The stylist worked like a tiger, but somehow ended up giving him that gloomy little mushroom look again.
Looking at himself in the mirror, with half his face covered by his bangs, Song Shi'an felt a strange sense of familiarity.
He looked like this when he first transmigrated, with long hair covering his face, so no one would give him a second glance when he walked by, saving him money and trouble.
When Lin Fan rushed back, he circled the dressing room several times but couldn't find anyone.
Song Shi'an stood behind him, watching him wander back and forth among the rows of clothes racks like a headless fly, and patted him on the shoulder. "What are you looking for?"
Lin Fan turned around and saw a face half-hidden by hair, which startled him so much that he jumped back half a step.
He composed himself and looked himself up and down. "Brother, your look... is really good."
Song Shi'an put on his frameless glasses, pushed up his nose, and raised his chin arrogantly, saying, "How about it? Don't you look like a top student?"
Lin Fan looked closely. He didn't know if the boy was a top student or not, but the more he looked, the more he seemed to have the feel of a Japanese-style healing boy.
His hair hung limply over his forehead, and his eyes behind his frameless glasses were clean and innocent. Paired with his blue and white school uniform, he looked like the boy next door who had stepped out of a youth movie.
But isn't Xia Yu a character with both depression and autism?
Lin Fan swallowed the words he was about to say, and gave a thumbs up. "Brother, you can play any role convincingly."
Song Shi'an was pleased to hear this and got up to go to the film set to report for duty.
Lin Fan watched him walk away in a flurry, like a cat with its tail wagging.
The filming location was a classroom, where the assistant director was directing a group of speakers, spitting as he spoke.
As he was speaking, he noticed that everyone below was looking towards the door, so he frowned and turned his head away.
The boy walked in against the light, wearing a blue and white school uniform, frameless glasses, and soft bangs that fell above his brow bone.
The afternoon sun slanted in through the corridor window, casting a thin layer of light on his shoulders, and the assistant director's words caught in his throat.
Song Shi'an stared blankly at everyone, then pushed up his glasses. "Director, I'm here."
The assistant director snapped out of his daze, his brow furrowing even more deeply. He turned and yelled into the crowd, "Where's the stylist?!"
A little girl carrying a brush squeezed in, panting, and said, "Director, you called me."
The assistant director pointed at Song Shi'an: "How did you do this makeup? Is this reasonable?! It's depression, not healing!"
The makeup artist was on the verge of tears. "I really did it exactly as described in the original work; that's how it's described in the book..."
Just as the director was about to continue criticizing, Song Shi'an quietly raised his hand. "Director, there's nothing wrong with this look. I've read the original comic adaptation, and it's the same. It's just a matter of the eyes, not the makeup."
The assistant director stared at him for two seconds, then looked away. He couldn't look closely; the more he looked, the more he felt that fate was unfair.
He sighed, his tone softening. " Xiao An, just do your best later. Don't be fooled by the fact that this character only appears a few times. His despair and helplessness, and the way he sees a glimmer of hope only to have it shattered in the end, make him arguably the most challenging character in the entire series."
Song Shi'an nodded. He knew, of course, how difficult this role was, and it was precisely because of its difficulty that he wanted to play it.
These people are just sick, but in other people's eyes they are weirdos, antisocial, and pretentious.
He wanted to portray Xia Yu's life; if it weren't a novel, he hoped he could live his own life.
All the actors were in place, and the extras sat down in their respective seats, simulating the playful antics of recess as instructed by the assistant director.
Song Shi'an's seat was in the last row of the classroom, in a corner by the window.
After he sat down, he rearranged the items on the table one by one.
The pencil case is in the upper right corner, the textbook is in the upper left corner, and the test paper is in the center. The spacing between each item is so precise that the difference is almost imperceptible to the naked eye.
His fingers traced a gentle arc across the table, adjusting the pencil case to be parallel to the edge of the table.
Then he put his hands back on his knees, straightened his back, and looked at the blank test paper on the table.
The clapperboard snapped shut.
During recess, the classroom was filled with noise.
People were chasing and playing around in the back row, while a few girls in the front row huddled together sharing earphones. Intermittent laughter drifted from outside the corridor. All these sounds blended together, creating a noisy and lively atmosphere.
Xia Yu sat in the corner, seemingly separated from the rest of the classroom by a pane of glass.
He didn't look at anyone; his gaze was fixed on the blank exam paper on the table. His eyes were fixed on that spot, as if he were looking at it, yet also as if he wasn't looking at anything at all.
He could hear the sounds around him, but they didn't reach his heart. He lowered his head, held his pen, and wrote neatly on the test paper, stroke by stroke.
Two boys were chasing each other down the aisle, and one of them bumped into his desk as he backed away.
The pencil case slipped off the corner of the table, scattering the pens inside onto the floor.
The boy quickly bent down to pick it up, stuffed the pen back into his pencil case, placed it on his desk, said "Sorry," and then turned and ran off after his friend.
Xia Yu put down her pen.
His gaze fell on the pencil case, which had been placed in a different position than before; it was now slightly tilted and closer to the textbook.
He stared at the crooked angle for a few seconds, then reached out and put the pencil case back in its original position, parallel to the edge of the table and a fist's distance from the textbook.
After putting it down, he withdrew his hand, picked up the pen again, his fingertips trembling slightly, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip. He didn't look at anyone or say a word the entire time.
The director, watching from behind the monitor, forgot to breathe.
What he saw was not an actor portraying "what autism should be like," but a person unable to cope with external changes, using the only means he could control to piece together the broken order.
The gesture of straightening the pencil case was small, but it brought a pang of sadness to the heart.
From the moment this boy got into character, his vacant eyes sent a chill down your spine.
Actually, Song Shi'an used a little trick. It's hard to act with empty eyes. He's not a real patient, so he can't just get into character on cue.
His method was to empty his mind, think of nothing, focus on his breathing, and let the scene in front of him become a blurry, unreal image.
This makes the eyes look lifeless and empty; you need to bring your attention back when you need to focus.
What's more, sitting in the classroom, I inexplicably feel sleepy; I don't even need to act, my mind just goes blank...
This shot was filmed in one continuous take.
"Card!"
Song Shi'an blinked, his muscles relaxing from their tense state.
He leaned back in his chair and stretched his neck; he had been in that same position for several minutes and it was a little sore.
This role is quite challenging. It's easy for a patient to play a normal person, but it's a different story to have a mentally healthy person play a patient.
Patients often go to great lengths to hide themselves and appear normal, but beneath that seemingly normal exterior, their hearts are already riddled with wounds.
He has to bring these hidden things to life, but he can't overact, or he'll really come across as neurotic...