His thoughts were pulled back to reality by the vibration of his phone. Seeing the caller’s name made his heart tighten instinctively.
“Good morning,” came Li Ru’s usual teasing tone. “Had breakfast yet?”
“I’ll take it.” He Zheng cut in, impatient, answering her next question before she could ask it.
“Oh? Don’t be so hasty,” Li Ru drawled. “I haven’t even told you what role it is yet.”
“Anything. I’ll take anything.”
“Really?” Her voice lifted, then turned sly. “Even a male role?”
“…”
As if expecting that reaction, Li Ru chuckled. “There’s a film by a new director that the company dropped—no one wants to take it. I recommended you. He said he wants to see you in person.”
He Zheng listened silently, thinking No wonder it ended up with me.
“I’ve sent the address to your WeChat. If you’re okay with cutting your hair, tidy up and head over.”
With that, Li Ru hung up.
He Zheng stood there for a long while. He lowered his head, catching a strand of his long hair between his fingers, rubbing it lightly.
He’d kept his hair long since childhood. His adoptive mother, He Linlin, had always liked dressing him up as a girl, and he hadn’t minded living with that appearance. Over time, the two influences merged, quietly shaping his path into a specific direction—playing female roles.
Although the female roles he got were often small or villainous, at least they had paid the bills. But in recent years, work had dried up. And because he refused to “make deals” at dinner parties, it had been a long time since he last got an acting job.
After struggling internally for a bit, He Zheng finally decided to go. He wasn’t in a position to be picky anymore. If they were willing to let him play, he’d cut his hair.
The audition studio wasn’t far—fifteen minutes by taxi.
He knocked three times. A woman wearing glasses opened the door, gave him a quick once-over, and said expressionlessly, “Come in.”
The studio’s interior was minimalist. A solid wood bookshelf was crammed with entertainment magazines and film journals. A pot of lucky bamboo stood proudly in the corner.
On the sofa sat a young man in a neat suit and tie, holding a stack of wrinkled scripts. While He Zheng studied him, the man also openly looked him up and down.
“Hello,” He Zheng greeted, stepping forward and extending a hand. “I’m He Zheng. I’m here for the audition.”
The man didn’t stand. He merely leaned forward, gave a perfunctory handshake, then spoke in a cold, commanding tone: “Turn around.”
He Zheng froze for a moment.
“I said, turn around.” The man adjusted his glasses, raising his voice sharply. “I want to see how long your hair is.”
He Zheng pressed his lips together and turned around. The man’s gaze moved over him without restraint—from his hair to his waist, down to his ankles—tracing every curve and contour.
After a long pause, the man’s lips parted. “You’re not suitable.”
“I haven’t even auditioned yet.” He Zheng sighed, helpless. “Can’t I at least get a chance to try?”
“If your appearance doesn’t even meet the basic requirements, why should I give you a chance?”
The man’s retort was sharp. “I took a look at one of your past performances. I’ll admit—you’re beautiful, and your acting is solid. But your look limits you. You’re only suited for female roles.”
“Only suited?” He Zheng’s temper flared. “Have you ever seen me play a male role?”
“You’re not suitable,” the man repeated coldly.
He Zheng clenched his teeth, swallowing his irritation, and made one last attempt. “If it’s about appearance, I can cut my hair.”
He added quietly, “I really need this chance. Please, just let me try.”
The man was silent for a while. Finally, he stood up, circling He Zheng slowly as if assessing him. With his hand resting on his chin in mock contemplation, he sneered faintly, “You really need this opportunity, huh?”
Then, after a pause, he said dismissively, as though tossing alms to a beggar:
“Since you’re so persistent, and you’re not fit for a male role—fine. I’ll let you play a background female character instead.”
“…”
“Don’t want to act?” The man stared at He Zheng, trying to catch even the slightest hint of embarrassment on his face.
“When’s the audition—now?”
The man shrugged. “Just go straight to the set tomorrow. You’ve been playing extras for years; I trust your acting.”
“Alright.”
He Zheng gave a small bow, calm and composed. “See you tomorrow. Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”
The man looked at him deeply, said nothing, and sat back down on the sofa. The silent female assistant nearby immediately opened the door, looking at He Zheng with a cold, expressionless face—her eyes practically saying you can leave now.
As He Zheng brushed past her, he lowered his gaze toward the assistant who barely reached his chest. One foot out the door, he paused, turned back, and said, “See you tomorrow.”
The assistant froze, adjusted her glasses, and muttered, “Oh.”
Once outside the studio, He Zheng exhaled, unclenched and tightened his fists, unsure exactly what he was feeling.
He rarely had to lower himself like this to beg for a role. It was nothing like the arrogant, high-spirited version of himself when he first entered the industry. Back then, he believed that as long as he acted well, someone would eventually discover him. But reality had taught him otherwise—without thick skin and the courage to fight for chances, he would never rise above the crowd.
When he got home, He Zheng called Li Ru. Under her questioning, he told her everything about the audition.
“Didn’t expect that—this newbie director’s got quite the ego,” Li Ru clicked her tongue several times. “Only you would tolerate that. If it were any of the spoiled brats I manage now, they’d have slapped him already.”
“Who told me to be a nobody?” He Zheng chuckled bitterly.
“If he keeps overstepping, just walk out. I’ll look for another crew for you,” Li Ru comforted him. “Don’t take it to heart. Want to grab dinner later?”
“No, I’ve got to stream.”
Li Ru burst out laughing. “You can’t be that broke—doing livestreams now?”
“What else? Should I go beg under a bridge instead?” He Zheng laughed too.
“Fine, fine. Send me your live link—I’ll watch while I eat.”
“Okay.”
After hanging up, He Zheng withdrew the gifts he’d received from last night’s stream and transferred half the amount to his older brother.
The reply came back instantly—less than a second later, the transfer was declined.
Then his brother texted: “Keep it for yourself.”
For a moment, He Zheng felt oddly like he was being taken care of—kept, even.
He tried calling, but his brother refused to answer and replied, [Not convenient.]
He Zheng sent back a simple [Oh]then shut off his phone, not pushing it further.
He grabbed some clothes and showered. After drying his hair, he stood in front of the mirror, once again wondering whether to wear a dress.
His livestream audience was too small; maybe putting some effort into his appearance would help.
His looks leaned toward sharp, striking features—perfect for villains. On film, he was always the venomous maid or the ghostly woman hanging from a tree in horror movies.
Accordingly, his wardrobe was filled with dramatic, floor-length red dresses that radiated a powerful aura—clothes that instantly told the world seductive and dangerous.
After a long hesitation, He Zheng chose a relatively modest red gown.
He slipped it on, straightened his long hair, adjusted the camera angle, and calmly lit a cigarette. One minute before the scheduled stream time, he went live.
At that same moment, his “Top Supporter”—the same one—entered the room, right on time.
Seeing him, He Zheng’s lips curved upward unconsciously.
“Good evening,” he said.
The man didn’t reply right away. After a long pause, a special red-font message appeared on screen: [Can you stand up?]
He Zheng frowned. “Stand up? Why?”
[Turn around.]
He Zheng stepped back a few paces so his whole figure was in frame. Moonlight spilled in from the side window, landing right where light and shadow met. Holding his red dress lightly, he turned once. His long hair brushed his waist, and the soft blue shadow cut across his face—half in dimness and restraint, half as bright as moonlight itself.
The man stayed silent for a long, deliberate beat.
He Zheng sat back down, his hair sliding over his collarbone as he tucked it behind his ear. Smiling faintly, he asked, “Where are you?”
After a pause, the man typed slowly, as if savoring it: [You’re beautiful.]