Chapter 009 Misunderstanding
Later, he learned the entire course of events from a friend, who sighed, “That woman is sharp, calculating, and ruthless—even with herself. If she didn’t court disaster, she would surely achieve something remarkable in the future.”
Zhou Qi, who was able to bring people in front of Jin Youqian, naturally knew what kind of person Song Wan was. He couldn’t vouch for her other qualities, but her keen mind and decisive action were traits he’d experienced firsthand.
Back then, to get her friend Wang Juan expelled from the film crew, she’d reluctantly taken on a role she hadn’t wanted, stepping into the entertainment industry with one bold move; then she’d drugged someone and thrown them at a stranger, never to see them again.
All of this had happened right under his nose, and he’d uncovered it through his own investigation!
Song Wan had no idea that, in just a few seconds, Zhou Qi’s mind had raced through so many scattered thoughts. Though it was a little embarrassing, she still said frankly, “I was kicked out of the villa. There are no cabs around here, so…”
It wasn’t exactly being kicked out, but to Song Wan, it felt much the same.
He’d stripped her bare and then pushed her away? Was he even a man?
Even in her previous life, when her looks were ordinary, she’d never suffered such a humiliation. It was a disgrace across both lives!
Zhou Qi could almost breathe a sigh of relief. He knew that old stick-in-the-mud Jin Youqian couldn’t possibly have blossomed overnight: “I live up at the hillside villa. Stay where you are, in front of Mr. Jin’s villa, and don’t move. I’ll be there right away.”
Song Wan hung up, and within minutes, Zhou Qi’s car appeared before her. “Get in,” he said.
The car soon vanished into the night.
Only after the roar of the engine faded did the lights suddenly flicker on in the villa’s second floor. Jin Youqian leaned against the window, taking deep drags of his cigarette, the smoky haze blurring his expression.
He pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant. “Wu Yi, remember to put all of Song Wan’s information on my desk tomorrow.”
Jin Youqian stood by the window and did not sleep the entire night.
…
The moment she got in the car, Song Wan couldn’t help but ask, “What’s the movie called?”
Zhou Qi kept his eyes on the road. “It’s called ‘Enchanted Dreams.’ My friend has been preparing for years, only recently finishing all the pre-production work, but the casting of the villain has stalled. Actresses who fit the role and have the acting chops are too high-profile to bother with a small part; those with less fame either don’t look the part or can’t act.”
He glanced back at her with a light laugh. “He was desperate, so the moment he saw your character’s costume photo, he agreed to let you audition.” Zhou Qi had faith in Song Wan’s acting and was sure she wouldn’t miss this chance.
It was a rare opportunity, and Song Wan knew she’d lucked out. She didn’t put on airs and asked directly, “Which character photo did Director Zhou send to your friend?”
The role of Miao Yu was special—because of her dual identity, she had two completely different looks: one gloomy and bizarre, ghostly and chilling; the other charmingly sweet, stunningly beautiful.
“The one in the southwestern tribal costume.”
Song Wan nodded. It seemed this character was quite complex—a seductive villainess type.
Seeing that she understood, Zhou Qi relaxed, and the rest of the journey passed in silence.
The next day, Song Wan returned to her rented apartment and found that the original author’s novel drafts were almost used up. She quickly hammered out tens of thousands more words, and soon it was the day of the audition.
With no agency, she had neither manager nor assistant. Song Wan had to take a cab by herself early in the morning to the audition site.
The audition was held at a studio in Film City, and by the time Song Wan arrived, dozens of actresses were already lined up.
Some gathered in small groups, smiling as if they were old friends, though most had likely only just met. Others stood in corners with their agents, wary of anyone who approached.
Before Song Wan entered, their manners varied, but everyone more or less kept to themselves. The moment she walked into the studio, however, she could feel the others tense up, the atmosphere instantly turning cold.
She’d experienced this before, back when she was first honing her craft in her previous life. Any role she set her sights on—so long as looks didn’t matter—she would win. After Tang Su targeted her, she’d never felt that again. She hadn’t expected, after her rebirth and with her striking looks, to enjoy this sensation once more.
Her feelings were mixed.
After collecting her audition number, Song Wan sat in a corner, ignoring the attention focused on her.
Soon, someone called out, “Who is Song Wan?”
She raised her hand. “I am.”
The man’s eyes widened in amazement as he glanced at her. “Come with me.”
Song Wan followed him into the audition room.
A refined, middle-aged man at the center looked up at the sound, and when he saw her face, he smiled. “You certainly look the part.” The rest of the staff relaxed. “Xiao Liu, give her the script!”
The man beside him looked on in disbelief—weren’t the others simply given a scene to perform?
Song Wan didn’t notice. Since the director hadn’t specified a scene, she quickly chose a segment that would leave a strong impression.
It was a tough challenge.
The director smiled, unhurried, watching her without prompting. Since he showed no urgency, no one else dared speak up.
In less than fifteen minutes, Song Wan handed the script back to the staff. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of someone who had no business being there, and was surprised to see him bow his head, pretending not to see her.
Was he pretending not to know her?
Song Wan narrowed her eyes, but soon regained her composure and said calmly, “Director, I’ve chosen—the scene where she kills her own father.”
The director looked surprised but motioned for her to proceed. “Please.”
Song Wan nodded, stepped to the center, composed herself, and slipped instantly into character.
The director’s expression grew serious and he sat upright.
“Well, Father, am I not your daughter?” Song Wan lifted her head slightly, as if her unfeeling, faithless father really stood before her. Her tone was calm, with an undercurrent of something strange.
Whatever he said, she responded with a burst of laughter, as if she’d heard a joke. Her eyes shone with filial admiration, yet there was something about her that sent chills down the spine.
Suddenly, she struck, stabbing fiercely into the air, miming catching the other’s body, her eyes calmly fixed ahead. “What made you think, after using me so completely, I would still consider you my father?”
Song Wan drew out an imaginary dagger, gazed at the corpse on the ground, her expression growing colder. “I didn’t want to do this. All I wanted was even a shred of your concern.”
She collected herself, turned to the judges, and said, “Teachers, I’ve finished my performance.”
A thunder of applause followed.
The director got up and approached her, delighted. “Zhou Qi has truly found me a gem!”
To think she could draw him into the scene—astonishing!
He hadn’t seen an actor capable of that in years. The last time was with Hong Chen, but he’d already been an international film king, his skills long recognized by the industry.
What was most shocking was that she’d chosen a scene, memorized the lines, and grasped the character’s essence—all in less than fifteen minutes.
Such talent was unheard of. It stunned everyone.
No one present said a word; their composure almost made Song Wan think her performance had barely passed muster.
Song Wan smiled modestly. “You flatter me, Director.”
“Tsk, sly as a fox—just like Zhou Qi.” He scowled in mock annoyance. “My name is Qian Fu. The role is yours. Take the script and study it well.”
“Thank you.” Song Wan nodded. “Goodbye, Director Qian, goodbye, teachers.”
She took the script from the staff and, without glancing at the man in the corner, turned and left.
Hmph. Pretend not to know her? Who cared!
Bang—
As the door shut, the composure of those remaining crumbled, and they burst into a flurry of excited chatter like sparrows.
Even after a long while, their excitement didn’t die down. Suddenly, a cold snort cut the air, like a bucket of ice water thrown over their heads, dousing their discovery of a theatrical prodigy.
“Mr. Jin, do you have any instructions?” Wu Yi bowed, and everyone else listened attentively.
“Nothing.”
Jin Youqian’s gaze was icy. In a foul mood, he left the audition room by a side door.
Wu Yi hurried after him.
“What was that?”
When they left, the others exchanged looks. Someone asked, “Does Mr. Jin not approve of this actress?”
If he truly didn’t want to use her, no matter how much they liked Song Wan or admired her acting, given his status as the chief investor, they would have no choice but to let her go.
As they started discussing replacements, Qian Fu said calmly, “We agreed before the investment that he wouldn’t interfere with casting. Mr. Jin isn’t that petty. Even if he doesn’t like Song Wan, there’s nothing for us to worry about.”
…
The audition room had excellent soundproofing, and Song Wan was unaware of what had just transpired inside. Still, she couldn’t help but dwell on the man she’d seen moments earlier.
Her own reaction had been childish, like she was throwing a tantrum.
She frowned. She must have been mistaken.
They had only parted last night. If they met again so soon, that would be an extraordinary coincidence.
Song Wan called Zhou Qi to share her good news. Because of her earlier misunderstanding, she considered calling Jin Youqian as well, but she didn’t have his number and had to give up, carrying her script as she left the studio.
…
From the moment Jin Youqian left the audition room, he kept gripping his phone, glancing down at it from time to time.
Wu Yi quickly noticed and asked curiously, “Mr. Jin, are you waiting for a call?”
Jin Youqian immediately shoved his phone into his pocket, his expression calm. “You’re mistaken. I was just checking the time.”
“Oh,” Wu Yi replied, schooling his features into neutrality and refraining from mentioning, “I thought you were waiting for a call from Chairman Deng at the partner company.”
After a moment, Jin Youqian asked, “Tell me, why would an actress with such outstanding talent still try to trade her body and take shortcuts to the top?”
Thinking of the information Jin had asked him to gather overnight, Wu Yi instantly guessed who he meant. “Perhaps she wants to climb to the top as quickly as possible. Or maybe she’s young, new to the industry, and has no real sense of her own abilities.”
“Is that so?” Jin Youqian sounded unconvinced.