Chapter 27: Why does she suddenly seem a little scary?

Lin Zhenyi accepted Qu An’ge’s goodwill. After resting a bit, she went in for her audition first. This meant by the time Qu An’ge’s turn came, it was nearly noon. Not an ideal time—she was hungry, and the judges were likely hungry too.

As soon as Qu An’ge entered, she indeed overheard the casting judges discussing what to have for lunch. She swept her gaze over them—a room full of familiar faces. Director Shen Xinlong, renowned as a master of ancient court dramas; screenwriter Wang Jia; producer Lin An; and one other person she didn’t recognize, probably a long-time behind-the-scenes staff.

Qu An’ge had become particularly close with Wang Jia later on, collaborating on many dramas. Now, seeing Wang Jia murmuring to Lin An about not knowing what to eat, she chimed in: “Go to the Yanji-style cold noodles shop on Xueyuan South Road. It’s perfect for summer.”

All four judges looked up at her in unison. Lin An even chuckled, saying, “Whoa, this little girl sure makes herself at home.”

Qu An’ge quickly shut her mouth, stepping to the center. “Hello, esteemed teachers. I’m Qu An’ge from Spotlight Media. I’m 169 centimeters tall and weigh 46 kilograms.”

Wang Jia stroked her chin, her mind already conjuring the taste of cold noodles. But she pulled her thoughts back, her face betraying nothing as she said, “169? You’re taller than 169, aren’t you?”

Qu An’ge was privately annoyed—too short was bad in showbiz, too tall was also bad. Hence her official height was always listed as 169 cm. In reality, with shoes, she was probably around 173 cm. Despite her internal grumbling, she put on a bright, frank expression and said, “That was my height in the senior year physical test. I might’ve grown a bit since then, I’m not sure.”

All four were showbiz veterans; they knew these little tricks. Finding it close enough, they let it slide. Shen Xinlong raised his hand and said, “Perform the piece you’ve prepared.”

Qu An’ge surveyed the room. Seeing a stool off to the side, she brought it to the center and said, “I’ll be performing the scene from The Last Palace before Consort Zhen hangs herself.”

Shen Xinlong’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. This newcomer had ambition—and plenty of confidence. Back then, Xiao Qiaoqi had won the 2008 Golden Zenith Award for Best Actress for this very role, and this scene was the explosive climax of her performance. He couldn’t believe this rookie, with zero buzz and a resume showing no formal acting school training, could actually pull it off well. He shot a glance at Wang Jia beside him. Wang Jia wore a smiling expression, hard to read, but Shen Xinlong sensed she was anticipating a bit of a spectacle.

To be fair, earlier, other ambitious newcomers had also performed high-difficulty excerpts. The results, watching them… well, let’s just say they were good for a laugh.

That thought vanished the moment she looked up. Shen Xinlong found himself sitting bolt upright simply because of Qu An’ge’s eyes, his hands gripping the edge of the table tightly.

You couldn’t possibly remain casual and relaxed under that gaze because it was the look of true, utter despair.

“Ah Fu, Ah Fu… ah, good, you’re still here…”

Qu An’ge sat on the stool, her back ramrod straight. Though sentenced to death, she was still a Noble Consort, a daughter of a scholarly family. Her left hand clenched something, covered loosely by her right hand. Through the gaps in her fingers, you could see her left hand trembling slightly—it was the poison meant to end her life.

Though there was no scene partner opposite her, she seemed to hear the reply of the servant girl, Ah Fu. She smiled, her nose crinkling slightly with a hint of disdain and a soft snort. “Even if there’s a next life, who knows what form we’ll take? The next life… forget it…”

As if in a fit of pique, she drank the poison in one gulp. But after swallowing, fear crept onto her face. She sat frozen for a moment, then suddenly stood. Tears streamed down her face as she rushed toward the door, pounding on it: “Let me out! Please, let me out…”

Her voice grew softer and softer. She slid down against the doorframe onto the floor. The poison began to take effect. Her expression blurred, her eyes losing focus. But the tears stopped, replaced by a faint smile. She was remembering the first time she saw the Emperor, on their wedding night. She’d peeked out from the covers to see him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“So this is what the Emperor looks like.”

She was young then. She was naive.

The room was utterly silent until the timer buzzed. Shen Xinlong blinked in surprise, thinking: Has it already been five minutes?

The time limit given to each auditionee was five minutes.

Qu An’ge rose from the floor, bowed to everyone, and said, “Esteemed teachers, my performance is over.”

A silence stretched for at least five seconds. Then Shen Xinlong took the lead, clapping. “Excellent, excellent.”

The performance wasn’t just good—it was seasoned, polished, nuanced, and brimming with emotion. It was hard to believe a new actor was capable of this. Shen Xinlong flipped through Qu An’ge’s resume again and spoke: “You… you’re a newcomer?”

The resume showed she had acted before, but only in minor supporting roles in low-budget TV dramas—not even a second female lead, a third at best. And not a graduate of any drama academy. It was hard to imagine where she’d honed such accomplished acting. But with this skill, this appearance, and being a newcomer… they’d struck gold.

Qu An’ge nodded obediently.

This time, she mostly just wanted to get her face known. She understood that at her current stature, she wouldn’t land a major role. So she said, “I haven’t been in the industry long, I lack experience. I really want to work with all of you. Even a role as a palace maid would be fine.”

Shen Xinlong and Wang Jia both laughed. Wang Jia was blunt and spoke her mind: “With a face like yours, who’d dare cast you as a maid? It’d just make the Emperor look blind.” Before her performance, Wang Jia had been thinking about cold noodles; now, she’d completely forgotten about them.

Qu An’ge felt secretly proud but kept a demure expression, smiling sheepishly without speaking.

Shen Xinlong waved his hand. “You did well. Go back and wait for notification.”

That phrasing basically meant she was in. Even though Qu An’ge hadn’t originally planned on joining the Ming Palace Flower crew, she felt a surge of happiness. It really was a great show, an opportunity to collaborate with such talented directors and screenwriters. She bowed again, then exited. The moment she was out the door, she wiped the pleased expression off her face, walking expressionless through the crowd and downstairs.

At the elevator bank, she quickly messaged Xu Mi:

【Mimi, my audition is over! Coming home now~】

When Xu Mi received this text, Tan Zhenzhen was sitting at the table, crying while eating ice cream. Her leg was in a cast, propped up on a chair, immobile. Between sobs, she said, “My boss is probably going to fire me. The doctor said I can’t move for at least a week. Being able to walk will take at least a month.”

Xu Mi replied a brief “Okay” to Qu An’ge, then consoled Tan Zhenzhen. “Don’t you guys do text-based work? Working from home shouldn’t be an issue.”

Tan Zhenzhen said, “Yeah, right. Our company is super strict about clocking in.”

After finishing one ice cream, she felt a little better, though still sad. Xu Mi looked at her leg and said, “…So, to catch a falling steamed bun, you threw yourself down the stairs… you really are something…”

Hearing this, Tan Zhenzhen looked like she was about to start crying again. Xu Mi quickly added, “Don’t be sad. I’ll make you some pork rib soup this afternoon. ‘Eat the part to heal the part.’ You’ll definitely recover in no time, okay?”

Tan Zhenzhen’s eyes lit up. “Rib soup? Yes, please!”

Seeing Tan Zhenzhen like this, Xu Mi couldn’t help but smile. She thought she’d make something good for dinner, a perfect chance to treat Qu An’ge too. So thinking, she tidied up and went out to buy ingredients. When she returned and began prepping, Tan Zhenzhen watched for a while and suddenly said, “That ‘Honey Xu’ on Weibo—that’s you, right?”

Xu Mi’s heart tightened. Her cleaver slammed heavily onto the cutting board, leaving a gash.

Tan Zhenzhen quickly said, “Don’t be nervous! I know being discovered on social media is super embarrassing, but I really love your Weibo. Everything looks so delicious.”

Xu Mi said stiffly, “Thanks.”

Tan Zhenzhen said, “Weibo has a character limit. Have you ever thought about using Weibo to drive traffic to a public account where you post more detailed content? That way, you might even earn some money from it.”

Xu Mi glanced at Tan Zhenzhen. “Aren’t you in this line of work?”

Tan Zhenzhen said, “Yeah. Everything’s traffic these days. If I weren’t so lazy, and didn’t have your cooking skills, I’d have gone solo already.”

Xu Mi’s heart stirred. She suddenly remembered Qu An’ge saying last night that she and Tan Zhenzhen could collaborate—Xu Mi cooking, Tan Zhenzhen eating. She spoke up: “I think you make eating look really delicious. It gives people an appetite.”

Tan Zhenzhen smiled shyly. “Actually, I was thinking of using this sick leave to try making videos or picture guides. I can help you with the picture and text stuff; you just focus on the cooking.”

Xu Mi felt a flicker of interest. She hadn’t really been thinking about making money or all the big plans Tan Zhenzhen mentioned; she just quite enjoyed sharing the things she made. She nodded. “Should we give it a try?”

The afternoon suddenly became busy. Meanwhile, Qu An’ge was sitting obediently in a Mercedes-Benz. Beside her was Lin Zhenyi. After Qu An’ge had come downstairs, Lin Zhenyi had suddenly called out to her from the street, saying she wanted to treat her to a meal to thank her.

At the time, Qu An’ge had appropriately displayed shock, glancing at the sunglasses-wearing driver in the front seat and Lin Zhenyi’s gracious smile in the back.

Naturally, she got in the car. Lin Zhenyi asked what she felt like eating. Qu An’ge knew Lin Zhenyi hated false politeness. She thought for a moment, then said, “I’m also new here; I don’t know what’s good nearby.”

She wouldn’t have minded cold noodles. She still remembered the summer of 2018, when a certain director told her her fundamentals were too weak. She’d taken time off to cram basic acting courses at the Central Academy of Drama. Every day after class, she’d find a quiet corner and slurp cold noodles alone. Once, Wang Jia came to see her. She waved her hand and said let’s go eat noodles. Wang Jia laughed and said, “You know how to find the good stuff. When I was a student, this place was already famous.”

Qu An’ge had joked, “Who knew, a century-old shop.”

Wang Jia playfully swatted her: “Qu An’ge, are you subtly calling me old?”

Qu An’ge had just thought: The cold noodles here taste remarkably like Xu Mi’s—sour and spicy and cold enough, driving the summer heat right out of you.

But that was just a small shop popular with students. Lin Zhenyi would never eat there. Among the wealthy, Lin Zhenyi counted as quite down-to-earth, but she still had plenty of rich young miss tendencies—and she absolutely couldn’t handle spicy food.

Qu An’ge understood Lin Zhenyi, but she couldn’t let that show now. Lin Zhenyi heard her answer and found it reasonable. She said, “Then let’s go to Apricot Grove Pavilion.”

Qu An’ge kept her gentle smile, thinking: Of course, Apricot Grove Pavilion. If Lin Zhenyi is treating someone to a first meal, it’s always Apricot Grove Pavilion. It’s her favorite private kitchen restaurant.

Though she knew it clearly in her heart, she had to feign ignorance on her face. “Where’s Apricot Grove Pavilion?”

Lin Zhenyi even played mysterious: “You’ll know when we get there.”

Qu An’ge put on an expectant look, pulled out her phone, and messaged Xu Mi:

【Mimi, something came up on my end. I’ll be back a bit late. Go ahead and have dinner without me.】

Thinking about connecting with Lin Zhenyi, she hit send happily.

On the other end, Xu Mi, upon receiving this message, lost the smile on her face instantly. She put her phone away and went to chop corn. With one heavy swing, the corn cob flew off, and another gash appeared on the cutting board, startling Tan Zhenzhen, who was in the middle of taking photos.

Tan Zhenzhen had been about to say, “Xu Mi, you’re pretty strong!” but when she looked at Xu Mi’s face, the words caught in her throat.

It was really strange. It was clearly still that same gentle, soft face. Why did it suddenly seem a little… scary?