HOYSE CHAPTER 28

Chapter 28 — Hm hm hm???

That voice was like a flake of snow drifting off a cliff, brushing lightly across the tip of his heart. Snow leaves no trace, and his presence felt just as unreal.

Was he… talking to me?

Rong Jing lifted his wet face. His lashes were beaded with water, and through the mist he made out a familiar face.

The newcomer was washing his hands too, not even really looking at him. There was no one else around; the afternoon auditions were winding down.

Gu Xi tugged a paper towel from the dispenser under the half-length mirror, dried his hands, then, noticing Rong Jing still dazed, pulled out a few for him as well.

Rong Jing accepted them, the whole motion obedient, a little blank.

Watching that slightly dopey expression, Gu Xi chuckled. “I figure I look at least better than a camera. Instead of staring yourself stiff focusing on the lens, why not look at the person you are playing opposite?”

Clearly, it was a joke meant to loosen him up.

Gu Xi wanted a playful line to ease Rong Jing’s nerves.

To Gu Xi, a living person would always be more valuable than an inanimate object.

Before today, all Rong Jing had of the original host’s fear was secondhand memory. After a full-body taste of it, he finally knew what the original actually experienced in front of a camera.
It was not any camera that terrified him, it was the kind that mimicked being watched by the whole world while performing. Otherwise those stage rehearsal runs would not have been fine only for him to break down on opening night.

Given how picky this trigger was, he needed the real feel of a film set to identify and control it. Even then it would take time.

At least his past life had trained him to think from nothing to something, so he knew where to start looking for solutions.

“Will you still read with me?” Rong Jing asked. After the scene just now, it would be normal if Gu Xi did not want to. He had already seen the looks on the others’ faces.

He had heard it before: Gu Xi looked after juniors, regardless of gender. His reputation and word of mouth were excellent, and newbies could genuinely learn things playing opposite him. Gu Xi was generous with advice.

He had plenty of haters, but his defender-fans were famously fierce. Their slogan was, Protect the best Gu Xi in the world.

“This…” Gu Xi took a few steps, paused, then glanced back with a smile. “Depends on whether you still shake later.”

Rong Jing could not help smiling back. Maybe it was his imagination, but Gu Xi did not actually seem to be using the restroom. He had come and gone quickly and Rong Jing did not remember hearing a flush.

He was beginning to notice a gentleness unique to Gu Xi, softness tucked beneath a cool, distant manner. If you were not paying attention, you might never see it.

When Rong Jing returned to the waiting area, most people had already left. He was surprised to see quite a few classmates from Class B lingering. He did not know whether they were waiting for someone or what, and he had no interest in finding out.

They looked like they wanted to approach him yet had no idea what to say.

He ignored them, sat quietly, closed his eyes, and worked on his state.

This feeling of slogging one step at a time through headwinds reminded him of his childhood. He had grown up in flashbulbs, used to reporters and paparazzi appearing around him from the age of two or three.

It was not exaggeration when the media called his family an entertainment dynasty. His grandparents were national first-class actors; a maternal relative was a singer and a pianist; his parents had spent years fighting their way through Hollywood. Both older sisters had made names for themselves as well.

He did not know how others felt growing up like that. As a child he often felt like a duck strayed into a flock of swans. The original host’s first days in the Xie family probably felt much the same, and on that point, he sympathized.

When everyone around him did the same thing, he wanted to do something else. That was perhaps his version of rebellion.

His family had given him a diverse education in music, dance, martial arts, and so on. Even so, he spent huge amounts of time studying other interests. He eventually read engineering, majoring in electronic information components, to the shock of nearly everyone.

His family never pushed back; they supported whatever he wanted to try.

Only when he worked hard without seeing results, sinking into glum frustration, did they suggest he try acting.

If all other roads are blocked, why not try the one closest to you?

You do not reject acting. You only fear disappointing us. What if we never, ever end up disappointed in you?

He never forgot the warmth that filled him when he heard that.

He had inherited the Rong family’s talent, but talent was only talent until you honed it.

Untouched, it was just a raw stone.

Because he started late, he had to chase harder than most by several times over, grinding himself against disappointment and setbacks, bit by bit.

He chose acting not only because it was the original host’s wish, but because his own skill points fit the craft.

Rong Jing covered his face and sat bent forward in silence.

A few classmates watched his solitary back from afar, convinced they were seeing a man who had fallen to the bottom.

No matter how Lu Jin bullied him before, he had always been quiet, never this low. What in the world had happened in there?

They had been about to slip away, but leaving now felt too low. If they did not check on him, who would?

Ji Leping hesitated, then took out his phone and texted Xie Ling.

Ji Leping: Maybe you should invest in a project for Rong Jing.

Xie Ling: No.

Only once.

Ji Leping’s mouth twitched. The same ruthless heir apparent he knew.

Plastic brothers, then. Figures.

The afternoon auditions were nearly over. Fifteen minutes later a staffer called Rong Jing’s number.

In that short stretch, he pressed his gloom down, straightened his spine, and the earlier loss and hardship seemed to vanish.

Failure did not scare him. What scared him was a self whose confidence had been broken by failure.

He stepped in again and was met with the evaluators’ looks, though this time they glanced at him for even less time.

In the corner of his eye, he still caught the camera. That was unavoidable.

Auditions were filmed so the director could review candidates afterward.

He still trembled, trying to overwrite the original host’s muscle memory.

His state was only a touch better than before. Muscle memory did not evaporate in an hour.

The ADs and writer had already put him in the “no” pile, so they barely looked up, whispering instead about a few earlier standouts. They were focused, all but forgetting Rong Jing was in the room. Every extra day meant lost momentum, and they wanted to squeeze ten minutes from every minute.

It was nearly mealtime. The crew had reached the point of being sick of waiting. All they wanted was to wrap and eat and nap. No one had the patience to watch what they figured would be a full-on flop.

Knock, knock.

Rong Jing held himself still and looked toward the sound.

Gu Xi was tapping the tabletop with his finger.

Another reminder: do not look at the camera, and do not look at the room. Right now, you are only a person who needs a chance.

Gu Xi came to stand in front of him and handed over the sides he had already marked up. “Glance over the beats you need to play. Let them sink in.”

Even after that ambiguous exchange earlier, he chose to read with Rong Jing again.

If it went the same way as before though, even Gu Xi would not offer a third chance.

The film was adapted from a novel. Rong Jing had chosen the role of the secondary male lead, based on a real historical figure: a eunuch who once held sway over the court. He rose from nothing and helped a seventh prince to the throne, becoming one of the most famous eunuchs in the history books.

There was another juicy rumor, though. They said this eunuch was strikingly handsome, and his legend gave him his fame. Some wild histories even claimed this “castrated Alpha” was only a fake eunuch and a lover of the new emperor. Why else would a ruler who hated eunuch factions break protocol for him again and again?

In truth, those wild histories existed because the new emperor allowed them to. The novel simply made the two men lovers outright.

Sovereignty told the story of the seventh prince, Shao Hua, the young grand chancellor, and the eunuch, Fu Qian. The film would of course transform it artistically, a piece that slipped outside official history to paint a grand, surging tale. The style was very different from Lotta, which was why many in the industry were just waiting to see the new director faceplant.

Shao Hua would be played by Gu Xi. The young chancellor was essentially locked as well. Only Fu Qian remained undecided, and compared with the chancellor, Fu Qian clearly had the meatier arc.

In the email from his advisor, Mr. Hu, it was the first part Rong Jing circled. He loved the complexity. It was a challenge.

The sides in his hand were from early in the story.

Fu Qian, newly in the palace, kept a low profile, learning the rules. Because of his looks, he caught the eye of De Consort, one of the four consorts, who remarked, “My palace just happens to be short one private hand.”

The line was coy. Fu Qian knew exactly what it meant: the consort wanted a plaything. He firmly refused her several times. Since she was proud of her status, she did not force the matter.

He thought that was the end of it. Then his fellow servants made a mess that could see them beheaded.
Fu Qian steadied himself, decided to take a risk, and seek De Consort’s favor. But who was she? A queen among the harem. Many dreamed of her glance. What was he, a nobody little eunuch, to her?

This scene was Fu Qian winning back her attention.

“I will be your De Consort. Ready?” Gu Xi asked.

Rong Jing nodded. The director tossed out a casual “Begin,” then leaned over to discuss earlier candidates again. Time was tight, Venice Film Festival was next on his itinerary, and he wanted every minute to do the work of ten.

De Consort sat in her chair. Fu Qian knelt at her feet.

She fanned herself, born arrogance and grace in the line of her neck. She looked at the servant below and drawled, “The inner palace often plays deaf and blind. But a person must know his place.”

Slender fingers hooked his chin and stroked, flirtatious and merciless.

Sweat slid off Fu Qian’s temples. His body trembled, which read as nerves. In truth, he was fighting his phobia.

Body is not acting, the writer thought… and then noticed the eyes forced to meet hers. If you ignored the tremor, those eyes held a thread of cold, a thread of loathing, and beneath that a yielding, a submission to power. There was something here.

The writer tugged the AD. “Look.”

The AD had been uninterested. Then he saw that sudden change and lifted his head. The air between the two had gone tight enough to prickle your scalp.

Voices in the room dwindled, then died out completely. Almost everyone was now watching the scene.
The two on the makeshift stage did not falter and kept going.

De Consort: “When I like you, everything about you is pleasing. When I do not, your death would only dirty the tiles. Do you understand?”

Fu Qian was a tamed lion with a streak of despair. He spoke as if forcing the words through clenched teeth. “What must I do to cool Your Ladyship’s anger?”

She waved, bored. “I am tired. You may go.”

He knew he could not leave. If he did, everything would be lost.

He had to risk it. His face was slick with fine sweat, but his dark eyes burned. He knew exactly how treasonous what came next would be.

Desire to live blazed there. Desire for power.

He rose, brushed dust off his robe with a care that read as dignity, and walked toward her.

She had not expected the nobody to change like this and come at her in silence. She stepped back, involuntarily.
And then this lowest of the low penned her against the wall.

He looked down at her and seized her attention without a word.

It was an innate Alpha advantage. For all her rank, De Consort was still a woman who wanted to be cherished, and the old emperor could not give her that.

“Do not come any closer. You… this is insolence.” Her gaze went fully panicked.

Fu Qian leaned in until he almost, almost kissed her, then slid past, breath at her ear. “There is something I want you to know. My kissing is very, very good.”

Gu Xi felt his heart leap into his throat. For an instant he truly thought Rong Jing would kiss him.

Only when Rong Jing eased off did air rush back in, thinning the charged heat between them.

That was when Gu Xi realized it had all been acting. He closed his eyes, lashes shaking hard.

He did not want anyone to see how those imperious, spoiled eyes of Rong Jing’s made his heartbeat like it was no longer his.

He knew it was a scene, so why did his pulse feel like it would explode?

Director Liu Yu and the others looked stunned.

This was Fu Qian’s first flash of true nature. The meekness had been a mask. Refusing the fate handed down to him was who he was. And with De Consort, the scene began woman-over-man and flipped, in the same space, to man-over-woman, a heavy test of both actors, plus the charge between them.

Plenty had read this scene today, but almost no one had managed to make the push-and-pull both tense and irresistible.

This is what you call “can’t act”? Where did that courage come from.

He was not overshadowed by Gu Xi at all. Especially in the latter half, the air seemed to sit in Rong Jing’s palm. If he wanted De Consort to live, she lived. If he wanted her to die, she died.

From servant to controller in a heartbeat. It raised goosebumps. And all of it fit Fu Qian’s nature. This was a wolf crouched among the slaves.

Liu Yu was first to return to himself. His gaze at Rong Jing had shifted.

A measure of appreciation, a hint of regret.

He cleared his throat. “You can head out and wait for notice.”

Once Rong Jing left, the room broke into a low uproar.

The writer: “That's the disgrace of the craft, the one who can’t act and only shakes, right?”

The AD’s face was pitch-black. “I have never seen him act, how would I know what he is really like!”

Gu Xi had finally tamed his galloping pulse. When the director looked over, at least his face was calm.

“I have never seen you get thrown off in an audition,” Liu Yu said. Objectively, Gu Xi had not been at his best. It was almost like Rong Jing had pulled him into the scene.

Gu Xi shook his head, equal parts excited and intrigued. “The kid is scary in a good way.”

He had intended to help Rong Jing out of gratitude, and only to the point that gratitude felt repaid. He had not expected to be stunned like this. It was wildly beyond his expectations.

“So you are picking him?”

“He is a talent-first type. He falls into character easily. Many actors chase that all their lives and never catch it,” Gu Xi said evenly.

Liu Yu frowned. “But he has a fatal flaw. His anxiety is serious. His face and eyes were right, but his body shook the whole time, sweat streaming. If he cannot master that, the role will not land on him. No crew will take someone with that kind of deficit.”

The AD added, “Compared with him, Xun Jiarui is more suitable. His reading was not dazzling, but there were no big problems. Safe. More importantly, his backer is the main investor. Are we really going to pass on him for a raw newcomer who might fall apart?”

It was not unreasonable. Still, Rong Jing had been the most magnetic. The room weighed the dilemma.

Gu Xi looked down at Xun Jiarui’s résumé. His fingers worried the edge until he almost poked a hole through.

Calmly, he said, “With Rong Jing I can enter the scene more easily. That matters for some of the later high-conflict sequences. With Xun Jiarui I struggle, and most importantly, the thought of doing a kiss scene with him makes me want to hurl.”

Gu Xi rarely embarrassed people in public. He had been in the industry since he was young and knew not to make enemies lightly.

But during the pairing earlier, Xun Jiarui had nearly gone in for a real kiss. Gu Xi had almost knocked him into a wheelchair. The anger had not cooled.

The AD quipped, “So it works with Rong Jing?”

Gu Xi hesitated. “…” He did not know. He had not thought about anyone else. With Rong Jing, all he felt right now was gratitude.

Liu Yu soothed him. “Your first on-screen kiss will not be shot casually. Otherwise your fans would tear me apart. Worst case, we cheat the frame or use a double. I still hope you slowly accept romance scenes. I know it is a challenge for any Omega, but in this business we have to treat it like the job.”

“I understand.” What I cannot stomach is Alphas, he did not add.

“Of everyone today, you favor Rong Jing?”

“At least he will not drag me or the whole crew down.” He did not deny it.

That was what Liu Yu cared about. He had switched from art films to dramas and his first try had landed. Plenty were waiting for him to slip.

“We still have a few days. Let us see if anyone else pops.”

After the last auditions, the team was ready to break.

A staffer brought Gu Xi a note. “Who sent it?” he asked.

The staffer had only been told to deliver it.

Gu Xi unfolded the paper. There was a rose stamped at the bottom. The message read:

Want to know who I am? Come to the rooftop. Alone.
Signed: Your Rose Knight.

He had lost count of how many of these threat-like love notes he had received. Without attracting attention, he fished a stun baton from his bag and headed for the elevator.

If not today, then next time. Better to lure the snake from its hole.

Twenty minutes earlier, after his audition, Rong Jing had made his way downstairs.

He wiped sweat from his face and looked at the faint tremor still in his limbs, sighing to himself. One step at a time.

Just outside, he ran into the Class B crowd that had not left yet.

He walked up. “You were not waiting for me, were you?” He did not want to think so, but they were awfully suspicious.

Some shook their heads, some nodded, some smiled awkwardly.

Ji Leping spoke for them. “That… you are not thinking anything crazy, right? It is just one setback. Do not… do not go dark on us. Most of us are getting cut anyway.”

He had been shaken by how hopeless Rong Jing had looked.

Rong Jing almost laughed and cried. What on earth. He had only been remembering a few things from his past life.

He grabbed the first modern line that came to mind. “As if. I have a big inheritance waiting. Dying would be such a waste.”

Everyone: sympathy gone, urge to punch rising.

This was not yet the era of hashtags like “I am miserable but I also own a building.” Even so, the mix of annoyance and amusement was real. Maybe they had never really known Rong Jing. Maybe he even had a sense of humor.

That interesting soul must also know they were not standing here purely to keep him from jumping.

He said, “What happened with me is on me. I have nothing to reproach anyone for. As for what comes after, I will not be pursuing it. Do not worry about pointless things. I am not that bored.”

They had learned his background and were scared he would take revenge.

Forget the original host. He himself was far too lazy. Better to use the time to sleep.

“Rong Jing, we did not… sigh.”

When he laid it flat like that, they wanted to crawl under a rock.

He said his piece and left the building.

The venue was a rented space downtown. To his surprise, the road outside was lined with police tape.

Not far away, the marchers he had seen earlier in a taxi were coming this way, chanting slogans.

They stepped into the crosswalk, and a light went on in Rong Jing’s head.

He suddenly remembered a key beat he had missed.

He had changed the plot already. So why had the day of Xie Ling’s original death still tilted back toward the book’s track by another route? Was the trajectory irreversible?

If that were true, a foreigner like him should have died long ago.

Would this body have to die once more?

Compared with locals like Xie Ling and Guan Hongyi, he, an off-world bug, was a walking exploit.

If the world really did run on rules that corrected and purged anomalies…

Then it would absolutely try to erase him again.

Ha.

I cannot be that unlucky.

By that logic, today would also be the day in the original when Gu Xi tried to kill himself by jumping.

He had just acted opposite Gu Xi. Gu Xi had seemed fine. He could not possibly suddenly short-circuit and run to the roof to jump…

Hm hm hm???

Rong Jing glanced up casually and saw, among the balloons drifting on the rooftop, a human figure, swaying like it might fall at any moment.

No way.

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