Many would call such a woman a dirty whore, but Yan Huan did not agree. Hong Yao, in her opinion, was still pure and noble, she was a woman who knew right from wrong, and always served the greater good. She could be nasty and mean, but she was not hateful. She was selfish, but not self-serving; she emptied the pockets of men, but she donated whatever she earned to the soldiers fighting on the front line. Her money bought them rice, noodles, and clothes.
Knowing all that, Yan Huan did not find Hong Yao’s role as a prostitute to be disgusting in any way. Hong Yao, in her opinion, deserved only sympathy.
She lowered her long lashes and leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs as she did so. If she had been wearing a cheongsam then, this simple action would have shown off the sultry curve of her thigh and delicate calves. It would have been extremely seductive. She moved to pick something up from the table. Though she was not actually holding anything, as she was only acting, everyone in the room immediately knew from her body language that she now had a cigarette in her hand.
She put the cigarette in her mouth. The movement was practiced, but lazy. She began to smoke, one small drag after another. She did not say a word, but the expression on her face and her body language spoke volumes: this was a woman with a heart of gold, who now had to sell her own body because life had treated her unfairly.
At that moment, she was living and breathing her role. She was no longer Yan Huan. She was Hong Yao.
As Hong Yao, she cast a derisive, self-deprecating eye on her present situation. She gazed longingly upon her past, but little did she know that her future held nothing for her: the life she was living now was all she would ever have. She was human trash, and she would spend the rest of her days eking out a pitiful existence as such. She was hopelessly tangled up with all the men around her, and, eventually, she would be forced to destroy her only ray of hope.
Yan Huan’s eyes fluttered close. She opened her eyes, stood up, and looked around: everyone in the room was still entranced by what they had just seen, and had not yet returned to reality. Their hearts ached for the woman who had had her life tragically cut short, the pure woman who had had to sink to a life of filth, the selfish woman who had, in the end, turned out to be selfless.
“You’re the one.” The scriptwriter for Love and Tribulations suddenly stood up. There were tears brimming in his eyes. “You’re the Hong Yao I want, the Hong Yao I’ve always imagined her to be.”
Yan Huan smiled demurely at his compliment.
Truth be told, she had expected as much. She knew that this was Jin Hailiang’s Hong Yao; it was also her Hong Yao, the Hong Yao she believed in. A good actor, aside from being able to act convincingly, had to have a deep understanding of his or her role.
In fact, the first time Yan Huan read the script, she could already tell that the scriptwriter had a special spot in his heart for Hong Yao. Hong Yao did not have many scenes—she wasn’t even important enough to receive third billing in the credits—but she was the heart and soul of the story. A careful reading of her brief appearances throughout the story had led Yan Huan to conclude that the show’s success largely depended on a flawless execution on the part of Hong Yao.
It was not unheard of for a single actor or actress to carry an entire show.
In Yan Huan’s previous life, she had carried many shows on her own. She was an actress who outshone everyone else in every scene she was in. No role had been too difficult for her. And now she had a profound understanding of Hong Yao’s character thanks to her acting experience in her previous life. Some would say this was one of Yan Huan’s special talents.
Some people were born to act. Yan Huan was one of them.
Yi Ling saw Yan Huan walk out of the audition room. She quickly ran over to Yan Huan and handed her a drink. Her eyes were wide as saucers; she was bursting with curiosity but did not dare ask the important questions: how was the audition? Was it a bust? Had they rejected her? Had Yan Huan somehow put on an embarrassingly bad performance in front of everyone?
Yan Huan accepted the cup. She removed the lid and drank slowly.
Yi Ling noted Yan Huan’s silence and immediately assumed she had failed the audition. “It’s okay, Huanhuan. There are other opportunities waiting for us.” She continued in a soothing tone, “We should look at this from a different angle. I mean, did you see that smug look on Wen Dongni’s face? I overheard her telling her assistant that she had the role of Hong Yao in the bag. Well, so what if we didn’t get the part? There’s still the role of Xiao Tao, right?”
