A few people stood before the screen, watching the photographer's re-edited footage—fragments that had been captured by the small drone, too trivial on their own until they were seamlessly pieced together in post-production.
On the immense luminous screen, there was only one figure, frail and slender, with a pale complexion, dirt clinging to his face, and his entire body stained with grime. Yet, even in such a disheveled state, his stunning, purely Eastern features were unmistakable.
As he lifted his eyes and turned his head, his dark gaze revealed a natural, genuine confusion and shock. When he saw the silhouette of the Kaia beast, the trembling of his lips and the terror in his eyes were devoid of any pretense. As the young man stood up, grabbed a weapon from the ground, and fired a shot into the distance while fleeing, his demeanor, which suppressed fear with rational calm and entered a battle-ready state of alertness, was something no ordinary person could feign.
It was flawless!
Although not a single step aligned with the script's instructions, and the boy on the screen hadn't uttered a single word, his expressions, movements, and a series of reactive actions made everyone feel as if they were right there, experiencing everything that was happening.
Their eyes and hearts were drawn to the screen, gripped with tension as they followed his bewilderment, Xia Ling in his confusion over what had occurred. When he spat out a mouthful of blood, the viewers couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety; when his gaze locked onto the roaring monster charging towards him, everyone's emotions fluctuated in sync with his expression and a series of subtle actions.
As he fled, their hearts clenched, urging him to run faster, to escape!
When he tripped over an unknown object and fell to the ground, several people in the room instinctively covered their eyes, silently screaming in panic for him.
When he saw the gun on the ground after being tripped, the viewers felt a surge of hope as his eyes lit up.
When he stood up again, decisively and bravely raising the gun, everyone cheered inwardly, "That's it! That's how you do it! You can escape; you can defeat that monster!"
When he rushed up the rocky ledge, knelt on one knee, and aimed at the beast, the viewers held their breath.
With a resounding "bang," the camera panned to the distant beast collapsing to the ground. Everyone exhaled in relief, followed by a burst of excitement at the victory. In the director's room, someone even shouted with joy, their voice loud as if they were the one on the screen.
The entire sequence lasted no more than a dozen minutes, yet in that brief time, every eye was riveted on the boy on the screen.
His every glance, every turn, and every raise of the gun pulled at the hearts of the audience. It was as if he had cast a spell, making the viewers fear for him, rejoice for him, worry for him, as if they were drawn into the screen, following him on this brief but thrilling escape.
After the clip ended, the lights in the director's room came on, and the screen dimmed to a gray-black.
Everyone felt as though they had been pulled back from a dream to reality, yet what had just transpired didn't feel like a dream, but rather another reality.
There weren't many people in the director's room, only a select few allowed entry—the plump director, the assistant director, two screenwriters, the head of the camera crew, and a woman dressed in a fiery red trench coat, her curly hair cascading over her shoulders, a smile playing on her lips.
After being pulled back to reality, everyone let out a breath. At first, no one spoke; it wasn't until three or four seconds later that the female screenwriter who had screamed earlier patted her chest and said, "That was incredible! Absolutely brilliant!"
The other male screenwriter nodded, still somewhat rational, though his heart was pounding with excitement. He said to the others, "I don't know why he didn't follow the script during the audition, but I have to admit, his performance was exceptional. The way he transitioned between expressions and actions was perfect. If it were up to me to write the script, I wouldn't have been able to weave those actions and reactions together so seamlessly."
The female screenwriter nodded vigorously, as if suddenly struck by inspiration, and pulled out a notebook to jot down her ideas.
The man who had been shouting and scolding Xize with a megaphone earlier was, in fact, the director of this film—a highly acclaimed director known for his explosive temper. If things didn't go his way, he was quick to lash out. He had been furious earlier when Xize had pointed a gun at him, but after watching the edited footage put together by the camera crew and post-production team, he was at a loss for words.
Just as the two screenwriters had said, regardless of his motives or why he didn't follow the script, and regardless of why he had actually fired the gun and damaged the prop, his performance over those dozen minutes was truly outstanding. Not a single line of dialogue was spoken, yet through mere actions, expressions, and reactions, he had taken every viewer on a rollercoaster of emotions.
But it wasn't just that. The viewers seemed to have been captivated by him, following his confusion, his tension, his fear, his flight. When the monster was shot dead, they rejoiced as if they were the ones who had escaped.
It was incredible! Absolutely incredible! The pacing was perfect, as if he wasn't acting at all but genuinely fleeing for his life.
While it couldn't be denied that advanced filming techniques and post-production played a significant role, it was clear that to deliver such a performance under the same filming conditions was beyond the reach of an ordinary person.
Tom didn't say anything at first, but after a moment, he turned to the woman in the red trench coat and said, "Now, we can sign the contract."
The woman in the red coat smiled, her large, beautiful eyes narrowing slightly as she gazed at the screen, then she nonchalantly said, "It seems the director is mistaken…"
What? Tom was stunned, as were the others in the room. What did she mean?
The woman's smile grew more arrogant as she fastened the belt on her coat, and with a sweep of her eyes toward Tom, she said, "Our Xize only came to the audition out of respect for the introducer. When did he ever agree to play the role of 'Ayer'?"
The others were too shocked to know how to react. Wasn't he just a nobody in the industry? Being offered a role should have been a blessing, something to be grateful for, and yet his agent was turning it down? Had she lost her mind?
Tom was nearly seething with anger. It had been so difficult to find someone so perfectly suited for the role, with an Asian face, the right age, and such an extraordinary performance, only to be told he wouldn't take the part? Not take the part! Not take it?!
Someone give me back my Kaia beast! I'll set the dogs on you!
Although Tom was fuming internally, as a renowned director, he didn't lose his temper. Besides, he knew the woman standing before him; she was a well-regarded agent and usually reasonable.
Tom narrowed his eyes. This was a talent he couldn't afford to let slip away, no matter the cost!
The smile on the woman's lips faded slightly as she glanced at the two screenwriters. With her hands in her pockets, she said, "I've read the script and know exactly what kind of role 'Ayer' is. As Xize's agent, it's my duty to select the best roles for him. For his debut, neither I nor my company want him to take on a role like 'Ayer'."
Who was "Ayer"? A cowardly, timid character, needing protection, who ultimately betrays the protagonist and those who once shielded him—a despicable, loathsome character.
Tom remained silent, watching the woman. But she had already donned her sunglasses and casually glanced at the two screenwriters before putting them on fully. With a smile, she turned and walked away, her exit exuding power, with no trace of hesitation, as if she didn't care in the least whether Xize took on such a high-profile role. With a wave of her hand, she said, "Bye bye."
After leaving the set, Jane Anning headed directly to the hospital where Xize was. She didn't bother with a call, thinking it unnecessary since she'd see him soon.
She was driving a convertible, wearing sunglasses, her long hair flying in the wind, her fiery red trench coat tossed carelessly onto the passenger seat. Her expression was cold as she drove, exuding the aura of a powerful businesswoman, like a queen reigning supreme.
But in reality, Jane Anning hadn't always been this way.
She had entered the industry very early, working at her current entertainment company, starting as a lowly assistant and rising to the position of agent. Almost everyone in the industry knew her.
She had managed several rising stars, even served as a temporary agent for a superstar like Arnold. Despite this, Jane Anning hadn't reached the status of a top-tier agent.
A top-tier agent was a designation given by Silver Fox Entertainment, a title that carried significant prestige within the industry. It was a position of power and income far beyond that of an ordinary agent. Jane Anning had always believed she would eventually earn that title, and as recently as the beginning of the year, she had been eagerly anticipating the promotion.
Reality struck her like a cruel blow.
Half a month ago, her newly appointed superior sought her out, not only reassigning a top-tier star from her portfolio to someone else but also transferring several promising second-tier artists she had painstakingly cultivated over the years to other agents. Not only did she lose the chance to become a gold-medal agent, but she was also stripped of all her ongoing projects.
This was virtually no different from being blacklisted in the industry.
At first, she naively believed it was just a routine job reassignment. It wasn't until later that she realized her new boss harbored personal grudges against her former superior and, by extension, against her as well. Upon taking office, he made an example of her, burning bridges with three drastic moves—the first of which targeted her, turning her into a laughingstock within the company.
Anning, once a well-respected veteran agent, found herself suddenly bereft of work, a situation that would have been laughable if it weren't so tragic. While some in the company sympathized with her plight, others took the opportunity to revel in her misfortune, kicking her when she was down.
During that period, Anning was in utter despair. Her career plummeted, and her personal life fell apart. Eventually, the strain became too much, and she took a half-month leave to recuperate, only returning to work yesterday.
Perhaps her superior had softened after burning all his bridges and, seeing how difficult it was for a woman in her position, finally pitied her by assigning her a newly signed Asian artist.
When Anning first heard that she was to manage a new Asian signee, she thought her boss had finally shown some mercy. But when she received all the relevant information that morning, her hopes were completely dashed.
The boy in the photos was indeed striking, possessing a unique and attractive Asian face—a purely Eastern visage that would undoubtedly stand out in the industry. However, his eyes were vacant, his expression forlorn, as if entirely devoid of vitality. After making some inquiries at his school and speaking with those who had interacted with him at the company, her disappointment deepened. Everyone who had met the boy sighed in frustration, lamenting that such a beautiful face was wasted on someone who couldn't do anything right—couldn't even smile or speak properly, let alone act. His teachers at the school also expressed regret. They had made an exception to admit him because of his appearance, hoping that training might help, but even after two years, he remained as withdrawn as ever, utterly unsuited for acting.
After gathering all this information, Anning was in a cold sweat, trembling with anger, and felt an overwhelming urge to storm into her boss's office, beat him up, and then resign. But she knew she couldn't do that. She was a workaholic who couldn't stay idle, and besides, she had always aspired to become a top-tier agent—a gold medalist. Everyone has goals and dreams, and becoming a gold medalist was hers.
Anning swallowed her pride, signed the assignment contract, and nearly gagged at the sight of her boss's malicious grin and shifty eyes.
Yet, the man had the audacity to smile at her and pontificate, "Anning, I have to say, your problem is that you're too agreeable. Do you know why no one spoke up for you this time? It's because you're always too nice, too accommodating, always showing a kind face to everyone. Sure, you're well-respected in the industry, but you need to understand that being a perpetual good person won't get you far. Think it over, and someday you'll understand what I mean."
Anning sneered inwardly, her expression remaining impassive as she nodded and walked away.
She couldn't quite grasp what her boss was getting at, but she was indeed feeling colder and harder inside. She had managed that top-tier star for five years—weren't five years enough for that star to speak a word on her behalf? A star of that caliber, if she didn't want to change agents, who would dare force her?
In the end, the superstar nonchalantly moved on, leaving a casual, "It's a pity, Anning. Let's catch up sometime," before gleefully embracing her rival without a trace of guilt or hesitation.
For a long time, Anning was heartbroken. During a half-month break, she continually heard whispers of criticism and backstabbing. But now, she had become numb to it all.
It felt like the rug had been pulled from under her feet, forcing her to start anew. She had little hope for Xize, expecting him to leave within six months. Yet, upon arriving at the set, she learned he had been hospitalized. Ready to leave, she accidentally joined the crew in watching a ten-minute clip.
It was astonishing. Like the crew, Anning saw another Arnold in Xize—his expressions, the way he held the gun with a fierce, death-like determination, were flawless, brimming with intensity and charisma. His performance captivated everyone, even Anning, who had managed several superstars. Despite having once been Arnold's temporary manager and witnessing his live performances, this felt different—divinely inspired.
She thought she might have been wrong. Perhaps Xize wasn't just another Arnold; he was Xize, and he had the potential to surpass Arnold, especially with his Asian heritage.
If Xize could become a galactic superstar like Arnold, what about her? Could she, too, rise to become a true gold-tier manager?
Anning's heart surged with excitement, like a stormy ocean, unable to calm down until the ten-minute clip ended, bringing her back to reality.
She would never underestimate Xize again, this newly signed, untested acting student. With her seasoned instincts, she quickly mapped out a path for Xize to reach the pinnacle.
The first step was to refuse the role of "Ayer."
Anning respected Tom, despite his temper and harsh words. He was an undeniably talented director, with every blockbuster he helmed being both critically acclaimed and commercially successful. Actors would fight tooth and nail for even a brief appearance in his films.
But Anning had her own calculations. "Ayer" was not a role for Xize. His career was just beginning, and as his manager, it was her duty to protect him, not set him on the wrong path. So, she firmly declined.
She knew she no longer managed top-tier stars, but she still had her connections and influence in the industry. She would use every resource she had to pave the best possible road for Xize.
The vehicle sped across the sandy terrain, leaving a trail of dust as it headed toward the hospital.