`Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The posture and etiquette in costume dramas greatly affect audience appeal. Some people can go viral and attract countless fans just from a video of themselves walking; others, with hunched backs and stiff movements, get ridiculed endlessly, their flaws edited into memes and repeatedly shredded by marketing accounts.

Ordinary people can only judge whether someone looks good or not, but Miao Huizhong was an insider.

There was an unwritten rule in the industry: men walk with “four-square steps,” women with “small steps.”

Small steps, needless to say, paired with hairpins and jade steps, best reflect a woman’s gentle beauty. The four-square step, in plain terms, is the “official step,” walking with calmness and dignity, exuding grandeur, following the etiquette of ancient gentlemen. But unlike the martial step, there was also the “lord’s step,” reserved only for rulers. It required the feet to cross slightly, walking slowly with each step exuding a leisurely elegance, commanding a presence of nearly three meters.

Yu Ying, though a princess, belonged to the waning Jiang royal family. She had been trained as an heir from childhood, so it made sense for her to walk in the lord’s step.

It was only a minor insight an actor could bring to the scene. Miao Huizhong nodded lightly, her expression calm.

In fact, whether four-square steps or lord’s steps, they were not difficult to master. Veteran costume actors could all perform them well. But the current market was restless, capital favored popularity over skill, and few young actors were willing to diligently practice.

Shi Yin had a delicate frame and graceful posture. From a distance, her icy aura stood out. Her slender swan neck stretched into a graceful line, and her steps were evenly spaced, neither more nor less. From the door to the long table was only a few meters, and she quickly stood in front of the three evaluators.

The audition script Shi Yin received had only one scene, taking place outside the city moat. Xie Yun sought to borrow passage from Lord Jiang to launch a surprise attack on the state of Guo, encountering Yu Ying in their first direct confrontation.

“General Xie, passage may be granted, but there is one matter I do not understand. I ask for your guidance.”

Though she said “I ask for your guidance,” Shi Yin’s tone carried no humility. Instead, it radiated the sharpness of someone accustomed to high status.

“Is this mission truly only for the conquest of Guo?”

Shi Yin automatically skipped Xie Yun’s lines in the script, paused for two seconds, then continued evenly:

“The forces of Lin Yuan are strong, like hidden dragons and crouching tigers, dominating the region. Lord Jiang knows they cannot match him and has no intention of competing in these chaotic times, so he must retreat to this city to ensure the safety of his people.

“Though Jiang and Guo are small states, they are allies, fully aware of the saying ‘the lips are gone, the teeth feel cold.’ If today, I allow you passage, the day Guo is destroyed, even this small city will likely not escape the fate of being taken by you.”

Shi Yin lifted her eyelids, her eyes seeming to see through people, staring straight ahead. A faint smile on her lips carried a cold edge.

“OK, that’s enough,” Miao Huizhong interrupted.

Shi Yin paused briefly, then quickly adjusted her expression, obediently waiting for the verdict.

Miao Huizhong didn’t rush to comment, instead scrutinizing the materials in her hand: Shi Yin, 18 years old, 165 cm tall—quite young, but normal; early debuts are common in the entertainment industry. She continued reading: her agency was Fengyang Media, a small local company in Tan City. Past acting experience… hmm? Only a documentary? Essentially none?

A newcomer? Miao Huizhong frowned.

Newcomers usually had a host of issues: overwhelming shyness, inability to perform naturally in front of the camera, unaware of acting flaws such as stiff limbs, exaggerated expressions, unclear or stammering lines, sometimes even heavy accents…

Shi Yin’s performance just now was completely unlike a newcomer. Miao Huizhong, still sharp-eyed, could tell clear from the subtlety. The most difficult part of the script was actually the lines—long, convoluted, tongue-twisting passages. Yet Shi Yin enunciated clearly, paused naturally, avoiding the common mistakes even many veteran actors made with stress and intonation. It was quite surprising.

Miao Huizhong examined Shi Yin carefully. Young, full of collagen, skin rosy and radiant, brimming with vitality—based on appearance and temperament, she was the most suitable candidate she had seen so far.

“I see you signed with an agency. Why so few works?” Miao Huizhong pursed her lips, unable to hide her dissatisfaction. “You haven’t all been extras, right?”

Even under pressure, she didn’t want minor, routine roles. No matter what they acted, it followed the same template, unable to handle even close-ups.

Shi Yin read the undertone from Miao Huizhong’s expression. Her long eyelashes fluttered. She considered briefly, then fluently explained: “No, Director, I haven’t been an extra. I’ve been training with acting teachers at my company. My agent wanted me to first settle down and learn more.”

She paused, then shyly added, “I was also informed at the last minute to come today.”

When speaking with clever people, less is more. Upon hearing this, Miao Huizhong indeed understood.

So this was a newcomer being promoted by the agency, with a personal acting teacher. She knew her nephew had played up the Zheng Zongyao connection. The girl’s agent had likely heard the news and sent her to test the waters.

Well, ultimately, it was only a minor role. As long as she could get through the scene smoothly, that was enough.

“Congratulations, your audition passed,” Miao Huizhong checked the box on the resume, finally showing a slight smile. “Good luck, perform well.”

~

At four in the afternoon, after learning that Miao Huizhong had found the actress, Qiu He hurried to reshoot the city gate scene before sunset.

Before filming, the assistant took Shi Yin around the set, explaining various props and positioning. A cameraman with a full Steadicam ran past. Shi Yin’s eyes were drawn to the machine as she tilted her head.

“Scene 87A, three shots, one take.”

The clapper runner sprinted forward and snapped the slate crisply. Shooting began.

Yu Ying stopped a distance away from the cavalry. Her flowing wide sleeves danced in the wind and sand like a flag, making her lone figure against the army appear even more fragile.

“Your position is slightly off.”

The executive director clicked his tongue unhappily, about to complain, when Qiu He reached out, pinching his upper and lower lips to signal him to be quiet. Qiu He leaned closer to the monitor.

This shot was originally meant as a wide shot to emphasize the desolation of the environment. But after Yu Ying entered the frame, the composition subtly shifted. Qiu He walked between camera positions, suddenly struck by inspiration, grabbed the walkie-talkie, and spoke quickly to the cameraman: “Camera one, switch to full shot.”

As the lens pushed in, the confrontation between Yu Ying and Xie Yun became the focus. Their positions were cleverly arranged, flanking the setting sun. The near-sunset glow, golden-red and magnificent, illuminated the entire sky, highlighting the intertwined fate of love and hatred between the two.

If Shi Yin had taken one step forward earlier, she would have blocked the sunset, ruining the “molten gold sunset” effect.

Qiu He froze for a moment, then slapped his thigh with delight: “Yes! Yes! I actually captured a shot of a lifetime!”

He jumped up, spun in place, rubbing his hands excitedly.

The Steadicam cameraman ran past, heading for the next position to shoot a close-up of Xie Yun.

Qiu He pressed the walkie-talkie knowingly: “Little Fatty, your lens is Anamorphic, right?”

The newly arrived cameraman panted: “Ah, ah, yes.”

Qiu He thought for a moment: “Then do a shallow focus, on the princess.”

The lens shifted, focus moving from Xie Yun to the actress opposite. With the anamorphic effect, the horizontal field widened, blurred oval highlights forming an oil-painting-like texture. In the soft gold frame appeared a clear face, symmetrical features, stunning complexion, unexpectedly camera-friendly, able to withstand scrutiny from any angle.

Some people, while naturally beautiful and fashionable, appear chubby or aged on camera, their minor flaws exaggerated. But this new “Yu Ying” was different. The high-definition close-up accentuated her beauty. A true daughter of privilege, her makeup was exquisite, her posture dignified, eyes and brows showing a balance of strength and gentleness, her aura cool as autumn rain—breathtakingly beautiful.

“Not bad,” Qiu He murmured. “Now that’s a princess.”

Zheng Zongyao leaned forward, watching the monitor with him.

Qiu He hadn’t felt such inspiration in a long time. Humming a happy tune, he mentally selected fitting background music, creativity bursting like sparks. Rarely was there no “cut,” but unfortunately, the next second—

“General Xie, is this mission truly only for the conquest of Guo?”

“……”

“……”

Shi Yin: = =?

Ming Zhe: @ @??

“Cut—!!”

What was bright in the east was dark in the west.

Ming Zhe, playing Xie Yun, was used to this NG at this point. The new actress hadn’t reacted in time and forgot her lines.

~

After an afternoon of takes, the city gate scene finally passed. Qiu He, refreshed, found Miao Huizhong: “Sister Miao, no doubt, when it comes to selecting actors, it’s still you. Your experience and judgment are unmatched.”

“Not at all, Director Qiu just knows how to use talent well.” Miao Huizhong smiled warmly. Their mutual flattery erased any trace of the morning’s friction.

In the atmosphere of “you’re good, I’m good, everyone’s good,” only Miao Huizhong’s nephew fared poorly. Not only had he taken a beating, but his two shopping cards had been confiscated. Feeling sorry for the twenty thousand yuan, he stubbornly opened WeChat, scrolling to a contact named “Feng Yang Yan Li.”

Qiu He discussed script changes with the writer, adding extra pages, then called Ming Zhe and the other main actors. More and more people gathered, small stools forming two circles around them.

Shi Yin crouched into a corner, looking left and right. While no one paid attention, her eyes glazed over again.

That’s right, Xiao Assistant came to life again.

【Beginner mission “Tremble, Inner Fish! Your Shi is here!” completed】

【Mission reward: Gossip Blind Box Vending Machine】

Gossip… blind box… for sale?

Shi Yin tapped to claim it, but before she could examine it, someone called:

“Hey… Princess! Yes, you come here.”

Shi Yin lifted her head like a groundhog, stretching her neck. She saw a small opening in the circle of stools. In the center, Qiu He waved at her. She steadied herself and, facing the surrounding curious eyes, cheerfully squeezed in.

“Over the next two days, you’ll follow the crew and listen to instructions. Night shift is OK, right?” Qiu He asked, his tone gentle and pleasant.

Night shift is industry jargon, referring to a shoot that lasts through the entire night until dawn. But during night shifts, there are unspoken rules: usually, the big scenes with the main actors are filmed first, and only afterward are smaller roles scheduled. That means Shi Yin would have to stay up all night, remain alert, and be ready on call at any moment.

Shi Yin: “OK, OK, I’ll follow instructions anytime.”

I don’t want to stay up all night either… but he called me Princess~

Qiu He found her clever and smiled with satisfaction, then turned to Ming Zhe to explain: “The writer and I have some new ideas, mainly for your parts with the princess. We might need to add some scenes; we’ll see how to use them during editing.”

The princess whose name he couldn’t remember was easy, but Ming Zhe’s time was precious. Qiu He had seen some minor celebrities throw tantrums—refusing to cooperate, leaving the set in a huff. He feared Ming Zhe might act similarly.

Ming Zhe had taken off his armor, wearing only a white T-shirt. His body was soaked, as if fished from water, every line of his abs visible. Handsome features, refreshing smile, not a trace of impatience: “I’m OK too. I’ll follow the director.”

Yes! Ming Zhe was secretly thrilled. Finally, he could remove his 5cm height insole.

The previous “Yu Ying” had terrible acting but was a full 171cm tall, so he had to take measures to compensate.

No choice, a man’s pride must be maintained!

Seeing no objections, Qiu He turned to continue talking with the man in the baseball cap beside him.

Shi Yin followed his gaze, blinking in surprise. That face was even more recognizable than many stars; she immediately knew him.

Zheng Zongyao?

~

Night fell. Zheng Zongyao said goodbye to Qiu He and left the set.

He took a shortcut, purposely avoiding the busy crowd, intending to slip away quietly, but unexpectedly found his path blocked.

The young actress crouched in the corner, two pages of script on her knees, heads down, taking notes. Delicate hair ornaments swayed gently by her temples. The flowing palace gown spread like blooming roses, covering the floor, leaving no room to step.

Zheng Zongyao looked down. She held a page with densely packed notes, annotated in different colored pens.

“Sorry… Director Zheng?” Noticing a shadow overhead, Shi Yin tugged her skirt to make way, but in her fluster, colored pens and papers scattered across the floor. She panicked briefly.

“Don’t rush, take your time.” Zheng Zongyao didn’t push her, standing politely by, hands in pockets.

Shi Yin smiled sheepishly: “Sorry, Director Zheng. I’m just too excited. I really like your work; I’ve seen every one of your films.”

“Oh?” Zheng Zongyao’s tone was warm, slightly teasing. “My earliest works are older than you, right? Do young people still watch twenty-year-old films? I thought you all would find them outdated.”

“Classics never go out of style,” Shi Yin paused while picking up her pens. “For example, Buying a Marriage—even today, it’s still a very meaningful film.”

Buying a Marriage was one of Zheng Zongyao’s early works, winning both Best Film (Golden Bear) and Best Actress (Silver Bear) at the Berlin Film Festival. Unfortunately, due to sensitive subject matter, it never screened domestically. Compared to his other representative works, it was little known.

“You’ve seen Buying a Marriage?”

“Yes,” Shi Yin replied earnestly, her dark eyes slightly raised, looking at Zheng Zongyao. “I like the texture of film, and I admire Shui Xin. I want to become an actor as excellent as she was.”

Shui Xin, the female lead of Buying a Marriage, had emerged like a dark horse. At just twenty, she won the Silver Bear for Best Actress, celebrated, showered with flowers, unparalleled in fame. But her time was short; a few years later, she disappeared from public view, like a meteor burning out, vanishing into the ordinary world.

No one remembered Shui Xin now, so hearing her name surprised Zheng Zongyao.

During the era of glorious film, Buying a Marriage showcased his most distinct style. That gifted Shui Xin seemed as young and confident as the girl in front of him. Zheng Zongyao felt a twinge of melancholy and an unspeakable regret.

“What’s your name?” Zheng Zongyao asked.

“I’m Shi Yin. Shi as in ‘time,’ Yin as in ‘music.’”

“Shi Yin,” Zheng Zongyao repeated. “I hope you stay true to yourself and continue forward on your path as an actor. I look forward to a day when we work together.”

“I will.” Shi Yin smiled and stepped aside.

Watching Zheng Zongyao’s back disappear, she patted her skirt and quietly returned to the corner.

Now she had time to study her mission reward properly.

With a thought, a brand-new self-service vending machine appeared before her eyes, sparkling. Inside the glass cabinet were clusters of white, purple, and gold light, very eye-catching.

According to the rules she recalled, she had one free draw from the box per day, which could accumulate. Completing certain missions could also grant extra draws.

Shi Yin pressed her hands together in reverence and clicked to draw.

A white light cluster floated out. Instinctively, Shi Yin reached out to touch it.

【Obtained Ming Zhe’s Gossip (White) x1】

【Ming Zhe’s bag always contains various types of height insoles. This has become his fashion statement. Although recent physical exams show his height is fixed at 175.6cm, Ming Zhe still insists on listing his official height as 181cm. Strength isn’t enough, so technology compensates. A man’s pride must not be lost!】

Shi Yin lightly covered her mouth: “Ah, I accidentally got the gossip.”

Author’s note: