Old Chen, the lighting technician, nearly dropped his dimmer board as he stared dumbfounded at Su Qianqian, muttering under his breath, "...Good heavens..."
A young props assistant nearby gaped, tugging at someone’s sleeve in barely contained excitement, her voice hushed but trembling: "Oh my god! Is that Su Qianqian? She... she looks like this? This is too... too..."
Too what? She couldn’t even find the right word.
That face was flawlessly pure yet enchantingly delicate. Every feature was exquisitely proportioned, coming together in a breathtaking kind of beauty.
But the most mesmerizing part was her eyes—clear as mountain springwater, yet with a natural, innocent upward tilt at the outer corners. When they flickered, it was as if they could steal souls.
No elaborate makeup, no intricate hairstyle, just a plain T-shirt and jeans, her hair casually tied back.
Yet she radiated an ethereal, untouched grace.
This beauty was pristine and otherworldly, yet carried an innate, effortless allure.
A contradiction, yet harmonious—a visual spectacle that struck like lightning.
Lin Shu had been standing with her arms crossed, lips curled in a faint, mocking smirk.
Now, that smirk froze stiff on her face.
Her pupils contracted sharply, her meticulously painted lips pressing into a tight, tense line.
A surge of fierce competitiveness rose within her.
She prided herself as the great beauty of the entertainment industry, supremely confident in her looks and skilled at maximizing her glamour with makeup and styling.
But this plain-faced, simply dressed assistant—just by standing there—had dimmed everyone around her.
That unearthly aura was something Lin Shu could never replicate.
It was also a type the entertainment industry sorely lacked.
Lin Shu gritted her teeth, her jaw tightening.
Instinctively, she straightened her posture, lifting her chin slightly, trying to mask her envy with her usual haughty demeanor.
She prayed silently that this Su Qianqian was just a pretty face with no acting skills whatsoever.
Otherwise, she’d be a formidable rival.
"Brother Wang... where on earth did you dig up this gem?" The assistant director finally snapped out of his daze, voice thick with disbelief as he looked at Brother Wang with newfound awe.
Brother Wang was just as stunned. He’d known the girl had potential, but not like this.
Suppressing his excitement, he waved a hand dismissively. "Enough chatter, just watch!"
But his eyes stayed glued to Su Qianqian, already calculating her market value.
The director, too, was transfixed. Staring at the monitor, he murmured softly, "Begin."
"Dance the part you’re most confident in. Capture the courtesan’s allure—seductive but not vulgar, dazzling but not garish."
No music played. Only silence.
Su Qianqian closed her eyes briefly. When they opened again, her gaze had completely transformed.
No longer the timid, downcast assistant.
Her eyes now shimmered with world-weary languor, yet in the lift of her lashes, there was an intoxicating coyness.
She raised her slender, porcelain-white arm, fingers unfurling like tender willow shoots in early spring.
Without music, her body became the rhythm itself.
Her supple waist arched like a willow swaying in the breeze, delicate yet underpinned by an unyielding strength.
Her jade-like feet stepped lightly, each movement graceful and fluid, as if treading on invisible petals.
Every spin drew an elegant arc with her neck, her gaze sometimes hazy as smoke, other times clear as stars, perfectly capturing the solitary grace and fleeting brilliance of a courtesan.
Her dancing skills, as everyone present could see, were far from polished.
Her movements lacked precision, relying entirely on her innate poise to carry the performance. Yet her understanding of the courtesan’s role—the quiet dignity, the stories woven through her body language—left the entire room speechless.
Especially when she struck her final pose, breathing lightly, lifting those almond-shaped eyes to the camera…
The director forgot to call "cut."
The girl’s ethereal beauty, combined with the courtesan’s worldly allure and the resigned loneliness of a brothel’s flower, created an indescribable charm—a magnetic pull, rich with untold stories.
The flaws couldn’t overshadow the brilliance.
Snapping out of his daze, the director exclaimed, voice trembling with excitement, "Yes! Perfect! Now—what about the death scene? Can you get into it right away?"
Su Qianqian didn’t answer. Slowly, as if drained of all strength, she collapsed backward onto the makeshift cushion.
Her body relaxed completely, yet carried a chilling stiffness.
As though her soul had already drifted away, leaving behind only a once-enchanting shell, now lifeless.
A delicate, jade-white hand hung limply over the edge of the cushion, fingers slightly curled.
The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop.
Until the assistant director whispered, "Director?"
The director jolted awake, staring at the tragically beautiful corpse on the monitor before slapping his thigh. "Genius!"
"She’s the one!"
"A corpse scene—such a simple act, but this girl makes you feel endless regret."
"Brother Wang, your eye is sharp as ever."
Brother Wang’s lips curled in satisfaction.
Lin Shu’s face darkened, her expression stormy.
Su Qianqian slowly sat up from her death pose, her cheeks faintly flushed from the intensity of her performance.
Her first step was finally taken.
From now on, she would no longer be a rootless wanderer.
She would rely on her own efforts to take root and grow in this world.
