan Cultural and Tourism Bureau, courtesy of prior outreach from the school.
In mid-July, the group finally embarked on their filming journey.
After a flight with transfers and a long drive upon landing, they didn’t arrive in Luqu County, Gannan, until seven in the evening.
Lin Keyang, juggling multiple roles, had booked rooms in a hotel in the county seat ahead of time.
She collected three key cards from the front desk and returned to the lobby lounge. Surveying the group, she announced, “We’ve run into a small snag.”
Exhausted from the long trip, Sun Xuan just wanted to collapse. “What is it? Am I rooming with Liao Qi? Hand over the key already.”
“We booked four double rooms originally, but the front desk just informed me—” Lin Keyang got straight to the point. “A pipe burst in one of the doubles on the third floor. The wooden flooring got soaked and it’s out of commission for now.”
She handed one key card to Sun Xuan. “You’re still with Liao Qi, I’ll share with my boyfriend, which leaves the last double room…”
Lin Keyang’s gaze shifted to the remaining pair—Wen Chaosheng and Xi Zhui—as she proffered the final key card.
“You two can share a room for now. Is that okay?”
