No, she thought as she shook her head. She still wasn’t convinced: Yan Huan was just a stunt double, there was no way she knew how to act. She vowed to destroy the newcomer in the next scene, and have her removed from the production. She, Wen Dongni, would be Yan Huan’s recurring nightmare for the rest of her life.
After a short break, they began shooting the next scene.
Inside Rouge Pavilion, the customers were having a merry time feasting and engaging in acts of debauchery. The fragrance of the women’s perfumed powder mingled with the stink of sweat from the men; it was a distinctive smell, and it pervaded Rouge Pavilion.
Hong Yu sauntered from man to man, flirting with her customers wherever she went. She was in her element. She cast a smug look towards Hong Yao; it was part of the script, but Wen Dongni was feeling smug and confident herself. She was flaunting her acting skills: look at me, I’m such a convincing prostitute.
But her eyes widened with surprise when she saw Yan Huan. Yan Huan was sitting in a chair, taking long drags from the cigarette in her hand. Her fur wrap had slipped away, exposing one of her smooth, beautiful shoulders. Her thighs peeked out from under her cheongsam, sleek and alluring. She worked in a whore house, but she was not a whore.
Hong Yao breathed out another cloud of cigarette smoke. She was staring fixedly at the door, as though watching for something but not expecting anything. The noble, faraway look in her eyes seemed to elevate her above everyone else. Nothing mattered to her. Her expression spoke of the sorrow and suffering that came with being a prostitute.
Other people sold things. The women here sold their bodies and their lives.
This was not the life they had envisioned for themselves.
Wen Dongni’s Hong Yu was vulgar and despicable. Yan Huan’s Hong Yao was much more complex: she was someone who inspired love and hatred, resentment and sympathy.
Wen Dongni felt her blood run cold. Her mind went blank: she forgot what she was supposed to do and say next.
“Cut!” yelled the director. “What are you doing, Wen Dongni? Where are your lines? Your actions?”
Wen Dongni stared stupidly at him before turning a bright shade of red. She had, once again, found herself frozen in place, awed and overwhelmed by Yan Huan’s performance. Yan Huan had not deliberately tried to intimidate Wen Dongni with her acting, but the subtle, evocative look in the newcomer’s eyes had been enough to pull Wen Dongni into a different world. It was not her world, nor was it the world of Love and Tribulations— it was Yan Huan’s world.
When they finished shooting the scene, Jin Hailiang smiled happily at Yan Huan. “That was some fine acting. Keep it up!”
“I will, Mr. Director. Thank you,” Yan Huan replied shyly, like an innocent child who had yet to see the world. But her portrayal of Hong Yao had been entirely different: it was as though a real-life prostitute from an earlier time had been walking among them on the set.
Yan Huan had brought Hong Yao to life. It was amazing—there was simply no other word for it.
Jin Hailiang could not help marveling at his luck: what he had initially assumed to be an unpolished stone had turned out to be jade of the highest quality. He thanked his lucky stars he had picked such an incredible actress for the role. Yan Huan had guessed correctly: Hong Yao was the heart and soul of the story, the sudden splash of life and color that Jin Hailiang hoped would wow the viewers. Everyone was now waiting with bated breath to see whether Yan Huan would be able to bring out Hong Yao’s true potential.
Yi Ling rushed over and handed a cup to Yan Huan. “Huanhuan, you were amazing! You had me under your spell. That look in your eyes— I thought I was in the presence of a real queen!”
Yan Huan accepted it and began drinking it in small sips. She did not dare drink too much, afraid that she would be distracted by the urge to pee when the camera rolled again. Being an actor wasn’t easy.
