C3 Part4

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P – Chapter 3.3

P – Chapter 3.4

He walked past that meeting room, its door wide open. A few people had already left, and Zhou Ru was smoking in the corridor with a cameraman. When she saw him coming back by himself, she grinned at him and asked, “Where’s the young master? Bring him over for a chat.”

“Couldn’t catch him — he’s too quick.” Zheng Yin stopped walking. “What do you think? Are you happy now that you’ve seen him in real life?”

“He’s Director Cao and Li You-laoshi’s only child, and he has such outstanding credentials. I’d be too hard to please if I wasn’t happy,” Zhou Ru said, shaking her head with a smile, a cigarette in her long, slender fingers.

“That’s good to hear,” Zheng Yin laughed. “You did leak me the script. At least you didn’t risk getting yelled at for nothing.”

“I actually also quite like the boy who was with him.” Zhou Ru was a blunt, straightforward person, and now, she joked, “I would’ve written a dual male lead script if I’d known Director Cao was bringing back a boy so well-matched with the young master. Too bad. It’s so cruel to only be able to choose one of them.”

“All newcomers were chosen through a process like this.”

“True…” Zhou Ru shrugged.

“You guys keep chatting,” Zheng Yin said with a smile. He pointed ahead. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

After gesturing ‘go ahead’ at him, Zhou Ru continued to talk with the cameraman, still smoking.

This studio had been built not too long ago — it’d opened for business only at the beginning of this year. The bathroom was still pretty clean and tidy.

Standing in the cubicle, Liang Sizhe stood staring at the grey white doors for a good long while; he was rubbing the joints of his left middle finger with his thumb rather forcefully without even realising.

He’d thought his scar about playing violin had already finished healing over. After all, when Cao Xiuyuan asked him that night about whether he could still play, his heart had been smooth and calm. But when he heard those words coming out of that room, he suddenly realised: he didn’t have a scar. A scar was the sign of a wound having healed, having had new flesh grown over it. What he actually had was a scab — it covered the top of his wound, looking so very thick and hard to penetrate at first glance; it looked capable of withstanding anything. But as long as someone found the right angle and used their fingers to gently tug at a corner, they would realise it was easy to tear open, fresh blood gurgling and flowing out from the wound as the piercing pain spread all over his body to every single one of his nerve endings. It was honestly… very painful.

He’d been alive for seventeen years, and his first memories were of his mother carrying him into her violin lectures and placing him down in the middle of a group of older boys and girls — he’d climbed around to touch those four intriguing violin strings. All of his memories, both good and bad, were related to the violin. At five, he practiced Summer Nights; at seven, he practiced Butterfly Lovers’ Violin Concerto; at thirteen, he practiced Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin; at fifteen, he practiced pieces from Niccolo Paganini…

“You’re not allowed to eat today if you don’t get this piece right.”

“Your dad’s coming back today specifically to watch your competition.”

“That auntie earlier said your playing’s filled with energy and spirit. She’s an internationally renowned violinist.”

“I have such a great son — the time and effort I spent on you haven’t been wasted. Tell me, what would you like Dad to buy for you as a reward this time?”

“Both of us will take you to the competition this time… What do you mean, no need? It’s such an important competition, we definitely need to watch it! Or do you want only Mum to go with you? Why are you frowning… Do you want Dad instead? …Fine, fine fine, I’ll stop talking about it…”

All of those memories were accompanied by screams of terror and the sharp sounds of a car braking — as well as the weight and warmth that had instantly covered him. And then, everything ceased without warning. He heard nothing else.

The violin that had once occupied most of his life — the violin that had once carried the meaning of everything for him — was ripped away from him just that explosively.

Yeah, he really was useless now… From deep within his mind, a voice came and said, that guy was right, wasn’t he?

He heard footsteps outside, and then Zheng Yin called out his name. “Sizhe, are you there?”

Liang Sizhe didn’t respond.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to come out. I can speak from here,” Zheng Yin said after a pause.

Forget it. It couldn’t get any worse, Liang Sizhe thought. Since there was no way for him to avoid Zheng Yin, he might as well face him head-on.

“I’m here.” His voice was terribly raspy. After pushing open the cubicle door and exiting, he looked at Zheng Yin and said, voice calm yet detached. “Go ahead.”

He stood in front of Zheng Yin, body straight and tall, and was taller than him by several centimetres. Most of his feelings were no longer reflected on his face, and as he stood in front of the transparent window, his lean body was like a thin blade, its shimmering edge honed sharp and incisive.

He’s too rigid — he’s going to break sooner or later1… Zheng Yin thought, looking at the thin yet knife-edged boy in front of him.

“Sizhe.” Zheng Yin paused for a moment, considering how he should say it. He cautiously said, “Your teacher at school told me about your situation…”

After only this one sentence, Liang Sizhe interrupted him, saying, “There’s no need to talk about the past. I don’t need pity.”

Taken aback, Zheng Yin took a moment to say, “All right. Then we’ll talk only about what happened today. Those things earlier… You heard them, right?”

Liang Sizhe let out a ‘mn’.

“They were a bit much, I know. I apologise to you on behalf of everyone…”

“No need to say that either,” Liang Sizhe said almost coldly. “I don’t need your apologies, and neither do I accept it.”

“Very well. Then we won’t talk about that either.” Zheng Yin didn’t push further. With a nod, he continued, “Let’s talk about the casting.”

He didn’t expect Liang Sizhe to interrupt the flow of his words; Liang Sizhe raised his head and said, “I’ll ask, and you answer. Is that okay?”

This child’s personality really did match his outer appearance, Zheng Yin inwardly said to himself. As a newcomer, he shouldn’t be so stubborn and unyielding to his seniors — what kind of newcomer immediately grabs hold of the conversation like this? But he didn’t say anything, only giving him a mild smile. “Sure. What did you want to ask?”

Liang Sizhe went straight to the point with no intention of circling around at all. “Did you guys intend on using Cao Ye for the role right from the start?”

After a moment, Zheng Yin replied, “We did think about using Cao Ye from the beginning…”

He spoke slowly, and he’d only finished half his sentence when Liang Sizhe asked his next question. “In that case, why look for me? Why did you bring me here?”

By this point, Zheng Yin didn’t want to pretend anymore. He shook his head and said bluntly, “Sizhe, you don’t understand how risky it is to use a newcomer. This film is a multi-million, almost a one hundred million yuan investment. Hundreds of workers will be working on this. We need to do justice to the character.”

He paused here, taking a moment to observe Liang Sizhe: he was slightly frowning, his eyes indifferent and cold, yet he didn’t look like he was going to interrupt. And so Zheng Yin continued, “Every newcomer needs to go through multiple rounds of screening before we decide on who to use for each film. Did you see those boys who came to audition with you today? They’ve already gone through several rounds of auditions by the production crew before being able to stand in front of Director Cao… As for you, you were very lucky. You were personally chosen by him. But you need to understand — that night, Director Cao said you could come to Beijing if you were willing to give acting a try. But before being actually casted, no one can guarantee you a role. It was the same for Cao Ye, or else there would’ve been no point in me bringing him over for the screen test today.”

He spoke for a long while, and he was surprised that Liang Sizhe didn’t interrupt him at all, only calmly nodding at the end and saying, “I understand.”

Zheng Yin let out a silent sigh in relief. Looking at him, he asked, “Do you have anything else you want to ask?”

“The results from today’s screen test have been finalised, right?”

“You heard us earlier. I won’t lie to you — at the moment, everyone does lean towards casting Cao Ye.”

“I see.” Liang Sizhe lowered his gaze. “Then I can leave whenever I want, right?”

“That…” Zheng Yin hesitated. “I think you should talk to Director Cao before you leave. But Sizhe, Beijing’s very large and there are many opportunities. If you want to stay here, you can continue living in Lan Yan…”

Hearing that, Liang Sizhe lifted his head back up and candidly said, “And help you continue watching over Cao Ye?”

Zheng Yin responded with a rue smile. “I won’t say otherwise if you want to put it so bluntly… There’s also the favour I owe you. If you really are interested in acting, I can help introduce you to other productions.”

Liang Sizhe shook his head at that. “To repay me that favour, you only need to honestly answer my final question.”

“All right.”

“Are you guys casting Cao Ye because he really does fit the character better than everyone else, or is it because he’s Director Cao’s son?”

Zheng Yin didn’t think he would ask so directly — he froze. After a moment of thought, he answered, “How do I say this… The scriptwriter wrote this film after being inspired by one of Cao Ye’s photographs. Without Cao Ye, this script, this film might not even exist. Director Cao might not have gone to your music secondary school, you and Cao Ye might not have ever gone to Lan Yan, and today’s screen test might not have even happened. Do you understand what I mean?”

With his eyes dropped again, Liang Sizhe replied, “Mn. I get it.”

There was an air of haughtiness around this boy, Zheng Yin thought, watching him. In the end, he couldn’t help it — he raised a hand and patted Liang Sizhe’s shoulder. “Think carefully about what you want to do in the future. If you need me to help, you can call me. You have my number.”

“Mn. Thank you,” Liang Sizhe said.

After Zheng Yin left, Liang Sizhe bent over the sink and washed his face with cold water.

He felt much more awake once the cold water splashed over him. Lifting his head, he looked at himself in the mirror: the face in front of him, pale and colourless, appeared fragile and depressed, and he couldn’t quite recognise it.

What Zheng Yin had just said reminded him — this was Beijing. It wasn’t Yan City, and it definitely wasn’t his music school. He and Cao Ye weren’t competitors at all; there were several thousand miles in between their starting lines, so what kind of competition between them could there be?

Underneath the shadow of such a large Imperial City, Liang Sizhe was nothing — he was no longer the boy who played violin so skilfully or the boy who deserved being the music school’s premier violinist so fully that everyone else could only be his accompaniments.

Especially since he could no longer play the violin.

It would be a lie to say he didn’t feel frustrated; it would be a lie to say he hadn’t hoped.

The night Cao Xiuyuan had personally come up to him, Liang Sizhe’s eyes had stayed wide open all night. He hadn’t slept for a single second.

Cao Xiuyuan had said, When it comes to being an actor, it’s not important whether or not he knows how to play, and it had felt like the sentence had suddenly opened up a new path for him; within his desperate, directionless world, he had been suddenly given a new direction. It was exactly on that night when he’d thought it was time to end those blurry, drifting days. People couldn’t always stay at a standstill with nowhere to go — eventually, they would always need to keep walking forward.

But he’d only walked a tiny part of that path, and now, he abruptly realised it was a dead end. If he continued any further, he might end up landing on air.

Perhaps this was fate playing a well-intentioned joke on him, Liang Sizhe thought with a sigh. By granting him a grand dream, it helped him understand that he wasn’t actually entirely useless. He still had the strength and courage to try something new.

But this was the end of this particular road. Time for a new one. Time… to wake up.

–

The vibrations of his phone in his pants pocket next to his thigh brought Liang Sizhe out of his thoughts. Wiping away the water on his face, he pulled out his phone.

It was a call from Cao Ye.

Liang Sizhe cleared his throat as he accepted the call, but his voice was still a bit husky. “Hello?”

“Are they still there?” Cao Ye asked over the phone.

“Probably.” Liang Sizhe turned around, leaning against the sink. He knew Cao Ye was asking about the people in the meeting room.

“Why haven’t they left… Then why don’t you come out? Can you guess what I’m doing?” Cao Ye intentionally played mysterious.

“I can’t,” Liang Sizhe said. He was currently in no mood to guess these things.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to. You’ll find out once you come here, I’m in Studio 8. Hurry it up,” Cao Ye urged.

“All right,” Liang Sizhe responded. Even over the phone, he could imagine the energy and liveliness on Cao Ye as he spoke — it set off his own lifelessness. If Cao Ye was a sunflower born for the sun, then he himself was most likely a plant on the verge of withering away, left in a corner away from the light. At this thought, Liang Sizhe’s mouth faintly quirked; he chuckled very softly.

Once Cao Ye hung up, Liang Sizhe slowly pushed his phone back into his pocket, straightened up from the sink and walked out of the bathroom.

The door was still closed when he walked past that meeting room. The voices inside could be heard, but this time, Liang Sizhe didn’t stop. He walked away quickly.

But his footsteps slowed again as soon as he left that studio. He actually didn’t really want to see Cao Ye right now — or more accurately, he didn’t want to see anyone, and especially not Cao Ye.

Before today, he’d never once felt he was any different from Cao Ye. He’d grown up well-loved, and in the music school, he’d even been considered by other people as someone destined for a glittering future. During those few times he’d come to Beijing for competitions, he’d still stood out the most, the star performer, among all the other competitors.

But after going through today, he suddenly understood why Zheng Yin had asked him to help look over Cao Ye from the start — it hadn’t been a request at all, but rather an assumed order. The unspoken words hidden behind that ‘request’ had been: you have no chance in the audition this time, but if you can help me take care of our young master, I might be able to reward you with another opportunity.

What ‘favour’, what ‘help’ and ‘leave it to you’… They had all simply been insincere excuses.

Now looking back at it, everything honestly seemed very ridiculous. Liang Sizhe laughed at himself mockingly — he really was too young. He knew nothing of the world.

Translator has something to say:

This is translated rather literally: 过刚易折. Overly stiff and hence will be easy to break. Similar in meaning to the common phrase ‘bend before you break’ — Zheng Yin is saying LSZ doesn’t know how to compromise/be flexible and so might one day ruin his relationships with the people around him. ↩

P – Chapter 3.5

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