Chapter 82: Homesick

Song Caiwen tugged at Yang Chuyao’s sleeve, signaling her to say less. “Yang, Yuanyuan isn’t that kind of person…”

“How can you be sure what kind of person she is?” Yang Chuyao retorted. “The rumors outside are running wild—everyone says she’s President Li’s goddaughter!”

And so the gossip spread…

Yang Chuyao was aggressive, not giving anyone a chance to speak. Even Yuanyuan could only briefly bid farewell to Song Caiwen before returning to Richard’s office.

“You’re back?”

Richard was seated at his desk, reading a script. Hearing the door, he guessed it was Yuanyuan.

“Yes, I’m back, godfather,” Yuanyuan said, settling into the chair opposite the desk with a self-deprecating smile.

“Don’t worry about those irrelevant rumors. Scandals can actually boost your popularity,” Richard said with indifference. “A star without rumors isn’t a star anyone actually pays attention to.”

Yuanyuan looked at Richard’s relaxed demeanor, puzzled. “You just let them leave? Aren’t you going to persuade them to stay? I think…”

“They’ve most likely been brainwashed by the talent scouts from Fan Chi’s agency,” Richard replied. “A few days ago, my people told me that someone from Yunyan has been privately approaching our newly signed artists.”

“So Yang Chuyao and Song Caiwen are heading to Yunyan?” Yuanyuan asked.

“Who knows,” Richard laughed. “Yang Chuyao is almost at the level of a first-tier artist, but doesn’t have the strength yet to open her own studio. So I’m not sure—if she leaves our agency, maybe she’ll go to Yunyan.”

“And what about Song Caiwen?” Yuanyuan’s voice carried a hint of doubt when mentioning Song Caiwen. “By the way, why was Song Caiwen crying?”

Richard explained, “Song Caiwen will probably follow Yang Chuyao, maybe to her personal studio. As for why she was crying… because she didn’t want to leave. But she’s a timid girl without her own opinions, and she debuted alongside Yang Chuyao. Yang always looked after her at first, so Song Caiwen treats her like an older sister. Over time, she became someone who listens to Yang Chuyao in everything, accepting whatever comes her way.”

“Let’s not talk about them. Let’s talk about you,” Richard shifted the conversation. “The film you mentioned yesterday—the one you want to audition for—is ‘Homesick,’ right?”

“Yes!” Yuanyuan nodded. “And I’ve heard Director Xiang Gaoxian doesn’t care about actors’ fame or looks. Whether you’re a top star or just an ordinary person without formal training, as long as you fit the role, he’ll cast you.”

That’s why so many previously unknown actors became overnight sensations after starring in Xiang Gaoxian’s films.

Xiang Gaoxian was adept at uncovering the unique qualities in each actor, magnifying them into the shining points of their performance. These were the traits that had previously been overlooked, unnoticed by everyone.

“Director Xiang’s films…” Richard seemed torn, lighting a cigarette to relieve his frustration. He finally said, “Yuanyuan, is it because you starred in ‘The Legend of De Zhao’ and think your acting is good enough? Now you want to jump straight to auditioning for Director Xiang’s film—your starting point is a bit too high. I’m not trying to discourage you, but most of Director Xiang’s roles are personally selected by him. None of those who come in full of confidence leave with a smile.”

How many actors dream of becoming famous overnight from a single film?

Even though every one of Xiang Gaoxian’s movies is a masterpiece, a classic, few have the courage to recommend themselves.

Because Director Xiang’s standards for casting are simply too demanding.

Richard flipped through a few pages of the ‘Homesick’ script, saying, “Yuanyuan, even if you pass the audition, this film is exceptionally challenging. I advise you not to be stubborn and refuse to turn back—start with other projects, accumulate experience slowly.”

‘Homesick’ tells the story of a carefree, beautiful college student from the city, who is trafficked to a remote mountain village and, after ten years of struggle, finally escapes the clutches of her captors and returns home.

The film is overwhelmingly oppressive, exposing the darkest corners of human nature. The heroine’s struggle, breakdown, near hysteria, and despair demand tremendous skill from the actress.

Moreover, except for a few flashbacks to her happy life in the city, the protagonist spends most of the film disheveled, dressed in dirty, tattered clothes. Such a destructive image—most stars, weighed down by their celebrity persona, are unwilling to take on a role like this.

“How will you know you can’t do it if you don’t try?” Yuanyuan smiled, her lips curling upwards. “If I don’t even have this much courage, how can I ever aim for the Arthur Award?”

Richard laughed as well, tossing the script to her. “Alright, future Arthur Award winner. For now, go and challenge Director Xiang Gaoxian, winner of the Arthur Award for Best Director.”

…

Yuanyuan spent three days at home immersing herself in the script before receiving notification to audition from Director Xiang Gaoxian.

Although the set for ‘Homesick’ had already been constructed in a mountain location, its remoteness made it impossible to audition there. So Xiang Gaoxian called the actors to his studio for the tryouts.

The candidates came in all shapes and sizes—men, women, young and old, from every age group.

Yuanyuan stood with a group of actresses auditioning for the lead role of Sun Xiaomei. Among them was Yang Chuyao, whom she had encountered just days earlier.

In the midst of heavily made-up actresses, Yuanyuan’s bare face made her stand out like a crane among chickens.

Yet, even without makeup, her beauty was not outshone by any of the others.

“Don’t you know how to put on makeup?” one of the actresses sneered, “Coming here without even a touch of makeup—how disrespectful.”

Others covered their mouths, giggling.

“These days, even an average girl knows to wear makeup when going out. And she’s an actress who dares to show up bare-faced.”

“She probably lined up in the wrong group. I bet she’s not here to audition for Sun Xiaomei—she’s probably aiming for that village girl, Third Sister, in the film.”

“But even Third Sister is the prettiest girl in the village—she at least uses a bit of rouge. She’s not even fit to play Third Sister.”

Yuanyuan ignored their mocking and focused on her script, making the most of every moment to study her lines and movements.

“Hey, Yuanyuan!” Yang Chuyao’s sharp voice rang out above her head. “You must be here at President Li’s invitation. Hmph, President Li really overestimates you. But Director Xiang isn’t like other directors—even if President Li pays him off, or you sleep with him, Director Xiang won’t give you any shortcuts for this film.”

“I wasn’t invited by President Li. I came because I wanted to audition,” Yuanyuan replied quietly, eyes on her script. “And, Yang, don’t assume everyone is as filthy as you are.”

“Hmph, you’re good with words,” Yang Chuyao, though angry, still maintained her cool, not wanting to lose her composure. “Let’s see how you get thrown out in a bit.”

Just then, a staff member carrying a folder approached.

“You’re all here to audition for the lead role, Sun Xiaomei?” He frowned at the group of flamboyant women. “Hurry up! Remove all your makeup!”

“What? Remove our makeup?”

The women couldn’t believe their ears.

To ask them to wipe off their makeup right here—wasn’t that too much?

One of the actresses protested, “We’re not drama school applicants, why should we remove our makeup? Besides, we’ve all read the script—Sun Xiaomei starts off as a beautiful character. What’s wrong with coming in made up?”

The others quickly agreed.

The staff member, irritated by their chatter, retorted, “Does Sun Xiaomei spend more time in the mountain scenes or in the city?”

“…”

“Makeup artist! Come clean all their faces!” he called.

Yang Chuyao stood there, stunned, her eyes full of disbelief.

Were the staff at Director Xiang’s studio really so temperamental?

They dared to bark at her, the queen of online traffic…

…

Because Yuanyuan had signed up late, she was the last to audition.

Inside the audition room, three people sat side by side: the director, the assistant director, and the scriptwriter. Director Xiang Gaoxian sat in the center.

When Yuanyuan entered, Yang Chuyao—who had just finished her audition—was still there, crouched on the floor, crying.

Was she too deep in character to come out?

“That’s enough, stop crying. Get up and get out!” Xiang Gaoxian waved his hand like shooing away a fly. “You come here with airs and can’t let them go—go back to acting in your idol dramas.”

Director Xiang appeared to be about forty-five, his gaunt face bearing a deep, weathered expression. Years spent on location, exposed to the elements, had left his skin cratered like the moon’s surface. Despite chronic sleeplessness, his eyes remained piercingly sharp.

As rumored, Director Xiang’s temperament was far from gentle.

Yang Chuyao left in tears, leaving Yuanyuan alone before the three judges.

Xiang Gaoxian rubbed his temples, his tone weary. “Not one worth watching.”

The scriptwriter said, “Actors these days are far too wrapped up in their own personas.”

The assistant director glanced at Yuanyuan—fresh-faced, harmless-looking. Without much expectation, he asked, “Which scene do you plan to audition with?”