Chapter 1: The "Supporting Role's Rise to Veteran Actor" System
February 10, 2010. Su City, Jiangnan Province.
Though the New Year was just a few days away, the atmosphere in the Chen household was tense.
“Chen Jin, 293 points. Tell me, is this the total score you got after working so hard for half a year in your senior year of high school?”
“What kind of school can you get into with that score?!”
“Can you even make it into a junior college?”
Chen Jin’s mother, Su Wanyu—a teacher herself—sat there, one hand pressed to her forehead, holding a final report card in the other, her whole body trembling.
It was anger.
“Mom, calm down!” Chen Jin set a glass of hot water in front of Su Wanyu. “You’ve known what I’m capable of since day one.”
“I’m not your mother!” she snapped. “Don’t joke around with me—be serious!”
Su Wanyu slapped the report card on the table, staring at her handsome, sunny son. He was a tall young man, six feet tall, with a good temperament and personality, but when it came to his studies, his grades fell lower and lower, like a flower wilting with every step.
“My son, tell me—what are you thinking?”
“You’re a senior now; there’s only one semester left before the college entrance exam. Can’t you focus a little more on your studies?”
“Can you please stop wandering around all day not knowing what you’re doing?”
Su Wanyu spoke earnestly, hoping to get through to him. Chen Jin’s performance hadn’t suddenly plummeted, but it was getting worse with every test, and Su Wanyu was struggling to accept it.
Last semester, it seemed he might make it into a junior college, but with 293 points now, even that seemed unlikely.
Su Province was different from elsewhere; this was a hellish place for college entrance exams, and as an elementary school teacher, Su Wanyu knew the situation better than anyone. The exam system changed every year. This year there was some new “A+ bonus” system, 3+2 subjects, different from last year’s “6A plus 10 points” rule... Parents without a strong educational background were baffled by these policies, and yet the total score was only out of 480.
Only three subjects—Chinese, Math, and English—counted toward the final score.
It sounded good, as if only those three exams mattered, but in reality, the test also included two electives. For science students, that meant physics plus a choice among geography, politics, chemistry, or biology; for liberal arts, history plus one of those. Each elective was worth 120 points, but those weren’t included in the main total; instead, they were graded as A+, A, and so on.
You might think only five subjects mattered, but that was wrong. The 3+2 subjects were mandatory, but there were five more—geography, politics, chemistry, biology, and technical studies—as electives, and doing well in them could earn you bonus points.
That wasn’t all. There was also a comprehensive quality evaluation, covering moral character, civic awareness, sports, and aesthetics... Even Su Wanyu, as a teacher, was speechless about the complexity of the exam system—let alone Chen Jin.
“Mom, let me be honest. I want to apply to an art college!”
After a long internal debate, Chen Jin finally confessed to Su Wanyu. He figured it didn’t matter anymore—whatever he did was a dead end.
He knew perfectly well what kind of school he could get into with his score.
He had plenty of choices, unlike the two top students in the school who, with scores over 400, were pressured by society’s expectations to choose only Tsinghua or Peking University.
But he was different.
With a score in the two-hundreds, the list of possible schools was dazzlingly long.
Type “colleges for 200 points” into a search engine and hundreds would pop up.
If you typed in 700 points, only those two schools would appear.
That was why Chen Jin really had no idea which school to pick.
In the end, he could only follow his heart: become an actor, apply to an art college.
Ever since he was a child, he’d loved watching movies, fantasizing that one day he could be like Chow Yun-fat or Stephen Chow, playing iconic roles.
He’d already looked into it—even the entrance score for an art college bachelor’s program was low, less than 200 points, perfect for a boy like him with an artistic streak.
“Art college? Which one?” Su Wanyu frowned.
As someone who’d graduated from a prestigious teachers’ college, an art college was never a path she’d considered for her child.
Besides, she’d never provided Chen Jin with any artistic training.
Those things required early guidance and artistic nurturing.
In his eighteen years, Chen Jin had never touched a musical instrument, let alone anything else.
What art did this kid know?
“Central Academy of Drama, Beijing Film Academy, Shanghai Theatre Academy—if not, then Southern Arts!” Chen Jin answered naively. He’d only researched the schools, not the difficulty of the entrance exams.
“Southern Arts? You?” Su Wanyu’s frown deepened. “You know you have to take an art entrance exam for that path, right?”
“I know! I checked. You have to take the school’s own exam and register online!”
Chen Jin’s genuine desire to become an art student was obvious. Su Wanyu, exasperated, said, “What are you going to take? Can you sing, or paint?”
“I’ll apply for the acting department. I want to be an actor!”
Su Wanyu was speechless.
It wasn’t that she looked down on her son, but Su Wanyu couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “An actor?”
“Do you know what it takes to get into the acting department?”
“I know—acting, skits, that kind of thing. Mom, I actually practice in front of the mirror at home when you’re not around! Look—”
“Biubiu~~” Chen Jin lifted his shirt and, with both hands, mimed a double-gun shooting pose, clearly imitating Mark from “A Better Tomorrow.”
“That’s enough!” Su Wanyu looked at her carefree son, unsure whether to be angry or amused. “Listen, spend this winter break catching up—especially in English. I’ll get you the best tutor!”
“Don’t think about these wild ideas. There’s not an artistic bone in the Chen family!”
“Understand?”
Su Wanyu still thought Chen Jin was joking, but he grabbed her hand and insisted, “Mom, I really want to go to art school. I’ve already signed up!”
“What did you say?” Su Wanyu spun around, and Chen Jin quickly let go of her hand, saying, “Really! Just let me try it. The entrance exam is during winter break—if I fail, I’ll come back and keep studying!”
“Chen Jin, am I just too easygoing as your mother?”
“You don’t even need to discuss things like this with your parents?”
“Would you have agreed if I did?” Chen Jin retorted, sticking out his chin. “I’m just not cut out for studying. Even if I try my hardest, I’ll only get into a junior college. But with the art entrance exam, I might get into a bachelor’s program!”
“Heh...” Su Wanyu nodded, not bothering to spare his feelings. “If you really wanted to get into a bachelor’s program, your scores wouldn’t keep dropping!”
“You want to take the art entrance exam? What can you compete with? Other candidates have been learning instruments, painting, and performing on stage since childhood!”
“You think a little hobby of yours can challenge more than ten years of their hard work? Is that realistic?”
Perhaps realizing her tone was too harsh, Su Wanyu softened her voice. “Son, a hobby can’t feed you. I know you love movies, but we can’t use amateur interest to challenge professionals. Focus on improving your English. You only got a little over thirty points—if you raise that to a hundred, you could get 360 total and get into a top university!”
“That’s what you should be doing!”
Of course, none of this got through to eighteen-year-old Chen Jin. The conversation ended badly; he went straight to his room.
Looking at the walls, plastered with movie posters, his eyes went to the most prominent one above the bed.
Andy Dufresne stood in the rain, arms outstretched, basking in the light.
It was “The Shawshank Redemption,” and the classic line—“Some birds are not meant to be caged, their feathers are just too bright”—had become Chen Jin’s motto.
Forrest Gump sitting on a bench, as if looking back on his life; Jack and Rose embracing at the bow of the Titanic; Mark lighting a cigarette with a dollar bill; Jackie Chan in the furniture store; Stephen Chow with his golden headband and staff in hand...
All of it steeled Chen Jin’s resolve.
He would do it.
He would take the art entrance exam and become an actor.
Ding!
Just as Chen Jin lay back, fantasizing about getting into the Central Academy of Drama and reaching the pinnacle of life, a mechanical voice suddenly echoed in his mind.
“Thirty-eight years old, with nothing to show for it. In recognition of the host’s persistent efforts on the path of acting, the ‘Background Actor’s Rise to Legendary Performer System’ is now activated!”