Chapter 65: The Actor's Dilemma

The police were bustling with activity, while Mo Fei was growing dizzy from the endless auditions. Competition among actors had always been fierce; even a single opportunity could attract a swarm of hopefuls. Not to mention, Xiao Qian wasn’t short on funds and the compensation he offered was quite generous.

Xiao Qian had a gentle temperament and remarkable patience, respectfully watching each audition performance from start to finish. Mo Fei, however, was on pins and needles beside him. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect others, but rather, some actors’ performances were so poor they felt disrespectful to him.

A fashion tyrant was not merely a sharp-tongued shrew who did nothing but scold others; she needed to be acerbic while radiating an unparalleled sense of style. A boss who only berated and picked on subordinates belonged in real life, not on the silver screen. There was really no need for that.

Mo Fei leaned back in his chair, his eyes dull. For the first time in his life, he, who had never been addicted to his phone, felt an urge to disrespect the director and start scrolling.

The two most crucial roles in this film were the protagonist and the formidable boss. Other parts could be compromised, but not these two.

Yet another audition came to an end. Xiao Qian graciously told the actress, “I’ve seen your performance. It doesn’t align with what we’re looking for, so you may go now.”

Mo Fei had never heard him say anything else. Always polite, always distant, always decisive.

This time, instead of immediately calling in the next candidate, Xiao Qian leaned over and asked, “Aren’t we being a bit inefficient with this process?”

Xiao Qian, still flipping through the actors’ profiles, replied calmly, “Are we?”

“We are,” Mo Fei answered, sharing his own experience. “When I auditioned for other crews, the writer and director would first look at headshots, filter out anyone who didn’t have the right look, then eliminate those who asked for too much money. Only then would they have people perform, three minutes per person—quick and efficient.”

He used to think this kind of process was somewhat hasty, but now, sitting on the other side of the table, he understood why things had to be that way.

“But what if someone has transformative acting skills?” Xiao Qian asked sincerely. “Even if their appearance isn’t a perfect fit, they might still embody the aura of a fashion tyrant.”

Mo Fei was silent for a moment. “But we’re in the film industry, where appearance is everything.”

Xiao Qian shook his head. “We can’t decide how we’re born, but we can decide what we become. We should give everyone a chance to showcase themselves. Everyone’s trying their best to live.”

Mo Fei propped his cheek on his hand, studied Xiao Qian for a moment, and asked, “Where did you learn that?”

“The fans’ comment sections,” Xiao Qian said with a smile. “I spent a few days reading comments under various celebrities’ posts. They actually make a lot of sense.”

“Unbelievable,” Mo Fei muttered.

At last, Mo Fei understood where this kind of thinking came from. Fans said such things to give their favorites more opportunities. He hadn’t expected a director to take these words to heart and actually give every actor a shot. While the sentiment was correct, the cost in time and resources was significantly higher, and most people wouldn’t bother with it.

Based on his previous experience filming with Xiao Qian, Mo Fei knew that, though Xiao Qian seemed mild-mannered, his standards for his work were exacting; he was the type to favor quality over speed. If they continued at this pace, this supposed blockbuster might not wrap until next year.

“You carry on. I’ll browse my phone for a bit to clear my head,” Mo Fei said, waving his phone.

Xiao Qian nodded. “Alright.”

Mo Fei scrolled through his phone, but didn’t know what to do. Games? He wasn’t interested. Videos? They were all acting tutorials, not suitable for the moment. Maybe he could chat with someone?

He opened his contacts. The police officers were out of the question—they were busy. He’d have to find someone else. He couldn’t let Lü Chunqiu know he was slacking off.

Mo Fei quietly messaged Director Wang: “Dear Director Wang, do you know any actors who are reasonably priced, superb in their craft, and have the right look for a stylish tyrant?”

After sending it, he copied the message, removed the salutation, and sent it to Wu Miao as well.

Both were his strongest contacts in the film industry. Since that mushroom poisoning incident, their chats had been silent as a grave. Mo Fei wasn’t addicted to the internet, and perhaps they felt awkward, so no one had reached out.

Wu Miao, true to his youth and high online presence, replied promptly: “Mo-ge, are you working on a film? A stylish tyrant is hard to cast, you know. Older actresses are seriously underrepresented in our industry.”

Mo Fei was about to reply when his phone buzzed again. Director Wang had responded, but Wu Miao was even faster.

Wu Miao’s replies came in a rapid-fire stream: “If you really want to find someone, I can ask my sister.”

Wu Miao: “You probably don’t know this, but my eldest sister is my agent—my real sister!”

Wu Miao: “Last time some paparazzi insisted she was my secret girlfriend. Hilarious.”

Wu Miao: “When are we getting together again? No mushrooms this time—I want to learn magic!”

Wu Miao: “No, I mean magic tricks!”

Wu Miao: “Coach, I want to learn!”

Staring at his phone, Mo Fei wondered if he’d poked a hornet’s nest. They’d exchanged contacts then all ended up in the hospital, so there hadn’t been a chance to chat—who knew Wu Miao was such a chatterbox?

With all these scattered, irrelevant messages, Mo Fei decided to set them aside for now; Wu Miao was bound to send even more soon. He turned to see what Director Wang had said.

Compared to the excitable Wu Miao, Director Wang was much more composed. He sent a string of ellipses to express his speechlessness, then followed with three words—Hui Tianxin.

Those three words immediately lit a spark in Mo Fei’s mind.

Of course! That senior had always been renowned for her acting, her looks weren’t lacking, and most importantly—she wasn’t expensive! No outrageous fees in the millions; with the right introduction, she’d be a solid choice.

Just then, Xiao Qian finished another audition. Mo Fei pulled up Hui Tianxin’s profile on his phone and asked, “Director Qian, what do you think of this actress?”

Xiao Qian scrolled through the page and nodded in agreement. “She seems excellent, but with a résumé like hers, would she really come work with our ragtag group?”

So you do realize you’re running a ragtag operation?

Mo Fei was relieved by Xiao Qian’s self-awareness and waved it off. “Doesn’t matter. Everything’s negotiable. How much are you willing to offer?”

“The same as your rate, at most,” Xiao Qian said, looking up from his phone. “She’s very talented, but I think you’re even more important. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“If it doesn’t work out, I can keep searching.”

Xiao Qian seemed very genuine. Mo Fei knew he had the patience to keep at it, and was deeply moved. “A wise ruler indeed.”

Now he understood why loyal ministers would go through fire and water for a wise sovereign. Generous, reasonable, and considerate—he couldn’t help but feel fondness.