The Federal Entertainment Network had expected a difficult interview.
Not because any of the guests were known to be troublesome.
Quite the opposite.
That was the problem.
Yash had recently become one of the most discussed actors in the Federation after the first private reactions to his Ravana began circulating through entertainment circles.
Dilraba Dilmurat had suddenly found herself carrying expectations far larger than an ordinary leading actress.
Every photograph, trailer frame and promotional clip featuring Sita was being examined by millions.
And then there was Krishna Li Vardhan.
Or Li Yichen, depending upon which part of the Federation one came from.
Abhay Raichand had made him popular.
Ramayana had turned that popularity into something far more dangerous.
Expectation.
The entertainment desk had therefore spent almost an entire week preparing questions.
Film questions.
Acting questions.
Controversial questions.
Carefully worded questions concerning the responsibility of portraying sacred characters.
And several lighter questions designed to keep the interview from feeling like a religious symposium.
By the time the three guests arrived, the host had a thick stack of cue cards.
Krishna noticed immediately.
He stared at them.
Then at the host.
Then back at the stack.
The host smiled nervously.
“Welcome.”
Krishna pointed.
“Are all those questions for us?”
The host laughed.
“Some.”
“How many is some?”
Dilraba looked at him.
“Don’t start.”
“I haven’t started.”
Yash glanced toward the cards.
“That looks like an examination.”
Krishna nodded solemnly.
“Exactly.”
He turned toward the host.
“Is there negative marking?”
The entire studio laughed.
Even the production staff behind the cameras relaxed.
The host had expected perhaps a formal greeting.
Instead, within thirty seconds, Krishna had somehow made the interview feel less like a promotional obligation and more like three actors sitting down for conversation.
That would become increasingly obvious as filming continued.
“Welcome to Federal Entertainment”
The host smiled toward the central camera.
“Today we have three of the most discussed performers associated with one of the Federation’s most anticipated cinematic projects.”
“Please welcome Krishna Li Vardhan, who plays Shri Rama—”
Applause.
“Dilraba Dilmurat, who portrays Mata Sita—”
More applause.
“And Yash, who takes on the role of Lankapati Ravana.”
Yash inclined his head.
The host turned toward them.
“I should probably begin with the simplest question.”
Krishna immediately raised a hand.
“Those are usually the dangerous ones.”
The host laughed.
“What was your first reaction when you were offered these characters?”
Yash answered first.
“Fear.”
That caught attention immediately.
The host leaned forward.
“Fear?”
Yash nodded.
“Yes.”
“Ravana is one of those characters everyone thinks they understand until they actually begin reading about him.”
He paused.
“Scholar.”
“King.”
“Warrior.”
“Devotee.”
“Brother.”
“Conqueror.”
“And also a man whose greatness became corrupted by entitlement.”
“So my first reaction wasn’t excitement.”
“It was fear that if I simplified him, I would make the story smaller.”
Krishna nodded immediately.
“That’s why he’s our Ravana.”
Yash looked toward him.
“You say that now.”
“I said it before.”
“You also said I should become more uncomfortable.”
Krishna smiled.
“Good acting advice.”
“You said it after a fourteen-hour shoot.”
“Even better timing.”
The crew laughed.
The host shook his head.
“I can already see why people on set say you don’t allow serious conversations to remain serious for very long.”
Krishna smiled.
“That sounds like defamation.”
Dilraba muttered:
“It’s accurate.”
Dilraba and Sita
The host turned toward Dilraba.
“What about you?”
Dilraba became quieter.
“Sita frightened me too.”
“Not because I didn’t want the role.”
“Because…”
She searched for the words.
“Everyone has an image of Sita.”
“Some people think first of devotion.”
“Some of sacrifice.”
“Some of courage.”
“Some of suffering.”
“Some of purity.”
“And I kept thinking—how do I carry all of those expectations without turning her into a symbol instead of a person?”
The host nodded.
Dilraba continued:
“Nitesh sir and Krishna both told me very early that we should never play Sita as someone standing behind Rama.”
Krishna added softly:
“She stands beside him.”
Dilraba nodded.
“Exactly.”
“That helped.”
The host smiled.
“Was there one scene where you finally felt that you understood her?”
Dilraba thought.
“The forest.”
Krishna looked toward her.
“Not the swayamvara?”
“No.”
“The garden promise?”
“No.”
Krishna looked wounded.
“That scene took several nights.”
Dilraba ignored him.
“The forest.”
She continued:
“When Sita chooses vanavas.”
“Before that, I understood her love.”
“In that scene, I understood her decision.”
“She doesn’t follow Rama because she has no identity without him.”
“She decides that the life she chose includes hardship too.”
The host nodded.
“That was one of the strongest moments in the preview reactions.”
Dilraba smiled.
Then unexpectedly lost her next sentence.
She knew what she wanted to say.
But the cameras were close.
The thought became tangled.
“And I think…”
She stopped.
The studio remained quiet.
Dilraba frowned slightly.
“It is difficult to explain.”
The host waited.
Before the silence became uncomfortable, Krishna leaned forward.
“You mean Sita’s devotion becomes meaningful precisely because she is capable of choosing differently.”
Dilraba immediately looked toward him.
“Yes.”
Krishna continued calmly:
“If she had no will of her own, following Rama would not be devotion.”
“It would simply be inevitability.”
“But she can question.”
“She can disagree.”
“She can choose.”
“So when she says, ‘I am coming with you,’ it has weight.”
Dilraba’s shoulders relaxed.
“Exactly.”
She looked toward him gratefully.
“That’s what I was trying to say.”
Krishna smiled.
“I translate Dilraba professionally.”
She stared.
“I was thanking you.”
“You still can.”
“You ruined it.”
Yash laughed.
The host laughed.
Behind the cameras, several members of the production office exchanged looks.
Krishna had rescued her without making it look like a rescue.
He had not interrupted to show how eloquent he was.
He had simply understood where she was going and given her a bridge.
Then immediately turned the moment into a joke so she would not feel embarrassed.
One assistant producer whispered:
“He’s very composed.”
Another replied:
“He’s what, nineteen?
Twenty?”
“Somewhere around there.”
“He doesn’t behave like someone new to fame.”
A third staff member said:
“More like he’s been sitting in rooms like this his entire life.”
They would remember that thought later.
Yash on Ravana
The host turned toward Yash.
“Your Ravana has already generated conversation because the previews apparently don’t introduce him as evil from the first frame.”
Yash nodded.
“I don’t think Krishna wanted evil to become stupidity.”
Krishna smiled.
“Correct.”
Yash continued:
“Ravana has to possess qualities that explain why people followed him.”
“He has to be capable of greatness.”
“Otherwise his fall teaches nothing.”
The host looked toward Krishna.
“That was your instruction?”
“In part.”
Krishna leaned back.
“I never wanted the audience to say, ‘Ravana was always a fool, so naturally he fell.'”
“What would we learn from that?”
“Very little.”
He continued:
“The frightening thing is when someone genuinely possesses knowledge, discipline, courage and devotion…”
“…and still allows ego and desire to corrupt judgment.”
Yash nodded.
“That’s much harder to play.”
Krishna smiled.
“Which is why I gave it to you.”
Yash sighed dramatically.
“I should have asked for more money.”
The host laughed.
Krishna replied:
“You still can.”
Yash looked hopeful.
Krishna continued:
“Nitesh sir will say no.”
Yash shook his head.
Abhay and Rama
The host looked at Krishna’s cue card.
“One question everyone keeps sending us.”
Krishna immediately groaned.
“I know which one.”
“You do?”
“Abhay.”
The host laughed.
“Yes.”
The screen behind them displayed two photographs.
Abhay Raichand.
Black clothes.
Cold eyes.
Controlled hostility.
Beside him—
Rama.
Golden-white princely attire.
Open expression.
Gentle stillness.
Even Dilraba looked at the comparison.
The host asked:
“How can these be the same actor?”
Krishna studied both photographs seriously.
“I suspect editing.”
The studio exploded into laughter.
The host covered his face.
Yash shook his head.
Dilraba said:
“This is why interviews with him take too long.”
The host recovered.
“Seriously.”
Krishna smiled.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
He became thoughtful.
“Abhay enters a room asking—”
Krishna’s posture subtly changed.
His shoulders closed.
His eyes hardened.
“Where is the threat?”
The room quieted instantly.
Then his body relaxed.
His expression opened.
“Rama enters asking—”
His voice changed.
“Who here is my responsibility?”
Even the host stared.
Krishna returned to normal.
“That’s the difference.”
The host blinked.
“You changed without doing anything.”
Yash immediately corrected:
“He did many things.”
“What?”
“That’s why you didn’t notice.”
Krishna pointed toward Yash.
“See?”
“Very good Ravana.”
The Question About Shri Rama
Eventually the host reached the question he had been most uncertain about asking.
His tone changed naturally.
“Krishna.”
“Hm?”
“You’ve spoken a lot about the acting.”
“The philosophy.”
“The script.”
“But I want to ask you something personally.”
Krishna became attentive.
“What do you feel about Shri Rama now?”
The studio became quiet.
Even the production staff stopped moving.
The host continued:
“You spent months portraying him.”
“You studied his relationships.”
“His decisions.”
“His restraint.”
“His pain.”
“Did playing Shri Rama change the way you think?”
For the first time in the interview—
Krishna did not answer immediately.
The easy smile remained, but only faintly.
He looked down.
Then toward the host.
“There are some roles that an actor chooses.”
He paused.
“And there are a few roles…”
“…where I think the character chooses the actor.”
No one interrupted.
Krishna continued:
“I don’t say that because I believe I am uniquely worthy of Shri Rama.”
His voice was sincere.
“If anything, the longer we worked, the more I understood how dangerous it would be to think that way.”
Dilraba watched him carefully.
Krishna’s eyes had changed.
No performance.
No joke.
Just himself.
“When I first accepted Rama, I thought primarily as an actor.”
“How does he walk?”
“How does he speak?”
“How does someone with enormous strength remain gentle?”
“How does a prince carry authority without making others feel smaller?”
“Those were acting questions.”
He smiled faintly.
“Then somewhere during filming…”
“…they stopped being only acting questions.”
The host leaned forward.
Krishna continued:
“I began asking myself what maryada really means.”
“People sometimes translate it simply as boundaries.”
“Rules.”
“Restraint.”
“But I think that is incomplete.”
His expression grew thoughtful.
“Maryada is what prevents strength from becoming entitlement.”
That line silenced the room.
Krishna continued:
“It tells a son that love for his father does not disappear when duty becomes painful.”
“It tells a husband that love does not mean ownership.”
“It tells a warrior that possessing a weapon does not mean every challenge deserves battle.”
“It tells a king that authority exists for those beneath him, not merely for himself.”
“It tells a powerful man…”
He paused.
“…that the ability to do something does not automatically give him the right to do it.”
Yash’s expression became serious.
Dilraba simply stared at him.
Krishna continued:
“So when you ask whether Shri Rama changed me…”
A quiet breath.
“I think perhaps Shri Rama chose me for long enough to make me understand what maryada can do to a person.”
The host said nothing.
Krishna smiled slightly.
“It doesn’t make someone weak.”
“It gives strength a direction.”
The silence inside the studio had become almost reverential.
Krishna looked toward the host.
“And maybe that’s what surprised me most.”
“I had always understood power.”
Several people in the production office would later remember the certainty with which he said that sentence.
Not arrogance.
Simply certainty.
Krishna continued:
“But Rama made me think more deeply about limitation.”
“Not limitation imposed because someone is incapable.”
“Limitation voluntarily accepted by someone who is capable of doing much more.”
His voice softened.
“That kind of restraint is very difficult.”
Then he smiled.
“So yes.”
“If you ask me personally…”
“I think Shri Rama chose me.”
“For the film?”
The host asked.
Krishna looked toward the camera.
“For a little while.”
“And perhaps long enough to teach me something.”
No one spoke.
Then Dilraba quietly said:
“That is probably the most serious answer he’s given in months.”
The tension broke.
Krishna turned toward her.
“You see how difficult it is living among people who don’t appreciate wisdom?”
She laughed.
“There.
He’s back.”
“Do You Think You’re Like Rama?”
The host grinned.
“Then I have to ask.”
Krishna immediately became suspicious.
“That expression means trouble.”
“Do you think you are similar to Shri Rama?”
Krishna answered instantly:
“No.”
Everyone laughed.
The host seemed surprised.
“So quickly?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
Krishna pointed toward Dilraba.
“Ask her.”
Dilraba didn’t hesitate.
“Rama would never irritate people recreationally.”
Yash added:
“Rama also probably wouldn’t hide someone’s coffee because they criticized his scene.”
The host stared.
Krishna looked betrayed.
“That was one time.”
Yash:
“Three.”
Dilraba:
“Four.”
Krishna looked between them.
“This interview has become hostile.”
The studio laughed again.
Then Krishna added:
“That’s actually another reason I respect Rama.”
“I don’t need to pretend I am him.”
“An actor’s job is not to become morally superior because he played someone great.”
“It is to understand the character honestly enough that the audience can meet that greatness through him.”
The host nodded.
“That’s an unusually grounded answer.”
Krishna smiled.
“I can also give you an arrogant one.”
“No.”
“You’re missing an opportunity.”
Dilraba Under Pressure
Another question came from viewers.
The host read it.
“Dilraba, many people are already calling this the defining role of your career.”
“Does that pressure you?”
Dilraba hesitated.
“A little.”
“Only a little?”
She smiled nervously.
“Maybe more than a little.”
The host asked:
“Especially because Sita is so deeply respected?”
Dilraba nodded.
“Yes.”
“There are moments where I wonder…”
She hesitated again.
“What if people don’t accept me?”
“What if they think…”
Her voice slowed.
“…I wasn’t enough?”
The studio grew quiet.
Krishna turned toward her.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then:
“You aren’t supposed to be enough.”
Dilraba looked at him sharply.
The host froze.
Krishna continued calmly:
“Nobody is.”
“Sita is larger than any actress.”
“Rama is larger than any actor.”
“Ravana is larger than Yash.”
Yash nodded.
Krishna looked at Dilraba.
“If you begin believing you must become greater than the character to deserve playing her, you’ll destroy yourself.”
Her expression softened.
“Our job is smaller.”
“What is it?”
She asked.
“Be sincere.”
“Understand her.”
“Respect her.”
“Give everything you have.”
“And then let the audience decide what stays with them.”
Dilraba’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
Krishna added:
“And if anyone says you’re terrible, give me their address.”
The host burst out laughing.
Dilraba stared.
“What will you do?”
“Politely explain acting.”
Yash:
“With the Major—”
He stopped himself naturally before finishing the thought and changed direction.
“With that terrifying lecture style of yours?”
Krishna pointed.
“Exactly.”
The moment passed so smoothly nobody outside the most attentive people would think twice about it.
Dilraba laughed.
The nervousness was gone.
“Why Are You So Calm?”
The host eventually asked something that had not been planned.
“Can I ask you something outside the prepared questions?”
Krishna looked at the thick stack.
“We finally escaped?”
The host laughed.
“Not exactly.”
Then his expression became genuinely curious.
“You’re still very young.”
“You’ve risen quickly.”
“Your last series made you popular.”
“Now Ramayana is being discussed across the Federation.”
“You’re sitting beside established stars.”
“And yet you seem…”
He searched for the word.
“Comfortable.”
Krishna raised an eyebrow.
“Should I be uncomfortable?”
“Most rising actors are.”
Krishna considered.
Then answered simply:
“I think nervousness comes when you spend too much time wondering whether everyone in the room thinks you belong there.”
Krishna continued:
“If I’ve been invited, I assume they believe I belong.”
“If they eventually decide I don’t…”
He shrugged.
“…then I’ll improve until they change their minds.”
The production team became silent again.
Krishna smiled.
“It saves time.”
The host laughed.
“That’s confidence.”
“Maybe.”
“Not arrogance?”
Krishna thought.
“There should be enough arrogance to enter difficult rooms.”
“And enough humility to understand you still have something to learn after entering them.”
Yash nodded slowly.
“That’s actually good.”
Krishna immediately turned.
“Actually?”
Yash laughed.
“You’ve been spending too much time with Robert.”
The host looked confused.
“Robert?”
Krishna smiled.
“Another irritating actor.”
The Audience Begins Guessing
The interview aired three nights later.
Within minutes, clips spread across the Federation.
Some clips focused on Yash speaking about Ravana.
Others focused on Dilraba explaining why Sita choosing exile gave her devotion meaning.
But the most replayed clip was Krishna’s answer about Shri Rama.
“There are some roles an actor chooses.
And there are a few roles where perhaps the character chooses the actor.”
Then:
“Maryada is what prevents strength from becoming entitlement.”
And finally:
“The ability to do something does not automatically give us the right to do it.”
The clip travelled everywhere.
Delhi.
Mumbai.
Beijing.
Shanghai.
Seoul.
Tokyo.
Lahore.
Young actors saved it.
Teachers discussed it.
Parents shared it.
Fans edited the words over scenes from the trailer.
Then another kind of discussion appeared.
Not about Rama.
About Krishna himself.
A university student in Beijing posted:
Does anyone else feel like Li Yichen doesn’t behave like a normal rising celebrity?
Thousands replied.
One comment:
He sits like he owns the studio but somehow doesn’t act arrogant.
Another:
Maybe rich family?
Someone replied:
Definitely.
Look at his posture.
Another:
That isn’t evidence 😂
A Chinese fan wrote:
He has young-master energy.
That phrase spread.
Soon:
LI YICHEN SECRET RICH YOUNG MASTER?
became a joking trend.
Indian fans joined.
One wrote:
Forget rich family.
This man speaks like somebody’s grandfather trapped in a handsome twenty-year-old body.
Another:
Abhay fooled us.
I thought he was naturally cold.
Now he’s giving philosophy while bullying Dilraba.
A Korean viewer commented:
The impressive part is how quickly he helps her when she loses her words.
He doesn’t make the moment about himself.
A Japanese fan wrote:
His confidence does not look rehearsed.
It looks habitual.
That created more speculation.
Old-money family?
Political family?
Business dynasty?
Academic family?
Military household?
Nobody came remotely close.
Vardhan Mansion
Kavya discovered the trend first.
Which guaranteed that everyone else would soon suffer.
She walked into the family sitting room holding her tablet.
“Mother.”
Yuerou looked up.
“What?”
“Your son has been exposed.”
Aditya immediately looked toward her.
Rudraveer raised one eyebrow.
Ishani stopped reading.
Arjun grinned.
Ananya rushed over.
“What happened?”
Kavya displayed the headline.
LI YICHEN’S CALM CONFIDENCE STARTS ONLINE SPECULATION:”IS HE SOME WEALTHY FAMILY’S YOUNG MASTER?”
Silence.
Then Arjun started laughing.
Ananya followed.
Ishani covered her smile.
Even Rudraveer’s expression changed.
Yuerou stared at the headline.
Then scoffed.
“Young master of some wealthy family?”
Kavya was already laughing.
Yuerou crossed her arms.
“If only they knew.”
Aditya looked toward her.
“Yuerou.”
“What?”
She gestured toward the tablet.
“They think my son is some rich family’s spoiled young master.”
Kavya corrected:
“Nobody said spoiled.”
“They implied it.”
“They said calm.”
Yuerou looked offended on Krishna’s behalf.
“They don’t know what my son is capable of.”
Arjun coughed.
“Mother, that sounds threatening.”
“It is not.”
Ananya smiled.
“It sounded very threatening.”
Yuerou ignored them.
She looked toward the screen where a replay of Krishna’s interview was running.
On television, her son was saying:
“There should be enough arrogance to enter difficult rooms and enough humility to understand you still have something to learn.”
Yuerou’s expression softened.
Then she said proudly:
“They see a young actor.”
“That’s fine.”
Kavya smiled.
“What do you see?”
Yuerou answered without hesitation.
“My son.”
A pause.
Then:
“And someone who has already done things those people wouldn’t believe even if we told them.”
Aditya remained silent.
But he agreed.
Krishna Watches the Trend
Meanwhile, Krishna was in a hotel room reviewing Ramayana Part II production notes when Shen Lihua entered.
She placed her tablet before him.
“Congratulations.”
Krishna looked at the headline.
SECRET WEALTHY YOUNG MASTER?
He stared.
Then looked at Shen.
“They discovered me.”
Shen’s heart almost stopped.
“What?”
Krishna maintained a grave expression.
“My tragic secret.”
She stared.
He pointed toward the article.
“I may come from a wealthy family.”
Shen slowly closed her eyes.
“I hate you.”
Krishna laughed.
She sat opposite him.
“They are speculating because of the interview.”
“About what?”
“Your manner.”
“My manner is excellent.”
“They think you behave like someone raised around powerful people.”
Krishna paused.
“Interesting.”
“They’re not entirely wrong.”
Shen stared.
“Do not say that in public.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
She pointed at him.
“No cryptic jokes either.”
“That’s oppressive.”
“Krishna.”
“Fine.”
Shen scrolled farther.
“Your Rama answer is the bigger story anyway.”
Krishna’s smile faded slightly.
He looked at the video thumbnail.
Shri Rama.
His own face.
Dilraba beside him.
Yash beside her.
“What did people say?”
“Mostly that you sounded sincere.”
Krishna nodded.
Because he had been.
Shen studied him.
“You really believe that?”
“What?”
“That Shri Rama chose you?”
Krishna was quiet for several seconds.
Then:
“I don’t know whether roles literally choose actors.”
He smiled faintly.
“But I know I entered that film thinking I was going to understand Rama.”
“And somewhere along the way…”
He looked toward the image.
“…Rama made me understand something about myself instead.”
Shen did not joke.
Neither did he.
Then his phone vibrated.
Robert Downey Jr.
Saw the interview.
Very philosophical.
Who are you and what have you done with the annoying guy I know?
Krishna immediately typed:
Rama improved me.
Unfortunately for you, not permanently.
Robert replied almost instantly.
There he is.
Krishna smiled.
Shen looked at him.
“Marvel?”
“Robert.”
“What does he want?”
“Emotional reassurance.”
Shen stood.
“Don’t give it to him.”
Krishna looked offended.
“What kind of person do you think I am?”
Shen walked toward the door.
“The kind I’ve been managing.”
Krishna laughed.
Then looked once more at the paused interview.
Rama’s face remained upon the screen.
The Federation knew Krishna Li Vardhan as an actor.
China increasingly called him Li Yichen.
Some fans thought he might be the sheltered son of a wealthy businessman.
Others thought perhaps an influential academic family.
A few simply decided that his unusual confidence was natural.
Nobody knew the truth.
And Krishna was perfectly satisfied with that.
For now— he didn’t need them to know whose son he was.
He wanted them to remember what he had created.
And soon, when Ramayana finally entered theatres across the Federation— they would meet Shri Rama.
Not Krishna.
Not Li Yichen.
Not Abhay.
Just Rama.
Krishna looked at the frozen screen and smiled.
“Let’s see whether they accept you, Prabhu.”