Actor

"Setting up the environment was what I just did, right?" Taking the file that Ji Mingming handed over, Wu Qingchen skimmed through it, quickly finding the spot stained with Ji Mingming’s saliva. "What exactly does ‘character recreation’ mean?"

"That’s not so easy to explain in just a few words. To put it simply, at this stage, it’s a bit like casting roles."

"Casting roles?"

"You know how directors work, right?" Ji Mingming gestured with his hands, outlining the shape of a house. "A room, a line of actors coming in one by one. The director looks them over, then raises a hand: Cut, this one’s it."

Isn’t that like shooting a scene? Wu Qingchen suppressed a sigh, then gestured around. "…So this village will actually have people living in it? Each person from the medieval world gets someone here to play them?"

"Exactly. Otherwise, why would it be called the Recreation Project Team?"

"So this is… for rehearsals?" Wu Qingchen quickly recalled the training from the day before, when there had been specific conversations and facial expression drills for certain medieval characters, especially the priest. It seemed there would be much more of this kind of practice in the future. "But… do you really need me for this?"

"What?" Ji Mingming turned around, apparently not understanding Wu Qingchen’s question.

Wu Qingchen could understand being put in charge of the environment setup. Just as Mu Tianlan had said, given his unique perspective, there were many details in the medieval world that the sky projection couldn’t capture, and he was the only one on Earth who could see them clearly.

However, by some means still beyond Earth’s understanding, the sky projection always penetrated roofs, trees, water, and any inanimate obstacles that might otherwise block Wu Qingchen or other medieval figures. In other words, whether it was a room, a forest, or a crop field, none of these environments would prevent Earth from observing the people of the medieval world through the celestial images.

With so many advisory groups, analysis teams, expert panels—millions of specialists from all fields combined…

Could his own eyes really compare to that many people? Was he truly needed to be in charge of character recreation, picking actors to play roles from the medieval world?

"Yes, very much so."

After hearing Wu Qingchen’s doubts, Ji Mingming shook his head but gave a definite answer, then quickened his pace, leading the way ahead.

Climbing the slope once more, Wu Qingchen and his group followed Ji Mingming into a simple building that had risen, seemingly overnight, just a few dozen meters away.

The house was spacious, about four or five hundred square meters, open and undivided, the entire interior arranged like a large conference hall. Rows of seats were set up at the front, with several long metal tables at the back.

Most of the seats were already filled. Around the metal tables sat the soldiers and experts Wu Qingchen had seen most frequently these past few days, while the long rows of seats at the front…

Wu Qingchen blinked hard.

In those front rows, the people closest to the metal tables were all draped in robes, wooden clogs on their feet, hoods pulled up, their clothes tattered, faces sallow and gaunt. Farther from the tables, the scene was even more pitiful: most wore clothes full of holes, bare feet, and on their heads, what could hardly be called hats—more like scraps of filthy cloth.

Seeing this, Wu Qingchen instantly realized this was the other aspect of his new work that Ji Mingming had brought him to experience: character recreation, casting roles.

Good heavens, do I have to pick from all these?

As he walked toward the metal tables, Wu Qingchen glanced around. It soon became clear that the actors in the rows were grouped so that every four or five corresponded to a single character from the medieval world, arranged by family and kinship, and then in order of residence…

Wait a second.

This thought made Wu Qingchen sniff the air, looking from the front benches by the entrance to the seat beside him, scanning the crowd again.

And again.

No wonder I recognized the seating arrangement at a glance!

After two careful looks, Wu Qingchen suddenly understood why it all felt so familiar. The medieval world was filthy and backward, with no concept of hygiene or cleanliness. In such a world, even the better-off locals were like walking dumps; the poor were little more than living, open-air virus repositories.

Now, the actors sitting on either side of Wu Qingchen, with their grimy robes, greasy faces, tangled hair, and blackened teeth—he couldn’t see any traces of makeup or props. Everything was exactly as he had seen in his dreams of the medieval world, even down to that now-familiar sour sweat stench.

Wu Qingchen was certain: any of these actors could be sent to film a scene, and with this level of dedication, they’d be famous overnight—no need for "outstanding acting" or "good looks".

Shaking his head in awe, Wu Qingchen entered the conference hall—or rather, the audition room—where Ji Mingming indicated a reserved seat at the metal table. A middle-aged man in a beige shirt stood up.

"Mr. Wu, I’m Hou Buyi. I’m currently in charge of the initial review of character recreation. According to the schedule, there are three practical rehearsal subjects this afternoon, involving seven medieval characters. We need you to make the final casting decisions."

With that, Hou Buyi gestured toward the actors’ seats. Four actors immediately stood and approached Wu Qingchen.

Just one look, and Wu Qingchen’s mouth fell slightly open.

The four actors wore robes, each with the same hole in the chest, muddy legs, and faces showing the same underfed, worried expression. Wu Qingchen recognized at once whom they were playing: Isaacson, the bachelor living in the grass hut by the creek.

Now, as the four actors walked up, each left foot slightly turned in, backs hunched, heads bobbing—exactly as Isaacson walked in the medieval world.

Are you kidding me? Do you really need me to choose? How am I supposed to tell them apart?

Wu Qingchen couldn’t help but glance toward Ji Mingming, who watched with great interest.

Noticing his gaze, Ji Mingming inclined his head, signaling Wu Qingchen to keep watching.

Sure enough, when the four reached about three meters from Wu Qingchen, they stopped. Hou Buyi beckoned again, and another actor stood from the seats—a beggar—no, an actor.

This new actor was playing Shaban, the second son of the Richard family, whose home was about two kilometers from Wu Qingchen’s "house" in the medieval world.

However, this role didn’t seem important at the moment. Shaban stepped out, stood about ten meters from the four Isaacsons, and halted.

Hou Buyi nodded. Instantly, the four Isaacsons, left feet slightly turned, backs hunched, heads bobbing, walked toward Shaban, went ten meters, then turned back.

Watching, Wu Qingchen frowned slightly, a vague realization dawning in his mind.

But this was not the end. At Hou Buyi’s signal, Fred, Richard’s third son, also stepped out to stand beside his brother Shaban. The four Isaacsons again set out, this time walking between Fred and Shaban, leaving just a narrow gap between them.

"I know who it is!" Wu Qingchen stood up and pointed to the second actor from the left. "Him. He’s the closest to Isaacson."

Immediately, the chosen Isaacson stepped out and moved to another metal table. An officer vacated a seat, and several experts began conferring with the selected actor. Meanwhile, the other three Isaacsons quietly left the platform and returned to their seats.

"Do you understand now?" Ji Mingming glanced at Wu Qingchen.

"Yes," Wu Qingchen replied.

Although the four Isaacsons were nearly identical in dress, demeanor, and gait, when the real Isaacson encountered others—especially more than one person at a time—he always habitually patted the meager food in his pocket, meant to sustain him through another day’s hard labor.

So, over the next half-hour, Wu Qingchen selected the actors for the seven medieval characters needed for the afternoon’s practical rehearsals.

Once this was done, Ji Mingming checked his watch and led Wu Qingchen out of the makeshift audition hall.

At that moment, Jiang Fengming—his eyes bloodshot—was already waiting outside with a large group of military officers and staff, standing about ten meters away.

"Alright, Qingchen," Ji Mingming nodded toward Jiang Fengming, tapped his watch, and then smiled at Wu Qingchen. "We’ve only got three minutes left. How did this morning go for you?"

"Thank you, Officer Ji," Wu Qingchen replied, sincerely from the bottom of his heart.

He didn’t know the reasons behind everything, but for Wu Qingchen, it wasn’t until today, until waking up accompanied by Ji Mingming, that he finally saw his belongings again, regained phone access, even met his friends.

And only today, after the grueling labor in the medieval world and relentless training back on Earth, did Wu Qingchen finally enjoy nearly two hours of comparatively relaxed time.

"As long as it was alright." Sensing Wu Qingchen’s gratitude, Ji Mingming waved his hand and smiled. "You still seem to have some doubts about your new role?"

"Yeah, I don’t feel confident."

Just now, Wu Qingchen had managed to pick out the actor who most resembled the medieval original from a group of four or five nearly identical in expression and movement. For this challenging task, his judgment relied mainly on subtle differences in their interactions as medieval villagers.

However, he still felt that with millions of professionals watching the medieval world around the clock, and thousands of experts dedicated to studying those interactions, what he could do shouldn’t surpass the collective power of so many.

"You’re wrong."

After hearing Wu Qingchen’s thoughts, Ji Mingming shook his head, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Qingchen, you’re thinking about this the wrong way. It’s true there are thousands of experts analyzing each medieval character. That ensures every individual gets a highly accurate, comprehensive analysis."

"But think about it from an individual’s perspective. No matter how many people you throw at a task, it’s ultimately individuals doing the work. Some study behavior, some study expressions, gestures, or interactions. In the end, all these pieces are patched together to form a result. Yet people aren’t computers; our minds can’t be directly linked. No matter how well two experts communicate, in the end it’s still just two separate brains, and they can’t possibly merge all their thoughts into one."

"It’s the same with analysis. The smaller the group, the more accurate and penetrating the results. But once you get into larger groups, once interactions become complex, the method has limits, and errors multiply. Just now, with only two or three people interacting, the initial review produced four candidates, but only one or two were truly suitable."

"But—"

"I know what you want to say," Ji Mingming interrupted. "It’s true—the staff could focus extra attention and eventually spot those details you noticed. But what about when there are twenty or thirty people? Two or three hundred? Two or three thousand? Even if you had the manpower, piecing together the results from thousands of teams—what kind of result would that be?"

"The whole of Eckley Village doesn’t even have two thousand people."

"Mr. Wu…" Ji Mingming shook his head slowly. "Your future is wide open. You won’t always be in Eckley. Two or three thousand is a small number. And in any case, casting roles isn’t the ultimate goal of your new job. Sooner or later, your decisions in the medieval world will affect hundreds or thousands of people. The plans the advisory panels rush out will be riddled with flaws, and only you will be able to spot and correct them in time."

"Because over the past eight hours, you spent ten full days in the medieval world. That experience, that understanding of those people, puts you far ahead of the rest of the world’s seven billion people."

At this, Ji Mingming gently patted his watch. "They say time is the most precious thing in the world. Mr. Wu, closing your eyes means ten days pass. Maybe now it’s a burden—but someday, it might become your greatest opportunity."