Chapter 116: Practicing While Running
Three people sat in the small room.
Lu Yong was seated at the judge’s table.
Xie Xizhao remained in his original seat, and beside him, Dou Fei had silently pulled over a chair to sit with him.
There was a bruise in Xie Xizhao’s palm.
In the final scene, Jing Yin watched Yun Jue leave. On the surface, he appeared calm and unshaken, but deep inside, a murderous intent had already arisen.
The action of pressing into his palm was something Xie Xizhao had added himself. For him, maintaining a neutral facial expression was easy. But at that moment, Jing Yin wasn’t actually calm—his emotions were surging, restrained and suppressed.
He felt that—this was something Jing Yin would do.
Of course, acting on impulse came with consequences. Right now, the pain from the wound was sharp and lingering, a discomfort that refused to fade. The small die in his pocket seemed to sense his distress, pressing against his palm through the fabric, as if trying to soothe the minor injury with its warmth.
Xie Xizhao poked it lightly in response, as if offering reassurance.
The room was silent.
Xie Xizhao lifted his head and met Lu Yong’s gaze across the space. From each other’s eyes, they both caught a trace of something similar.
After a brief pause, Lu Yong spoke with a serious expression.
“An idol?”
Xie Xizhao nodded. “Yes.”
“In what field?”
“A boy group.”
“Singing or dancing?”
“Singing while dancing.”
“Isn’t that exhausting?”
“…It’s alright,” Xie Xizhao replied. “You get used to it. Usually, I adjust my breath through running.”
Lu Yong hesitated for a moment.
“You practice acting while running too?”
He asked slowly.
Xie Xizhao chuckled.
“Director Lu.” He smiled and said, “That really won’t work.”
As soon as he smiled, the tense atmosphere in the room instantly relaxed. Beside him, Dou Fei had already lowered his head in silent defeat, refusing to acknowledge that such a childish conversation had just taken place between his friend and his mentor.
Lu Yong did not smile.
He looked at Xie Xizhao, his gaze filled with admiration—and a hint of regret.
In all his years, this was the first time he had misjudged someone. He sighed inwardly—he really was getting old. Age made people stubborn.
Taking a sip of water, he calmed his slightly stirred emotions.
Then, he said, “Alright, enough joking around.”
“Let’s talk about the scene.”
And just like that, everything returned to the starting point.
Dou Fei handed Xie Xizhao a printed script. The two of them sat down and flipped through the scene they had just worked on together.
Scene One: Jing Yin Coughs Up Blood.
“You enter the scene very quickly,” Lu Yong remarked slowly.
There were no extras in a screen test. To match the script’s needs, the staff had added a brief voiceover cue, though the effect was far from what it would be on a real set.
Yet, Lu Yong noticed that almost the instant the scene began, Xie Xizhao was already immersed in character.
Seated on the carpeted floor, just moments ago, he had been smiling and answering questions. But in the very next second, he looked as if he was truly suffering from a severe illness.
His brow furrowed—subtly, without excessive distortion from pain.
It was a restrained and detached demeanor, the very image of a cold and untouchable flower on a distant peak.
…Too fast.
Even among professional actors, such an immediate transition was terrifying.
In that instant, Lu Yong completely forgot about his resume.
“Because I had been preparing for it the whole time,” Xie Xizhao admitted honestly. “I originally thought there wouldn’t be any voiceover cues.”
Of course, he wasn’t some kind of supernatural talent—he had simply been through too many auditions.
Some demanding directors might require actors to perform the entire scene without props or set pieces. When Xie Xizhao arrived, he had braced himself for the worst. Fortunately, not only did the production team provide him with a cue, but they also let him hold a sip of water in his mouth to simulate blood.
Lu Yong chuckled. “We’re not that cruel.”
The scene lasted about a minute, and in that short time, Xie Xizhao’s performance had already captured everyone’s attention.
That included Dou Fei, who was supposed to enter the scene.
Dou Fei cleared his throat. “That was on me.”
“I saw Xizhao’s eyes just then,” he muttered in his own defense. “…They were really powerful. It caught me off guard.”
He still remembered what he had seen when he looked up.
He had seen Xie Xizhao countless times before—both in person and on screen.
The boy’s eyes were always clear and pure. But at that moment, in those beautiful eyes, he had seen unfiltered gloom and madness. The pain and the desire for destruction had nearly taken physical form.
It had made Dou Fei completely forget what he was supposed to do.
Simply put—he had been scared.
The realization was embarrassing, and he was ready to be criticized. However, instead of directly reprimanding him, Lu Yong asked, “Do you know why Xizhao’s gaze scared you?”
Dou Fei thought to himself, ‘So now you’re calling him ‘Xizhao’ instead of ‘Xie Xizhao’?’ That was a fast change of tone.
But out loud, he humbly replied, “…I don’t know.”
Lu Yong turned to Xie Xizhao. “What do you think?”
Xie Xizhao coughed lightly.
Dou Fei stared at him in silence.
“Aren’t you two pretty close?” Lu Yong scoffed. “Why are you trying to spare his feelings?”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Come on, Director Lu, don’t throw me under the bus like this.
After hesitating for a second, he finally muttered, “Because Brother Fei wasn’t in character?”
Dou Fei froze for a moment.
Then, as realization dawned on him, the tips of his ears flushed red.
Lu Yong turned to him and said in a serious tone, “I’ve told you before—no matter what kind of scene it is, whether it’s an audition or the actual set, you have to treat it seriously. See? Now you’ve embarrassed yourself.”
Why had Dou Fei been startled?
Because Xie Xizhao was fully immersed in his role, and Dou Fei wasn’t.
Yun Jue wouldn’t have been frightened by Jing Yin. But Dou Fei had been.
Only the kind of real, tangible killing intent that came from someone who had truly seen life and death—someone from an ancient world—could make an ordinary modern person feel their hair stand on end.
And that, in turn, was proof of just how strong Xie Xizhao’s ability to act through his eyes was.
But that wasn’t the only proof.
Lu Yong had chosen this audition script with careful consideration.
Jing Yin was a supporting character and didn’t have that many scenes. To be fair, while his role was a coveted one among supporting characters, the personalities of both the aloof, untouchable beauty and the frenzied madman were straightforward and distinct.
In reality, playing either role wasn’t particularly difficult.
If anything, it was probably harder to find an actor who could truly live up to the title of “the most beautiful person in the world.”
The real challenge was transitioning between the two personalities.
How should that transformation be conveyed?
Jing Yin was a quiet, indifferent person, which meant the shift had to be shown through his eyes and the smallest of details.
This scene was the most defining moment of his character transformation. It was also the scene with the most nuanced eye acting and subtle details.
Hearing the mockery at the beginning, the protagonist knocking on the door, the moment the protagonist discovered his injuries, and finally, watching the protagonist leave—all these emotional beats could be summed up as still waters running deep, concealing countless undercurrents.
Pain, madness, fear, resentment, and finally, a calm yet resolute intent to kill.
None of these emotions could be conveyed through dialogue alone. After all, Jing Yin was a character who remained unmoved by anything—an untouchable figure who wouldn’t even blink if the world crumbled before him.
It all had to be shown through his eyes.
That was why Lu Yong had been deeply concerned about casting this role.
The actor needed to not only be strikingly beautiful but also possess the acting skills to match. On top of that, there was another challenge—Jing Yin was the protagonist’s senior.
Both emotionally and in terms of status, he was meant to be a step above the protagonist.
Which meant that, at least in the beginning, his presence had to completely overshadow the male lead.
Lu Yong knew his own disciple, Dou Fei, well.
Even though he was a newcomer, he had formal training and an extraordinary natural talent. After gaining experience from several productions, very few people could match his presence, let alone surpass it.
Yet Xie Xizhao had managed to do just that.
He had nailed every minute shift in expression, never missing a single detail. It was just like his time on stage—when he never once let a camera shot slip past him, earning him the title of the god of catching the camera.
And as for Dou Fei…
Although Lu Yong didn’t criticize him harshly on the spot, Dou Fei knew that once they got back, he was in for a serious scolding. Forgetting to pick up his lines because he was distracted was unacceptable.
Beyond that, during their scene together, Xie Xizhao held his ground effortlessly.
Facing Yun Jue, his portrayal of Jing Yin was like that of a true older brother—his concern was superficial and insincere. He resented Yun Jue’s talent, yet he still carried the arrogance and casual authority of someone in a superior position.
Lu Yong had never seen an actor with such natural presence.
As he looked at Xie Xizhao, there was genuine appreciation in his eyes.
But at the same time, a question formed in his mind. “Who was your teacher?”
It was the same question the MV director had asked him before.
This time, Xie Xizhao answered seriously.
“Many.”
He listed a few names—all books and materials commonly recommended in acting programs.
It wasn’t exactly a lie.
Because for Xie Xizhao, those textbooks and his repeated hands-on experience had been his real teachers. After all, the system hadn’t provided any formal acting classes.
Lu Yong’s gaze flickered.
It wasn’t the most convincing answer, but everyone had their own secrets.
And since he was fully satisfied with the result, he generously let Xie Xizhao’s little omission slide and nodded.
“Good.”
—
That afternoon, Xie Xizhao and Lu Yong talked about many things.
Lu Yong was an emotional man—his previous distaste for Xie Xizhao had now transformed into an equal level of admiration. If he had disliked him at first, he now liked him just as much. He was even tempted to keep him on the spot.
Fortunately, Dou Fei managed to smooth things over and steer the conversation away.
Even so, as Xie Xizhao was about to leave, Lu Yong still eagerly asked him:
“When is your group disbanding?”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Was that even a question he could answer?
He coughed lightly. “In three years.”
Lu Yong looked genuinely disappointed.
“…But it won’t interfere with filming,” Xie Xizhao added. “I’ve already discussed it with the company.”
Though, to be fair, it had been more of a notification than a discussion.
Only then did Lu Yong’s expression improve slightly.
Reluctantly, he let Xie Xizhao go.
It wasn’t until Xie Xizhao was walking under the setting sun that he realized—
The production team hadn’t even given him an official response.
He sighed, but he wasn’t worried.
Sure enough, just as he was wobbling along the narrow edge of a flowerbed, his phone buzzed. He unlocked it to see a message from Fang Qingqing, along with a friend request notification.
Sister Qing: Xizhao Xizhao! The people from Seeking Immortality just told me your audition was successful! Add their staff so you can stay updated!
Xie Xizhao replied with a simple “Got it.”
Then, he accepted the friend request from the unknown contact.
The other party quickly sent a message.
Zhai Ziyin: Hello, we just met earlier. Your audition was successful! I’ll be handling your upcoming schedules from now on. Looking forward to working with you! 🌹
Xie Xizhao responded with a “Got it,” then added a “Thank you.”
When he reached the end of the narrow flowerbed path, he hopped down onto solid ground.
He suddenly felt a little childish.
Glancing around guiltily to make sure no one had noticed, he coughed lightly and lowered his head to book a ride back to the company.
—
In the days that followed, time passed quickly.
For now, there was nothing more to do regarding Seeking Immortality. Zhai Ziyin had sent Xie Xizhao the full script in the meantime, so he could start reading it. Aside from that, his routine training continued as usual.
During this period, someone from Shenghong arranged a meeting with Xie Xizhao.
The discussion, unsurprisingly, revolved around the same old topics. However, this time, their attitude had noticeably softened.
They presented a new proposal—this time, they made no mention of cutting his resources. Instead, they promised that if he transferred to Shenghong, he would receive a wealth of film and television opportunities, including projects with well-known directors.
Xie Xizhao listened patiently before asking, “Would I get lead roles?”
The representative hesitated. “That… should be—”
“No idol dramas,” Xie Xizhao added.
“…”
The representative stared at him as if he had lost his mind—her left eye practically spelling out insatiable ambition, while her right eye screamed biting off more than you can chew.
The meeting ended without a conclusion.
Still, Xie Xizhao knew that, at least in the short term, his standoff with Shenghong had reached a temporary standstill.
And if Shenghong still wanted to keep TP’s remaining fans, then in the group’s next comeback, they wouldn’t dare cut his parts the way they did last time.
Just like that, a month flew by.
It was time for TP’s annual group variety show filming.
