Chapter Forty-One: An Impromptu Journey into Character Experience (Please add to your favorites and vote for recommendations!)

After chatting idly with a group of loyal fans in the square and exchanging WeChat contacts with Wu Ming for better communication, Li Shixin returned home. Though nothing of real importance had transpired that evening, his gains were not insignificant. From mingling with those eighty-plus fans, he had amassed over three thousand points of applause value in just one night. The amount wasn’t much, but seeing those single entries, marked with emotions such as “admiration,” “gratitude,” and “excitement,” each ranging from twenty to thirty, with peaks even surpassing fifty, Li Shixin realized how essential it was to nurture his fan base! Compared to the emotionless like-bots on Weibo, the difference between true fans and casual ones was like night and day.

Basing the calculation on the applause value contributed by his fan club, it seemed that with just tens of thousands of devoted followers, a single concert could yield several million points of applause value—a truly delightful prospect! With such bright hopes for the future, Li Shixin drifted into a peaceful sleep as soon as he returned home.

The night passed without incident.

...

While Li Shixin was deep in slumber, in the office building of Rongdian Tianmeng Cultural and Entertainment Company, Jiao Chendong was under immense pressure.

“Dongzi, you know the company’s rules. The script for this project wasn’t written by you—it’s the company’s property. Now that the investors want to designate the lead actors, what right do you have to be upset? Huh?!”

“Director Wang,” Jiao Chendong replied, wearing a bitter expression as the company’s general manager slammed the table. “'Riding the Wind' shouldn’t be turned into a purely commercial film! We can compromise with capital, add some commercial elements to this art film, but what I truly want is to make a movie worthy of entering film festivals! I don’t mind them appointing actors, but as I said before, every actor must pass an audition. Only those I approve can join the cast!”

“Damn it!” The manager, seeing Jiao Chendong’s stubbornness, yanked at his tie, cursing, “Have you lost your mind, making films? If the appointed actors could pass an audition, why would the investors need to designate them?!”

“I don’t care!” Jiao Chendong gritted his teeth. “As long as I’m directing, I’m in charge of casting!”

“Fine! Have it your way, Dongzi, our great Director Jiao!” The manager was livid, breathing heavily as his finger nearly jabbed Jiao Chendong’s nose. “Then we’ll hold auditions! We’ll all choose together! I want to see what kind of cast you can assemble for 'Riding the Wind,' and just what kind of film you’ll end up making!”

...

Jianhong Community.

Li Shixin had just finished making breakfast for Zhang Shuo and Zhang Ying when he received a call from Jiao Chendong.

“Good morning, old master.”

On the other end, Jiao Chendong’s voice sounded hoarse and weary.

“Sigh!” Li Shixin wiped his hands dry, picked up the phone, and chuckled. “Director Jiao, I was just thinking of calling you to ask when we’d be signing the contract!”

There was silence on the line for a moment before Jiao Chendong spoke. “Old master, that’s precisely why I’m calling.”

Hearing the hesitation in his voice, Li Shixin’s smile faded a bit. “Director Jiao, don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind? Oh dear... what’s wrong with my memory, who am I talking to again?”

“Alright, alright!” Jiao Chendong forced a laugh, quickly stopping him. “Old master, when you worked as our props master, you remembered every detail from decades ago. Your mind is as sharp as ever! Don’t play games with me—I surrender, okay?”

Li Shixin chuckled. “So, about the contract?”

“Sigh...” Jiao Chendong sighed and laid out the company’s dissatisfaction with him insisting on retaining casting rights. “Old master, I’m in a difficult position right now. But don’t worry, since I promised you, I won’t go back on my word. I’ve set aside a role for you—it’s a supporting part, but still quite important to the story’s progression.”

“Oh?” Li Shixin’s eyes brightened.

“But don’t get too excited just yet. Last night the company decided all main roles must be selected through unified auditions. I can only ensure you get an audition at our company. If you pass, the role is yours; if not... well, please don’t make things hard for me. Just focus on your work as props master, and I’ll find you a minor role with more lines. What do you say?”

Li Shixin mulled over Jiao Chendong’s words, understanding clearly. In other words, the opportunity was his, but whether he landed the role would depend on his own abilities.

“No problem!” After a brief calculation, Li Shixin replied confidently.

Jiao Chendong had feared the old man would make a fuss, but seeing him agree so readily, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, I’ll add your information. Keep your phone on—company will call in two weeks for auditions...”

As Jiao Chendong was about to hang up, Li Shixin interjected, “Wait! Director Jiao, can you at least give me a hint about what kind of role you’ve prepared for me in your new film?”

Usually, so early in a film’s development, roles and plot details were kept confidential. But since Li Shixin was already set to join the crew as props master, and only the acting part was uncertain, Jiao Chendong decided to reveal a little. “Old master, I can’t say much. If you truly want the role, study the on-screen portrayals of vagrants, scavengers, and the homeless. That kind of research will help you at the audition. That’s all I can tell you.”

As the busy signal sounded from the other end, Li Shixin stood bewildered in his kitchen.

His acting career was truly something else.

His first role had been an old beggar, and now it seemed his second would most likely be a scavenger. Was it impossible for him to play a normal person? Why was the Rongdian film crew so obsessed with beggars and scavengers? Was there something wrong with them?

...

Grumbling aside, Li Shixin took Jiao Chendong’s advice to heart.

It had been several days since the Liu Xin incident. With the investors involved and the “End of the Road” crew’s control of public opinion, the heat around the controversy had died down. The rate of applause value growth had slowed noticeably.

Now, with this rare opportunity from Jiao Chendong, Li Shixin was determined to seize it.

However, he had little regard for Jiao Chendong’s suggestion to study film portrayals to prepare for the role. On-screen depictions varied greatly depending on plot and context. To truly bring a character to life, the best approach was to experience it firsthand.

Sitting at the dining table, Li Shixin contemplated for a long while, then stood up. He took off his apron, folded it neatly, and returned to his room. After tidying up, he removed everything from his pockets except his ID card—money, bank cards, transit pass, phone—placing them all on his bed.

At that moment, as the sound of chattering echoed down the hallway, Zhang Shuo and Zhang Ying returned from grocery shopping. Entering the apartment, they were startled to see Li Shixin fully dressed and looking as if he were about to set off on a long journey.