Chapter 051: Then Let It Be Zhao Ke

The two of them didn’t continue talking about the variety show. Gao Xiang handed her the script. “Take a look—Director Zhao sent this today.”

Song Wan flipped through it. The script was excellent, with a detailed and well-developed story.

However, she looked at Gao Xiang in puzzlement. “This doesn’t look like a script for auditioning actors.”

Song Wan could keenly sense this, which earned her a satisfied nod from Gao Xiang. “I asked Director Zhao. He said as long as your acting is up to standard, the role is yours. There’s no need to look for any other actress.”

So it was no big deal for Song Wan to see the full script directly.

“Director Zhao seems to have a lot of faith in your acting,” Gao Xiang mused, hesitating a little, “Maybe... it’s also related to your name.”

The same name, Song Wan; the same outstanding acting skills—yet their lives were vastly different.

The abandonment of “Tomorrow”; surely Zhao Qing must have felt some regret?

Song Wan never thought her past life was relevant here. After all, in her previous life, she’d had no real connection with Zhao Qing.

So her gaze toward Gao Xiang was full of confusion.

Gao Xiang didn’t explain. “Read the script first. Even though this role is practically yours already, the better your performance, the happier Director Zhao will be.”

After a moment’s thought, Song Wan let go of the question and focused on the script.

The story was about dreams, growth, friendship, and love.

The heroine, Qin Yao, a “country bumpkin” from the mountains, had been admitted to Capital University. Her arrival attracted attention—not the good kind. Many classmates gave her nicknames like “country bumpkin,” “weird girl,” and “hick.”

Their malicious ridicule and ostracism, her own sense of not fitting in, and the bustling, dazzling campus life so different from what she’d imagined—all left Qin Yao at a loss.

Fortunately, her roommate, Zhao Ke, recovered from illness and arrived at the school.

Zhao Ke was gentle and composed, her eyes curving like a crescent moon when she smiled, always dressed in the latest fashion. She was fluent in four languages, strikingly beautiful, and already a well-known runway model in the country—she became a campus sensation the moment she arrived.

Yet, unlike everyone else, Zhao Ke didn’t look down on Qin Yao. Though she found her a little old-fashioned, she never mocked her. Instead, she helped Qin Yao change her style, taught her languages, and helped her integrate into campus life.

Despite their wildly different personalities and backgrounds, the two got along surprisingly well, laughing and bickering their way through sophomore year. Their affections also blossomed in the chill of early autumn.

One was a slightly dopey academic star; the other, the heartthrob of the whole university.

Surprisingly, Qin Yao fell for the campus heartthrob, while Zhao Ke developed feelings for the renowned academic prodigy—a junior two years younger than herself.

Four exceptionally talented young men and women, inevitably drawn to one another. Despite obstacles, two perfect couples were formed.

Up to this point, the script’s tone was bright and lively, with only minor conflicts.

But then, everything changed abruptly.

The turning point came a year later, in their junior year, when the university offered an excellent exchange program abroad.

Two spots remained—one already decided, the other awarded to the academic prodigy and Qin Yao.

Zhao Ke, not wanting to favor either of the two, chose to observe from the sidelines.

What happened next shocked everyone: first, Qin Yao broke up with the campus heartthrob; then, the academic prodigy voluntarily gave up his spot, declaring Qin Yao his true love and promising to follow her abroad at his own expense—even covering her living costs.

Betrayed by both friend and lover, Zhao Ke was devastated. When she went to seek an explanation, the pair had already left the country, disappearing without a trace.

At this point, the campus heartthrob came to pursue Zhao Ke, confessing that she was the one he truly loved.

Zhao Ke, already upset and feeling they were both victims, impulsively accepted his confession. But once she calmed down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Qin Yao’s actions had something to do with sensing the heartthrob’s feelings for herself.

Though still angry, she felt more and more uneasy, as if she’d wronged Qin Yao, even though she knew she’d done nothing.

Years later, the four went their separate ways and achieved their own successes.

At the pinnacle of her career, as an international supermodel, Zhao Ke was handed a letter from Qin Yao at an awards ceremony...

—

Song Wan let out a gentle breath. “The script is excellent, the story is wonderful, and the pacing is even better…”

But she looked a little hesitant.

Gao Xiang noticed. “What’s wrong?”

“Is this movie a dual-female-lead story?” Song Wan asked in confusion. “Which role am I supposed to audition for?”

In her opinion, although Zhao Ke’s character was more fashionable and likely to attract fans, in terms of depth and complexity, she actually preferred Qin Yao.

Gao Xiang frowned a little. “I only realized it was a dual-lead movie when I got the script. But you should know, given your current status, getting a female lead role in a film is already a fantastic opportunity.”

Song Wan nodded. “I understand.”

Gao Xiang sighed in relief. “Director Zhao told me you can audition for whichever role you prefer.” But before Song Wan could be glad, she added, “But from what I gathered, Director Zhao doesn’t want you to play Qin Yao—he’d rather have you as Zhao Ke.”

Song Wan’s expression grew a bit serious, but she quickly collected herself. “Then I’ll take Zhao Ke.”

Gao Xiang hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with the role—if anything, it was easier to gain fans, and she herself had leaned toward it. But seeing Song Wan’s reaction, it was obvious her artist didn’t feel the same.

She asked curiously, “Why do you prefer Qin Yao? Even though the role is deeper and has more twists, I’ve heard Director Zhao doesn’t plan to submit this film for awards.”

Song Wan wasn’t surprised that Gao Xiang could see her preference.

She pressed her lips together and, after a moment, replied half-jokingly, “Isn’t it normal for an actor to want a more challenging role?”

Gao Xiang raised her brows and thought for a moment. “Both roles have almost equal screen time. If you’re confident in your acting, it’s not impossible for you to audition for Qin Yao first.”

After all, if her audition for Qin Yao didn’t work out, Director Zhao would still have her try Zhao Ke.

Song Wan almost wanted to say it was fine—she didn’t intend to trouble others. But after pausing for a moment, she nodded. “Then let me try Qin Yao first.”

Gao Xiang glanced at her and said nothing more.

In Gao Xiang’s eyes, Song Wan was already an adult. She could advise her clients, but whether to take the advice was ultimately up to them.

Gao Xiang was so relaxed about it partly because Song Wan, though still young, seemed reliable. But, more importantly, Gao Xiang had once forced an artist to take a certain opportunity against their will—only to be dropped as soon as that artist became popular.

Song Wan was unaware of this history. She rubbed the cover of the script. “Sister Gao, which scene is the audition piece for Qin Yao?”

“The very first scene.” This was no trouble for Gao Xiang—she’d already asked, just in case.

Song Wan was momentarily surprised. It was rare for a director to use the opening scene for auditions.

—

On the first day of school, Qin Yao arrived alone at Capital University to register.

Carrying a massive plastic bag stuffed with clothes and books, and a quilt from home slung over her shoulder, she appeared at the university gates.

However, everything about her—the bag, the quilt, her clothes—was so old-fashioned that she seemed to have stepped out of the 1980s. She was utterly out of place in the modern, bustling campus, quickly attracting the attention of every passing student. Each looked her up and down as if she were some rare spectacle.

The campus was huge, with tens of thousands of students and parents coming and going, but everyone couldn’t help but stare. Qin Yao stood frozen, her face flushing bright red under their gazes, overcome with embarrassment and not knowing what to do with her hands.

The noon sun blazed overhead; fat tears welled up in her eyes, but she buried her face against her chest, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

The commotion eventually drew the attention of the student council. A male student was sent over.

The senior who came to help was polite, but couldn’t hide his frequent, disdainful glances at Qin Yao.

Feeling uneasy under his gaze, Qin Yao couldn’t help but speak. “Senior…”

He suppressed his impatience and pretended not to hear, walking ahead briskly.

—

Song Wan finished her performance and looked up at Director Zhao, only to find him staring at her with a complex, astonished expression.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Director Zhao?”

Zhao Qing snapped out of it, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. I just found your acting style very familiar…”

As soon as he spoke, the air seemed to freeze.

Song Wan panicked a little. In her previous life, though she’d worked with Director Zhao, it was only as a minor extra; he shouldn’t know her acting style that well.

It must be a coincidence, she tried to reassure herself.

Fortunately, Zhao Qing also chalked it up to coincidence and didn’t dwell on it.

He waved it off, looking at Song Wan seriously. “Do you really have to play Qin Yao? I don’t think the role fits you…”

Zhao Qing hesitated. He knew very well how good Song Wan’s performance had been—she had practically brought Qin Yao to life. Yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t want Song Wan to play Qin Yao.

Sensing his difficulty, Song Wan hesitated, then shook her head. “I just prefer Qin Yao. But Zhao Ke is fine too.”

Expressionless, Zhao Qing nodded. “Then you’ll play Zhao Ke.” With that, he turned and left the audition room.

Song Wan looked up, catching only his retreating back, a little stunned.

No need for another audition? Was it really settled just like that?

Recalling what Gao Xiang had said about Zhao Ke’s role being all but set for her, Song Wan felt a bit lost.

As soon as she left the room, Gao Xiang came over. “Did you get the part?”

“I did,” she replied, looking into Gao Xiang’s eyes. “It’s Zhao Ke.”

Her gaze was intense, but Gao Xiang seemed unaffected.

“I told you—Director Zhao prefers you as Zhao Ke,” Gao Xiang said indifferently.

Yes, she had said that.

But…

Song Wan frowned. “I could tell Director Zhao was very satisfied with my performance.” The reason he gave was clearly made up.

Now it was Gao Xiang’s turn to be puzzled. “He was satisfied?”

Song Wan nodded, unable to figure it out.

“If he was so satisfied, why not let you play Qin Yao?”

“I don’t know.”

If, before the audition, Zhao Qing had preferred her as Zhao Ke, both Gao Xiang and Song Wan could guess the reason—

Because Song Wan’s looks were simply too outstanding.