Chapter 7

“You lack systematic practice,” Yang Suye said, shaking her head and pinpointing the problem with precision. “You need extensive practice.”

She continued, “Just ask Feifei. She’s from the Shanghai Theatre Academy nearby. Back in school, didn’t she go through a lot of physical and vocal training?”

Xuan Feifei shrugged. “Every school’s acting class has these exercises. I was tortured by physical training back then.”

Yang Suye replied, “Yes, but I’m not talking about the usual class drills—basic exercises like facial muscle movements or eye muscle workouts. I mean transformation training.”

“There are inevitably differences between characters. They say no two leaves in the world are exactly alike; the same goes for roles—except maybe in remakes. Even when different actors portray the same character, differences arise. So a crucial part of an actor’s job is to strip away the previous role.”

“Stripping away a role sounds easy but is actually very difficult, especially when the character has strong traits. That’s why many actors need psychological counseling.”

“There’s an interesting exercise in the acting class.” Yang Suye set down her milk tea on the table, rolled up her sleeves, and pushed the table to the center of the stage.

Her aura subtly shifted. With lips pressed tightly, hand on her chest, and body leaning forward, her eyes revealed confusion. “I just love money too much. What’s wrong with that? Who in this house doesn’t like money? Why be so harsh on me?”

She then moved to the other side of the table, sat down, relaxed against the chair’s backrest, elbow resting on the armrest, fingers trembling. Though there was nothing in her hand, Meng Kaiyan could tell she was shaking off ash from a cigarette. She smiled softly. “Like money? True enough, money is a good thing—who wouldn’t like it? But gaining often means losing. My son and daughter lose some freedom, my wife’s lover loses all dignity. And you? What can you offer in exchange for money?”

Meng Kaiyan held her breath, unable to speak. Even when Yang Suye stood up from the chair, she remained immersed in the performance.

Though the gestures were exaggerated, the overall feeling was remarkably authentic.

Yang Suye explained, “Rapid role transformation training is one of the most effective methods to quickly immerse yourself in the next scene. After many sessions, your body forms a barrier, so a slightly challenging role won’t trap you.”

Xuan Feifei added, “We used this method during combined separation training. It was torturous.”

“You could be a cop one second, a con artist the next. One moment a domestic abuser, the next a battered child. The greater the contrast, the better. As for the conflicts, you figure them out yourself. After enough reflection, when you encounter a similar role, you’ll know where to start. The worst thing for an actor is an empty mind. Such performances are flat, lacking flesh and blood,” Yang Suye said.

She then picked up her milk tea and took a sip, waving her hand. “You guys practice. Kaiyan, don’t rush. This skill comes with practice. Rushing won’t help.”

Meng Kaiyan was silent.

Xuan Feifei covered her mouth to laugh softly. After Yang Suye left, she whispered, “Honestly, this course has its structure, but few people practice diligently. Otherwise, the entertainment industry would be full of seasoned actors by now. Physical training can be done more—it adds a lot and is easily magnified by the camera. Nowadays, if acting skills are poor, people praise the delivery; if delivery lacks, they praise the original voice. If the original voice isn’t even used and it’s dubbed, then they praise posture and movement. Good posture is an advantage in historical dramas.”

Meng Kaiyan hesitated, “Sigh…”

—

School days always passed slowly. Meng Kaiyan looked at the calendar on her desk, eagerly awaiting December.

Her reshoot was scheduled for mid-December, requiring a week’s leave to film the remaining scenes in Gansu.

The sports committee member popped up. “Kaiyan, are you participating in next month’s sports meet?”

Meng Kaiyan immediately replied, “Yes! I signed up for high jump, long jump, 100 meters, and 800 meters.”

The committee member grinned broadly. “Great!”

Marking four boxes on the form, her task progress jumped by a fifth.

Lan Tong was applying false eyelashes, startled by this. “You don’t plan to survive, huh?”

Meng Kaiyan fiddled with her makeup on the desk. “Of course I plan to survive. Life depends on movement.” She wouldn’t miss any chance to collect starlight points.

Lan Tong gave a thumbs-up. “You’re awesome. I’ll definitely support you logistically.”

Meng Kaiyan said nothing, studying her contour stick. After a while, she asked Lan Tong, “Hey, where do you think I need contouring on my face?”

“Hmm? Wait.” Lan Tong quickly finished applying her lashes, then lifted Meng Kaiyan’s chin to inspect closely. “Uh, you need it on the jawline corner; it’s not very defined.”

She touched the bone. “No sharp angles, but your face shape is smooth—perfectly oval from the front. It looks good in photos. Ah, face shape really rules. No matter how hard I try, I can’t contour a face like yours; I can only aim for more square or round shapes.”

The girl in front, Tian Minjing, joined the conversation. “I don’t think Kaiyan’s face is oval. Her forehead’s wide, and her temples are slightly prominent. It’s not smooth but has a particularly rounded skull.”

“Why does it look smooth visually? Because she has thick hair that frames her face.” Tian Minjing stretched out her fingers. “See, from the tail of the brows to two fingers below the eye, the hair adds to it. That’s why her slightly protruding cheekbones don’t look unattractive.”

Tian Minjing’s mother worked in the fashion industry, so she appreciated unique beauty and said, “Kaiyan’s face… just looking at the upper half, I’d give it 80 points. It’s very spirited, but for some reason, it feels a bit odd.”

Meng Kaiyan felt this hit close to home and asked eagerly, “What’s odd about it?”

Tian Minjing rested her cheek on her hand and observed for a while. “How to say… I think your face shape needs more defined features, but your features are relatively plain. Try heavy makeup—deepen your eye sockets, add a subtle smoky eye at the corners. Oh, and your nose—the bridge needs contouring. That should improve things a lot. Actually, your face is very easy to work with, whether light or heavy makeup, and it never looks out of place.”

“Also, never change your hairline. I envy your petal-shaped hairline so much. Many people now prefer your kind.”

Lan Tong swept all of Meng Kaiyan’s hair back from her forehead. “It really is irregular. Even if a professional did it for free, I wouldn’t dare. I don’t know if it would suit my face.”

Tian Minjing said, “If it looks good on camera, there’s rarely a big flaw. The flaws seen on camera usually can’t be noticed by the naked eye in real life.”

Lan Tong pulled Tian Minjing along. “Hey, come help me. I want a beauty consultant too.”

…

Meng Kaiyan studied herself in the mirror, tapping her nose thoughtfully. It turned out her nose needed work.

Counting down the days, after the sports meet came November, and Shanghai quietly entered autumn.

The sports meet was held in the gymnasium. Thanks to her long legs, Meng Kaiyan’s speed and jumping gave her a silver and a bronze medal.

She gained a lot from the event, receiving 38 starlight points.

In the past, she would have spent them immediately, eager to try Tian Minjing’s suggested improvements.

But not this time—she still had filming to do.

The camera was unforgiving; even the slightest change was magnified. Before leaving the crew, Director Chen had specifically instructed her to control her weight at home, ideally losing another four or five pounds compared to on set.

—

Meng Kaiyan eagerly awaited the crew’s notification in December—finally, she was to go to Gansu.

Lan Tong was reluctant to part. “Does Kong Lin still have scenes? Can you take more photos of him for me?”

Meng Kaiyan packed her bag. “How would I know? Probably not. Even if he did, I can’t take photos. It wouldn’t be good to be seen.”

Lan Tong was puzzled. “Then why hasn’t the studio arranged for Lin Lin to join the crew? Such a good time shouldn’t be wasted.”

Meng Kaiyan defended the studio. “Heaven, give it a rest. It’s not up to the studio. Starting a crew involves too many things to coordinate.”

Lan Tong asked, “Then who should I ask?”

Meng Kaiyan slung on her bag. “No one can help. Money is the only thing that works best.”

After saying goodbye to her friends, she ran to the school gate.

The crew’s notice came at noon, so she had to go from school to the airport.

Jian Zhenzhu was already waiting at the gate. After Meng Kaiyan got in the car, she complained, “The crew’s so careless. They didn’t inform us the day before. Luckily, the car wasn’t sent for maintenance.”

Meng Kaiyan smiled. “I dodged the monthly exam.”

Jian Zhenzhu asked, “Happy?”

“Very!” More than anything, she was glad to be going back to filming.

The flight took over three hours including takeoff and landing. She was still in Shanghai at noon, but by dusk, she had arrived in Lanzhou.

After a quick bowl of beef noodles at the airport, she took a taxi to the filming base.

“I thought the base would be in the desert,” said an actor also there for reshoots.

Jian Zhenzhu replied, “Definitely not. Where would we stay in the desert? Besides, is there even a desert in Lanzhou?”

“No, right?”

Meng Kaiyan couldn’t help but interject, “There’s a remnant of the Tengger Desert in the new district.”

But sure enough, the base wasn’t in the desert—it was still within the city circle. The hotel was definitely more upscale than what they had stayed in before at Hengdian.

Meng Kaiyan usually slept well. Even after two hours of sleep on the plane, she could fall asleep before 11 p.m.

The next day, full of energy, she returned to filming.