He had had no confidence at all when he submitted his application. More than four hundred people were competing to play one eunuch; he would just treat tomorrow as a chance to broaden his horizons.
The next day, he got up bright and early and rode his little electric scooter to the audition venue, following the navigation.
The audition was being held in an office building downtown.
Quite a few people were already in the lobby. Some were facing corners, silently rehearsing their lines; some were sitting on sofas, adjusting their breathing over and over; others had already changed into costumes they had brought themselves.
Song Shi'an registered at reception, collected a number, and found a corner to stand in. He pulled up the two excerpts he had saved the night before and silently rehearsed them again.
One featured Meng Zhen in the imperial study, putting disobedient officials in their place on behalf of the new emperor, his tone respectful, his words concealing blades.
The other was a scene opposite the male lead just before his death: kneeling on the floor, his expression calm, his eyes brimming with madness.
He already knew the lines by heart, but the hardest part of playing Meng Zhen was not the dialogue. It was that spine of his, always ramrod straight, and those eyes that never let anyone read him.
The waiting area was packed with people. Song Shi'an found a corner to squat in and tugged his mask a little higher.
Several people ahead of him were auditioning. After watching two of them, he frowned.
One played Meng Zhen as mincing and affected, holding up an orchid finger and forcing his voice into a thin, shrill pitch.
The other was even more ridiculous, twisting his waist so much as he walked that he practically tied it into a bow.
He lowered his head and looked at the character biography saved on his phone.
Meng Zhen had entered the palace at eight. He had not carved a bloody path through the man-eating imperial harem by being effeminate.
This man was bent to his very bones, but it did not show on the outside. When he stood there, his back was straighter than anyone else's.
After nearly three hours, a staff member finally called his number. Song Shi'an stood up and pushed open the door, carrying his personal profile.
A row of long tables had been set up in the audition room, with three judges seated behind them.
The judge in the middle was a woman in her forties with short hair and thin, silver-framed glasses. A stack of résumés lay spread across the table in front of her.
When Song Shi'an entered, she lifted her head and swept her gaze over him, inspecting everything from his shoulders to his waistline, from his posture to his stride.
Sun Min turned to the first page of his résumé. Her gaze landed on the photo first, and her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Heavily photoshopped pictures were the biggest taboo at auditions. The meticulously retouched face in a photo was often a hundred and eight thousand miles from the real person.
She set down the résumé, her tone businesslike. "Take off your mask. Choose either of the two excerpts and begin your performance."
Song Shi'an raised his hand and took off his mask.
Sun Min's hand stopped turning the pages. The male judge beside her, who had been leaning against his chair, slowly sat up straight.
The photo was indeed heavily retouched, but the problem was that he looked far better in person.
The contours from his brow bone to the bridge of his nose, the taper of his jaw, the proportions of his features-every angle was just right.
That face alone could let him walk unhindered through the entertainment industry. Add a little acting ability, and sooner or later, there would be a seat for him among the top stars.
Seeing the judges stare at him without speaking, Song Shi'an thought he had something on his face. He instinctively rubbed the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, then said, "I'll choose the death scene."
Sun Min grew interested. Most of the people before him had chosen the first excerpt, reprimanding the officials in the imperial study. It had plenty of dialogue, and the emotions were easy to grasp.
This one had gone straight for the hardest scene: the monologue before his death. There were few lines; everything depended on his eyes and body.
She put down the résumé and leaned back in her chair. "All right, go ahead."
Song Shi'an took a deep breath. Time to show my true strength. Burn, my chuunibyou soul!!
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he had transformed.
His shoulders sank slightly, and his chin lifted at the slightest angle.
Those eyes, which had been a little bashful just moments ago, had now become a frozen pool of dead water. What lay trapped beneath the ice made people afraid to look too closely.
A trace of a smile curled his lips, his voice pitched very low. "Does Your Majesty mean to kill me?"
There was clearly no one in front of him, yet everyone seemed to see the young emperor standing opposite him.
Qin Yan held a blade, its tip pressed against his heart, his hand trembling.
The person he had protected from childhood to adulthood was now glaring at him with bloodshot eyes, his voice shaking. "Meng Zhen! From the moment you betrayed Us, you deserved to die!"
Meng Zhen raised his hand and grasped the short blade pressed against his heart.
He pushed the blade a little deeper against his chest. His fingers were long and slender, their joints distinct, and the veins rose slightly as he gripped the flat of the blade.
Then he laughed. His low, hoarse laughter, carrying an irrepressible madness, echoed through the audition room.
"Deserved to die! Hahahaha! Yes, I should have died long ago!"
His shoulders shook, his whole body shook, like a piece of porcelain riddled with cracks, its fragments barely held together, ready to explode the next second.
But his eyes remained fixed on Qin Yan, something immensely deep and heavy hidden beneath the madness.
Qin Yan could not bear to see him like this. He drove his hand forward, and the blade pierced his heart.
The laughter stopped abruptly. Meng Zhen's body went rigid, and the fingers gripping the blade loosened one by one before his hand fell to his side.
He looked down at his chest, then raised his head to look at Qin Yan.
The madness in his eyes faded without a trace. He tugged at the corner of his mouth, the curve so faint it was almost imperceptible.
"Qin Yan, never trust anyone again."
By the time his words faded, his eyes had already closed. His body slowly toppled sideways to the floor, curling into a ball.
The audition room remained silent for about ten seconds.
Lying on the floor, Song Shi'an grew increasingly uncertain.
Why wasn't there a single sound? Had I acted that badly?
He was actually pretty embarrassed too, laughing and shouting at thin air, then lying on the floor playing dead.
He stealthily opened one eye and stole a glance at the judges through his lashes.
Sun Min was still leaning forward.
She knew what level to expect from a novice. The performance of the person before her still clearly carried some awkwardness, and his delivery was not particularly polished either. But the moment he slipped into character, the person standing there was Meng Zhen-a living Meng Zhen who had stepped out of the book.
She came back to herself and glanced down at his résumé. When she spoke, her tone was much warmer than before. "You can get up. Song Shi'an, right?"
Song Shi'an scrambled up from the floor. "Yes."
"All right, go home and wait to hear from us." She closed his résumé and placed it on top of the stack to her left.
Song Shi'an breathed a sigh of relief, bowed, put on his mask, and headed out.
The moment he stepped out of the audition room, a guy waiting in the corridor hurried over and eagerly caught his sleeve. "Bro, what are the judges like in there? What did they ask? Was it hard?"
Song Shi'an thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm not sure."
The moment the man heard those three words, his grip on Song Shi'an's sleeve loosened.
That voice. Incredible. Was he a voice actor?
Song Shi'an left the office building, climbed onto his little electric scooter, and immediately started delivering takeout without missing a beat.