Melon Eating Cannon Fodder, On Air!-Chapter 65 - Sixty-Five: Threads of Choice

To say that she was excited was putting it mildly. An Ning was not merely pleased or cautiously optimistic. She was genuinely, unmistakably thrilled.

Acting was not something she did to pass time or to chase applause. It was the one thing that had remained constant through every turning point of her life in this world. When she stood before a camera, when she slipped into a role and allowed another soul to breathe through her, the world made sense in a way nothing else ever did.

She loved the quiet before a take, that fragile moment when the set stilled and every sound faded into expectation. She loved the weight of a script in her hands, the countless possibilities hidden between lines of dialogue. She loved the slow process of understanding a character, first on the page, then in her heart, until emotions stopped feeling borrowed and began to feel real.

Acting demanded everything from her. Discipline. Observation. Vulnerability. Control. It asked her to feel deeply and honestly, even when it was uncomfortable. Especially when it was uncomfortable. And she had never once resented it for that.

That was why this opportunity made her pulse race.

A xianxia film. A commercial production with real investment, real expectations and real reach. Not a throwaway role, not a stepping stone, but a chance to stand properly on the big screen again and be seen for what she could truly do.

And then there was the director.

Wen Shaoheng was not just a famous name. He was someone who understood actors. Someone who had once stood under the lights himself and knew what it meant to be exposed, to be dissected frame by frame. Directors like him did not look only for spectacle. They looked for truth.

To be guided by someone like that was already rare.

But what made An Ning’s excitement sharpen into something almost reverent was the other name attached to the project.

Lu Jiaxin.

Lu Jiaxin was not just an actress; she was an era. Her performances were gentle yet unforgettable, restrained yet deeply affecting. She never demanded attention, and yet the camera never left her.

To share the screen with someone like that was not about competition.

It was about standing close enough to learn.

An Ning did not want to be eclipsed, nor did she wish to cling for reflected glory. She wanted to hold her ground, to exchange lines and silence with someone who understood performance at its purest form. She wanted to prove that she belonged there too.

Her manager’s voice echoed in her mind, determined and confident, already preparing to fight for the role on her behalf.

An Ning exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

She was ready.

Ready to audition.

Ready to be judged.

Ready to give everything she had.

*****

Sun Qiaolian was equally excited when she heard that casting would be held for Wen Shaoheng’s xianxia movie. However, her excitement barely had time to bloom before it was quietly extinguished, stopping short of anything that resembled celebration.

She called her manager that very night, voice carefully steady, as if this were just another routine inquiry rather than an opportunity that could alter the trajectory of her career.

"I heard Wen Shaoheng is preparing a xianxia film," she said lightly. "There may be open casting. I was wondering if we could try to get a slot."

There was a pause on the other end.

Not the busy kind.

Not the distracted kind.

The kind of pause that carried hesitation.

Her manager did not answer immediately. Instead, she let out a small hum, as though weighing something unseen. "You heard fast," she finally said. "Yes, there will likely be casting."

Sun Qiaolian waited.

Seconds passed.

Then more.

"...And?" she prompted gently.

Her manager sighed. "Qiaolian, this project is different."

Different. That word alone was enough to cool the heat in her chest.

"Wen Shaoheng does not work through the usual channels," her manager continued. "More importantly, Shen Entertainment is heavily involved. Casting decisions will not be based purely on résumés or availability."

Sun Qiaolian understood what was being left unsaid.

"And Shuyue-jie?" she asked quietly.

Another pause.

This time, the silence was answer enough.

Her manager chose her words carefully. "Shuyue-jie has not given any indication that she wants to push you for this project."

Push.

The word landed heavily.

Sun Qiaolian did not speak for a moment. Her fingers curled against her palm, nails pressing in just enough to remind herself to stay composed.

Jiang Shuyue was her teammate on the show.

Her roommate.

Her supposed ally.

But in the real world, Jiang Shuyue was also a rising capital darling, someone whose backing could open doors with a single sentence. And right now, that sentence had not been spoken.

"I see," Sun Qiaolian said softly.

Her manager hesitated. "It does not mean no. Just... not yet. Without Shuyue-jie’s interest, it will be difficult for me to secure you a formal audition slot. Wen Shaoheng’s team is selective. They will not look twice unless someone recommends you or unless you bring something they cannot ignore."

Sun Qiaolian smiled, though no one could see it. "Thank you for telling me honestly."

After the call ended, she sat alone for a long while.

The excitement from earlier had not vanished. It had simply changed shape.

She had always known this was how the industry worked. Nurturing was not free. Support was not automatic. Being pleasant, cooperative and unproblematic only kept you from being discarded. It did not guarantee you would be lifted.

She thought back to dinner.

To Lu Jiaxin’s warmth.

To An Ning’s calm confidence.

To Jiang Shuyue, laughing easily, already standing closer to the center of attention.

Sun Qiaolian exhaled slowly.

If no one intended to nurture her, then she would have to make herself impossible to overlook.

She picked up her phone again, not to beg, not to complain, but to search.

Scripts.

Past xianxia roles.

Training schedules.

If opportunity would not be handed to her, then she would meet it halfway.

Quietly.

Relentlessly.

And next time she asked for a chance, she intended to make it very difficult for anyone to say no.

Her phone vibrated again not long after.

Sun Qiaolian hesitated for a second before answering.

"I’ve been thinking," her manager said, voice carefully neutral. "There may be another way."

Qiaolian’s posture straightened. "What kind of way?"

"I could arrange a dinner," her manager continued. "Not with Wen Shaoheng directly. That would be unrealistic. But with a few people from the investment side. Producers, sponsors. People who can put in a word or two."

Qiaolian was silent.

She already knew what came next.

"If they like you," her manager added, "it would not be difficult to secure a small role. Supporting, maybe even a minor immortal or sect disciple. It would be enough to get your foot in the door."

A pause.

"And what would they want in return?" Qiaolian asked quietly.

Her manager did not pretend otherwise. "You would need to attend the dinner. Be pleasant. Sociable. Drink a little if necessary. Make a good impression."

Drink a little.

Make a good impression.

The words were polished. Professional. So familiar they almost felt routine.

Qiaolian looked down at her hands. They were steady. She wondered when she had learned to keep them that way.

"I see," she said.

"It is optional," her manager said quickly. "I am not forcing you. I just want you to know what options exist."

Options.

Qiaolian smiled faintly. Options were a luxury reserved for people who already stood on solid ground. For someone like her, they were closer to trade offs.

She imagined the dinner. The clinking glasses. The laughter that would not quite reach the eyes. The unspoken expectations beneath polite compliments.

She had seen enough of it. Not directly, perhaps. But close enough to understand the cost.

"And if I do not go?" she asked.

Her manager exhaled. "Then we wait. Or we hope Jiang Shuyue decides to speak for you. Or we wait for another project."

Hope was not a strategy. Waiting was not security.

"I will think about it," Qiaolian said finally.

After the call ended, she leaned back against the chair, eyes closing briefly.

She was not naïve. She knew this was how many doors opened. Quietly. Over wine glasses. In rooms where contracts were never mentioned aloud.

But knowing did not make accepting easier.

On the screen of her phone, a still from the day’s filming lingered. Her smiling beside Zhou Zhenyu. Gentle. Proper. Inoffensive.

Was that enough?

Sun Qiaolian opened her eyes.

If this was the price of a small role, then the industry had not changed at all.

The question was not whether she could pay it.

It was whether she wanted to.

She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, weighing ambition against self-respect, desire against compromise.

In the end, Sun Qiaolian knew only one thing for certain.

Whatever choice she made next would follow her for a very long time.