Everyone in the Entertainment Industry Thinks I’m a Flirty Diva [Entertainment Circle] - Chapter 57

Fans always stand on the frontlines to defend their idols. No matter how lacking their idol might be, fans will control the narrative until everything appears perfect. The onlookers had initially gathered to see how Chu Xi’s fans would defend her notoriously bad acting skills, but to their surprise, her fans reacted even more dramatically than the general public.

Are these even real fans…?

In the Brick Task Force, the fans’ emotions were undeniably complicated.

Chu Xi’s official Weibo profile listed her as an actress. Logically, fans should be thrilled that she’s returning to acting after such a long break. Yet, the Brick fans couldn’t muster any joy.

Most Brick fans were drawn to Chu Xi for her looks and personality. Those who became fans because of her acting—aside from a few with masochistic tendencies—were practically nonexistent.

The fans were perfectly content with Chu Xi’s current activities: magazine shoots, commercials, and variety shows. Her charm and beauty were steadily improving her public image, and more fans were joining every day. Everything was looking up. She was surely making good money from ads, magazines, and variety shows—so why on earth would she want to act again???

If it were just some cheesy school romance idol drama, fine. Those don’t require much acting anyway, and she could coast by on her looks. But what was the rumor now? That she was auditioning for Deep Sea Productions’ suspense-thriller series?

The Brick fans could already picture the disaster: Chu Xi’s terrible acting single-handedly dragging down Deep Sea’s stellar reputation, her cringe-worthy performance tanking her public image, and critics tearing her apart—sending her right back to square one.

Sobs Please don’t invite this backlash. Do you know how hard it’ll be for us fans to defend you against the hate? It’s too much to bear.

Despair.jpg

Xi Bao, you must have some serious delusions about your acting skills cries.

Apart from Chu Xi, several other actresses were rumored to be auditioning for Misty Abyss. The appeal of this drama was so strong that fans of every actress were rallying behind their idols, cheering them on with unwavering determination to secure the role. But among all the fan communities, one stood out—unique and eccentric, just like their unconventional fandom symbol: the brick.

Brick fans:

[“Xi Bao, just treat this as a fun experience, okay?”]

[“Let’s go with a learning attitude. Filming is too hard; variety shows are much easier. Mom doesn’t want you to suffer. teary eyes.jpg”]

[“Yes, yes, filming is really too exhausting. Sweetie, don’t push yourself so hard!”]

[“Xi Bao, I bought another box of the sanitary pads you endorsed! If you’re short on money, you must tell us!”]

Most fans were relatively tactful, but there were also some with more fiery tempers:

[“Chu Xi, as long as you don’t act, I’ll be your fan for life! Spend money on you for life! I’m a guy who’s bought thousands of yuan worth of sanitary pads for you—have I complained?!”]

Someone asked below: [“Bro, you’re so worked up. What if Chu Xi really goes back to acting? What will you do?”]

The fiery fan: [“Then I’ll just…”]

Everyone held their breath.

The fiery fan: [“…have to close my eyes and watch her acting! What else can I do, unfollow her?!”]

Onlookers: “………………”

Chu Xi herself: “………………”

Thanks to Gu Mingjing, the director of Misty Abyss read Chu Xi’s handwritten letter. Over his career, many actors had written to him for roles, so a handwritten letter alone didn’t move him much. What surprised him was Chu Xi’s insights into the script and her analysis of the character—clearly, she had put in the effort, unless it was ghostwritten. That was why he was willing to give her a chance to audition.

Why was it that other idols’ fans wished for their favorites to land roles, while her own fans wished she wouldn’t act?

Were these even fans?!

They were—and they were die-hard fans at that.

Only true fans would be so afraid of Chu Xi’s acting being terrible, fearing that her hard-earned goodwill and career would collapse again.

Even knowing it came from love, Chu Xi was still deeply disheartened. She didn’t surface in the “Brick Task Force” fan group, quietly preparing for the audition instead. Then, out of the blue, she received a WeChat message from Fu Bai, asking if she hadn’t logged in for a while and telling her to lurk in the fan group.

So Chu Xi stealthily opened the “Brick Task Force” fan group and saw the daily chatter of her lively brick fans:

[“@ActorChuXi, Xi Bao, you’ve got this! We all know how hard you’re working—you must ace the audition!”]

[“Xi Bao’s past performances weren’t great, but we believe she won’t let us down this time.”]

[“Sis Xi promised us during The Peach Blossom Promise that she’d act well—has she ever lied to us?”]

[“Xi Bao, you’re reading this, right? I know you love lurking. Whatever you do, we’ll support you. This time, give it your all!”]

[“Our inspiring Xi is the best!”]

…

After reading for a while, Chu Xi covered her mouth, moved to tears.

This wasn’t a group of fake fans, but rather a group of divine supporters.

The fans knew her reputation hadn’t been great before, and this was a drama from Deap Sea Film. Being too high-profile might not only invite mockery but also harsh criticism. So they took matters into their own hands first, entertaining the public while avoiding backlash. However, in the end, since this was Chu Xi’s own decision, her fans naturally gave their unconditional support. If they loved her, then she should feel free to pursue what she wanted—they would always be her strongest backing.

Chu Xi took a deep breath, her reddened eyes wide open.

If her fans were chasing the light, then she had to shine even brighter.

——

The audition was scheduled at Deap Sea Film’s headquarters.

Chu Xi arrived early, sitting in a corner of the waiting room.

She settled in, pulled out a red box from her bag, and opened it.

Inside lay her father’s police badge.

Chu Xi gently traced her fingers over the badge, drawing confidence and courage from it. Then she closed the box, tucked it back into her bag with renewed determination, and pulled out the script to familiarize herself with the audition scene.

Deap Sea Film was notoriously strict in the industry—no matter how big the star, everyone had to audition alongside their competitors. There were no backdoors or special treatment.

Before long, Chu Xi spotted many familiar faces among the waiting actresses—all well-known names in the industry.

The atmosphere was quiet. Some were touching up their makeup, others were reviewing the script, and a few were busy with their phones. Chu Xi glanced around and suddenly noticed an “old acquaintance” among them.

Le Shan.

The last time she appeared in public was six months ago, when she “debunked rumors” that she hadn’t been “kept” by the CEO of Yuanjing Entertainment, claiming she had always conducted herself with integrity. But that wasn’t all—she also hired trolls and marketing accounts to viciously attack other actresses who had sugar daddies, all to craft an image of being the “purest stream” in the entertainment industry.

At the time, Chu Xi bore the brunt of the backlash. Her high school education, her past as a “socialite,” and even rumors about being dumped by a sugar daddy—true or false—were all dug up by frenzied fans.

Public outrage quickly shifted entirely onto Chu Xi. Whether Le Shan was truly innocent or not no longer mattered, and no one noticed when she later lost several endorsements and acting opportunities tied to Yuanjing. She had been stuck at home with no work for over half a year.

This audition opportunity must have been hard-won for her.

Chu Xi noticed she looked slightly different—her nose and face shape had changed. She was prettier now, but in a generic way, like those influencers selling clothes and makeup—beautiful but forgettable. For an actress, the most fatal flaw wasn’t even being unattractive—it was lacking distinctiveness, being unmemorable.

Just thinking about Le Shan’s underhanded tactics—from mocking her for wearing a 200-yuan dress to all the other shady moves—made Chu Xi want to roll her eyes. She had such a sweet face, yet her actions were downright disgusting.

A while later, before the audition began, Chu Xi got up to use the restroom and ran into Le Shan in the hallway.

Chu Xi ignored her and tried to walk past, but Le Shan blocked her path.

Chu Xi changed direction, but Le Shan blocked her again.

“How dare you even show up for this audition? I’d be ashamed if I were you.”

Her tone was dripping with scorn.

Chu Xi took a deep breath, reminding herself that maintaining a good state for today’s audition was the most important thing. She shouldn’t let idiots ruin her mood. She simply replied, “None of your business.”

She tried to sidestep again, but Le Shan blocked her once more.

Le Shan sneered, “Weren’t you cozying up to Gu Mingjing a while back? Why the sudden silence? Got dumped again?”

“Then again, if you’d really hooked him, why would you still be here auditioning? Shouldn’t you just snap your fingers to get whatever role you want?”

Chu Xi desperately told herself to stay calm—never argue with fools. Le Shan was half a head shorter than her, so she straightened her posture and looked down. “Are you done?”

“If you don’t want me to expose how you paid off marketing accounts to smear your rivals, shut up.”

“After failing to cling to someone, you ran to deny rumors that you were ‘kept.’ Aren’t you ashamed? You’ve had no gigs for half a year—still not settled down?”

With that, she strode forward, her shoulder shoving Le Shan aside.

By the time Chu Xi returned from the restroom, the auditions had already begun. Candidates were called in one by one, some taking longer than others.

Chu Xi’s turn was in the middle. Standing by the door, she heard the assistant call her name. Clenching her fists, she lifted her head and stepped inside.

The director and producer sat before her, and her scene partner was a young actor from Shenying Entertainment.

If her audition for Peach Blossom Promise had been meticulously rehearsed—every line and expression planned—this time, she was in a state of “emptiness.”

Just as her acting coach had said: Don’t think about “acting” your role. Tell yourself you are that character. Feel her life, merge yourself with her.

When Chu Xi finished, the room was silent.

After a moment, the director nodded. “Chu Xi, right? That was good.”

She smiled and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Director. Thank you, Producer.”

Exiting the audition room, she felt light as air.

No matter the outcome, she had given her all. Even if the role didn’t go to her, it didn’t matter—at least she had tried. The greatest regret about something you desire isn’t failing to obtain it, but knowing you had a chance and not even attempting it.

Her steps buoyant, Chu Xi returned to the waiting room.

She had left her bag on the chair where she’d been sitting earlier.

As she approached her seat, she noticed the zipper was open.

Frowning slightly, she reached inside—only to feel something wet.

Chu Xi immediately opened her bag wider and found that someone had poured tea into it. Everything was soaked: her script, lipstick, wallet, phone, e-reader, and her father’s police badge.

Chu Xi quickly took out her police badge, opened the lid to check, and was relieved to find it unharmed.

Next were her phone and e-reader, both completely waterlogged and unable to turn on.

She tilted her bag, and water poured out, splashing onto the floor.

Looking at the mess, she trembled with anger. The staff was calling the next audition candidate, and Chu Xi heard the name—Le Shan.

Just as Le Shan reached the audition room door, someone suddenly grabbed the back of her collar and yanked her backward, making her stumble several steps.

“What are you doing?!” Le Shan barely managed to steady herself and turned around with a shout.

The nearby staff member was also startled. “Wh-what’s going on?”

Chu Xi’s face was cold as she held her dripping bag in front of Le Shan. “Explain this to me.”