This Best Actress is a Bit Annoying - Chapter 33

Crying scenes are the ultimate test for an actor. Some cry with spiritual fluidity, some cry hideously, and many performers simply freeze up, unable to shed a single tear. Most resort to “wailing” to mask this—mouth wide open, eyes squeezed shut, forcing out a few droplets while howling to wake the dead. In the past, production standards were lower; as long as you could cry, you passed.

But as human culture evolves and camera resolution increases, crying scenes on the silver screen have become subjects of scrutiny. Netizens, in their spare time, take screenshots of classic crying scenes from female stars to compare them—praising the best and mocking the worst—to see who can cry the most realistically and elegantly.

Xia Qingye was exceptionally good at crying. Her tears were heart-wrenching, every micro-expression filled with drama.

This was exactly what Xun Guang had seen in her back then. The crying couldn’t be ugly, otherwise he couldn’t get past his own aesthetic standards; the crying had to be emotional—it couldn’t be dry. After working together, Xun Guang realized he had unearthed a treasure. He frequently mentioned this to Director Zhuang during their chats. Over time, Director Zhuang also became curious about just how good Xia Qingye’s crying scenes were.

Old Zhuang had designed a similar crying scene for the protagonist of the film, Yuan Fei. It takes place near the end of the movie: to prevent war from breaking out again between the Humans and the Winged race, Yuan Fei is accidentally killed by her own brother. As she dies in the arms of the male lead, Hong Ran, her eyes hold a mix of regret and relief.

Old Zhuang had pondered this scene countless times, wanting to harvest the audience’s tears. Therefore, the atmosphere had to be evocative. Secondly, the cinematography of the female lead’s death had to be aesthetically beautiful. As for that single tear—crystal clear and poignant—it would be best if it could trigger the audience’s own emotions.

Xia Qingye had read this novel several years ago. She loved the character Yuan Fei—cheerful, outspoken, and passionate. She usually played the fool, but her heart was occupied by the common people and the greater good.

She envied the way the Winged race soared freely in the sky and loved the way the Shark race swam effortlessly in the ocean. She loved all living creatures on the continent and yearned for peace and freedom.

However, once the war between the two races began, she was capable of parting with Hong Ran for the sake of the Human race, burying her love deep in her heart. Seeing the civilians of both races suffering because of the war, she wanted to use her own power to stop the conflict.

But human strength has its limits. There are many things one can spend a lifetime on and still change nothing.

Xia Qingye had analyzed Yuan Fei’s mindset. She was a young girl in the prime of her life, longing for the world’s most beautiful love, fantasizing that one day the Human race would know no war and the people could live in prosperity. She dreamed of growing old with her beloved, living a life of happiness.

In the early parts of the story, Yuan Fei’s psychology was very simple: pure, optimistic, and hopeful. But by the later stages, her mental state underwent a massive transformation. The war of the three races was sparked by the Human race; everything was caused by her brother and father. They even planned an alliance with the Shark race just to exterminate the Winged race.

What Xia Qingye had to perform was the Yuan Fei of the later script. Not only was the transition period massive, but she was only given three minutes to prepare.

On that day, Yuan Fei wore a bright red wedding gown, having dressed herself beautifully. Her expression held a trace of finality; she didn’t look like she was preparing for a grand wedding, but rather as if she were seeking death.

Coincidentally, to hide her sickly complexion, Xia Qingye was also wearing red.

She kept her right hand behind her back, her gaze calm as she walked forward with elegant steps. “Father, your daughter is ready.”

Her gaze drifted casually to the side before she suddenly lunged forward. The sharp blade hidden behind her back was instantly pressed against the throat of the Crown Prince of the Shark race. Her eyes, filled with panicked determination, swept across the room as she dragged him back two steps. “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll kill him right now!”

The scene ignited instantly.

As Yuan Fei led the Prince step by step toward the exit of the Great Hall, her elder brother stopped the others from firing arrows. Instead, he personally took a crossbow from a guard and aimed it at Yuan Fei’s arm. Sensing the movement, Yuan Fei turned.

By a stroke of tragic luck, the arrow pierced straight into Yuan Fei’s heart.

Yuan Fei’s hand loosened. She looked down at her chest in disbelief. When she looked up again, a trace of a sneer appeared at the corner of her mouth, her sad eyes filled with a sense of helplessness. Her lips twitched as if she wanted to smile, but the smile looked frozen. “Brother… stop the war!”

“Good!”

Xia Qingye was startled out of character by that shout. The tears she had been brewing were instantly suppressed. She looked blankly at Director Zhuang, and then at the young man who had just shouted in approval.

Director Zhuang shot the man a glare, his face looking displeased. “The performance was decent. Go home and wait for news.”

It was the first time Xia Qingye had been interrupted before finishing a performance. Her lips moved, but she said nothing. She nodded, bowed to everyone, and exited.

Yu Lan and Wei Xianghong had been waiting outside. Seeing Xia Qingye emerge first, they immediately surrounded her. “How was it?” they asked urgently.

Xia Qingye frowned and suddenly asked, “Sister Xiang, who was that young man sitting next to the director?”

Wei Xianghong had only caught a glimpse when the door opened. Director Zhuang was tall, and the person sitting on the inside was obscured; she could only see a sleeve or something. “Why? What happened?”

Xia Qingye was already in a bad mood, reaching a boiling point after seeing Zhong Ruanqin. Having been interrupted during her performance now meant her mood truly couldn’t be described as just “bad.” She pursed her lips and glanced at the curious onlookers. “Let’s talk in the car.”

Seeing her reaction, Wei Xianghong’s heart skipped a beat.

In the car, after hearing that Xia Qingye had been interrupted just as her audition was ending, Wei Xianghong felt that today was simply not their day. “Forget it, we can only wait for the results. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Let’s pick a few more scripts. Once Director Xun’s drama and that PSA are released, your popularity will slowly rise.”

Xia Qingye understood what Wei Xianghong meant. She didn’t have to have this commercial film, but she was unwilling to give up. She was unwilling to lose in her first confrontation with Zhong Ruanqin.

Seeing her expression, Wei Xianghong knew she wasn’t listening. Today, she had seen a different side of Xia Qingye—the one who challenged a Film Queen without blinking. “By the way, how do you know Zhong Ruanqin?”

Xia Qingye looked up. “At a banquet.”

Wei Xianghong nodded, then warned, “Even though you’re ‘acquainted,’ you should stay as far away from her as possible.”

Xia Qingye had been betrayed once and lost her life for it; she naturally wouldn’t be stupid enough to crawl back for a second helping. However, facing Wei Xianghong’s warning, she acted curious. “Why?”

Wei Xianghong glanced at Yu Lan. Yu Lan, shivered under the warning gaze and immediately showed her loyalty. “I’m on Sister Xia’s side, I’ll never talk!”

Only then did Wei Xianghong begin slowly. “Actually, Zhong Ruanqin’s reputation in the industry isn’t good. When she debuted a few years ago, her packaged ‘persona’ was passable. But after that incident, everyone says she’s too ruthless.”

Yu Lan’s eyes lit up as she boldly urged Wei Xianghong to continue.

“It was a few years ago. A Film Queen in the circle died in an accident. She had a studio under her name that was developing quite well. Several artists there had great potential; with a few years of training, they could have all stood on their own. But shortly after she died, Zhong Ruanqin took advantage of her majority share and sold the studio at a low price to the boss of Siji Company. He just happened to have an entertainment company and merged the studio into it. Once the boss changed, the artists underneath were miserable. I remember the most regrettable case was Qi Jiani. She was originally cast in a literary film, but she was replaced halfway through because of contract issues. That film eventually won awards, but she was exposed for having a private conflict with Zhong Ruanqin. Because she offended the new boss as well, she was blacklisted for three years. Her career path was destroyed. It caused a massive stir back then and didn’t quiet down for six months.”

“There was another female artist named Tang Jia, right? She committed suicide because of ‘unspoken rules’ (casting couch). Although she was saved in time, she eventually left the industry. There’s very little news now, but someone took a photo of her two years ago; she wasn’t doing well at all.”

“No way…?” Yu Lan gasped.

Wei Xianghong thought Yu Lan was reacting to the “unspoken rules” and immediately gave her a lecture. “That kind of thing is common in this circle. Accompanying people for drinks can lead to ‘accidents.’ Speaking of which, Yu Lan, I haven’t settled the score with you yet!”

“Aaah! Sister Xiang, go easy! Don’t poke my head!”

Wei Xianghong didn’t hold back, her finger jabbing Yu Lan’s forehead several times. “The wrap party—you actually dared to hide the fact that Qingye got drunk from me!”

Yu Lan covered her head. “I didn’t hide it, I just accidentally forgot!”

Yu Lan had indeed put it out of her mind the moment she stepped off the plane. Plus, she had been startled by Nie Zhuying and was busy every day checking Weibo to see how the Film Queen responded to that bite mark. Especially since Xia Qingye had told her not to tell Wei Xianghong, she didn’t dare mention it. But she couldn’t say that now.

Beside them, Xia Qingye wiped her face, trying to calm herself down. “I forgot to tell you. Sorry, Sister Xiang.”

Wei Xianghong shot Yu Lan a cold glance and sat up straight. “It’s a good time to tell you both about the problems female artists face regarding alcohol. Yu Lan, especially you, listen up: you push away drinking banquets whenever possible. Don’t hide private gigs from me. If you can’t push them away, call me or find help. Also, given Qingye’s current tolerance, until it improves, she is not allowed to attend banquets…”

Wei Xianghong droned on like a worried mother about how female artists were betrayed or forced into “unspoken rules” because they weren’t guarded. Yu Lan listened with a racing heart.

Xia Qingye, however, couldn’t hear a word. She watched the scenery receding outside the car window, her heart filled with an unspeakable hatred for Zhong Ruanqin and a deep sense of guilt toward Tang Jia.

Look at this, Zhong Ruanqin. This is all the sin you’ve created.