Hong Yu adjusted her clothes. She smiled as she walked up the stairs, her hips swaying seductively with every step. The camera focused on her thin waist and hips; a number of men on the set stared, entranced. The actress playing the part of Hong Yu was, in fact, Wen Dongni. She reached the top of the stairs and folded her arms across her chest as undisguised contempt flashed through her eyes.
Wen Dongni was giving the role everything she had.
This was it—she was determined to crush the silly, naïve newcomer with her amazing acting skills.
When shooting a scene, it was extremely cruel for veteran actors to deliberately out-act new actors instead of working with them. It was a form of bullying on the set.
“Hong Yao! Mr. Zhang, the eldest son of the Zhang family, is here. You should go downstairs and entertain him, since you’re the most popular. Don’t forget that you’re a filthy prostitute now, and not some noble young lady from a wealthy family.” There was a disdainful gleam in Wen Dongni’s eyes as the nasty, barbed words rolled easily off her tongue— she was obviously a jaded, mean-spirited prostitute.
Jin Hailiang frowned, but allowed the camera to continue rolling.
The door creaked open. A young woman with exquisite features entered the room, a small smile on her face. She was wearing a blue cheongsam, a pair of black heels, and a white fox fur wrap. The slit of her cheongsam extended to her upper thighs. There was something oddly sophisticated about the woman.
Hong Yu was gorgeous, but the woman who had just entered the room was more than that: she was both fire and ice.
The woman stepped over the threshold and walked towards Hong Yu. The brief look she gave Hong Yu as she passed her by was cool and detached.
Hong Yu froze in place. Her red lips parted, but she could not remember how to speak. She struggled to breathe, feeling as though someone were strangling her.
That look… it was Hong Yao. Hong Yao was real.
It was all there: the seductive beauty of Hong Yao, the noble sophistication of Hong Yao, and all of her natural charms. Her courage and her couldn’t-care-less attitude towards life in general had been encapsulated in that split-second look. She was a woman who could stare death in the face and not even blink.
Hong Yao held her fur wrap securely around herself. Her eyes twinkled as her red lips curved upwards, ever so subtly. It was an ambiguous, mysterious expression: it was both a smile and not a smile.
She hummed a little song. It was a traditional Chinese ditty, but there was something haunting about the quiet, hushed way she sang. It tugged at the heartstrings of everyone present. It was only a short section of the song, but it made everyone long for more, like an itch they could not quite scratch.
The camera lingered on her retreating back as she walked away, fading into the distance. That was the end of the scene.
“Cut!” shouted the director. He was extremely pleased with the take.
Was this really a new actress? Everyone on the set finally snapped out of their trance. They could not believe what they had just seen: it simply wasn’t possible for someone new to acting to pull off such a flawless performance. Everything had been perfect, from the way she positioned herself to the timing of her walk.
Acting was a tricky thing: it was abstract, with no strict rules, and the only way to judge it was to compare one actor with another. Wen Dongni was fully aware of this, which was why her face had gone deathly pale; not even the thick makeup on her face could disguise the fact that she was now as white as a sheet.
That look from Yan Huan—no, not Yan Huan. The way she moved, the look in her eyes… it had been Hong Yao from Rouge Pavilion, in the flesh. No one else on the set realized it, but Wen Dongni had broken out into a cold sweat during the scene. She had even forgotten her lines.
