Chapter 117: Struggle 03

What is a variety show?

It is the result of celebrities filming for an entire day, or even longer, then editing that footage down into ninety minutes of highlights. That is what you call a variety show. Anything else is merely raw footage, unfit for public viewing.

Gao Xiang looked at Zhou Qi, understanding his reservations. "If you’re truly worried about netizens picking apart your casting choices, you could easily use some minor editing tricks during production. Director Zhou, you are a master of cinematography; surely you know how to make an actor’s performance look better or worse?"

Zhou Qi seemed to waver, but his resolve quickly hardened. "I cannot, in good conscience, destroy a perfectly good actor."

Often, an actor is chosen not because they lack talent, but simply because they aren't the right fit. Suitability is, more often than not, more important than raw acting ability. While an actor’s skill can sometimes transcend that sense of incongruity, it takes the caliber of a top-tier award-winning actor to break through those shackles and reveal a completely different side of themselves. He was unwilling to ruin a capable actor’s reputation just to shield himself from scrutiny.

He knew that many directors would trust his lens—Zhao Qing, Cai Qi, and Qian Fu, to name a few, would never doubt his footage. If he were to release such a performance, their preconceived notions would be set; no matter how Zhou Qi explained it, he would never be able to scrub that poor impression from their minds. Because they trusted him as a friend, they trusted his judgment. And if even one of them criticized the actor, the lesser directors would surely follow suit.

When he said he would "ruin" them, he meant it literally.

Gao Xiang grew frustrated. "Why are you being so stubborn?"

"I’m not being stubborn. Your suggestion is fundamentally unethical. To put it bluntly, it’s vicious." Zhou Qi glanced at her, then turned his head away, as if her face had become repulsive.

Gao Xiang was incensed. If she weren't trying to secure the future of this drama, would she even bother with these schemes? To be irresponsible for a moment: if this show flopped, would it even affect her?

Seeing Gao Xiang on the verge of losing her temper and saying something regrettable, Song Wan quickly tugged at her sleeve. Gao Xiang turned back, and Song Wan shook her head. Guo Kai, witnessing this, also signaled for Gao Xiang to stand down.

Song Wan smiled at them, then walked over to sit beside Zhou Qi. "Director Zhou, the method Gao Xiang suggested is indeed not ideal."

Gao Xiang’s eyes flared with anger at these words, but what Song Wan said next made her freeze, her expression turning thoughtful.

"But isn't the root cause of her suggesting such a 'bastard' idea actually your own fear?" Song Wan whispered. Her voice was melodic and gentle, possessing a magical quality that instantly soothed Zhou Qi’s agitated heart.

Yet, that wasn't the word she had originally intended to use. She had wanted to say "cowardice." In her view, such excessive pride was merely a mask for cowardice. He used arrogance and mystery as a shield to hide a deep-seated lack of confidence. In other words, Zhou Qi wasn't entirely confident in his own choices; he feared he hadn't picked the best actors, and feared even more that the audience would expose that failure.

"Fear?" Zhou Qi looked at her in disbelief. "Why would I be afraid?"

Song Wan sighed. "If you aren't afraid, then why are you unwilling to let the audience see the casting process? As long as the final choice isn't truly absurd, your authority as a director is enough to silence those who don't understand the craft."

Zhou Qi was rendered speechless, eventually turning his head away in silence.

Song Wan pressed on. "After all, the fans of *Starry Skies* would never want their own unprofessional meddling to ruin the entire production. Don't you agree, Director Zhou?"

Opening the casting process to the public and letting them participate in the selection—this idea had been swirling in her mind ever since she learned the television rights for *Starry Skies* had been sold. When the original Song Wan signed the contract, she had included a clause granting her veto power over any casting choices she deemed unsuitable. But now, the original Song Wan was gone, and no one else could exercise that right.

Even though she now inhabited this body, she could not know the original author's vision. She didn't know what was "right" or "suitable," yet she couldn't just watch the producers lead the production down a dead-end road while she remained ignorant of the truth. Thus, she conceived this plan: let the massive fanbase of the original work act as the gatekeepers. If they had no objections, then the casting would undoubtedly be the most accurate.

She needed Zhou Qi’s agreement, even if it meant reopening old wounds. She didn't know him well—they had only collaborated on one drama—but she could deduce his nature. Zhou Qi was a wealthy second-generation heir, but not an average one. He knew people like Jin Youqian and Guo Kai, placing him in their social stratum. A man like that would sacrifice much for his art, much like Guo Kai. Yet, at nearly fifty, Zhou Qi had only one successful drama to his name.

Look at his peers: Zhao Qing, whose art-house films were perennial award-season favorites; Qian Fu, a rare commercial director whose blockbusters could compete with international spectacles; Cai Qi, whose high-brow art films bypassed domestic festivals to dominate international A-list circuits...

Compared to these legends, Zhou Qi seemed to pale in comparison. His talent was undeniable, but years of setbacks had led him to doubt himself. Any of his other friends would have dismissed such a suggestion with a shrug, but Zhou Qi couldn't. He lacked the confidence.

Song Wan saw it clearly. Out of gratitude for his guidance during the filming of *Immortal in the Clouds*, she wanted to help him untie this knot.

"Let me think about it..." Zhou Qi closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa.

Song Wan noticed his breathing was rapid, and beneath his closed lids, his eyes darted back and forth. Clearly, he was in the midst of a violent internal struggle. She suddenly felt a pang of regret, wondering if she should just let it go. After all, his lack of confidence hadn't hampered his directing...

*Hm?* Someone was pulling at her hem. She turned to see Gao Xiang, who signaled for her to leave the room. Song Wan nodded. Guo Kai followed them, and the three slipped out quietly. The screenwriter and assistant director exchanged glances and followed suit.

Only Zhou Qi remained. He seemed to hear them leave, but his eyes merely shifted, and he made no move to stop them. He needed the silence.