Who Needs a CEO? I Choose Stardom

Chapter 70: Chapter 66: An Xin

The person most affected by An Xin’s arrival was probably the director, Chen Zhiwen.

It was anyone’s guess what time he’d finished rewriting the script the night before. When filming began the next day, his eyes were completely bloodshot. He was slumped in his director’s chair, his light beige, quilted tunic wrinkled and unchanged from the day before. He seemed unwilling to speak unless absolutely necessary and looked utterly drained.

But his lethargy was his own problem. For everyone else, a day without the director constantly nitpicking made even the sky seem much bluer.

However, without the director micromanaging every little thing, it took some getting used to at first.

Fortunately, the scenes for the first five days were ones they had just recently shot. Every department, including the actors, was still familiar with them. Plus, An Xin’s acting was solid and she was incredibly professional, so filming went quite smoothly.

An Xin wasn’t what you’d call a great beauty. You’d never find her on one of those "Most Beautiful Stars in Showbiz" lists.

But she had eyes that could tell a story, acting skills that were the pinnacle for an actress, and the work ethic of a newcomer clawing her way up from the bottom. Add to that her formal academy training and her marriage to Song Huating—a true power couple alliance—and her network was unbelievably vast.

In the body’s original owner’s memory, she seemed to have gotten famous not long after her debut.

What was most remarkable was that in over a decade, she had remained at the top without any negative press.

On her first day, An Xin treated everyone to hot milk tea. With that simple gesture, everyone accepted her. They were all calling her "Sister An" left and right, as if a person named Luo Susu had never existed.

When it was time for the afternoon meal break, they were on a tight schedule with two more scenes to shoot that night. So even though An Xin’s home was in Shanghai, she didn’t leave the set.

Ni Bingyan went back to her car, quickly finished her meal, and was looking over the script when Song Huating arrived with their children for a set visit.

The couple poured a lot of love into their children. No matter how busy they were, one of them would always stay home to watch the kids.

This was also why they both took on relatively few projects and consistently appeared in high-quality productions.

When they were that selective, it would have been strange if the quality *wasn’t* high.

The two children had probably just gotten out of school, as they were both wearing their uniforms.

It was a good school, and the uniforms were high-quality. They looked thin, but the children didn’t seem cold despite the frigid weather.

The older boy, eight years old and in elementary school, was like a little gentleman. The younger daughter, five years old and probably still in kindergarten, looked like a little princess in her cashmere dress.

The older son was more reserved; he’d say hello and then stand quietly to the side. The younger daughter, however, took after Song Huating a bit more. She was very lively and was currently holding up a drawing she’d made in kindergarten that day for her mother to see.

After she was done showing off her drawing, she insisted on singing a nursery rhyme she had just learned that day. She sang and danced, making her mother grin so widely her eyes nearly disappeared.

Ni Bingyan saw the two adorable children and was practically crying with envy.

It was rare to have children on set. Ni Bingyan grabbed some winter jujubes that Wu Huijuan had just bought that day, checked with An Xin, and then offered them to the kids.

The two children were exceptionally polite, thanking her in unison, "Thank you, Sister Bingbing."

Ni Bingyan was absolutely delighted.

"Bingbing seems to really like children."

An Xin smiled often.

Her voice wasn’t soft or delicate; it had a unique, stately quality to it, but her disposition was very gentle.

Song Huating had helped her before, and since it was the cast and crew’s meal break, Ni Bingyan felt it would be rude not to go over and chat for a bit, especially since they would be working together.

"Ah, I guess, haha. Maybe once I have kids of my own, I’ll start thinking they’re a handful!"

"Then you should find a capable, kid-friendly husband like me," Song Huating chimed in. "Then you can live the good life like your Sister An."

Everyone laughed at his shamelessness.

Ni Bingyan then brought up the previous incident to An Xin. "Those paparazzi are impossible to avoid. You can just be walking down the street and they’ll spin some story about you. I’m so grateful for Brother Song’s help last time."

"Oh, that? It was nothing."

An Xin knew it had been a resource exchange, so she didn’t feel the need to accept Ni Bingyan’s thanks. She changed the subject, asking about *Great Grandmaster*. "Didn’t you audition for *Great Grandmaster*?"

She was surprised that Ni Bingyan hadn’t tried to get a role in the film, given her connection to Wei Shuojie.

After all, major productions like this were rare, and nearly everyone involved was a top player in the industry. From An Xin’s perspective, an actress’s prime is short. It’s better to seize a high-quality opportunity like this than to act in a bunch of filler roles.

’*Great Grandmaster* had been in development for three years and was a rare awards contender. The first four female leads were already cast, and with her status, she wouldn’t stoop to competing for the fifth female lead.’

But Ni Bingyan didn’t say that. She just explained that she had other work and a scheduling conflict, so it wasn’t possible.

"I accepted the female lead in *Demon Suppression Tower*, and it starts filming after the New Year. The production team is planning to shoot on location in the desert, so I have no idea when it will wrap. I definitely wouldn’t have time for *Great Grandmaster*."

’There was no need to turn down a leading role just to shove someone aside for a third or fourth-tier part.’

’She’d already been in the industry for five years, so a newcomer award was out of the question. Third and fourth female leads almost never won Best Supporting Actress, either. Why make enemies over something like that?’

’Right now, she didn’t need more fame. She needed awards.’

’With enough awards, she could be landing the second female lead in a major production like this by the year after next, at the latest.’

Hearing this, An Xin’s smile grew a little complicated.

’She was actually quite envious of film-focused actors like Ni Bingyan. She’d started in movies right from her debut and had been filming them for years. With a bit of luck, all her films got successful releases and did well at the box office. Her cachet had risen, and her experience had accumulated.’

’Just look at her now. Without any extra effort, she could naturally land a lead role, and no one could question her qualifications.’

’A small production this year, a major IP adaptation next. If she performed well, the year after she’d be aiming for the Golden Rooster, Golden Horse, and Hong Kong Film Awards. After she’d won most of the major Chinese-language awards, various international A-list awards would be waiting for her.’

’Unlike her.’

’It was a matter of timing and fate. A different starting point meant a different destination, and trying to switch tracks midway was incredibly difficult.’

’Back then, she probably thought she was being clever. "Get famous as early as you can," right? But looking back, her ambitions just weren’t high enough. She grabbed the first opportunity that came her way and started down that road without a single thought for the future.’

’She also had to admit she wasn’t beautiful enough, and her acting back then wasn’t as polished as it was now. To make a name for herself, her only option was to seize every single opportunity and claw her way up.’

’Sigh. It wasn’t that she wasn’t brave. If she had been that stubborn, she’d probably still be a Z-list nobody today.’

’She understood all of it, but her heart still ached a little.’

"That’s great."

When An Xin gave only a short reply and said nothing more, Ni Bingyan took the hint and didn’t overstay her welcome. She excused herself, leaving the family to their heartwarming moment.

’An Xin was proud and reserved, not like Ni Bingyan, who could get along with anyone.’

’Even though An Xin had a great reputation, handled herself well, and had no major personality flaws, Ni Bingyan could feel their vibes just didn’t mesh. They probably couldn’t become close friends, so Ni Bingyan immediately retreated to a professional distance and stopped trying to get closer.’

’Friendship requires a certain chemistry. As colleagues, being polite was enough.’

’Take Peng Huan, for instance. She’d felt an immediate rapport with her. Now, even though they were working on different sets, they still chatted and gossiped whenever they had a free moment.’

After a satisfying meal and a short nap, she was roused at eight p.m. by an assistant to get her makeup done.

It couldn’t be helped. Her character, Shen Bingyi, was a doctor—a chief resident, no less—which meant a lot of night scenes.

An Xin didn’t have a round face; it was actually a little squarish. Unlike Luo Susu’s boisterous portrayal of Gong Lili, An Xin’s version was a bit obstinate. To adapt to the new female lead, Ni Bingyan had to adjust her own performance accordingly.

The original dynamic of motion and stillness was no longer appropriate. Her performance had to become a bit more dynamic, and as soon as she did that, her original characterization had to shift as well.

’She felt some of the changes were needlessly finicky, but Chen Zhiwen didn’t agree.’

’It was a wonder he hadn’t worked himself to death.’

’Sigh!’

The first day must have felt a bit off, because the next morning, the director organized a last-minute script read-through, invoking the old saying, "Sharpening the axe doesn’t delay the woodcutting."

’The thought of having to reshoot the first few scenes, compressing their schedule even further and likely keeping them there until midnight again, made Ni Bingyan want to give up on life.’

She glanced at Screenwriter Lu Yi and his few remaining strands of hair, silently marveling at the strange man. Then, Ni Bingyan resignedly listened to Chen Zhiwen explain his vision for the scenes.

"An Xin playing a hyperactive character would be too jarring for the audience; the contrast is just too stark. So we’ve changed her character to be someone who gets excited easily, with a kind of cute obstinacy and a heart-wrenching naivety, you get it? The female lead believes in love and yearns for it. Her eyes light up when she talks about a wonderful romance. But her thought process is a bit muddled. She always thinks that being good to a man will earn her the same treatment in return..."

Chen Zhiwen had his own detailed vision for every character, so everyone listened intently.

After finishing with An Xin, he turned to Ni Bingyan. "As for Shen Bingyi, she’s a very clear-eyed person. She works in a hospital, so she’s seen her share of life and death, of final goodbyes, and of couples who abandon each other at the first sign of trouble. She has no expectations for love; in fact, she’s even repulsed by it. This film is being released on Valentine’s Day, you understand? We can’t just cater to passionate couples. We also have to consider the needs of single people and those going through a breakup. Your character is designed for that part of the audience..."

After laying out the fleshed-out character profiles, he went on to describe various details in the design that he was proud of, telling everyone they had to pay attention.

"The details make or break it, my friends!"

’Ni Bingyan complained silently to herself. Don’t they say screenwriters treat their work like their own children? How could Lu Yi just let him mangle it like this?’

Perhaps her expression gave something away, because Lu Yi’s sensitive, scholarly heart couldn’t help but tremble violently.

He uncomfortably adjusted his few surviving strands of hair, trying to arrange them in a comb-over to cover half his bald spot. Only then did he pull out his phone and send a private message to Ni Bingyan: [Don’t ask me why. The only answer is that the company paid too much.]

Ni Bingyan wasn’t one to check her phone often, so she didn’t see the message until just before bed. When she did, she nearly died laughing.

’Who knew Screenwriter Lu wasn’t just sharp with his dialogue but in real life, too? Especially his eyes—his powers of observation were incredible!’

’He’s been in this industry for so many years, and he’s so perceptive and astute. He must know an incredible number of secrets, right?’