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The next day’s session was still Yin Mengxi’s responsibility. Afterward, she would rotate shifts every three days, so she didn’t need to attend every rehearsal.
Although A University’s Drama Club had a laid-back and somewhat scatterbrained president like Guo Yue, the club maintained strict internal rules. They held rehearsals five times a week—Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and weekends. Weekday rehearsals were from 9 PM to 10:30 PM after evening classes, while Saturday and Sunday sessions lasted all day. Actors and on-duty staff weren’t allowed to be late; otherwise, they’d face a 50-yuan fine and have to post an unflattering photo in the group chat.
On Sunday, Yin Mengxi arrived at Xiaohongding at 9 AM sharp. Most of the others were already there. She scanned the theater but didn’t see Xiao Zhi, assuming he wouldn’t come today.
She felt a mix of relief and an inexplicable sense of loss.
“Come, come, everyone listen up—”
Guo Yue, still wearing his slippers, walked onto the stage clapping his hands. The actors gradually quieted down, gathering in a circle to hear him.
“The premiere is in June, and time is tight. Let’s finalize the cast today,” he announced. “Xiaowen has already collected actor preferences. We’ll split into groups for auditions. Male lead, female lead, male second lead, and female second lead will audition with me. The rest go to Dajin. Any issues?”
Everyone responded with “No issues,” then dispersed. Soon, the crew set up tables on both sides of the stage. Guo Yue and a girl named Dajin sat behind the tables, each facing lines of actors waiting to audition.
This was clearly the moment to capture on film.
Yin Mengxi set up a camera in the center of the stage to record the entire process. Then, with her camera in hand, she went to Guo Yue’s side, seeing him flipping through the script. After a moment, he stood up and addressed the actors in line: “Male and female leads will audition with the third act scene. Male leads will also perform the second scene of the fourth act. Those further back should familiarize yourselves with the script—you’ll perform without it.”
It sounded very professional.
Yin Mengxi found it fascinating, snapping several photos—some panoramic shots capturing the environment and some close-ups focusing on details. For instance, she noticed a senior with an elegant demeanor and classical beauty, capturing a few close-ups of her silently memorizing lines.
About five minutes later, the auditions began.
A University’s Drama Club truly lived up to its reputation as a national award-winning troupe. The actors’ performances were impressive—at least to an amateur like Yin Mengxi. Several seniors displayed leading roles potential. The third-act scene between the male and female leads was captivating—it depicted their bond during student movements. Ye Wan, returning from studying abroad, attended several of He Jiwen’s speeches and was deeply moved by his selfless protection of students. She worked tirelessly to free him from detention by the reactionary government and convinced her family to fund the struggling school. Ultimately, amidst turmoil, they embraced and pledged their love.
The script was textured, intertwining the protagonists’ emotional bonds with the changing times. The fusion of personal and greater love struck a perfect balance, engaging the audience step by step.
…No wonder it was written by that person.
During the auditions, Yin Mengxi again focused on the senior who had caught her eye earlier—Zhang Li. Not only did she have an elegant demeanor, but her acting skills were also impeccable. Despite the surrounding noise, she remained deeply immersed in her role. Her crying scene outside the police station before pledging their love was breathtaking—her tears fell instantly, conveying both resilience and fragility.
Yin Mengxi kept photographing her from various angles—standing, squatting, capturing every detail. Guo Yue and the other onlookers were similarly captivated, unable to look away.
—Surely she would be cast as the female lead?
Her performance was nearly professional.
Just as Yin Mengxi was marveling, a series of “tap tap tap” sounds came from the other end of the stage—high heels clicking on the wooden floor. Instinctively turning around, she saw a tall, beautiful woman walking toward them, dressed in a beige mid-length coat and jeans, simple yet sophisticated.
…It was Tang Fei.
“Has the rehearsal started?”
She smiled as she walked onto the stage, bypassing the queue and heading straight to Guo Yue’s table.
“We’re halfway through the auditions,” Guo Yue teased. “If you came any later, you’d have to join tomorrow’s session.”
She laughed, apologizing twice, though without any real sign of remorse. She pulled out a 100-yuan bill from her wallet and handed it to Guo Yue. “Can I pay double the fine? Treat everyone to snacks.”
Applause broke out, accompanied by a few cheers of “Fei-ge is awesome!” Guo Yue chuckled, pocketing the money while teasing her: “Don’t forget the unflattering photo.”
Tang Fei stuck out her tongue, took a quick selfie, and sent it to the group chat. Everyone praised it—”Amazing, stunning!”
“Am I good now?” she asked Guo Yue.
He sighed, seemingly helpless, muttering, “If it weren’t for Teacher Xiao’s sake, I wouldn’t settle for just 100 yuan…”
And Yin Mengxi?
She stood quietly with her camera, watching and listening, once again feeling that familiar sense of someone else finishing the exam effortlessly while she hadn’t even begun answering hers. Strictly speaking, she hadn’t even been given the chance to take the test.
—Senior Tang was already so close with his roommate.
What could she say?
It was…inevitably a bit envious.
“When is my turn?”
Tang Fei was already asking, casually tying her hair with a band as she spoke.
“Look over the script and familiarize yourself with Act Three,” Guo Yue instructed. “You’ll perform with Leizi.”
“I’ve already seen it,” Tang Fei said, sitting down elegantly, still smiling. “I read it over winter break—I can recite it backward.”
Guo Yue rubbed his arms, looking impressed. “Alright, alright. Childhood sweethearts are really something, aren’t they?”
After that, the other auditions seemed less significant.
Perhaps everyone knew—Tang Fei would undoubtedly be the female lead. She had been in the drama club for years, always playing the lead. She not only knew the president personally but also had a mother who was the vice secretary. Even setting aside these external factors, her natural talent and undeniable beauty made her a standout.
Thus, the other actresses auditioning for Ye Wan didn’t hold much hope. Their performances became lackluster, almost perfunctory, as if merely going through the motions to eventually hand the stage over to the inevitable star—Tang Fei.
She didn’t wait long, about half an hour. Removing her elegant coat, her slender figure became even more striking. The male actor performing opposite her even seemed too shy to look directly at her face.
“Mr. He, have you never regretted anything?”
“I said, I like your poetry.”
“You can leave with me… or perhaps, you can take me with you.”
Line by line echoed across the stage. The beautiful actress was passionately blossoming under everyone’s gaze. Her beauty was unforgettable; no girl in the room dared claim to outshine her appearance.
But honestly—her performance wasn’t as compelling as Zhang Li’s.
Admittedly, she delivered every line perfectly, with all the right inflections and emotions, even shedding tears when required. Everything was technically correct…yet it lacked the moving essence Zhang Li possessed—the ability to precisely strike the audience’s hearts.
While diligently taking photos, Yin Mengxi quietly assessed the situation. As an amateur, she wasn’t sure if her judgment was accurate or if her own biases were clouding her perception. Glancing around, she noticed the other onlookers weren’t as captivated as they were during Zhang Li’s performance. Only then did she feel a small sense of relief, believing her evaluation was still fair and objective.
Carrying her camera, she snapped a couple more photos, but accidentally tripped on a protruding board. Losing her balance, she stumbled backward. In that panicked moment, a hand firmly grabbed her arm and gently pulled her upright.
Turning around—
…she saw Xiao Zhi standing behind her.
“Careful.”
His brows were slightly furrowed, like an adult scolding a clumsy child. His voice was low, carrying a touch of undeniable warmth.
In that fleeting second, an unfamiliar flutter of the heart stirred again. It seemed to believe its existence was legitimate, arrogantly demanding absolution. Yet she couldn’t grant it, only staring at him blankly. His deep eyes were the world’s most complex labyrinth—though she hadn’t ventured far, she had already gotten lost countless times.
“Xiao Zhi—”
Before she could snap out of it, another girl called his name—not needing to politely address him as “senior,” but boldly calling his name outright. She walked straight toward him under everyone’s watchful eyes, unbothered by gossip or rejection.
“You’re impossible, arriving later than me?”
She could even tease him, joke with him.
“When did you arrive? Did you see my audition?”
And him?
His hand had already politely released her arm, stepping past her. That brief touch was too fleeting—she hadn’t felt whether his palm was warm or cold. But one thing was certain: his back still looked as handsome as last semester. She had watched it for quite a while and now felt…a reluctance to look anymore.
“I saw the second half.”
She watched him walk toward Tang Fei and heard his response.
“What do you think?” Tang Fei asked, her tone tinged with anticipation. “Does it feel like Ye Wan?”
This time, his reply wasn’t immediate. Instead, he turned to Guo Yue, paused, and asked, “Has Zhang Li auditioned?”
Guo Yue glanced at Tang Fei, his expression subtle. “Yes, she has.”
“Is there a recording?” he asked. “I didn’t see the first part.”
“Yes,” Guo Yue grinned, tilting his chin toward Yin Mengxi standing in the back. “The Youth League junior set up a camera. I think the entire thing was recorded.”
Hearing this, he turned back to her, ever polite and composed.
“Could I see the playback?”
He asked.
“Just Zhang Li’s audition.”
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