Chapter 168.2: Audition
Still worried Song Chengwang might do something stupid, Shang Yu added, “Knowing Shen Xiu’s personality, if we really tried to force people into the production and disrupted his filming, he absolutely wouldn’t hesitate to kick our people out. And while he’s at it, he’d probably boot us as investors too.”
Song Chengwang: “!”
“Anyone who tries to force someone in is a dog!”
With that declaration, Song Chengwang hung up and immediately began rejecting all the casting requests flooding his WeChat—without the slightest trace of mercy. He deeply regretted ever mentioning the film to his big-mouthed cousin, which had clearly triggered the current mess where everyone now knew about it.
—
Back at home, Shen Xiu reviewed and reorganized the casting spreadsheet for the second time. After uploading it again to multiple cloud drives, he sat back and reflected on how tasks like this were usually handled by his system—specifically, by the system acting as his agent.
Before logging in using the agent account, he decided to test the waters and called out tentatively:
“System, are you there?”
System:[!]
The system had just barely come online when Shen Xiu’s cold voice rang out.
Because it felt guilty—for bringing up the “see a doctor” issue, and especially for ghosting Shen Xiu all these days after—the system instantly responded without thinking:
System:[Here!]
Shen Xiu: “!”
He had only been testing it—he hadn’t actually expected the system to come online.
The system had been missing for several days, so Shen Xiu, thinking it might be busy, first asked, “Do you have time?”
Guilty System: […Yes.]
Only then did Shen Xiu open the plan he had created. “Everything I need to do recently is written here. Take a look and let me know if there’s anything wrong. If it’s all good—sorry to trouble you, and thanks.”
Silently, the system scanned the spreadsheet from Shen Xiu’s desktop into its database.
Less than a second later, after browsing and digesting the entire contents, the system was utterly bewildered.
In the ten days it had been gone, Shen Xiu had returned from receiving his award in Basat and had written an original movie script totaling 120,000 words entirely on his own. He had also compiled a list of potential actors with their contact info, finalized filming locations, and even secured two investors!
…Of course. This was Shen Xiu—even the system couldn’t keep up with how insanely productive he was!
What on earth had happened during the time it was too scared to log in?!
Wait… for Shen Xiu to have accomplished so much so quickly, did that mean…
Hah. As it suspected—Shen Xiu hadn’t gone to see a doctor. Otherwise, there’s no way he’d have had time to do all this.
Clearly, Shen Xiu had thrown himself into this whirlwind of work as a way to avoid facing the whole “seeing a doctor” issue.
Although the system had figured this out, it didn’t dare bring it up. It could only follow Shen Xiu’s lead and respond:
System: […Leave it to me.]
With practiced efficiency, the system logged into the agent-only account and immediately began adding all the contacts from the spreadsheet Shen Xiu had prepared.
As it waited for responses from the recipients, Shen Xiu’s voice suddenly rang out again.
“System, I’ve already seen a psychologist.”
Shen Xiu hesitated for a few seconds but ultimately didn’t have the heart to lie to the system that had been working so hard for him. He told the truth—that he had gone to see a psychologist.
System: [!]
The system didn’t dare make a sound, and Shen Xiu continued, “The doctor said the symptoms are mild, no medication needed.”
System: [?]
Chronic stress to the point where he can only numb himself through constant busyness, sleeping at 2 a.m. every night and waking up at 7 a.m., and that doesn’t need medication?
‘Heh, clearly lying to it again!’
The system thought one thing but said another: […Alright]
There was nothing it could do—since its reactivation, Shen Xiu hadn’t caused trouble for it. He was willing to let the past go and even willing to deceive it gently. What more could it ask for?
It had no desire to be reset again.
Following Shen Xiu’s schedule, the system quickly arranged audition times with interested artists.
News that Shen Xiu was preparing to film and about to hold auditions quietly spread throughout the entertainment industry.
On the day of the auditions, when it was revealed that Shen Xiu and Shi Buwen were personally present to evaluate actors, netizens were baffled.
— What? Shen Xiu’s actually serious about this? I thought that celebrity who accidentally mentioned auditioning for Shen Xiu’s new film during a livestream was just hyping things up. It’s real?! But there’s been no word about anyone buying a script or a screenwriter collaborating with Shen Xiu?
— Well, obviously! How could my Xiu-baby lie? If he said it, he’ll definitely follow through. But… now I’m really curious—what’s the original work?
— As expected of my Boss Xiu! Moves fast and hard—he’s going to send the whole film industry into a spiral of anxiety any day now!
— These days, most productions chase trending popularity, so they prefer adapting novels. In such a short amount of time, an original script is unlikely. He probably bought the rights to an obscure novel, which is why no word has gotten out yet.
— Camping here for the original novel!
…
Inside the audition room.
Shi Buwen, one of the assistant directors for this film, had brought a few assistant directors and screenwriters to “invest” in the project led by Shen Xiu as the main director.
But…
After they took their seats and received forms and scripts from Jin Can, who was temporarily serving as Shen Xiu’s assistant, they were stunned.
They had all participated in countless auditions, but this was the first time they’d seen someone list such meticulous requirements for a role—everything from height to facial features to even specific physical characteristics was detailed in the casting sheet.
They understood that when adapting a novel, it was important for the actors to resemble the original characters.
But in actual adaptations, finding actors who don’t match the novel’s descriptions is extremely common.
What’s more, Shen Xiu’s script wasn’t even based on a known novel—it was an original screenplay with no source material! And yet he’d set up all these strict parameters? That was just too demanding. How could he expect every actor to look exactly the way he envisioned?
Of course, as “supporting staff,” they only dared to complain internally. The moment they saw Shen Xiu sitting at the head of the table with a cold, imposing expression, not one of them dared to voice a word. At most, they quietly gossiped with Shi Buwen on the side.
The actors who had been invited to audition all came with a serious mindset, not daring to let their guard down—they were fully prepared to compete against a crowd of others.
After all… this was Shen Xiu’s very first film! Only an idiot would pass up the chance to compete for a role in it!
But—
When they arrived at the audition location in full gear, hearts pounding with nervous anticipation, and followed staff into the designated waiting room, they were stunned to find it almost completely empty.
As soon as the staff left, Ji Huaiyin couldn’t help but speak up.
“Did we go to the wrong place? There are only a few people here…”
Those few people looked completely unfamiliar—he didn’t recognize any of them from the industry or TV.
His manager looked confused too, but glanced around at the high-end surroundings and recalled the staff’s confident demeanor while guiding them. In a hushed voice, he said, “Probably… not? I mean, who else would use such a luxurious room as an audition waiting room? Only Shen Xiu—he’s got the money to pull off something like this.”
Ji Huaiyin thought about it and agreed. He sat down and muttered to himself, “There’s also the possibility that we just got here too early and the others haven’t arrived yet.”
The manager glanced at the time on his phone and replied softly, “Maybe. After all, the audition slots could be scheduled differently. It’s also possible that Shen Xiu arranged separate waiting rooms for different groups.”
The more Ji Huaiyin and his manager talked, the more convinced they became that their guesses were right, so they settled in quietly to wait for their turn.
As for the other few people in the room—they really had arrived early. Just as Ji Huaiyin had noticed, they were all relatively unknown actors who mostly worked in web dramas. They didn’t have managers and had to run their own auditions.
That’s why they didn’t dare cut things close and made sure to come early—just in case.
Seeing Ji Huaiyin, the others were excited but didn’t dare approach him recklessly—not when they weren’t even sure if they’d end up in the same production.
—
This was Shen Xiu’s first time directing a film, and he was extremely cautious.
He wanted it all: perfect timing, ideal setting, and the right people. As someone who usually had terrible luck, Shen Xiu greedily wished to have everything fall into place.
But Shen Xiu also knew that just wanting it didn’t make it so. That’s why he decided to take control of what he could—starting with the timing of the auditions. He manually picked what he considered an auspicious moment.
As was his habit, Shen Xiu arrived early. He glanced at the wall clock and, the very moment the second hand landed on the auspicious time he’d chosen, he spoke without delay: “Start.”
Jin Can hadn’t expected Shen Xiu to even remember him—let alone bring him on as a temporary assistant. He was both thrilled and anxious, terrified of making a single mistake and getting kicked out.
So he focused intently, and the moment he heard Shen Xiu’s voice, he immediately opened the door and called in the first actor for the audition.
Everything—from the audition scenes, the auditionees, their time slots, to the content itself—had all been meticulously arranged by Shen Xiu in the provided schedule.
Naturally, the lead role was the very first to be auditioned.
During his time in the waiting room, Ji Huaiyin did see a few more actors arrive.
While chatting with them, he discovered that they—like him—had been personally contacted by Shen Xiu’s manager. His heart sank a little.
He had originally assumed he was the only one the manager had reached out to, and that this meant he had a good chance. But after talking to the others, it became clear he’d been too optimistic.
Before Ji Huaiyin could dwell on that disappointment for too long, he was called in for his audition.
As his manager walked him to the audition room door, they leaned in and whispered encouragingly, “Go get ’em. You’ve got this!”
Thinking of what the other actors had said earlier, Ji Huaiyin forced a strained smile. “I probably don’t got this. After all, there were only a handful of us in that waiting room just now. There’s no way Shen Xiu’s film only has a few roles. There must be multiple audition rooms running at the same time. The competition’s going to be brutal. All I can do is perform my best, and whether that’s enough… well, that’s up to fate.”
“Honestly… with my luck, I’m not even sure if I’m in the audition room where Shen Xiu himself is watching.”
As he finished speaking, Ji Huaiyin had already reached the door.
He took a deep breath, then pushed it open and stepped inside—
And the moment he entered, despite the room being filled with people, his gaze locked immediately on the person seated at the head of the room: Shen Xiu.
Their eyes met—Shen Xiu’s face was expressionless, icy cold—and Ji Huaiyin’s pupils dilated. His whole body froze as if struck by a wave of overwhelming pressure, paralyzed on the spot, unable to move.
Jin Can frowned and looked over. “Mr. Ji?”
He handed Ji Huaiyin a sheet of paper. “You have ten minutes to review the script excerpt. We’ll begin after that—please prepare.”
“…Okay.” The sound of Jin Can’s voice jolted Ji Huaiyin back to his senses. He quickly lowered his head and, with slightly trembling fingers, took the thin sheet of paper, doing his best to focus.
The content was short—only about a thousand words.
But… after reading and rereading just the first five hundred, Ji Huaiyin’s eyes widened in shock. He couldn’t find a single author’s name anywhere on it.
His soul shook as he whispered a question from the depths of his heart:
“Who wrote this?”
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