`Chapter 26
Chapter 26
When Shi Yin came out of the restroom, Tian Tian’s eyes lit up.
The once simple and elegant female student had now transformed into a dazzlingly glamorous young lady returned from studying abroad. Her half-tied European curls fell gracefully, the cinched-waist dress outlined a slender figure, and the pearl shoes on her feet were the finishing touch. Even her makeup was completely renewed: fair skin, red lips, sparkling eyes—a modern lady seemingly stepped out from an old magazine.
“Did you buy the stuff?” Shi Yin asked while adjusting her gloves.
“Bought it! The most expensive store nearby!” Tian Tian held up a delicate paper bag tied with a ribbon.
“I’ll take another look.” Shi Yin carefully untied the ribbon, checked that the packaging was intact and the contents correct, then tied it back up.
Before Tian Tian could react, she heard Shi Yin say with lethal determination, “Let’s go, snatch Cheng Daisy.”
After saying this, she grabbed the paper bag, lifted her chin, and strode out with a defiant gait. The way her skirt swayed made it look less like going to an audition and more like a queen leading troops to reclaim her lost territory.
Following the hallway signs, the two quickly found the audition location for “Cheng Daisy.”
Shi Yin paused at the corner, took a deep breath, and the earlier combative aura instantly softened. She put on a bright and appropriate smile, and her steps switched to a poised, brisk rhythm.
She walked directly up to Miao Huizhong, speaking in a familiar, natural tone: “Director Miao, so glad you’re still here! I’m here to audition for Cheng Daisy. I’m not late, am I?”
While speaking, she naturally bent down and gently placed the paper bag under Miao Huizhong’s seat, right by her feet, the motion so smooth it looked like she was merely putting down her personal belongings.
Miao Huizhong’s eyes swept over the expensive logo on the bag and said without a change in expression, “Cheng Daisy? I don’t see your name on the list.”
“Must be my agent forgetting—she has several artists going to auditions today.” Shi Yin’s tone was frustrated yet slightly helpless, then she clasped her hands together in a slightly coquettish, pleading gesture. “Director Miao~ Could you make an exception? Give me a chance? We’ve brought all the materials!”
Her playful, endearing demeanor was truly hard to refuse.
Miao Huizhong smiled, pointed at her, then turned to her assistant and said, “Add her name to the list.”
Standing nearby, Tian Tian immediately handed over the resume she had prepared in advance.
Once they entered the conference room, the assistant leaned toward Miao Huizhong, whispering curiously, “Director Miao, is this girl a relative of yours? Why so convenient?”
Miao Huizhong opened the bag and shared the pricey desserts and coffee inside with the staff around her, casually taking a sip herself and smiling faintly. “Just a friendly gesture. But adding a name like this—maybe one day, this treasure will be the right pick.”
The audition for “Cheng Daisy” was nearing its end, and it was soon Shi Yin’s turn.
The room’s atmosphere was noticeably more relaxed than before. Xu Qingsui leisurely stood in front of the camera reviewing footage, while Yan Wen leaned against the long table with her back to the door, laughing and talking with someone—opposite her was Su Feibai, who had just been cast as the second male lead, Shen Wangshu.
The staff handed over Shi Yin’s resume. Yan Wen glanced at it casually, then gave a soft “ah” and turned her precise gaze toward Shi Yin.
“You just auditioned for Ge Huijun, didn’t you?” she said in surprise, though there was a hint of appreciation in her eyes.
Yan Wen had a deep impression of both Shi Yin and Lou Xiyu; their interpretations of Ge Huijun were completely different, but both had fully understood the role, proving they were actors willing to put in the work.
Shi Yin’s expression was open and honest: “Teacher Yan, I’d like to try Cheng Daisy. I really love the Jianqiao script. Every character is written with flesh and blood—I wish I could play them all. It’s an honor to get another chance.”
“Looks like a good fit.” Xu Qingsui also came over, arms crossed, examining her with interest.
“Feibai,” she casually flipped through the script, “you and her have a scene together—this scene is your shared scene.”
The staff brought over tables, chairs, and props to set the scene.
Xu Qingsui adjusted the camera, slowly zooming in to frame both of them in the center.
Shi Yin sat gracefully in the chair, fingertips brushing the book’s pages, pride lowering her gaze as if the person in front of her were less interesting than the text.
Shen Wangshu, played by Su Feibai, propped himself on the table with one hand, leaning in, trying to break into her line of sight.
“Cheng Daisy! I said I got into the Central Aviation Academy to become a pilot, and that’s your reaction?”
While speaking, his other hand twirled a pen, small movements perfectly conveying his character’s unrestrained nature.
Behind the monitor, Yan Wen leaned slightly and whispered to Xu Qingsui, “These two in the same frame are quite pleasing to the eye.”
Xu Qingsui nodded. “Yes, their eyes have sparks. One is a proud young lady, the other a charming playboy. Quite camera-friendly.”
Shi Yin slowly put down the book, picked up a teacup, and took a light sip. “What’s the big deal? Zhenxiao-gege has been flying in the Northeast for years—he’s long been a major.”
She deliberately emphasized “Zhenxiao-gege,” her peripheral vision subtly gauging Su Feibai’s reaction.
“You only care about your Zhenxiao-gege!”
Su Feibai shifted his posture, resting an elbow on the table and casually folding a piece of paper. His movements carried a hint of restlessness, the paper flipping nimbly between his fingers. “Do you know how hard it is to train a pilot? Do you know why we still don’t have a proper air force?”
He suddenly sat down opposite her, legs spread wide, instantly encroaching on Shi Yin’s space. The distance between them shrank to almost nothing, so close they could feel each other’s breath.
Shi Yin only cast a faint glance, her eyes clear and unclouded, betraying no emotion. Su Feibai, however, seemed burned by that gaze; his Adam’s apple rolled involuntarily, and he silently drew his knees back half an inch.
This subtle retreat was not in the script at all, purely the actor’s spontaneous reaction.
“Su Feibai is a bit too loose, it’s better to tighten up here,” Xu Qingsui commented.
Shi Yin calmly set her teacup on the table, the crisp sound naturally bringing the scene back. Su Feibai’s gaze flickered; he straightened his back again and fully immersed himself in the shell of “Shen Wangshu.”
“Planes can be bought, just throw money at it, but pilots can’t.” His voice suddenly deepened, the previous nonchalance fading, his eyes revealing rare seriousness. “This team, assembled by the chairman, brought both hardware and software from across the Pacific—Fayrite, Douglas, Cessna, these massive machines most people have never seen. We have to learn flying, engine mechanics, air force tactics, radio communication, even English from scratch.”
He deliberately tensed his arm muscles, the tone carrying a hint of pride: “Only someone cultured, educated, young, and physically strong like me can do it.”
Shi Yin tapped his arm lightly with the book: “So by your logic, I could do it too?”
“Do what?”
Su Feibai instinctively rubbed the spot she tapped—not painful, more like a feather lightly tickling his heart.
“Become a pilot!” The young lady from the Cheng family lifted her chin. “I know English, I can learn all those courses, I’m younger than you, and my body’s no problem at all.”
“You can’t.” Su Feibai’s smile vanished, his expression more serious than ever.
“Looking down on me?” Shi Yin raised an eyebrow.
“Not at all.” He shook his head with a bitter smile, his eyes softening. “It’s just that some things aren’t yours to do. The sky is our battlefield; I fly up there so girls like you can stand proudly on the ground forever.”
He gently pushed the folded paper pig toward Shi Yin, lips curling, returning to a playful grin.
“Stay your young lady self. When the war ends, I’ll come marry you.”
“Shen, Wang, Shu!” Shi Yin sprang up, ears red. “This is a letter I wrote to my father!”
Su Feibai had already slipped to the door, waving to her with his back turned.
Watching his departing figure, Shi Yin stood still for a long while, then softly hummed. She picked up the paper pig, gently running her fingers over each fold, and carefully put it into her coat pocket.
“Cut.” Xu Qingsui called.
The performance ended.
Xu Qingsui lowered her head, thinking for a moment, not giving a result on the spot, only smiling gently: “Excellent performance today. Go back first; we’ll notify you if there’s news.”
“Thank you, Director Xu, Teacher Yan,” Shi Yin said politely.
As soon as the door closed, Xu Qingsui raised her hand: “Pause, don’t call the next one yet.” She turned to Su Feibai. “How does it feel?”
“Very smooth,” Su Feibai scratched his head.
“Could it not be smooth?” Yan Wen teased. “The entire time she controlled the rhythm, guiding you. Those little improvised gestures of yours? She caught them, didn’t break character, naturally turning them into Cheng Daisy’s reactions—every glance gave you feedback, every movement supported the scene. No wonder you enjoyed acting it.”
Xu Qingsui flipped through Shi Yin’s resume: “Very mature acting, every glance and movement full of detail. She’s not from the Central Academy of Drama? Based on this performance, I thought she was taught by Teacher Zhao—has the same bearing as the old ‘Northern Dipper Seven Stars.’”
“You mean those from Class 07?” Yan Wen immediately understood.
—The “Northern Dipper Seven Stars” refers to the seven most outstanding students of the 07 Acting Class at the Central Academy. They were prominent figures in school and rose quickly after graduation, with several still pillars of the film industry today.
Su Feibai looked around and couldn’t help asking the question on his mind: “…I just want to know, who’s going to play Cheng Daisy?”
“The Xinghe Yinghua side seems to want to ‘recommend’ a few more candidates,” Yan Wen said coolly.
Xu Qingsui immediately flared up: “So a few filthy-rich people are impressive? Isn’t one enough? Do they have to replace the entire crew to be satisfied? Then why should I even make this film? Better disband early—don’t even bother changing the script!”
“Money is impressive,” Yan Wen calmly sipped her tea, “without their investment, how would you build the set? How would you hire Zhong Li Yu? Keep dreaming in front of a green screen every day? You wouldn’t get to film a single grand scene.”
Xu Qingsui was momentarily speechless: “……”
She turned around, found nothing to slam, and sat back angrily: “…I don’t care. Ge Huijun is already cast. I won’t yield any more roles!”
~
Two days later, the official Jianqiao 1937 Weibo announced the two main leads.
@TVDrama Jianqiao 1937 V:
"My course is every inch of mountains and rivers."
He is a blade born facing death, an ace tearing through the sky.
He is Gao Zhenxiao. Welcome @Zhong Li Yu
(Image: Zhong Li Yu in a pilot uniform solo poster)
"My battlefield is the land beneath my feet."
She is the spark that awakens the dormant stars, a flag that never retreats.
She is Ge Huijun. Welcome @Zhen Xuexue
(Image: Zhen Xue in a Republic-era student uniform solo poster)
Shi Yin sat cross-legged on the sofa, wearing a face mask, talking to Wen Jinhe on the phone.
On her phone screen, that official Weibo announcement was prominently displayed.
“Of course it’s Zhen Xue,” she muttered. “I didn’t see her at the audition that day, so I sensed something was off.”
Even the Golden Horse supporting actress Lou Xiyu came to audition properly; Zhen Xue actually dared to be absent—unless she had lost her mind, there must be a more secure plan behind it.
“Zhen Xue is bringing investment into the production; her backing studio, Xinghe Yinghua, spent a lot of money. This is probably a resource swap,” Wen Jinhe’s voice came through the receiver, wind howling in the background, seemingly on the move.
Shi Yin sighed softly; it would be dishonest to say she wasn’t disappointed. She adjusted the slightly slipping face mask and lowered her voice a little: “Sister Wen, then… any news on Cheng Daisy?”
“Don’t rush, I’m working on it for you,” Wen Jinhe’s tone was decisive, full of determination. “Director Xu and Teacher Yan have a good impression of you, that’s our advantage, but there are some twists inside, the negotiations are more complicated than you think. Stay calm; I’m about to have a meal with the Jianqiao production team. Wait for my news.”
“Okay, I’ll wait,” Shi Yin obediently said.
After hanging up, Shi Yin boredly scrolled through her phone.
The official announcement had only been up for half an hour, but #Jianqiao1937OfficialAnnouncement# had already climbed to the middle of the trending list. She originally thought it was due to good promotion and high audience anticipation, but when she clicked in, she was instantly inundated by red verified accounts and warlike fervor—the fans of Zhong Li Yu were launching a full-scale comment takeover.
The front rows even had neatly controlled comments:
“Welcome Master Zhenxiao! Excited for actor Zhong Li Yu!”
“Ahhh, does that uniform really exist? Gao Zhenxiao, please stay permanently in my heart!”
“Ace pilot Gao Zhenxiao reporting! @Zhong Li Yu we will always follow!”
But scrolling further, the tension thickened, and doubts about the female lead exploded like bombs:
“Did the crew choose actors blindfolded? Zhen Xue also deserves to act with my brother?”
“Here comes this know-it-all again! After leeching off Shen Wei, now my brother? Can she not walk independently?”
“Ran away when seeing Zhen Xue, @Zhong Li Yu see you in the next drama.”
“Why is Zhen Xue the female lead? Reject Zhen Xue, reject Zhen Xue!”
“Carrying Yu Ge away without invitation! @Zhong Li Yu studio, can you do a background check before accepting the next role?”
One highly upvoted comment shot to the top:
“Everyone knows Zhen Xue’s acting is terrible, black material is proven, the production of your drama sacrificed reputation for hype? Insisting on one rotten apple to spoil the whole pot? @TVDrama Jianqiao1937V @Jin Ming Films @Xu Qingsui @MYSTAR casting team, there’s still time to replace her!”
Fans were furious, netizens hopping around with bowls in hand—the Jianqiao crew had truly become famous, though the heat was scorching.
The chaos burned all night. The next day, Shi Yin woke to find the related topics stubbornly still trending, the comment section full of smoke and fire. Looking at the enduring battlefield, she couldn’t help but marvel—top-tier fans’ combat power is indeed not exaggerated.
At ten in the morning, Wen Jinhe called, her voice hoarse from obvious hangover: “Get ready. This afternoon we’re signing the Jianqiao intent agreement. The crew wants the costume photos taken within these two days. Keep your schedule open.”
Shi Yin’s heart raced, holding her breath to confirm: “It’s… Cheng Daisy?”
“What else?” Wen Jinhe snorted lightly, a mix of fatigue and satisfaction in her decisive tone. “Female second lead, Cheng Daisy. And no pay cut.”
“Sister Wen!” Shi Yin pumped her fist in excitement. “You’re amazing!”
Truly a top-tier manager, she had torn a piece of fat from the gaps in the capital game.
“Don’t celebrate too soon,” Wen Jinhe poured cold water on her excitement. “I heard that Zhong Li Yu’s side wants to reduce the romantic scenes, making the character more focused on the national storyline. They’ve been put on the defensive by the fans’ protests this time.”
“This… makes sense, I guess,” Shi Yin hesitated. “After all, Jianqiao is a serious drama.”
“It is indeed a serious drama,” Wen Jinhe said firmly. “Director Xu insists on this as well, but she thinks that if it’s only the dry main plot, it loses the passionate youthfulness and romance unique to that era, so…”
Her tone carried a subtle teasing: “Zhong Li Yu can’t be pushed around. Director Xu said that the delicate emotional scenes in this drama will rely on your line with Su Feibai to carry them.”
Shi Yin froze. “Ah!!”
This exclamation wasn’t entirely because of Wen Jinhe’s words—at that moment, the long-silent system alert sounded in her mind like heavenly music once again:
【Main Mission: Let This Heavy Rain Fall】
【Mission Content: Complete the performance of the character “Cheng Daisy” in Jianqiao 1937, audience approval rate reaches 88%, breakout index reaches Lv4.5 (four and a half stars)】
It’s here! Finally here!
The heart that had been hanging for so long sank heavily, replaced immediately by an immense sense of security and soaring fighting spirit.
Her “Cheng Daisy” was truly beginning now.
Over the next week, the online storm continued to revolve around the two lead actors. In the unnoticed corners, the official Weibo quietly released the follow-up cast:
“#Jianqiao1937CastOfficialAnnouncement# Screenwriter: Yan Wen, Supervisor: Liu Minhan, Director: Xu Qingsui, Lead Actor: @Zhong Li Yu, Lead Actress: @Zhen Xuexue, Supporting Actors: @Su Feibai @Shi Yin @Zheng Binbin Youli @Xie Jiaying Joy…”
This post was like a small pebble thrown into a lake, creating only scattered ripples—mostly Su Feibai’s fans politely “throwing flowers” in the comment section, while Shi Yin’s name quietly disappeared under the floral sea.
In sharp contrast, gossip posts on major forums proliferated:
Gossip blogger @SilentPersonStarted: “Fake Xue’s resources are skyrocketing, I’m dizzy. Did she save the entire family of a peach-sweet CEO in her past life?”
Under this post, tall comment towers immediately appeared:
@Q|QㄋㄟㄋㄟSoTasty: “I’ve already started feeling sorry for Zhong Li Yu. How can he act with deep emotion facing that silicone influencer face? He’ll definitely break character. Fake Xue’s acting—staring and pouting—being beaten is the lightest outcome. Don’t drag my brother into the criticism, boohoo.”
@OldMonk DharmaNameMessAround: “Zhen Xue is at least young. A top star at 31 still acts like a teenager. Why aren’t her fans making noise?”
@Zhong Li Yu’s Tie: “Because he’s handsome and acts well, thank you. My brother has no problem playing 18 years old, unlike some people, 24 years old and looking 42.”
@EntertainmentCastingBot: “This drama is a classic move of capital propping up the ‘Crown Princess.’ Using a top star to carry the show, brushing the record of the resource-rich actor. In the future, it will be known as a representative work with ratings over 1.5. Didn’t you notice, apart from the male and female leads, no one cares about the rest? The second male and second female leads haven’t even had their names heard, probably just there to fill the scene. Historical dramas are already easy to fail; now they can be promoted in advance.”
Author’s Note: Second male & second female: ???