Chapter Ninety-Nine: There’s a Talented Person in the Support Group! (Please Save and Recommend!)

The script was finalized, leaving only the props and casting to be handled. When it came to props for the play, Li Shixin’s expertise combined with Zhang Ying’s studio made it a completely manageable task.

Casting, however, was a different matter.

For lengthy plays like "Thunderstorm" or "Teahouse," which featured dozens of characters, Li Shixin couldn’t possibly decide on everyone at once. He had to sift through the many minor actors from Rongdian, hoping to find some promising talents, ideally those with a background in drama.

This was something he couldn’t do himself.

But that didn’t matter.

He had his godson for that!

Just as Zhang Shuo had recently stood up for An Xiaoxiao, Li Shixin handed the responsibility over to him.

When Zhang Shuo heard he needed to pick gold from a bunch of extras, he slapped himself across the face.

“Should’ve known better than to speak out of turn! Don’t you know what kind of man your godfather is?”

Seeing Zhang Shuo’s gloomy acceptance, Li Shixin chuckled. “There’s one more thing.”

“I knew it! Nothing good comes from you keeping an eye on things!” Zhang Shuo sighed.

“Your orders, godfather.”

Li Shixin was very pleased watching his godson, who had been trained to obey his commands without question.

Compared to the two classic plays, the plot of "Only You" was simpler: four acts, three scenes, and just a handful of main characters—the father, the daughter in adolescence, the daughter in middle age, the daughter’s husband, and a few extras.

As the playwright, Li Shixin naturally reserved the most important role for himself—the father, who appeared from adulthood into old age, clearly the centerpiece.

The other significant role was the daughter. Now that An Xiaoxiao was secured, playing the adolescent daughter was no problem; he’d find someone else for the middle-aged version later.

Besides those two, there was the daughter’s husband, a character with limited stage time but crucial to the plot, along with a few extras.

Li Shixin wanted Zhang Shuo to play the daughter’s husband.

Zhang Shuo was stunned. “Godfather, I can’t.”

Seeing the panic on Zhang Shuo’s face, Li Shixin smiled knowingly.

After spending time together, Li Shixin understood his godson thoroughly.

Zhang Shuo, as the head of the extras, spent his days delivering people to the set, then hanging back in the corners watching actors at work.

Li Shixin had asked him multiple times if he was interested in acting, suggesting that Jiao Chendong could arrange something, but Zhang Shuo always declined with the same excuse.

Recalling what Zhang Ying had told him when they first came to this family, Li Shixin smirked.

“Shuo’er, scared?”

“Who said I’m scared? I just…” Zhang Shuo stiffened his neck but finally gave in. “Old man, I’ve got so many extras under my wing. I’ll find you a good one. I really can’t act.”

“Come on, brother!” Zhang Ying, seeing Zhang Shuo refuse Li Shixin’s plan, grew anxious.

Since Li Shixin arrived, the household had changed a lot.

But Zhang Ying had always hoped her worthless brother could gain confidence, let go of his obsessions, and live as freely as Li Shixin did.

Others might not know, but as his sister, she understood: acting was Zhang Shuo’s obsession.

Perhaps due to insecurity, or because the fixation had become a barrier, despite all his exposure to drama troupes, Zhang Shuo never landed a role for himself.

Zhang Ying didn’t wish for her brother to become a big star—she just wanted him to overcome that hurdle and live more easily.

“The old man has arranged everything. Just help out! There’s not much to do on set now; you don’t need to be there every day! It’s just a play, not some big movie. With your godfather guiding you, what’s there to worry about?”

“Exactly,” chimed in An Xiaoxiao, who had grown close to Zhang Shuo recently.

Despite their encouragement, Zhang Shuo still looked burdened, and Li Shixin laughed quietly.

“Alright, if you don’t want to get involved, I won’t force you. But when Xiaoxiao and I rehearse at home, you can help us run lines, right?”

At the mention of acting away from the audience, just at home, Zhang Shuo’s scared face brightened with excitement. “Sure! That works!”

Seeing the bait taken, Li Shixin smiled.

He fetched his handwritten script from the inner room and tossed it to Zhang Shuo and An Xiaoxiao.

“Familiarize yourselves with the script. I’m off to cook!”

...

Over the next few days, Li Shixin rehearsed at home with An Xiaoxiao and Zhang Shuo while using Zhang Shuo’s connections to recruit several capable drama actors from Rongdian.

Classic plays like "Teahouse" and "Thunderstorm" were the stepping stones for drama actors. Anyone calling themselves a drama actor would at least be competent with these plays, saving Li Shixin a lot of trouble.

Meanwhile, when he went to the "Flying with the Wind" crew to supervise props, he brought back a few tall fellows to the small theater, teaching them skills like curtain, lighting, and sound.

The grassroots troupe was coming together.

The old fans had tidied up the small theater to look respectable.

Everything was ready; all that remained was rehearsal before the premiere.

According to Li Shixin’s plan, it would be best to open with his play "Only You," using classic dramas as a supplement to enrich the stage.

The urgent task was to rehearse "Only You" as soon as possible.

At the Children’s and Youth Center:

“Brother Shixin, everything’s set up. How’s the rehearsal going? When do we start?”

Though the theater wasn’t open yet, the old fans, restless at home, had made the small theater their meeting place.

Wu Ming had even spent his own money on teapots and cups, effectively becoming the theater’s manager.

Facing Wu Ming’s question, Li Shixin motioned to the tall fellow familiar with the lighting, indicating he would practice alone, then stepped into the crowd of old fans.

“We’re still short one actor for the new play. Once we find someone and rehearse, we can start. No rush—it’ll only take a few days.”

Hearing the small theater still needed an actor, Elder Liu Feng brightened.

“Hey? Shixin, what do you think I can play? This small theater belongs to us old pals. Just pick a few of us to go on stage for a bit!”

“That’s a good idea!”

Li Shixin chuckled. “Feng Ge, come on. The role I have now is a female character. Could you pull that off?”

“If he can’t, we can!”

Li Shixin’s words fired up a group of grandmothers.

Looking at the crowd of elderly ladies, Li Shixin twitched. “Uh… age is a problem. This role is for a character in their thirties or forties…”

“Ah… then forget we said anything.”

The old fans weren’t embarrassed; they turned and went about their business.

At that moment, the small theater door opened.

Zhao Jinzhi, unseen for days, entered in a casual down jacket. Seeing everyone, she smiled and greeted them.

“Everyone’s here? Big brother, I saw your messages in the WeChat group. When’s the theater opening? I’ll bring some flower baskets.”

The old fans brightened at the sight of Zhao Jinzhi.

“Hey, Shixin, look at little Zhao—petite and lively. She should be fine, right?”

Zhao Jinzhi, suddenly the center of attention, blinked. “What do you mean ‘fine’?”

“Uh, ha ha,” Li Shixin was truly at a loss. He interacted with fans but drama was serious business; he couldn’t be lenient.

That was a principle.

He had let Zhang Shuo join only because it was either he’d make it or they’d find someone else; no half-measures.

He was reluctant about fans making cameo appearances, especially for such a crucial adult daughter role, which shone in the climax of "Only You."

“I didn’t say anything!”

Before Li Shixin could find an excuse, Wu Ming spoke up anxiously.

“To be clear, the new play needs an actor. Little Zhao can’t do it! She’s so busy, who has time to rehearse and act? Right?”

Zhao Jinzhi raised an eyebrow. “I’m not busy. Nothing much going on lately.”

Wu Ming’s face darkened instantly; was she serious?

“Uh, well, still no. You’ve never acted before. What if you mess up on stage? Brother Shixin, we have plenty of actors in Rongdian. You should find the right one quickly, okay?”

Hearing this, Zhao Jinzhi smiled.

She looked around at everyone, then at Li Shixin, who was staring at the ceiling, and shrugged off her down jacket.

Without a word, she strode onto the prepared stage.

Looking at the puzzled old fans below, she took a breath and adopted a pose holding a teapot.

“Chief of Staff, don’t flatter me. Self-sacrifice is not what I deserve. Running a teahouse, hoping for prosperity, loyalty and brotherhood come first. The commander frequently visits, and I, relying on a big tree for shade, am also blessed by the commander’s grace, able to face hardship and emerge safely.”

On stage, Zhao Jinzhi transformed into a clever Ah Qing Sao. Her resonant Peking Opera singing filled the small theater, leaving Li Shixin agape.

Not only him—every old fan was stunned by Zhao Jinzhi’s sudden performance.

But she wasn’t done!

After the crisp, melodious lines of Ah Qing Sao, she straightened, raised her right hand, and mimed holding a cigarette.

Ah Qing Sao instantly became Diao De Yi.

“The New Fourth Army has long been at Shajiabang, this big tree offers shade. You have frequent contact with them, surely your arrangements and care are meticulous?”

“Seven-star stove lit, copper kettle boiling the Three Rivers. Setting the Eight Immortals’ table to welcome guests from all sixteen directions, all depend on a few words. Meet with smiles, forget afterward. When a person leaves, the tea grows cold. What meticulous arrangements? No, no, meticulous!”

“Good!”

As Zhao Jinzhi finished her rendition from "The Wise Fight," the small theater erupted in applause.

“Big brother, what do you think? Not bad, right?”

Watching her play two roles with striking singing, movements, and expressions, Li Shixin clicked his tongue.

What kind of gods did he have in his fan club?