After Being Dumped by the Film Empress, My Acting Skills Soared - Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Shao Niannian didn’t know what she should call Jiang Yan; the sound of a “yes” swirled at the tip of her tongue as she stood rooted to the spot, dazed.

It was Jiang Yan, the one who had brought it up, who calmly flipped through the script. “I’m only a few years older than you. Just call me Jiang Yan.”

“We’re going to be colleagues in the same crew from now on. Let’s drop the formal honorifics used for seniors and juniors. If people hear them, they’ll think our relationship is incredibly estranged.”

Not estranged?

Niannian clicked her tongue in her heart, thinking that Jiang Yan’s words weren’t quite right. Between them, aside from the senior-junior professional tie, there was only a one-sided secret crush. To use the word “estranged” to describe them was actually an overestimation of their connection.

In the comment section of their recent scandal and rumors, one phrase had hit the nail on the head: “Wait, did they even know each other?”

Niannian had laughed then. She didn’t need a mirror to guess that her smile must have looked more painful than a sob.

“Jiang… Jiang Yan.”

Those two simple characters felt like they took every ounce of her strength to utter. She looked up slightly at Jiang Yan sitting on the stool. Overcast clouds blocked the light, leaving only the overhead lamp to cast a glow down on her, as if a layer of light-mist was shimmering over a jade sculpture—blurring the edges, making her impossible to see clearly or touch.

Yet, Niannian found herself instinctively drawn toward her, like a moth to a flame, with no reason at all.

“Good. Niannian.”

Jiang Yan smiled as she responded. She pronounced the double-character name with a lingering, almost tender tone.

“Your performance earlier wasn’t exactly ‘bad,’ it was just that the layers were too distinct. Whether it’s TV or film, you need a sense of transition and depth.” Jiang Yan handed the script back to Niannian.

Without needing to be told, Niannian understood and opened the script to the first act.

In this plot, the “Mute Girl” is hunting the “Good Student,” but she’s intentionally letting her escape. In reality, it’s a grand trap: she’s leading the killer lurking in the house to find the escaping student, intending to use the killer’s hand to commit the murder. Then, like a mantis stalking a cicada, unaware of the oriole behind, the Mute Girl plans to use her weapon to kill her husband.

However, a flaw in her timing arises. She didn’t realize the locks on the student’s house had been changed, causing her husband to lose precious time during the break-in. By the time the Mute Girl arrives, the student is in a life-and-death struggle with the killer, swinging an iron bar that hits the arm of the man trying to stab her several times.

Finally, because of years of domestic abuse and psychological trauma, the Mute Girl fails to kill her husband as planned. Instead, she gets dragged into the fray, and the two women end up trapped in the living room by the wounded killer, cowering on the floor in terror and retreating in panic.

Jiang Yan waited with rare patience for Niannian to re-read the first act, then arched an eyebrow. “What does the film’s ending mean for the Mute Girl?”

“Liberation, closure, and joy,” Niannian answered, her character biography etched into her mind. “Liberation because the two people who ruined her life are consumed by the fire along with her; closure because hatred and resentment occupied too much of her life—every day, every night, every second, she lived in hate. She gritted her teeth until her mouth was raw with scars, and her hands were covered in scars from the man’s abuse and blades. The pain made her endure her hatred, spending years planning to kill everyone who ever hurt her.”

“Joy… because in the fire, she watches those villains feel fear, remorse, and rage for the first time before they die. She can’t speak, but she laughs happily, as if the fire on her body isn’t fire, but a warm, red light.”

“Your reading is quite spot on,” Jiang Yan said. “Mo Yu probably helped you with that. But for the Mute Girl, there’s another layer to this ending: desolation and regret. In her original plan, she was going to end everything with a fire and walk away innocent, turning the page on a new life.”

“But because of fate—because of an accident—she is still dragged down into it.” Jiang Yan stood up and walked directly to Niannian. She reached out and gripped Niannian’s throat. Her cool fingertips pressed against the skin, and the pressure began to tighten.

Niannian stood perfectly still, not daring to move. When those fingers first touched her neck, she instinctively leaned back, but there was no escape. The grip grew heavier. Even though she knew Jiang Yan would never actually hurt her, when she looked up, her eyes met Jiang Yan’s.

The person in front of her had transformed into someone else.

The same clothes, the same face—but the expression was gone. Jiang Yan’s peach-blossom eyes narrowed slightly; her red lips were pressed thin. She looked at Niannian as if she were a piece of dead wood.

Cold. Empty of emotion.

“The Mute Girl is relieved by the end of her shitty, inescapable fate, but she is also filled with regret for being toyed with by fate once more.”

“When she’s sitting on the floor, being cornered by a killer with a knife, she does have to crawl back in fear—but it can’t just be fear. It must be hate, a cold focus, and an uncontrollable physical tremor.”

Jiang Yan loosened her grip slightly. Seeing Niannian gasping for air as if she’d actually been hurt, Jiang Yan’s brow furrowed for a split second with guilt, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

Because Niannian’s physical reaction—the trembling born of genuine fright—was exactly the “grounded reality” Mo Yu and Jiang Yan wanted for the character. “Your performance right now isn’t far off from the Mute Girl.”

“Layer this onto the Mute Girl’s history, and your performance will be a thousand times better than what you did in the other room.”

Niannian touched her neck, where the warmth of Jiang Yan’s hand still lingered. She took several steps back, staring at the woman who became a different person the moment she entered the role. She was too stunned to speak.

Jiang Yan didn’t notice the scrutiny in Niannian’s eyes. She had fully committed to the role of an acting teacher, breaking down the character’s behavior and blending her own professional techniques with academy theory to give Niannian a roadmap.

“An actor staying in their comfort zone is fine, but we have to ask why. Is it a lack of ability, a satisfaction with the status quo, or a fear of taking the first step?”

Niannian couldn’t describe how she felt. This Jiang Yan was a stranger—neither the idol of her memories nor the woman who took her to the hospital. She was more like a professor from her university days.

As for which one she was? Niannian couldn’t give a clear answer. If she had to say—”She was every one of them.”

Jiang Yan looked up at Niannian, her gaze so sharp it made her afraid, like a flashback to an introductory class at the academy.

“Do you understand?”

“I… I understand.”

“…”

Niannian wasn’t sure if she really did, but Jiang Yan’s method was undeniably effective. Analyzing it step by step from the beginning, Jiang Yan entered the role much faster than she did.

Watching her made Niannian swell with envy and a familiar, uncontrollable excitement—“This is why she always loved Jiang Yan.”

It was never just about the face; it was the ferocious dedication to the craft and the character. Jiang Yan was the lighthouse and the faith that first inspired Niannian to enter the acting industry.

Mo Yu’s plan was working. The two leads were evolving in the direction she wanted.

Mo Yu didn’t have high expectations for Wen Jing; the role was largely within Wen Jing’s comfort zone, except for a few emotional outbursts.

The relentless winter rain slowed down the production’s progress, but the actors didn’t seem to mind. After all, those who came to work with Mo Yu at this time knew the drill—”You must have a lot of free time.”

Because of the actors’ flexible schedules, Mo Yu used the rainy weather to play a little game with the cast, one that the acting professors at the National Film Academy loved to play with students.

“From now on, the character cards we draw are our real selves. What you say and what you do must fit your character’s image,” Mo Yu said. “If you break character, you have to drink a glass of local ‘Ice Flower Milk’ as punishment.”

Wen Jing tilted her head, leaning her arms on the back of her chair. “Huh? Drinking milk is considered a punishment now?”

“Good, young people should question things.” Mo Yu gave the assistant director a look. He quickly responded, pushing a cart of supplies in with the stage crew.

The crew even thoughtfully prepared new paper cups for everyone.

“You can give it a try.”

Before the milk even got close, the hair on Niannian’s body stood on end. A sour smell of fermented rice wine wafted from the cart. Just as she tried to pull her chair back to retreat, she accidentally bumped into Jiang Yan, who was sitting behind her.

“Sorry.”

Jiang Yan put a hand out to steady the distance between them. No harm was done, and she shook her head with a smile.

“Try it and see if you like it.”

Everyone present tentatively picked up a cup and sniffed. Wen Jing and Niannian immediately waved their hands. “No, no thanks! Don’t give us any.”

Jiang Yan wasn’t a cast member, so she didn’t have to drink.

One brave soul downed a cup in one go. After ten seconds, his face twisted in such agony that he spat it out, scaring everyone else into putting their cups back on the cart.

“What is this?! My god, that’s disgusting!”

“It’s a local specialty, made from fermenting milk with a special plant,” Mo Yu said with a smirk. “Does it taste okay? Sweet with a hint of sour?”

“…” The actor who spat it out ran to the bathroom to rinse his mouth. After several tries, he wiped his lips and complained, “It tastes like a rotten overnight dishcloth that turns bitter at the end! Is this even for human consumption?”

“Of course not,” Mo Yu said righteously. “Otherwise, how would it be a punishment?”

“From now on, for one week, I hope everyone’s words and actions stay in character. Otherwise, cheers to this glass of milk.”

Wen Jing’s lip twitched, her gaze drifting uncontrollably from left to right, lingering a bit on Niannian. “Wait, am I going to be the only one punished?”

“None of the other teachers look like they’d ever break character.”

Niannian raised her hand. “I feel like I’ll have to drink it too.”

Mo Yu looked at her two leads with satisfaction. She thought, Isn’t this exactly what I planned for you two? Why else would I go through the trouble of finding something so foul to mess with you?

Regarding Wen Jing and Niannian’s “complaints,” Mo Yu played deaf and mute, ignoring them entirely and clapping her hands to signal that the game was officially on.

Wen Jing was so annoyed she rolled her eyes.

Why did she feel like she had just boarded a pirate ship?