Chapter 23

Chapter 23

An Ye’s current role was that of a gaunt woman suffering from dissociative identity disorder. It was also Director Yang Zhengyi’s long-prepared transition project. This master of suspense had grown tired of traditional thrillers and wanted to try a more art-house style suspense film.

It sounded a bit unreliable at first, but with Yang Zhengyi directing and Zhu Sa writing the script, and most of the crew being the same as the one from Lin Luo’s Amusement Park—An Ye’s debut film—she accepted the offer almost without hesitation.

The character had five distinct personalities, each with a different look. The main personality, A Lin, was a patient confined to a psychiatric hospital, so her makeup and styling were intense. To emphasize her gaunt appearance, heavy contouring was applied to her cheeks.

“I feel like I need to lose five more pounds. A Lin needs to be under ninety pounds for the look to really work,” An Jiujiu stared into the mirror, touched the corner of her forehead, and discussed with the stylist, “Should I shave a bit off here? A Lin’s body is weak, she wouldn’t have much hair.”

“We’ll shave it officially during makeup. I’ve got a few short scenes from A Lin’s healthier days in the past—those still need some flesh on your face,” Yang Zhengyi said, stroking his chin while looking at An Ye in the mirror. “Don’t lose weight just yet. Your current state can be used for the flashbacks.”

An Ye looked at Yang Zhengyi. “If I want to lose another five pounds from now, it’ll take me about ten days.”

Yang Zhengyi snapped his fingers at the mirror.

In the mirror, An Jiujiu had her mouth half-open while the stylist applied chapped-lip makeup with peeling strips. Yang Zhengyi, arms crossed, suddenly asked, “Jiujiu, are you really sure you want to take this role?”

An Ye looked up at him, careful not to move her lips too much, only speaking without shifting her expression: “Oh please, Director Yang. The contract’s already signed.”

Yang Zhengyi stayed quiet, arms folded.

Of course, he wanted An Ye to take the role. After so many years of directing, she was the only lead he had collaborated with three times. He’d even broken his own rule of only using newcomers just for her.

An Ye could really act. Once she entered a role, her performance could give people goosebumps.

But the problem was—she threw her entire soul into acting. Every time she played a character, she had to fully inhabit them. The more fleshed-out and vivid the role was, the harder it was for her to come back out.

And this role—a person with dissociative identity disorder, ending in suicide—he honestly wasn’t confident about letting her take it on.

There were already strange rumors circulating in the industry, saying An Ye had become possessed by acting, sometimes lost touch with reality, and wasn’t all there anymore.

It sounded absurd, but Yang Zhengyi wasn’t entirely convinced it was baseless gossip.

Back when she played Lin Luo, An Ye was still a clueless newcomer named An Jiujiu. To get into character and understand how Lin Luo gradually lost her mind amidst the fishy smell of the wet market, she sat by the fish tank and gutted fish for an entire month during training. She got so good she could slice the meat thinner than a cicada’s wing. She reeked of fish when she walked around.

After filming wrapped, she couldn’t exit the role. Yang even helped her find a pretty decent psychologist.

They thought it was just because she was too immersed in her first film, but even after she got into film school and learned all kinds of acting methods, she still used this self-consuming approach. Every time she finished a role, it took time—or a therapist—to pull her out.

The lip makeup was finished, and An Ye now looked even more sickly in the mirror. She curled her lips into a smile at Yang Zhengyi. Her cat-like, beautiful eyes had been elongated with upward-pointing tape and eyeliner, making her look almost sly. She said, “I have to start and finish properly with Director Yang’s films—murder once, get murdered once, then commit suicide once. Perfect arc.”

Yang Zhengyi was speechless.

Indeed, in the three films they’d done together: the first time she was the killer Lin Luo, the second time a girl brutally murdered by a psychopath, and now in this third film, A Lin, who hangs herself in a bathroom.

Full circle.

“So you mean you don’t plan on acting in my movies anymore?” Just moments ago, Yang Zhengyi was the one hesitating about letting her play A Lin. Now he was suddenly annoyed.

“Nope,” An Ye answered instantly. “I’m twenty-eight. From now on, I only plan to take on romance dramas.”

“Take on... what?” Yang Zhengyi thought he misheard.

“Mm-hmm.” An Ye stared into the mirror at her makeup that looked like she could drop dead any second, and repeated firmly, “From now on, I’m only acting in romance dramas—ancient romances, urban romances, rural romances, sci-fi romances, idol dramas, middle-aged idol dramas, golden-years romances.”

A whole long list, like she was reciting a menu.The stylist was amused by her and laughed, saying, "Teacher An, you're really humorous."

Yang Zhengyi, visibly annoyed, pointed at her and laughed, scolding, "I just want to see what kind of romance drama you'll land next!"

An Ye was an anomaly among actresses.

In her debut film Lin Luo's Amusement Park, 90% of the iconic scenes belonged to An Ye. The famous moments of Xiao Lin Luo throwing a body, wiping a table, killing fish, and smiling innocently at Wang Can, all made such an impact that adult actors seemed to pale in comparison. As a result, An Ye was typecast.

Because of her role as Xiao Lin Luo, she won three Best Newcomer awards, one Acting Award, and one Most Promising Actress Award. After such a strong start, her former agency arranged a small-budget slasher film where she played a delinquent girl, essentially the same look she had when she auditioned for Lin Luo—a violent, bloodthirsty "loli." Despite a poorly written script and low production quality, An Ye turned her character into a classic violent "loli" figure, wielding a kitchen knife from start to finish.

So, An Ye was completely cut off from gentle, life-focused films.

She had played a seductive ancient spy, an actress full of dreams during a time of war, a victim of abuse, a thief, a secret agent, a cop, and even a beggar, but through all those roles, there was never a love story.

Audiences would see her appear on screen and immediately think someone was going to die—either her or someone else.

And with this image, she wanted to play a romance drama at twenty-eight?

Dream on.

Once her makeup was done, the stylist professionally enhanced the hairline, creating the effect of a high forehead. An Ye, pleased, made a hanging gesture in the mirror.

"Go change," Yang Zhengyi impatiently urged her.

At times like this, it felt like she was normal, not lost in her role, still playful and mischievous. But knowing that her last role was exactly like that—playful and mischievous—Yang Zhengyi, at that moment, couldn't tell if she was truly out of character or just being herself.

"Have you seen Dr. Zuo lately?" Yang Zhengyi asked.

In the changing room, An Ye naturally answered, "Yeah, when I'm in Baigang City, I visit him almost every two weeks."

"Mm," Yang Zhengyi seemed about to say something else, but before he could, the door to the makeup room was knocked open, and Assistant Director Qian Renchang poked his head in.

"Are you ready?" Qian Renchang asked. Ten years had passed, and he now looked even more serious.

"Almost. How's the producer?" Yang Zhengyi asked.

"Done," Qian Renchang said, his voice stable but with a suppressed excitement rising. "The lawyer that Old Yuan recommended really came through. That difficult investment merger is all set now. The producer just called to say we can proceed with Plan A."

Beyond expectations.

"Plan A?" An Ye came out of the dressing room in a hospital gown. To make herself appear slimmer, she tucked the shirt into her waistband. With her slender waist and makeup, she looked fragile.

"That's the fifth personality’s fantasy effect scene. We should be able to film it all," Yang Zhengyi said excitedly, waving his hand dramatically.

They were getting money.

An Ye raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"This lawyer is really surprising. At first, I thought we were doomed when I saw he was young," Yang Zhengyi said with a sigh. "But nowadays, the younger generation is truly impressive."

"You're telling me," Qian Renchang agreed, "Old Shen, you know, the old-school type, with a bunch of tattooed bodyguards. When we told him we were making an arty suspense film, he got up, turned around, and walked out. I thought with that attitude, this funding would be a lost cause."

"Lawyer?" An Ye paused while adjusting her look in the mirror and turned her head.

"Yeah, he came back to China early this year. Old Yuan at Jin Ding paid a lot of money to bring him in, specifically for entertainment law. I forgot his name, but he should be about your age." Qian Renchang looked at An Ye, "With that look, I almost didn't recognize you."

"Do you have a business card?" An Ye extended her hand.

"Are you going to sue?" Qian Renchang was surprised."We all have to deal with lawsuits in our line of work," An Ye replied with a smile, "It's just that now, the more reliable entertainment law teams are mostly tied up with a few big companies, so it's pretty hard to find someone on your own."

The makeup room was full of old acquaintances she had worked with many times. Assistant Director Qian Renchang didn't waste time; he rummaged through his ever-present folder, pulled out a business card, and handed it to An Ye. He cautioned her, "This lawyer is from Jin Ding Law Firm. Their firm already has an entertainment law team. If you plan on handling a lawsuit on your own and bypassing the company, you should keep it low-key when reaching out."

The industry was small, and even the smallest matters could spread overnight.

"I’m just keeping it in mind," An Ye smiled as she took the business card. She was about to say something more but froze when she saw the name.

She already had a few business cards from Jin Ding Law Firm. In the entertainment circle, it's more proper to exchange business cards with potential collaborators rather than adding each other on WeChat. The one Qian Renchang gave her was the standard business card template from Jin Ding—off-white with a tacky gold logo and black text for the name and contact details.

But this person didn't even bother to add a personal touch to his card. His name was printed squarely in the center: Chi Tuo.

An Ye: "..."

It would be hard to find someone with the same name, but besides the phone number, the rest of the contact information matched exactly with what she had in her contacts.

He had returned to the country?

Had he really started focusing on entertainment law?

Wasn't he supposed to focus on entertainment law to help her? And now, he had started doing it, but he hadn’t contacted her at all?

It was almost the end of the year, and he'd been back for nearly a year now.

"Xiao Zhang," Yang Zhengyi pointed to An Ye in the mirror and said to the stylist, "She needs even paler foundation, that kind of pale with a bluish tint."

"Cover the sideburns a little more, and the top of her head needs to look more sparse." Yang Zhengyi wasn't usually hands-on, but today, since the investment had come through and he was in a good mood, plus An Ye was the lead actress, he was feeling even better, so he was more involved than usual, almost ready to get his hands dirty.

"Her nose shape is too perfect. Can we make it a little rounder?" Yang Zhengyi continued.

An Ye sat back down, tilting her head so the stylist could adjust her makeup.

She was still holding that business card.

She couldn’t exactly pinpoint how she felt. Over all these years, she had focused so much on her characters. She could easily explain how each character she played would feel in this situation, but she couldn’t explain how she felt herself.

The face in the mirror had been subtly altered with modern makeup techniques, and it was becoming harder and harder to see the real An Ye.

After changing clothes and hairstyle, her expression even began to resemble Alin’s.

An Ye spent the entire day applying and removing makeup, changing clothes, and switching hairstyles. She looked at the different faces in the mirror—one of a sickly woman, another of a six or seven-year-old child fantasizing about being surrounded by colorful bubbles, a man only interested in gambling, a deep, affectionate woman, and even an elderly person about to pass. After completely removing her makeup, she even wondered which personality of Alin was the one staring back at her in the mirror without makeup.

"An Jie." Her assistant, Lan Yifang, called her three or four times before snapping her out of it. She was holding her phone, speaking in a low voice, "Brother Yan is downstairs waiting."

An Ye came back to her senses, frowning. "What does he want?"

"Tonight's anniversary celebration..." Lan Yifang shared the gossip she'd just learned, "Half of the senior management is here."

An Ye raised an eyebrow.

There had been some strange rumors at Huanzhou Entertainment over the past two months. It was said that several big-budget films they had invested in had flopped, and the company might undergo significant changes.

As one of the company's main pillars, it was normal for a few senior management members to show up at an anniversary event. But if half of them were here...

Was she being treated as an important asset in the company’s restructuring? Were they evaluating how to break her apart?

She stood up, greeted the others in the adjacent makeup room, asked Lan Yifang to order some afternoon tea, then exchanged a few words with the two directors before heading downstairs at a steady pace.

On the way down, she didn't ask Lan Yifang to carry her bag; she had hidden Chi Tuo's business card inside it.

It seemed like he had returned just in time.She just didn’t know if, after all these years, his obsessive-compulsive tendencies regarding promises had changed.