Shoutout to nyanmaru for the commission!
Ye Yunqing silently observed Lin Xian.
His eyes weren’t the standard almond shape but had slightly upturned corners. When he was warm, his gaze was alluring and captivating; when cold, his gaze was distant, cold, and even a bit sharp.
Lin Xian met his gaze, his eyes flickering slightly, and the smile on his lips stiffened.
Just as the atmosphere was becoming tense, Ye Yunqing spoke, “Teacher Lin, you must be joking. If I’m fortunate enough to get the role today, I would definitely clear my schedule for proper training and filming.”
Lin Xian, who once took on two idol dramas at the same time, rushed through scenes without fully memorizing his lines, yet boasted about his dedication: “…”
He suspected that Ye Yunqing was subtly mocking him, but he had no proof.
He had blamed the overlap on his agency, and the rumors about him not memorizing his lines were also denied. Fans and the general public believed he was just a poor guy being overworked by his agency, who was still dedicated to fulfilling his contracts.
He didn’t think Ye Yunqing knew the truth, but what Ye Yunqing said sounded an awful lot like he was being sarcastic.
Lin Xian gritted his teeth and could only agree with him, “Teacher Ye is right. This role requires a high level of professionalism, so proper training is essential.”
Ye Yunqing nodded calmly, not saying more. Lin Xian, however, felt his face burning, and he dug his nails into his palm.
Wen Ning, who had been quietly watching the drama unfold, lowered his head with a slight smile: So, the cold beauty wasn’t just a pretty face; the creative genius was the real fool. Interesting.
The audition officially began. Ye Yunqing’s turn was towards the end, with Lin Xian just ahead of him, and Wen Ning had an earlier slot.
Once actors finished their auditions, they didn’t return to the waiting room. But when it was Ye Yunqing’s turn, he ran into Lin Xian and his manager outside the audition room.
Lin Xian’s handsome eyebrows drooped with deep disappointment, and he smiled bitterly, “It seems Teacher Ye’s encouragement was in vain. I really have no chance this time; I can only focus on preparing for the Wen Tian audition.”
Ye Yunqing paused for a moment before responding lightly, “Good luck, I hope all your wishes come true.”
Lin Xian was momentarily stunned, watching as Ye Yunqing pushed the door open and walked into the audition room. He then turned to his manager and asked, “What do you think he meant by that? Wishing me success? Could it be that he’s so confident about getting this role that he doesn’t plan to audition for Wen Tian?”
The manager thought Lin Xian was overthinking it. “Maybe he was just being polite.”
But Lin Xian wasn’t convinced, “Could he have said that on purpose to make me lower my guard?”
The manager, exasperated, replied, “For heaven’s sake! No matter what he said, isn’t the lead role in Wen Tian already in the bag for you? Why are you still so fixated on him? If it weren’t for the company cleaning up your messes, you’d probably be in the same boat as Qin Shang—”
Lin Xian’s face suddenly turned cold, and he shot his manager a sharp look.
The manager immediately fell silent but was inwardly annoyed. Why was Lin Xian acting tough? If it weren’t for the considerable “effort” invested in him, the manager would have long stopped caring.
***
Ye Yunqing walked into the audition room.
Opposite him was a long table with a row of chairs. Seated in the center was a man in his early forties with a full beard—Director Zhou Tianqin. Next to him sat a young man with a gentle demeanor and refined features—the film’s subject, Zuo Sang.
Despite having been in the industry for 11 years and competing in two Olympic Games, Zuo Sang was only 26 years old, not much older than Ye Yunqing.
This was Ye Yunqing’s first time meeting him in person, and he found that even though Zuo Sang had retired, his aura and posture were as impeccable as they had been during his career—a true ice prince who captivated hearts.
Steadying himself, Ye Yunqing put forth his best effort and introduced himself, “Hello, Director Zhou, Mr. Zuo, and esteemed teachers. I’m Ye Yunqing.”
No matter how popular he was online, in this room, he was just another actor vying for the role, subject to the critical scrutiny of those before him.
Fortunately, his stage experience kept him from feeling nervous.
Today, he was dressed in a white satin blouse with wide sleeves, paired with black satin wide-leg pants. The outfit was simple yet distinctive, thanks to the light ink-like patterns that subtly adorned the shirt.
With years of dance training, his neck was elegantly defined, and his posture was upright and refined. His figure was graceful, and his features were exquisite without being overly delicate. His aura was aloof, like snow on a mountain peak—standing there, he already embodied the essence of an ice prince.
Director Zhou Tianqin’s eyes brightened slightly. Among the actors he’d seen today, Ye Yunqing’s physique and bearing were the closest to Zuo Sang’s, and his appearance and demeanor even surpassed Zuo Sang’s in some ways. Old Guo (the director of Sunshine) hadn’t recommended the wrong person.
But resembling Zuo Sang was one thing; acting ability was another. Whether Ye Yunqing was truly suitable still needed to be seen.
Director Zhou asked, “Are you familiar with the audition scenes?”
Ye Yunqing nodded.
Zhou Tianqin signaled to the staff, “Then pick a scene to perform. You have three minutes to prepare.”
Ye Yunqing nodded and drew a scene where Zuo Sang’s injury worsens, leading to his decision to retire.
This scene was both easy and difficult—it had emotional conflict and potential for a standout performance, but it was challenging because he had to perform it in front of the real Zuo Sang. The specific details and emotional journey weren’t fully detailed in the script, so getting it wrong could be awkward.
Fortunately, Ye Yunqing had already thought through and rehearsed this scene, so he quickly prepared himself emotionally.
He took off his shoes and sat on the ground, as if sitting on an invisible hospital bed, drawing his knees up and hugging them, his eyes occasionally glancing toward the door, his fingers tapping rapidly on his knees.
Suddenly, his eyelashes fluttered, and he knelt, his gaze shifting from the door to an imaginary figure entering the room. His eyes sparkled with hope, “How is it? How is it?”
Director Zhou raised an eyebrow slightly. He had thought Ye Yunqing would stick to his cool, aloof persona—his first movie role had a similar character type, and he wasn’t sure Ye Yunqing could break free from that and play a more lively, complex character. But now, it seemed he had worried for nothing.
Just moments ago, Ye Yunqing had been a graceful ice prince, and now he was portraying a young man full of anxious anticipation. More impressively, his enthusiasm didn’t seem forced; it was entirely natural, without any traces of performance.
However, his liveliness didn’t last long. The light in his eyes dimmed as the imagined doctor and coach delivered their news.
But he smiled, his eyes slightly red, his smile strained, but his tone held a hint of playful surprise, “Really? Then I can retire?”
It seemed even the coach couldn’t bear to reprimand him, and the young man’s smile grew brighter, as perfect as it had been on the ice. “Don’t be like that, Coach.”
He sat back on the “bed,” pulled up an imaginary blanket to cover his legs, and joked, “What’s wrong with retiring? I’ve dreamed of retiring. My peak is over, and I’ve won enough medals anyway.”
The young man’s tone was casual, but his voice wavered slightly, and his hand gripped the “blanket” tightly.
Finally, he stopped smiling, his delicate features showing a moment of vulnerability like fragile snow, but it was fleeting. He quickly lowered his head, a tear sliding down his cheek as he muttered with a sad defiance, “It’s just retirement; it’s no big deal…”
As his words fell, the tear hit the ground, shattering silently.
The room was silent for a few seconds before Ye Yunqing wiped away the tear and stood up, “My performance is finished.”
Applause suddenly erupted—Zuo Sang was the first to clap, blinking quickly to hide the moisture in his eyes.
Director Zhou looked approving, “I expected you to portray this scene with more intense, dramatic conflict.” Like some of the previous actors, who had sobbed and been hysterical.
But Ye Yunqing replied, “I’ve watched some of Mr. Zuo’s interviews and thought this approach was more in line with his character.”
Zuo Sang, surprised, responded, “I don’t think I’ve mentioned this part in any interviews.”
Ye Yunqing: “In an interview, you mentioned that once you had won enough medals, you would retire. Although it was said in a joking manner, it was clear that you maintained a relatively optimistic attitude.”
“But…” he lowered his eyelashes slightly, “when something like this actually happens, it’s difficult for anyone to remain truly optimistic… So, I boldly designed the performance this way.”
Zuo Sang smiled again, “You were thoughtful.”
His former teammates used to say that on the ice, he was like a spirit, and off the ice, he was like an “alarm clock,” always lively and carefree, even making his retirement decision with a laugh. Few people knew that although he was smiling at the time, deep down, he felt a strong sense of reluctance and unwillingness to let go.
Ye Yunqing’s performance had accurately captured both sides of him.
Seeing that Zuo Sang himself was satisfied, Director Zhou turned back to Ye Yunqing, “I heard you’ve studied dance for many years. Can you ice dance?”
Ye Yunqing: “I know basic skating, but I can’t ice dance. However, I prepared a dance routine.”
Director Zhou: “Please go ahead.”
Ye Yunqing asked the staff to bring his phone, found the music, and connected it to the room’s sound system.
He walked barefoot to a corner of the room, closed his eyes, raised his hand to start the movement, and gracefully arched his swan-like neck—
As the music started, Zuo Sang’s eyes suddenly widened.
