Let's Get Married on the First Day of Rebirth - Chapter 27

Lin Zhenyi accepted Qu Ange’s kindness and took a rest before heading to the audition first. By the time it was Qu Ange’s turn, it was almost noon—not an ideal time, as she was hungry, and so were the audition judges.

As soon as Qu Ange entered, she overheard the judges discussing what to eat for lunch. She glanced over and recognized many familiar faces: Director Shen Xinlong, renowned for his expertise in historical palace dramas; screenwriter Wang Jia; producer Lin An; and one unfamiliar person, likely a long-time behind-the-scenes figure.

Qu Ange later became very close with Wang Jia, collaborating on numerous projects. Seeing Wang Jia muttering to Lin An about not knowing what to eat, Qu Ange chimed in, “How about the Yanbian cold noodles on South Academy Road? Perfect for summer.”

All four judges looked up at her in unison. Lin An even chuckled and said, “Wow, this girl sure knows how to make herself at home.”

Qu Ange quickly shut her mouth and stepped to the center. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Qu Ange from Guangju Media, 169 cm tall and 46 kg.”

Wang Jia stroked her chin, her mind momentarily drifting to the taste of cold noodles, though she tried to refocus. Her expression remained neutral as she remarked, “169? You seem taller than that.”

Qu Ange inwardly sighed. In the entertainment industry, being too short or too tall was a problem, so her official height was listed as 169 cm. In reality, with shoes, she might be closer to 173 cm. Suppressing her annoyance, she smiled brightly and said, “That was my height during my senior year physical. Maybe I grew a bit after—I’m not sure.”

Being seasoned professionals, the judges were well aware of such little white lies. They let it slide, and Shen Xinlong gestured for her to proceed. “Perform your prepared piece.”

Qu Ange glanced around, spotted a stool nearby, and placed it in the center. “I’ll be performing the scene where Consort Zhen hangs herself in The Last Palace.”

Shen Xinlong raised an eyebrow in surprise. This newcomer had ambition and confidence. Xiao Qiaoqi had won the Best Actress award at the Golden Chariot Awards in 2008 for this very role, with this scene being the pinnacle of her performance. He doubted this unknown, non-professionally trained actress could pull it off. Exchanging a glance with Wang Jia, he noticed her amused expression—clearly expecting a train wreck.

Earlier, other auditioners had attempted similarly challenging scenes, only to end up as unintentional comedy.

But the moment Qu Ange lifted her head, all such thoughts vanished. A single look from her made Shen Xinlong straighten in his seat, gripping the edge of the table tightly.

No one could remain indifferent under that gaze. It was the look of true despair.

“Ah Fu, Ah Fu… Good, you’re still here…”

Qu Ange sat on the stool, her back ramrod straight. Though condemned to death, she remained a noble consort, a lady of scholarly refinement. Her left hand clutched something, her right-hand hovering over it protectively. Between her fingers, a faint tremble was visible—the poison meant for her execution.

Although no one was acting opposite her, she seemed to hear the maid A-Fu’s reply. She smiled, her nose wrinkling slightly with a hint of disdain and a soft snort. “Even if there’s a next life, who knows what fate awaits? Next life… forget it…”

As if in defiance, she downed the poison in one gulp. But after drinking it, fear crept into her expression. She sat dazed for a moment before standing up, tears streaming down her face as she rushed forward to pound on the door. “Let me out, please let me out!”

Her voice grew weaker and weaker as she slid down the doorframe, collapsing to the floor. The poison began to take effect, her expression turning vacant, her eyes losing focus. Yet the tears stopped, replaced by a faint smile. She remembered the first time she saw the Emperor, on their wedding night, when she peeked out from under the covers and saw him sitting by the bed.

“So, this is what the Emperor looks like.”

Back then, she was still young. Still naive.

The room was utterly silent until the timer went off. Shen Xinlong was surprised, thinking, has it only been five minutes?

They had given each auditioning actor five minutes to perform.

Qu Ange got up from the floor and bowed to the panel. “Teachers, my performance is over.”

There was a silence of at least five seconds before Shen Xinlong began clapping. “Excellent, truly excellent.”

The performance wasn’t just good—it was polished, mature, nuanced, and emotionally rich. It was hard to believe it came from a newcomer. Shen Xinlong flipped through Qu Ange’s resume again and asked, “You… you’re a newcomer?”

Her resume showed she had acted before, but only in minor roles in low-budget TV dramas—never even a second lead, at best a third. She wasn’t a graduate of any drama school either. It was baffling where she could have honed such refined acting skills. But with talent and looks like hers, and being a newcomer, they had clearly struck gold.

Qu Ange nodded obediently.

This time, she had only hoped to make an impression, knowing her status wouldn’t land her a major role. She said, “I’ve only just entered the industry and lack experience, but I’d love the chance to work with all of you. Even a role like a palace maid would be fine.”

Shen Xinlong and Wang Jia both laughed. Wang Jia, blunt as ever, blurted out, “With a face like yours, who’d dare cast you as a maid? It’d make the Emperor look blind.” Before the audition, she had intended to remain stern, but now that resolve had completely vanished.

Qu Ange felt a surge of pride but kept her expression meek, offering an awkward smile without a word.

Shen Xinlong waved a hand. “You’re good. Go home and wait for our call.”

This was practically a confirmation that she had a shot. Even if Qu Ange hadn’t originally planned to join The Flowers of the Ming Palace crew, she couldn’t help feeling pleased. After all, it was a great project and a chance to collaborate with such talented directors and writers. She bowed and left the room, her cheerful expression fading as she walked through the crowd and headed downstairs.

At the elevator, she quickly sent a message to Xu Mi—

Mimi, my audition’s done. I’m coming back~

When Tan Zhenzhen received Qu Ange’s text, she was at the table eating ice cream and crying. Her leg was in a cast, propped up on a chair and immobile. Sniffling, she said, “The boss might fire me. The doctor said I can’t move for at least a week, and walking will take a month.”

Xu Mi replied with an “Okay” to Qu Ange, then comforted Tan Zhenzhen, saying, “Aren’t you in a writing-related job? Working from home shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Tan Zhenzhen said, “Not at all! Our company is super strict about clocking in.”

After eating an ice cream, her mood improved a little, though she was still upset. Xu Mi glanced at her leg and remarked, “…So, to catch a falling bun, you ended up tumbling down the stairs. You really are…”

Hearing this, Tan Zhenzhen looked like she was about to get sad again. Xu Mi quickly added, “Don’t be upset. I’ll make you some pork rib soup this afternoon. You know, ‘like cures like’—it’ll help you recover faster, okay?”

Tan Zhenzhen’s eyes lit up. “Pork rib soup? Yay!”

Seeing Tan Zhenzhen’s reaction, Xu Mi couldn’t help but smile. She thought about making something nice for dinner to reward Qu Ange as well. With that in mind, she tidied up, went out to buy ingredients, and started preparing. Tan Zhenzhen watched for a while before suddenly saying, “That ‘Xu Mi’ on Weibo is you, isn’t it?”

Xu Mi’s heart skipped a beat, and the kitchen knife slammed heavily onto the cutting board, leaving a deep mark.

Tan Zhenzhen hurriedly said, “Don’t be nervous! I know having your social media account discovered can be embarrassing, but I really love your Weibo posts. They look so delicious.”

Xu Mi stiffly replied, “Thanks.”

Tan Zhenzhen continued, “Weibo has word limits. Have you thought about using it to drive traffic to a public account where you could post more detailed content? That way, you might even earn some income from it.”

Xu Mi glanced at her. “Are you in this line of work?”

Tan Zhenzhen nodded. “Yeah, nowadays it’s all about monetizing traffic. If I weren’t so lazy and didn’t have your cooking skills, I’d be doing it myself.”

Xu Mi’s interest was piqued. She suddenly remembered what Qu Ange had said the night before—that she could collaborate with Tan Zhenzhen, with her cooking and Tan Zhenzhen eating. She said, “I think you eat in a way that’s really appealing—it makes people hungry just watching you.”

Tan Zhenzhen smiled shyly. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about trying to make videos or photo content during this sick leave. I can handle the visuals if you just focus on the cooking.”

Xu Mi felt tempted. She wasn’t thinking about making money or anything as ambitious as Tan Zhenzhen, but she did like the idea of sharing her dishes. She nodded. “Should we give it a try?”

The afternoon suddenly became busy. Meanwhile, Qu Ange sat obediently in a Mercedes-Benz, with Lin Zhenyi beside her. The latter had called out to her on the street after she came downstairs, saying she wanted to thank her by treating her to a meal.

Qu Ange had feigned surprise at the time, glancing at the sunglasses-wearing driver in the front seat and Lin Zhenyi’s kindly smiling face in the back.

Naturally, she got into the car. When Lin Zhenyi asked what she’d like to eat, knowing the woman hated false modesty, Qu Ange thought for a moment and said, “I just got here, so I’m not sure what’s good around here.”

She wouldn’t have minded cold noodles either. She still remembered the summer of 2018 when a director had told her that her basics were too weak, so she took a break to study acting fundamentals at the Central Academy of Drama. Every day after class, she’d find a quiet corner to slurp cold noodles alone. Once, when Wang Jia came to visit, she waved her hand and said, “Let’s go get noodles.” Wang Jia had laughed and said, “You’ve got good taste. This place was already famous when I was in school.”

Qu Ange remarked, “I wouldn’t have guessed. This is actually a century-old establishment.”

Wang Jia raised her hand to swat at her. “Qu Ange, are you calling me old in a roundabout way?”

But Qu Ange was thinking: She just felt the cold noodles at this shop tasted strikingly similar to Xu Mi’s version—sour, spicy, and icy enough to chase away the summer heat.

However, it was still just a small eatery popular among students, and Lin Zhenyi wouldn’t be used to it. Though Lin was relatively down-to-earth for someone of her wealth, she still had her fair share of aristocratic quirks and couldn’t handle spicy food.

She knew Lin Zhenyi well, but she couldn’t let it show now. Hearing Qu Ange’s words, Lin Zhenyi also found them reasonable and said, “Then let’s go to Xinglin Pavilion instead.”

Qu Ange smiled knowingly. Of course, it would be Xinglin Pavilion. If it was Lin Zhenyi’s first time inviting someone to dinner, it was always Xinglin Pavilion—her favorite private kitchen.

Though she understood perfectly, she still feigned ignorance and asked, “Where is Xinglin Pavilion?”

Lin Zhenyi played coy. “You’ll see when we get there.”

With an expectant expression, Qu Ange took out her phone and sent a message to Xu Mi:

[Mimi, something came up, so I’ll be back late. Go ahead and eat dinner without me.]

Thinking about how she was about to connect with Lin Zhenyi, she happily hit send.

Meanwhile, upon receiving the message, Xu Mi’s smile vanished instantly. She put away her phone and picked up a knife to chop corn. With a heavy thud, a piece of corn flew off the cutting board, leaving yet another knife mark behind. The sound startled Tan Zhenzhen, who was in the middle of taking photos.

She looked up, about to say, “Xu Mi, you’re pretty strong,” but when her eyes landed on Xu Mi’s face, the words died in her throat.

It was strange. How could that same gentle face suddenly seem so intimidating?