Chapter 5: Audition

If Ruan Yu’s life were a video game, then Duan Lin would undoubtedly be the boss she had to defeat in the very first level.

Act opposite Duan Lin?

She’d rather die again.

At Shangying Media’s executive office, An Zhuoqian looked at Ruan Yu’s despairing expression and sighed, “Don’t be ungrateful. I worked hard to secure this opportunity for you. With your paper-thin credentials, getting even two or three scenes with Duan Lin is already more than enough.”

This was all a huge misunderstanding.

Ruan Yu tried to be diplomatic. “It’s not like I have to act opposite him…”

“Good, I’m glad you understand how much effort I put in.” An Zhuoqian, who had been both a workplace ally and long-time friend to Ruan Zhengping, knew full well how infatuated his daughter had been with Duan Lin since childhood. “Chasing Shadows is directed by Guan Baonian. It’s an awards contender. Even a cameo in this film is a rare opportunity.”

“Actually, I—”

“No need to say more. I won’t be accompanying you to the audition. Do your best, I’ll be waiting for good news.”

She—!

Ruan Yu couldn’t even get a word in. Swallowing her frustration, she closed her eyes, then forced a polite smile and bowed. “Thank you, An-jie. I’ll do my best.”

After leaving Shangying, Lin Qing was already waiting outside. Ruan Yu got into the business car and flipped through her audition scenes again.

Though she didn’t have the full script, An Zhuoqian had given her the story outline. Chasing Shadows was a film about the struggles of lower-class citizens in the Republican era trying to claw their way up.

Back when the cast announcement revealed that Duan Lin had landed the male lead, Ruan Yu had watched from the sidelines, gritting her teeth like a jealous little gremlin, while secretly envying his amazing resources.

Her own idol, Ji Linhao, had also begun shifting toward acting in recent years, landing several idol drama roles.

Ruan Yu understood—after all, Ji Linhao was already 27. He couldn’t be a dancing, singing heartthrob forever. A career shift was inevitable.

But compared to Duan Lin, who debuted with prestige film roles, Ji Linhao had no formal training and lacked connections. His screen opportunities paled in comparison.

Back then, Ruan Yu had clutched a tissue and prayed to the heavens to bless her beloved gege with a little more luck.

She never imagined that one day she’d be acting with Duan Lin—as his first love, no less!

In the front seat, Lin Qing was reviewing her schedule and had just turned around to speak when he saw Ruan Yu slumped lifelessly in her seat, looking completely done with life.

She stretched out her hand toward him like a drowned ghost reaching for salvation. “Qing’er—”

Lin Qing: “?”

Ruan Yu, eyes full of emotion: “Please, rid me of that evil monk Fahai and free me from the Leifeng Pagoda… so I may reunite with my beloved!”^[1]t/n: Fahai is a character from the Chinese legend “The Legend of the White Snake.” He’s a monk who opposes the love between the white snake spirit, Bai Suzhen, and her human husband, Xu … Continue reading

“…” Lin Qing asked sincerely, “Who’s Fahai?”

“Duan Lin.”

“…Then who’s the ‘beloved’?”

Ruan Yu lit up her phone’s lock screen, placed a glamorous photo of Ji Linhao over her chest, and said wistfully, “Not telling you.”

“…”

Lin Qing fell silent.

What exactly is An-jie so worried about? This girl’s clearly got acting chops.

.

The audition schedule was tight. Lin Qing booked a flight to Hengdian for the next morning. Ye Mengmeng didn’t accompany her—instead, she stayed behind to take care of the cat in Ruan Yu’s apartment.

In the apartment’s living room, Ye Mengmeng crouched down, trying to pet the white Ragdoll cat. The cat haughtily lifted its head and avoided her touch, letting out a regal, disdainful “meow.”

“Xiao Yu-jie, does your cat have a name?”

Ruan Yu rolled her suitcase out of the bedroom. “Not yet.”

The former Miss Ruan hadn’t named it, and even after a month of caring for it, Ruan Yu still didn’t know what to call it. Fortunately, the cat was smart enough to come to its bowl every mealtime even without being called.

Ye Mengmeng was shocked. “How can something this adorable not have a name?”

Ruan Yu crouched down beside her, scratching the cat’s chin thoughtfully. “Then let’s call it Puff.”

“That sounds kind of familiar… I think Duan Lin also has a cat named Puff. It even trended on social media.”

Ruan Yu gave a trio of feigned confusion: “Really? Did he? No idea.”

Of course she knew.

As a former anti-fan of Duan Lin, Ruan Yu had stalked his every move online. She even remembered when his studio posted a candid of him crouching down, looking at a scruffy little stray kitten.

The caption read: “Our boss found this cutie while filming on location and named it Puff. Puff has a home now!”

The fans in the comments practically had cardiac episodes from the cuteness, flooding the thread with squeals. The post rocketed to the top of every trending chart that night.

“Whatever. Puff it is,” Ruan Yu muttered reluctantly as she finished her flashback. “No idea what your old name was, but the old me probably would have given you a name like that.”

Before leaving, she snapped a couple of cute photos of Puff and posted them to her alt account, @SouthernBeautyFish.

“Xiao Yu-jie, is that your personal Weibo?” Lin Qing asked in the car, noticing her phone screen.

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never posted selfies on it, right?”

Ruan Yu looked puzzled. “No, why?”

Southern Beauty Fish had over two million followers. The account regularly flexed wealth and occasionally reposted content about Duan Lin. But Miss Ruan had always guarded her privacy—never once posting a selfie.

“That’s good.” Lin Qing breathed a sigh of relief. “In a few days, I’ll set up an official Weibo account in your name. The company will manage it going forward… By the way, what kind of stuff do you usually follow on this account?”

Heh. What else would she follow?

Without hesitation, Ruan Yu opened her feed right in front of him.

A new post had just gone up from a Hengdian-based paparazzi.

@DuanLin_Hengdian_Spy: “Snapped a shot of your man @DuanLin—mild spoilers, only a back view.”

Just a back view, but the fans below were already screaming like they’d seen full-frontal nudity.

[Comment 1]: “HOW?! Even a single strand of his hair makes me faint!!!”

[Comment 2]: “Ahhhhh his back muscles are so HOT I wanna die!! That waist, those legs—no one compares!!! I’m ready. I’m LYING DOWN!!!”

[Comment 3]: “BABY KILL ME T皿T Does the production need corpse extras? Pick me!!”

Ruan Yu stared at the photo for a while, then dropped her signature hater comment: “Tch. Those legs are totally photoshopped.”

Lin Qing: “…”

.

Outside Hengdian World Studios, fans were crowding around in layers, craning their necks for a glimpse.

After landing, Ruan Yu headed straight for Hengdian. The area around Dream Bund was fully rented out by the production crew, and staff bustled about nonstop. Ruan Yu’s group was led in by an assistant, where assistant director Zhang Zhong was selecting extras inside a temporary set.

Zhang Zhong looked to be in his forties but sported an outdated, greasy mustache. He scrutinized Ruan Yu and said, “Nice look. I saw your comp card—you’re with Shangying?”

“Yes, she just signed recently.” Lin Qing gave a polite smile. “Xiao Yu is An-jie’s new artist. Hope you’ll keep an eye out for her.”

Zhang Zhong whispered something to his assistant, cleared the room, and carved out a short scene. “Alright. Let’s begin.”

Ruan Yu was so nervous her hair seemed to tremble.

Zhang Zhong didn’t explain the scene—just asked her to perform a crying segment on the spot.

The role Ruan Yu was testing for was a blind showgirl from the Republican era—drop-dead gorgeous, but sightless. Because of her beauty, the dance hall still let her perform. While the frontlines of war raged on, the stage here sang on. Her fame spread throughout Shanghai.

But along with the praise came scorn. In the end, a riot broke out. The dance hall was burned down. The blind girl, unable to escape, became another casualty of the era.

Ruan Yu was testing a backstage scene with the male lead.

Of course, someone like Duan Lin wouldn’t show up to accompany an unknown extra. Ruan Yu rehearsed the lines in her head, preparing for a solo performance.

As the scene played out, Zhang Zhong’s frown deepened.

An Zhuoqian had personally recommended this artist and even asked him to be lenient.

It was only a ten-minute side role in the entire film—he could’ve let it slide. But seeing her now, Zhang Zhong had to admit: she was stunning, but her acting was too stiff. What a waste.

“That’s enough,” he cut her off. Then to his assistant, “Bring in the next one.”

Ruan Yu froze.

Lin Qing reacted first, realizing things were going south. He tried to salvage it. “Director Zhang, this is Xiao Yu’s first time meeting a big director like yourself. She’s bound to be nervous. Could you maybe give her one more chance?”

“Let it be,” Zhang Zhong said, already sounding impatient—until his expression suddenly lit up as he looked off into the distance. “Oh! Ah Lin, what brings you here?!”

As soon as she heard the name, Ruan Yu instinctively muttered, “Tch,” and turned to look—sure enough, Duan Lin had entered the set.

The last time they met was at the hospital a month ago. She’d been so flustered she didn’t even get a good look at her “cheap husband” before they parted ways.

Duan Lin walked in alongside the chief director, Guan Baonian, still wearing his costume.

His black hair was slicked neatly back, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on his sharp nose. His features were striking and refined, giving his long robe an air of both elegance and rebellion.

The fact that someone could wear such a dignified traditional robe and still look like a charming scoundrel was honestly absurd.

Ruan Yu’s inner commentary was going wild. She was just about to tug Lin Qing and make a quiet exit when Zhang Zhong struck up a conversation.

“You guys finished shooting already?”

“We wrapped the first half. I told Ah Lin to take a break,” Guan Baonian replied with a hearty smile, despite his serious square-jawed face. He patted Duan Lin on the shoulder. “Aren’t you casting for his character’s first love? I thought I’d come by with him and take a look.”

Then Guan Baonian noticed Ruan Yu, who was still lingering nearby. “You just finished your audition?”

Ruan Yu bowed politely. “Hello, Director. I’m Ruan Yu.”

Duan Lin glanced at her—his expression unreadable, devoid of surprise or recognition, just a detached, indifferent glance as if looking at a stranger.

“She already auditioned. Still, maybe have another look,” Zhang Zhong said casually, signaling his assistant to escort Ruan Yu and Lin Qing out. Then he turned to Duan Lin. “I heard she was taught by Zhong Xuhai. Didn’t expect much from her acting, though. Old Zhong’s been churning out these fast-track pretty boys lately. That Ji Linhao, who’s just about as popular as you, also trained under him for a while…”

Ruan Yu had nearly reached the set’s entrance when she suddenly froze in place.

Zhong Xuhai had taught Ji Linhao too?

What did he mean by “fast-track pretty boys”?

And “didn’t expect much from her acting”? Seriously?

He could look down on her all he wanted—but not Ji Linhao.

With her idol’s rival present, there was no way she’d let her idol’s teacher lose face. That was the teacher who taught her idol!

A sudden surge of competitive spirit flared up in Ruan Yu, and she turned on her heel with burning determination.

Lin Qing watched in disbelief as Ruan Yu marched straight back and stopped right in front of the director. She was stunned.

Under everyone’s gaze, Ruan Yu bowed deeply and said politely, “I’m sorry, Director Zhang. I wasn’t in the right mindset earlier. Please give me one more chance.”

Zhang Zhong said nothing. Duan Lin still wore his cool, distant expression. The staff around them exchanged uncertain glances, no one stepping in.

“She’s quite persistent,” Guan Baonian finally chuckled. “Alright then, let’s give you another shot.”

He appreciated her courage and offered her some direction. “This scene is the last time Jiang Pingzhi sees Su Wan. She’s loved by all, but always alone. She knows she’s just a puppet of entertainment in this era—but she’s lucky to have met someone like Jiang Pingzhi, someone truly worthy of her love. She’s full of longing but also fear. I heard Zhong Xuhai taught you—are you familiar with method acting?”

Ruan Yu nodded.

“Do you have someone you once loved but couldn’t be with? Maybe an ex you didn’t manage to hold on to?”

Ruan Yu hesitated. “I… guess so.”

A lifelong dream of marrying her idol without ever having met him—did that count?

Suddenly, Duan Lin, who hadn’t said a word till now, turned his head slightly and glanced at her.

“Just draw on that feeling,” Guan Baonian nodded. “Let’s begin.”

The room went quiet. Even Lin Qing was so nervous her scalp tingled.

Then Duan Lin suddenly spoke: “I plan to leave Shanghai tomorrow.”

A line from the script.

Lin Qing blinked in surprise and looked at Ruan Yu. She too was briefly startled, but quickly recovered and slipped into character.

Ruan Yu closed her eyes. In that moment, she realized how similar her own story was to Su Wan’s.

She had been given a second chance at life, becoming a socialite everyone envied—living in a mansion, driving luxury cars. On the surface, she had it all.

But no one knew her past.

Well—almost no one.

Ji Linhao.

He was there through her entire youth, the anchor of all her ordinary yet blissful memories.

The family group chat banner? His photo.
The biggest poster in her bedroom? His.
Chatting with her bestie? His name was what her keyboard auto-suggested.
Even her mom would point him out on TV and say, “It’s him again!”

But now I have nothing left—except you.

Facing Duan Lin, Ruan Yu choked out through tears, “I may be blind, but I see clearly.”

Guan Baonian didn’t miss the shift in her emotion.

From the sweetness of memory to the helplessness of loss, Ruan Yu brought every nuance to life with raw intensity.

She instinctively reached out, as if grasping at something—then realized they were too far apart. She opened her eyes in confusion, unfocused, as tears spilled freely.

“I have everything… but the thing I can’t let go of the most is you.”

Guan Baonian was the first to applaud.

“Excellent! Really good!” he praised sincerely. “The emotion was spot-on. Just work on your delivery a bit more.”

Then he turned to Duan Lin. “What did you think?”

Even after the scene ended, Duan Lin kept his gaze fixed on Ruan Yu. She was still lost in emotion, her nose red from crying, and her almond-shaped eyes glistened like water.

It was those same eyes—when she looked at him just now, they brimmed with such fierce, unguarded affection.

Ruan Yu, still caught in her role, took a tissue from Lin Qing and wiped her nose. She was just about to mentally praise herself for being awesome when—

She heard Duan Lin say coldly, “She’s not suitable.”

Author’s note:
Duan Lin: Stop pining. It’s not a match.
Ruan Yu: Who even are you??
Ruan Yu: Could this fake aloof, real self-obsessed rival please tone it down a notch? ^ ^