"You're hired!" the producer declared.
Xu Shulou and the production coordinator beside her were both taken aback. "Huh?"
"Give her a role with minimal lines. She’d make a fine background ornament," the producer reasoned.
"..." Xu Shulou struggled to intervene. "How about letting me try for the role of Xu Shulou instead?"
The coordinator gave her a surprised glance. "You’ve read the original novel?"
Xu Shulou pondered for a moment. "I’ve read the original of the original."
"The scene you just auditioned for was Xu Shulou’s."
"What?"
"The original villainess ended up with the male lead, and we worried audiences wouldn’t like that," the producer explained. "So we merged her storyline with another female character’s and added some playful charm."
"..." Xu Shulou took a deep breath.
The producer hesitated. "If you want to play Xu Shulou, it might not be the best fit."
So I can’t even play myself.
Xu Shulou sighed but didn’t push further. "Fine. But since I’m joining the crew, could you arrange a room for me in this building?"
"Sure," the producer agreed readily. "Come with me to sign the contract first."
As the two led Xu Shulou out, she paused in the lobby to pick something up from the floor. "This is..."
The coordinator glanced over. "Just a staff badge. Leave it on the table—whoever lost it will come back for it."
Xu Shulou checked the name on the badge. It belonged to the same person who had given her directions earlier.
This place is strange. She frowned. Hopefully, it’s just a lost badge and not a case of the badge remaining while the person vanishes.
To prevent anyone else from entering, she deliberately lagged behind, waiting until the producer and coordinator had stepped out before sealing the door shut with a surge of spiritual energy, welding it firmly into the wall.
The two ahead remained oblivious.
"By the way," Xu Shulou asked curiously, "I saw Sheng Wuyou near the makeup room earlier. Which role is she guest-starring as?"
The coordinator didn’t hide it. "Qi Wutong."
"..." That’s absurd.
Back then, if not for their chance encounter, Feng Jiuyou and Qi Wutong would have nearly ruined Sheng Wuyou’s life. Now they wanted her to play Qi Wutong?
"Your casting team is truly something else."
"Right?" The producer actually looked proud.
"..."
"Shijie!"
The trio ran into Song Ping on set. He seemed to have just been schooled by their junior sister—his left eye brimming with enlightenment, his right clouded with confusion, as if his brain were split into two independently thinking halves. He looked profoundly... philosophical.
"President Song!" The producer and coordinator greeted him eagerly. "What brings you here?"
Xu Shulou quickly noticed how different her second junior brother was around strangers. Song Ping nodded at them, offering a polite but distant smile. "You two go ahead. I need a word with my shijie."
Xu Shulou spoke up, "I’m just going to sign a contract. I’ll be back—"
The two men’s expressions shifted instantly. The coordinator cut in with a smile, "You chat with President Song. We’ll fetch the contract for you."
"Much obliged."
Watching their hurried retreat, Xu Shulou sighed and patted Song Ping’s shoulder. "When did you grow into this when I wasn’t looking?"
Song Ping paused before understanding her meaning. "The coldness? It’s habit now... I’ve seen other cultivators who chose to live among mortals. They all have this flaw—unintentional detachment. It’s not about looking down on them, but mortals have such fleeting lifespans. Getting too close only leads to heartache later."
"I get it," Xu Shulou said, pulling him into a hug. "I get it."
"You don’t," Song Ping muttered bitterly. "You’re warmhearted with everyone."
He didn’t truly believe she didn’t understand.
As they parted, Xu Shulou noticed Sheng Wuyou passing by in the distance, casting a curious glance their way.
Song Ping’s shoulders slumped. "I hope she doesn’t think I’m trying to swap targets for a casting couch."
"If she does, at least she won’t be upset over you for no reason," Xu Shulou consoled.
Song Ping shot her a baleful look.
"Ahem. Where’s our junior sister?"
"She went to watch another crew film," Song Ping said. "She seems fascinated by the cameras."
"Recording the world through a lens?" Xu Shulou smiled. "That is interesting."
By the time they finished chatting, the producer and coordinator had returned with a freshly printed contract. "Take a look. Anything you’d like to adjust?"
"What contract?" Song Ping leaned in to read over her shoulder. "Huh? You’re acting?"
"Hardly acting," Xu Shulou shrugged. "More like set dressing."
Under Song Ping’s gaze, the producer forced an awkward laugh. "Well, about your earlier request to play Xu Shulou... we could reconsider."
"Xu Shulou?" Song Ping gave his shijie a strange look. "Wait, can I see the script?"
The producer swiftly handed it over, secretly hoping the boss would approve and invest in the project.
Even the coordinator thought his optimism about securing funding with this script was downright delusional.
Song Ping skimmed a few pages, his expression growing increasingly odd. He lowered his voice. "Was this written by someone who knows? An enemy of yours? Should I investigate the author? Honestly, Lu Beichen’s the prime suspect."
"No need. It’s not him," Xu Shulou said, amused. "Hasn’t he been absent from the mortal realm for years?"
Noticing their whispers, the producer asked casually, "Are you two friends?"
"More like mentor and disciple," Song Ping mused. "My brothers and I were raised—disciplined—by shijie since childhood."
"Shijie?" The two men were intrigued by the title.
Xu Shulou nodded. "I’m a martial artist."
They put on suitably impressed faces, though their true thoughts remained a mystery.
"I do want to play Xu Shulou. Should I audition properly?"
The producer’s dry chuckle said it all—We’ve heard your line delivery. Is this really necessary? Just tell us if you’re bringing funding. But with Song Ping present, he merely agreed, "Of course."
Seeing through his reluctance, Xu Shulou smiled and flipped to a random page. "I’d like to try early Xu Shulou."
The producer checked the scene and froze. "This is..."
It was a flashback of Lu Beichen’s—his first encounter with Xu Shulou. On a battlefield against monsters, a female cultivator descended from the sky, her jade-like hand gripping a gleaming blade. She struck before he could, her frost-edged sword piercing clean through a minor fiend. Then she paused and glanced back at him.
The description was very simple, without even any dialogue, and still an unflattering action scene. The producer gave her a strange look: "Fine, I’ll go tell the director. You go to the makeup room first and have them fix your outfit and hair."
"Alright," Xu Shulou said before leaving, then softly added to her junior brother, "I noticed something odd about a small building nearby. The energy isn’t demonic or evil, but I’m not sure what it is. I plan to investigate tonight when no one’s around. Let our junior sister know when you see her."
"Got it," Song Ping nodded in agreement.
Xu Shulou then followed the production coordinator to try on costumes, but halfway there, the coordinator was urgently called away. Flustered, he seemed about to assign someone else to guide her, but she shook her head: "I remember the way. I’ll go by myself."
Unexpectedly, when she arrived at the makeup room, the busy makeup artists, engrossed in gossip, asked her to wait. However, Sheng Wuyou, who was nearby, noticed and sent her own makeup artist over to help.
Seizing the opportunity, Xu Shulou struck up a conversation: "I heard you’re playing Qi Wutong?"
Sheng Wuyou had initially been wary of her after seeing how close she was with Song Ping, but faced with such a bright smile, she couldn’t bring herself to be cold. "Yeah. What about you?"
"My name is Xu Shulou, and the role I’m auditioning for is also Xu Shulou."
Sheng Wuyou blinked in surprise. "What a coincidence."
"Isn’t it? What do you think of Qi Wutong as a character?" Xu Shulou asked casually.
"She’s fine."
Xu Shulou chuckled. "Your expression says otherwise."
Sheng Wuyou paused, then admitted honestly, "Actually, the character gives me the impression of being malicious under the guise of innocence."
Xu Shulou looked at her intently. "Why?"
"After landing the role, I read the novel right away," Sheng Wuyou said, lost in thought. "Some of her unintentional actions gave me that feeling. And Feng Jiuyou—he also strikes me as… peculiar. In this novel, many characters seem fragmented, as if they could tear off their masks at any moment and reveal another face."
"..."
Sheng Wuyou snapped out of her reverie, suddenly self-conscious. "I shouldn’t have said all that. It must sound ridiculous to you, right?"
"Not at all," Xu Shulou shook her head. "I think your analysis is spot-on. ‘Malicious under the guise of innocence’—that’s piercingly accurate."
Sheng Wuyou smiled. "Really? Even my agent disagrees. He told me not to overthink it and just play her as sweet and innocent."
When Xu Shulou had searched Sheng Wuyou’s name online, she’d found plenty of negative remarks—people calling her arrogant, a diva with no fame, shallow. But looking at her now, Xu Shulou felt that the souls of Sheng Wuyou, past and present, shone with the same brilliance.
As Xu Shulou got up to change, Sheng Wuyou added, "Good luck with your audition."
"Thank you."
After browsing the costume room, Xu Shulou noted that the production’s budget seemed tight—many outfits were shoddy and ill-suited to the characters. Thinking it over, she quietly retrieved her own dress and hair accessories from her Qiankun Bracelet and changed in private before stepping out.
When she lifted her folding fan to push aside the curtain and emerge, she heard someone gasp.
At the audition site, the director sat with his arms crossed behind the monitor, waiting impatiently. He’d always wanted to make profound films but was stuck with scripts like this, which only fueled his frustration. Hearing that the auditionee was someone brought in by President Song—likely a terrible actress who’d only gotten the chance through connections—made him even more irritable. He eyed Xu Shulou with immediate skepticism.
But when he saw her flawless period costume and poise, his furrowed brow relaxed slightly.
Xu Shulou took the prop sword, leaped forward with a flourish, her sleeves billowing as she drew the blade and thrust it straight through the plastic mannequin serving as a stand-in for a minor foe. Then she turned, casting a cool glance at the temporary "Lu Beichen" assisting with the scene. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she sheathed the sword.
It was a basic move—even the leap, adjusted for the audience’s suspension of disbelief, didn’t exceed five feet.
Silence filled the room. Xu Shulou hesitated. Had she been too restrained? Should she try again and leap ten feet this time?
The director broke the silence first: "Why are you shaking?" he asked the male actor.
The man cast a wary look at Xu Shulou. "There was… killing intent."
"..."
Ignoring him, the director turned to Xu Shulou. "You’re hired."
She clasped her hands in salute. "Thank you."
The director froze, then reflexively mirrored the gesture. "Don’t mention it."
On the monitor, her piercing gaze as she struck played on loop. Xu Shulou never held back when wielding a sword—she always moved forward without hesitation.
After she left, the director glanced at the stunned producer. "This is the ‘unbearably terrible’ actress you warned me about? Since when are your standards this high?"
