Chapter 129: It Might Get Them Stuck

Luo Kun actually recognized Lu Xu. He was quite a bit younger than Director Mu Lang and often browsed the internet for news. Naturally, he was well aware that the box office results of the two movies starring Lu Xu had been pretty good.

However, the casting process for Reverse City focused solely on performance, not on an actor’s level of fame. The purpose of the auditions was simply to select the most suitable actor for the role, nothing more.

Among the actors who had just auditioned, Luo Kun was most satisfied with Chai Fu. However, in a film crew, the director’s decision was central to everything. Luo Kun might have been a fairly influential screenwriter in the film industry, but within the Reverse City crew, the final decision still rested with Mu Lang.

Luo Kun couldn’t help but glance at Lu Xu several times.

To be honest, Lu Xu already looked impressive in the paparazzi photos, but seeing him in person, Luo Kun realized that the real Lu Xu was several times more attractive than his pictures.

When encountering an actor with such striking looks, one’s instinctive reaction was to distrust their capabilities. Luo Kun wasn’t the only industry professional with this mindset; quite a few people thought the same way.

Lu Xu began by giving a brief self-introduction. Afterward, Mu Lang handed him a few pages of the script and gestured for him to perform according to the content written on it.

“Alright,” Lu Xu said, reaching out to take it.

Mu Lang remained expressionless, while Luo Kun’s gaze swept over the script’s first page. He couldn’t help but show a surprised expression.

The script Lu Xu had received was marked with the number 5 on the cover.

The audition process for Reverse City involved handing actors scripts with different numbers, requiring them to perform the scenes described within those pages.

In Luo Kun’s impression, the script marked with the number 5 contained the most challenging scenes among the pages.

Was it merely a coincidence, or had Director Mu Lang done it on purpose?

Although Luo Kun had worked with Mu Lang for many years, he still often couldn’t figure out what was going on in Mu Lang’s mind.

He decided not to dwell on it, put down his pen, propped his chin on his hand, and patiently waited for Lu Xu’s performance.

To be honest, while he thought Lu Xu’s looks were almost too good to be true, Luo Kun didn’t hold any bias against him. After all, as a screenwriter, someone focused on words and storytelling, Luo Kun’s long-standing collaboration with Mu Lang wasn’t driven by pragmatism but by a genuine desire to create great films.

This part of the script portrayed the protagonist realizing that all their struggles and attempts to survive had been under the gang’s surveillance all along, inadvertently providing the dark world’s rulers with endless entertainment.

He broke down and despaired, but his anguish elicited no reaction from the person in front of him.

Even though—just not long ago—this person had played the role of his savior, rescuing him from peril multiple times.

The Reverse City audition didn’t arrange for any scene partners. Actors had to rely entirely on their own performance.

Lu Xu indicated that he was ready to start.

“Begin,” Mu Lang said with a small nod.

In that moment, all eyes in the audition room turned toward Lu Xu.

Perhaps intentionally, the Reverse City team had arranged for this audition room to be quite narrow. The close proximity between the actor and the director and screenwriter meant that every subtle movement was easily noticeable, creating immense pressure.

“Friend? Conscience?”

As soon as Lu Xu uttered the first line, Luo Kun knew the audition had officially begun. He pointed his pen at the script, following along with the lines as he kept his gaze fixed on Lu Xu.

Luo Kun noticed that, in that instant, a subtle expression appeared on Lu Xu’s face.

Although Lu Xu still had a young face—one that made him appear even younger than his resume suggested—when he began portraying the character, Luo Kun felt that this youthful face instantly became enigmatic.

It exuded a maturity far beyond his age.

And… a calmness that came from complete control.

Lu Xu was the first actor to perform the script numbered 5, but his portrayal of the antagonist was entirely different from the others.

What made script number 5 challenging was its minimal dialogue—the fewest lines among all the scripts. The actor needed to convey the essence of the villain purely through expressions and eye contact.

Among the previous actors who auditioned, some showcased the villain’s composure, while others highlighted cruelty or madness. In contrast, Lu Xu’s performance seemed, at first glance, much more subdued.

Yet…

In that moment, as Luo Kun stared intently at Lu Xu, he suddenly realized that Lu Xu was presenting a character who was utterly indifferent.

Indifferent to everything. He was detached from the world yet in control of it all.

There was no need for him to exude coldness or intimidation. To this character, the protagonist’s life was less significant than an ant’s—not even worth the effort to care about.

To him, the only reason the protagonist still existed was that he brought a fleeting spark of interest to his otherwise dull and monotonous life. Nothing more.

This was why he didn’t bother refuting the protagonist’s passionate and righteous lines—because it was meaningless.

Luo Kun’s pen froze mid-air, and his gaze unconsciously drifted toward Mu Lang. He couldn’t help but wonder if Lu Xu’s interpretation was the right approach.

Unfortunately, Mu Lang’s face remained impassive, giving no hint of approval or disapproval.

Luo Kun silently sighed and returned his focus to observing Lu Xu’s performance.

The script wasn’t long, and the performance was over in just a few minutes. At one particular moment, when Luo Kun looked up at Lu Xu, Lu Xu’s gaze happened to shift in his direction midair.

It was, of course, not intentional—he wasn’t deliberately looking at Luo Kun or trying to make eye contact with the screenwriter. It was just a casual glance. But for some reason, despite the youthfulness of Lu Xu’s eyes, they carried an unspoken pressure that made every cell in Luo Kun’s body resist instinctively. It was as if… the person standing before him embodied evil itself.

An absolute, towering figure.

Even though Lu Xu didn’t smirk wickedly or deliver a chilling death sentence, his demeanor and the aura he exuded still filled Luo Kun with fear.

Clearly, this was not an extroverted, proud villain but a subtle, silent one.

The performance ended quickly.

As Luo Kun rubbed his forehead with his fingers, he realized his hand was drenched in sweat. It struck him then—today wasn’t particularly warm. The air conditioning wasn’t even needed; if anything, sitting for a while made the room feel chilly. Yet, Lu Xu’s performance had left him feeling a delayed and overwhelming sense of terror.

Was this what acting was?

Lu Xu still had the same youthful face. After the audition, he politely greeted everyone in the crew and even thoughtfully closed the door on his way out.

He likely had no idea that his performance had overturned the Reverse City team’s entire understanding of the villain character.

Villains, naturally, didn’t follow a fixed template. There could be hundreds or thousands of interpretations.

When Luo Kun had created this character, he’d had multiple discussions with Mu Lang. While he didn’t have a fixed idea of what the villain should be, he’d left room for adjustments during filming. Still, the villain was a role within the script, and Luo Kun had a vague concept in his mind.

But today, Lu Xu’s interpretation shattered that vague concept.

“Isn’t this interpretation a bit off?” Producer Zhang Jin asked hesitantly.

Mu Lang remained silent for the moment, but Luo Kun noticed that from the beginning of Lu Xu’s performance until now, Mu Lang had been jotting down notes and sketches on paper—of all the actors auditioning today, only Lu Xu had held his attention for this long.

Having worked with Mu Lang for years, Luo Kun was naturally familiar with the director’s personality.

Could it be… Mu Lang favored Lu Xu?

Luo Kun carefully compared the performances. After witnessing Lu Xu’s nearly silent portrayal, he suddenly felt that Chai Fu’s interpretation of the villain character seemed somewhat lacking in comparison.

To borrow a trendy phrase, Chai Fu’s portrayal didn’t have enough gravitas.

Compared to Mu Lang’s other works, Reverse City featured a larger scale of crime. Concepts like the “dark world” and “underground rulers” leaned more toward the exaggerated, almost fantastical side of things.

However, Chai Fu’s take on the villain felt closer to that of a gang leader in a street war—powerful, but not quite the embodiment of overwhelming control and dread the story demanded.

Luo Kun glanced silently at Mu Lang. “Should we keep calling people in?”

Mu Lang hesitated for a moment. After a long pause, he gave a slight nod.

“Alright then, let’s continue. Number 12.”

By coincidence, the next actor scheduled after Lu Xu was Qi Di.

Luo Kun had read some gossip online and was aware, at least to some extent, that there was tension between Qi Di and Lu Xu.

To be honest, Luo Kun wasn’t particularly fond of Qi Di.

It wasn’t so much about Qi Di’s reputation for being a diva or stealing the spotlight—that was secondary. What Luo Kun disliked was Qi Di’s hypocritical attitude.

Luo Kun felt that young actors these days had it too easy. Wherever they went, they were showered with praise, with no understanding of the hardships people like him and Mu Lang endured in the past—working to gain recognition overseas, fighting for theater slots, and dealing with countless cold stares.

Back then, both he and Director Mu Lang had endured their fair share of condescension.

At that time, there was no other choice. The domestic film market was small, and their technical capabilities lagged behind others. They genuinely needed help from abroad.

But now, the domestic film market had grown exponentially. Foreign blockbusters were practically fighting to get a chance to screen here. The filmmakers in this country should finally be standing tall. Yet, there were still people like Qi Di.

When the market was weak, they bowed down; now that the market was thriving, they still bowed down. Were they born to be subservient?

Everyone had their own perspective, though. Luo Kun didn’t want to be overly critical—he simply felt uncomfortable.

After all, people like him and Mu Lang had bowed their heads outside so that future generations could live better lives and domestic cinema could flourish.

Unfortunately, this was only his belief. Others might not understand.

When Qi Di began his performance, Luo Kun couldn’t help but let out a sigh.

Truthfully, Qi Di’s acting wasn’t bad—provided Lu Xu hadn’t performed before him.

Unlike Lu Xu, Qi Di hadn’t even been given the challenging script numbered 5, which lacked clear prompts. The scene he acted out wasn’t particularly difficult. However, compared to Lu Xu’s performance, Qi Di’s fell far short.

Qi Di’s portrayal of the villain leaned heavily on exaggeration. Paired with his youthful appearance, it was painfully obvious how poorly suited he was for the role.

He came across like a small-time lackey trying too hard to act like a boss. The facade of a tiger’s skin was stripped away, revealing the mouse beneath.

Previously, Luo Kun wouldn’t have been too harsh on Qi Di. After all, he was still a young actor, and handling this kind of role wasn’t easy.

But the problem was—Lu Xu was also a young actor.

The sense of pressure Lu Xu brought to his role had, for a moment, made Luo Kun forget his appearance entirely.

In fact, it was precisely because Lu Xu had such an extraordinarily handsome face that the contrast with his character created an even more powerful impact. The shock it delivered reached an absolute peak.

“Comparing people really drives you mad,” Luo Kun suddenly remarked after Qi Di’s audition ended.

To his surprise, Mu Lang, who had been mostly silent all day, replied with a simple “Mm.”

Luo Kun glanced at Mu Lang’s notebook. The current page only had one line written on it, the rest completely blank. It was clear that Mu Lang hadn’t found Qi Di’s performance worth noting down.

The actors who came in to audition afterward each had their flaws. Luo Kun guessed that in Mu Lang’s mind, the role of the villain was already as good as Lu Xu’s.

But Mu Lang was notoriously slow in everything—assembling a crew, selecting actors, even making decisions. If his films didn’t perform well at the box office and win awards, the industry wouldn’t be so tolerant of his pace.

That said, good films did take time to refine, and finding the right actors was crucial. Both the protagonist and the villain roles in Reverse City were difficult to cast. If they couldn’t find suitable actors, the movie’s appeal would drop significantly.

From a screenwriter’s perspective, Luo Kun also hoped the crew would find the perfect fit.

After the auditions ended, Lu Xu waited with Xu Wen for a while. Guan Sha chatted with Xu Wen for a bit before they all planned to go out for dinner together.

As fate would have it, they ended up in the same elevator they had used earlier and ran into Qi Di, who had just finished his audition.

With no outsiders around, Qi Di rolled his eyes dramatically at Lu Xu, his haughty demeanor completely unrestrained.

However, just as Qi Di was about to step into the elevator, Lu Xu—his agility honed from playing badminton—blocked him swiftly and shoved a bottle of eye drops into his hand.

“You know, rolling your eyes that much might get them stuck. It also makes you more likely to get eye gunk. Just use this,” Lu Xu said earnestly.

Qi Di: “…”

Xu Wen and Guan Sha, who were watching: “…”

Guan Sha turned to Xu Wen. “Is he always like this?”

The manager sighed helplessly and nodded.

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