Xia Wenxin had always known that her appearance didn’t fit the current entertainment industry’s beauty standards. The popular young actresses of the new generation were mostly the cute and sweet type, with a few who leaned toward the glamorous and striking style. But even those either had gained fame early on through adorable roles or carried a hint of innocence beneath their glamorous exterior.
In short, to become popular, you first had to be non-threatening—someone who easily evoked a protective instinct in others, so that fans would be willing to fight for you.
And her? It wasn’t that she was oddly shaped or unattractive. But after years of performing as a Wusheng (martial artist in opera), a certain heroic toughness had seeped into her demeanor and bearing. She always gave people the impression that if someone dared to bully her, she might just crack their skull open.
Thus, in the current entertainment industry, she was destined never to be favored.
The only reason she still got acting roles was that there were too few actresses of her type. Someone like her could always find parts—but they were invariably supporting roles at best, fourth female lead and beyond.
Her agent had once suggested that she change her style—after all, she wasn’t ugly.
Xia Wenxin refused. The habits were already ingrained. Trying to change her style would likely result in a comedic effect—something like Lu Zhishen tenderly burying flowers.
She went to audition for “The Legend of Medicine Maiden” for a supporting role—a female demon.
Midway through, Boss Ying of Ying Shi Entertainment entered the room and asked her to audition for a different scene. After it was over, they told her to go home and wait for notification.
Who would have thought that the very next day, Ying Shi Entertainment would call and tell her she got the female lead…
The whole thing felt like a dream to Xia Wenxin. She had no idea why a medical maiden would require someone with her tough, heroic type…
Once she joined the cast, Xia Wenxin understood why they had chosen her. Playing a medical maiden was physically demanding!
Most of the scenes involved her walking around carrying a medicine box, or even sprinting with it. And that was without mentioning all the demons and monsters coming to absorb the female lead’s spiritual energy.
Although the crew had reduced the weight of the medicine box and repeatedly checked with her to make sure she could handle it, it still had to have some heft to it—otherwise, it would look too fake on screen.
After joining the production, Xia Wenxin diligently memorized her lines and the medical principles. Fortunately, her colleagues on set were all quite easy to get along with. The only one she was worried about was Qiao Cheng.
When it came to scene partners, Xia Wenxin had the most interactions with Qiao Cheng.
Qiao Cheng’s fearsome reputation was well-known even among fan circles, let alone among industry insiders.
Xia Wenxin was very worried that Qiao Cheng would be displeased with her and make things difficult during filming.
It wasn’t until shooting began that Xia Wenxin noticed Boss Ying had brought a small folding chair and sat down next to the director, watching the filming intently.
Their first scene together passed without incident.
Xia Wenxin even thought Qiao Cheng’s acting was quite good—only two NG takes. And she brought out Du Zelan’s cuteness.
When reading the script, Xia Wenxin had noticed that Du Zelan was a “beautiful but dumb” type of character.
Every time she faced Sanxiu, Du Zelan put on a show of bluster and intimidation, but she never said anything truly outrageous or did anything genuinely excessive.
It was less like a rich young lady looking down on a little apprentice from a rival clinic, and more like someone who simultaneously disliked yet couldn’t help admiring the outstanding child next door.
Besides, Du Zelan had her own standout moments. Following the script, her arc was one of initial suppression followed by elevation.
At this point, Xia Wenxin felt that the character would already attract fans early on. After all, who could truly hate a beautiful, simple-minded little fool who thought she was being mean but ended up just making herself angry?
Xia Wenxin certainly couldn’t bring herself to dislike her. In fact, during one scene, Du Zelan even made her laugh.
That laugh was kept in the final cut. The director said the laughter was perfectly in line with Sanxiu’s attitude toward Du Zelan.
The second female lead, Sun Yuan, also had quite a bit of screen time. She played Mrs. Lin of Lingcao Hall—Lin Jinyao by full name.
Lin Jinyao came from a family of medicine. She had grown up surrounded by medicinal herbs and medical texts, completely absorbed in them.
If Sanxiu represented forging fearlessly ahead, singularly focused on pursuing the path in her heart, then Lin Jinyao was her counterpart.
Sanxiu was a near-obsessive devotee to medicine, completely unbothered by external matters. Lin Jinyao, on the other hand, had too many fears and too many concerns.
Lin Jinyao couldn’t disregard her parents for her own sake, nor could she risk Lingcao Hall’s reputation. Even though she had grown up in the clinic, even though she had memorized medical classics from a young age, she still couldn’t break the world’s ingrained prejudice against female healers.
So she chose to yield. She married her childhood sweetheart, her senior apprentice brother, and settled into a peaceful, stable life.
Doctor Ye, Lin Jinyao’s senior, was also an absorbed, somewhat oblivious man deeply devoted to medicine. He had a good temperament, and a kind disposition. He didn’t care what others said about him marrying into the family, and he treated Lin Jinyao with complete devotion.
Logically, Lin Jinyao should have been satisfied. She was luckier than most women in this world.
Yet she still carried regrets. She still felt an emptiness inside. It wasn’t until she discovered Sanxiu’s talent for medicine that she seemed to see a glimmer of the light she had known as a child.
A girl smarter and braver than herself—one she couldn’t help but want to protect with everything she had.
If Sanxiu gave up, Lin Jinyao wouldn’t have been surprised. She knew better than anyone how difficult and treacherous this path was.
But Sanxiu kept moving forward steadily. Watching that thin, fragile back grow a little taller day by day, watching those slender shoulders run through the streets and alleys carrying a medicine box—Lin Jinyao couldn’t hold back her tears.
Finally, the girl she once was found peace.
In Xia Wenxin’s view, the role of Madam Lin was very difficult to play. One wrong move, and it would come across as self-indulgent melancholy.
After all, in the ancient setting, she was born into a well-off family. She had no parents who favored sons over daughters. She had never experienced the hardships of the world. And she had a husband who was exceptional in both character and ability—a man who truly loved her. It wasn’t a blind, arranged marriage, they shared a childhood bond.
You had everything good in your life, yet you mourned for an intangible, unfulfilled pursuit. If overplayed, many in the audience would find it incomprehensible.
In the end, Lin Jinyao never broke free from the shackles of convention. She simply watched Sanxiu walk out step by step—while she herself never picked up the medicine box again.
Perhaps it was because too much time had passed, and she could no longer lift the medicine box. Or perhaps Madam Lin had ultimately chosen to let go with grace, no longer clinging to a childhood dream.
This was an ending that seemed happy on the surface yet carried a tinge of tragedy.
In Xia Wenxin’s understanding, there was nothing wrong with Madam Lin wanting to pursue her dream. After all, the harshness of the world wasn’t her fault. Why should she, just because she had a better life than others, be forbidden from chasing her aspirations?
But not all viewers would see it that way. In such cases, the actor’s performance was crucial.
To play this role in a way that made people empathize—Xia Wenxin felt she couldn’t do it.
But Sun Yuan did.
Xia Wenxin was moved by her emotional performance several times. During their scenes together, she would recall the time when she first injured her leg and learned she would never be able to perform opera on stage again—it felt like the sky was falling.
Every time the director called “cut,” Xia Wenxin would look like she was about to cry but holding it in, which always managed to make Sun Yuan laugh.
Sun Yuan was already forty years old. She had debuted in idol dramas and had spent the years after thirty-five working hard to transition. Last year, a film finally allowed her to shake off the label of “idol drama female lead.”
But it also cost her many opportunities. Many of the scripts sent her way now offered mother roles.
Sun Yuan wasn’t willing to just go and play the mother of some female lead. Even if she played a mother, she didn’t want to be a flat, symbolic background character.
In the end, she decided to take a break for a while, waiting for the right role to come along.
Then “The Legend of Medicine Maiden” landed in her hands.
…
“The Legend of Medicine Maiden” was filming steadily according to schedule. Ying Shi would occasionally visit the set. At first, it was to check on Qiao Cheng’s performance and make sure she wasn’t throwing any tantrums on set.
Later, she realized she had worried for nothing. Miss Qiao had been very cooperative all along. Perhaps because she had found a role that suited her comfort zone, Qiao Cheng’s filming pace had also accelerated.
As for the female lead, Ying Shi was certainly very satisfied.
Xia Wenxin carried a subtle, almost intangible sharpness about her. When she focused on something, there was a hint of obsession in her demeanor.
These were qualities that Sanxiu needed.
Sanxiu was a medical maiden. When treating the sick and saving lives, she could certainly be warm and gentle. But at the same time, she was a medical fanatic and an orphan.
Ying Shi understood the mindset of an orphan. She herself had grown up in a welfare home. Even though she had food, shelter, and the director and staff were all very kind and caring toward them, she still lacked a sense of belonging to a family.
The director had many matters to handle and had to look after every child. The care that trickled down to her was never quite enough.
The kindness of other staff members and volunteers was also fleeting. They all had their own families and loved ones—they couldn’t invest their emotions in a group of orphans.
Ying Shi was grateful to everyone who had helped her, and she remembered every act of kindness. To this day, she had made a lot of money and donated half of her income to the welfare home.
But feelings weren’t like a salary. You couldn’t calculate how much to give and just give it.
Other children longed for a family, so they would obediently wait for adoptive parents to choose them.
As for Ying Shi—healthy, pretty, and young—many families had wanted to adopt her. But in the end, they gave up because of her emotional distance.
Other staff members tried to teach her to change her disposition. Only the director saw that she didn’t want to start a family relationship in the first place, so she simply let her be.
In the script Ying Shi read, she felt that Sanxiu should carry a certain sharpness.
She was precocious. She understood from a very young age that in her parents’ eyes, a daughter could never compare to her older brother—after all, her two older sisters had both been sold. Her turn was only to be expected.
Did Sanxiu hate them?
She probably did. Yet at the same time, not that deeply.
In that social context, when disasters—whether natural or man-made—struck, it was always the lowest, poorest common people who bore the brunt.
Unfortunately, Yao Sanxiu’s parents were among those helpless, tormented masses.
The Lin couple treated her well, but she had already forgotten how to hold an adult’s hand and act spoiled.
As for why Sanxiu began studying medicine—it was because she had nearly died of illness herself, and even more so because she had witnessed too many people like her die of sickness.
Even setting aside the orphan background and the childhood of displacement—
A medical woman who could travel the land alone, practicing medicine as a woman, could not be defined solely by gentleness and goodwill.
As Xia Wenxin put it, there were times when Sanxiu chose to win people over with martial virtue.
Having watched Xia Wenxin’s performance, there was only one way to describe her portrayal of Yao Sanxiu: rock solid.
Day after day, you could almost believe that Yao Sanxiu had descended into the mortal world, inhabiting Xia Wenxin’s body.