Director Li Mo looked at Su Qianqian, his frown deepening.
Too beautiful—excessively so.
Standing there, graceful and poised, how could she possibly be Lin Wan, the undercover agent torn between two factions, burdened with blood debts and betrayal?
She looked more like the campus sweetheart from a youth idol drama, the unattainable "white moonlight" adored by countless boys.
The faint flicker of hope in Li Mo's heart sputtered and died.
The funding was gone, the crew had scattered, and now even the actors... sigh.
He tossed the script outline aside irritably, his voice tinged with resignation:
"Let's just skip to the final scene."
"After the betrayal, the old faction falls."
"The monarch immolates himself, and you walk into the flames to die with him."
He waved a hand, signaling the staff to take her to change into costume—a simple, old-style cheongsam.
Su Qianqian nodded quietly and headed to the makeshift dressing room.
The curtain closed.
A moment later, it opened again.
Su Qianqian stepped out.
The plain, cream-colored fabric muted some of her breathtaking radiance, accentuating her slender waist and lending her a fragile, serene aura.
She walked to the center of the set, not looking at anyone, her lashes lowered as she immersed herself in the moment.
Now, she was Lin Wan.
"Action," Li Mo said weakly.
In the empty space, Lin Wan slowly raised her head.
Her face showed no sorrow, no fear.
Only the calm of a settled fate.
Like a weary traveler finally glimpsing the journey's end.
Her gaze swept over the palace engulfed in flames, searching futilely for something.
Was she looking for the monarch she had once revered as a god, the one who gave her a new name and purpose?
Or perhaps the secret crush buried deep in her heart, a remnant of her girlhood?
In the end, only loneliness remained in her eyes.
Nothing could be found, and nothing needed to be sought anymore.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze shifting toward another direction—where the new faction stood.
There was her mentor, whom she respected like a father.
Years ago, the monarch had orchestrated a ruse: she was left for dead on the streets, only to be rescued by her passing mentor, who nursed her back to health, introduced her to medical school, and set her on the path of healing.
"A healer's heart is kind, saving lives..." Her mentor taught her to revere life.
Yet her mission was to push those very lives, cherished by her mentor, into the abyss.
Zhou Zhengyang, her steadfast senior, upright and unyielding.
Shen Yunshu, her gentle yet resilient senior sister.
They had treasured her like a jewel, giving her the warmth of family she had never known, and an equality even the monarch had never offered.
Yet she had hidden a blade behind her facade of kindness, stabbing them again and again.
This guilt gnawed at her soul day and night, sharper than blades, fiercer than flames.
She was the last noble bloodline of the fallen dynasty, the sharpest blade in the monarch's hand.
She was her mentor's most brilliant disciple, the beloved junior sister of Zhou Zhengyang and Shen Yunshu.
She was "Nightingale," the undercover agent who sang in the darkness but could never step into the light.
Lin Wan turned her head. The fire burned fiercer.
In the heart of the inferno, she seemed to see that cold, young man.
He stood amid the flames, his gaze piercing through the fire, fixed on her.
At eighteen, he had taken in an eight-year-old orphaned girl.
She had knelt at his feet, swearing in blood: "In this life, I obey only your command, until death."
Now, she had returned.
Not dead in a foreign assassination, not left to rot in the wilderness of the new faction's purge.
Nor had she completed the task he entrusted her—to eliminate the new faction's core.
She dragged her guilt-ridden body back to this fated starting point, a traitor in every sense.
One step.
She lifted her foot and stepped toward the snarling flames.
Two steps.
The scorching currents of heat seemed to repel her.
Three steps.
The admiration and flutterings of her youth had long turned to ash in the endless betrayals and bloodshed.
The belief in a healer's kindness had shattered completely each time she raised her blade against the innocent.
In this life, she had borne honor and loyalty, and she had clung to the warmth of kinship.
In the end, she had abandoned it all, beyond redemption.
She was so tired.
Her slender figure stepped forward, unwavering, into the blaze.
No hesitation, no pause.
Perhaps Lin Wan's journey through this world had never been worth it.
Director Li Mo forgot to breathe.
His mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on the figure slowly collapsing at the edge of the set, his throat clogged with something unspoken.
Qin Lang's face was also etched with shock.
Are newcomers this strong nowadays?
Had her performance, without props, pulled him into the story?
Chen Jing, her hands tightly clasped on her knees, was on the verge of tears.
Naturally empathetic, she felt as if she had truly witnessed Lin Wan's end, grieving for her.
"Cut..." Director Li Mo finally found his voice, hoarse and strained.
He stood abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor.
In a few strides, he reached the edge of the set, watching as Su Qianqian slowly sat up from the ground.
Her eyes were still vacant, lingering with Lin Wan's sorrow, her face pale.
"Good... good..." Li Mo's voice was still tight with excitement. He rubbed his hands together.
"This is the feeling. You're perfect."
"Your technique and positioning need work, but I’ll guide you through that later."
He crouched down, meeting Su Qianqian's almond eyes as they gradually cleared. Though pleased, his voice held concern:
"Qianqian, your approach is intense."
Qin Lang also approached, his gaze complex as he looked at her. "Kid, diving that deep into a role takes a toll."
Chen Jing knelt beside her, gently patting her hand. "Qianqian, right? That was incredible, truly."
"But this kind of acting—it’s like submerging yourself in the depths. You have to remember to come up for air, understand?"
"Back then, actress Qin Mo used the same immersive method and nearly lost herself in it."
"I heard it took her a year of therapy to recover."
Su Qianqian did feel the weight of it, but she always knew who she was—knew about her heart condition, knew she had been given a second chance at life.
She wasn’t like Qin Mo. Her soul was stronger, more resilient, and far more lucid.
Even under the strain of intense emotion, she could recover quickly.
With a grateful smile, she nodded softly. "Thank you, Director Li. Thank you, Teacher Qin, Teacher Chen. I’ll remember."
Director Li Mo studied Su Qianqian, recalling Qin Mo at the peak of her fame.
Back then, she had become so entangled in her roles that it left psychological scars. After a brief, dazzling rise, she vanished for a year before slowly reappearing.
Now, here was another newcomer like her—stunning, yet unsettling.
