Melon Eating Cannon Fodder, On Air!-Chapter 67 - Sixty-Seven: Where Threads Converge

As expected, there were many people here for the casting.

An Ning stood near the side of the waiting area, posture relaxed, expression neutral, as though this was just another ordinary audition. The space buzzed softly with suppressed tension. People spoke in low voices, careful not to reveal too much eagerness. Some rehearsed lines under their breath. Others scrolled through scripts they already knew by heart, pretending to review them one last time.

Everyone here wanted the same thing.

A chance.

An Ning’s gaze drifted slowly across the room. She did not rush her observations. Years of experience had taught her that auditions revealed far more than performances. How someone waited. How they reacted to uncertainty. How they carried hope when nothing had been promised.

There were actresses with obvious backing, entourages hovering nearby. There were newcomers gripping their bags too tightly, eyes shining with fragile optimism. There were veterans wearing calm like armour, pretending this did not matter when it mattered more than they would ever admit.

An Ning exhaled softly.

She recognised the atmosphere well.

In her previous life, she had stood in places like this countless times. The difference now was clarity. She no longer mistook proximity to opportunity for safety. Nor did she confuse silence with insignificance.

She was here because she was allowed to be here.

Not favoured.

Not smuggled in.

Not tolerated.

Considered.

That alone steadied her.

She lowered her gaze briefly to the script in her hands. The Senior Sister’s lines were not many. But they were decisive. Every word carried intent. Authority did not need volume. Responsibility did not require explanation.

She closed the script.

She was ready.

Across the room, another presence shifted uneasily.

*****

Sun Qiaolian stood closer to the entrance, back straight, smile practiced into something soft and unassuming. Anyone watching casually would see nothing amiss. She looked exactly as she always did. Gentle. Proper. Easy to like.

Only she knew how hard it was to keep her breathing even.

Her palms were still faintly damp, despite how long it had been since the night before.

The dinner.

She had told herself it was only a meal. A conversation. Networking, her manager had called it, using words that sounded clean enough to believe.

But reality had never been that simple.

She remembered the private room, dimly lit, expensive in a way that did not bother advertising itself. Glasses clinked too often. Compliments flowed easily, layered thick with implication. She had laughed at the right moments. Listened attentively. Allowed herself to be guided gently from topic to topic.

And when a hand had rested over hers for a second too long, she had not pulled away.

When fingers brushed her wrist, her back, her waist under the guise of friendly encouragement, she had stayed still.

When laughter drew closer, when personal space quietly disappeared, she had smiled and told herself this was temporary.

That it meant something.

She remembered the moment her discomfort had spiked sharply, the instinctive urge to step back screaming through her. The way she had swallowed it down and reminded herself why she was there.

It was only a dinner.

Only contact.

Only an evening.

She had endured worse in silence before.

And when she finally left, walking alone under the cold night sky, she had felt strangely hollow. Not dirty. Not broken. Just tired. Deeply, bone-achingly tired.

But the call had come the next morning.

"There is a slot," her manager had said.

Just like that.

A slot.

Sun Qiaolian had stared at the wall for a long moment after hanging up. She had not cried. She had not smiled. She had simply acknowledged the exchange for what it was.

Then she got dressed and came here.

Because walking away now would make everything she endured meaningless.

Her gaze drifted across the waiting room.

That was when she saw An Ning.

Sun Qiaolian’s fingers tightened briefly around her bag strap.

Of course she was here too.

An Ning stood with quiet composure, no nervous fidgeting, no performative calm. Just stillness. The kind that came from confidence earned slowly, not borrowed from circumstance.

Sun Qiaolian felt something complicated rise in her chest.

An Ning had not needed a dinner. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Had not needed to drink.

Had not needed to let anyone’s hands linger where they did not belong.

And yet here they stood, on the same ground.

That thought did not make her resentful.

It made her determined.

If this was the price she had paid to stand here, then she would not allow herself to falter now.

*****

An Ning sensed the shift before she saw it.

She lifted her gaze and met Sun Qiaolian’s eyes across the room.

Just for a second.

No hostility.

No warmth.

Only recognition.

An Ning understood immediately.

She did not know the details. She did not need to. The faint tightness in Sun Qiaolian’s posture, the careful stillness in her smile, the way her gaze carried something heavier than anticipation told her enough.

Opportunity had a cost.

It always did.

An Ning looked away first.

Not out of avoidance, but respect.

Everyone here was fighting their own battle. Some chose patience. Some chose compromise. Some chose endurance.

There was no singular path.

An assistant stepped forward, clipboard in hand. "Next group, please prepare. We will begin shortly."

A ripple passed through the room.

Sun Qiaolian straightened unconsciously, smoothing imaginary creases from her skirt. An Ning picked up her script again, eyes lowering not in fear, but focus.

This was the moment.

Whatever had brought them here no longer mattered.

Only what they would do next.

Sun Qiaolian inhaled slowly.

She had let hands touch her where she did not want them to.

She had smiled when she wanted to pull away.

She had swallowed discomfort because she believed this chance was worth it.

Now, standing here, she refused to let that sacrifice end in silence.

If she had paid the price, then she would make it count.

An Ning lifted her chin slightly.

She had trained.

She had prepared.

She had waited.

If she was going to be seen today, then she would be seen properly.

The door to the audition room opened.

Names were called.

And the quiet tension in the waiting room sharpened into something electric.

No matter how they arrived here, once the cameras turned on, once the lines were spoken, once the performance began, only one thing would matter.

Who truly belonged on screen.