Chapter Twelve: Landing the Role

Before Liu Qingshan could finish his performance, Qian Yangqiu had already leapt to his feet, murmuring under his breath:

"This is the very essence of the assassin I imagined—the cold-blooded intensity of Hu Jinghui at his best, the most fearsome figure Li Yuanfang ever spoke of."

Seeing Qian Yangqiu’s reaction, Liu Qingshan did not continue; he casually swung his sword a few more times before stopping.

Just as excited as Qian Yangqiu was Zhang Zijian. A truly gifted actor should immerse himself wholly in his role. Since, in the script, Li Yuanfang regards Hu Jinghui as the most terrifying man, then once Zhang Zijian is fully invested in his character, it is only natural for him to feel an instinctive sense of fear.

Worse off than either of them was the only woman present, Feng Xiangzhen. She hugged her arms tightly, her voice trembling slightly:

"His swordsmanship is acting in itself. I don’t think we need to assess his ability as an actor any further!"

Qian Yangqiu shook his head. "I want a killer with flesh and blood, not a mere killing machine! Besides, the role itself is quite limited; if Qingshan can’t bring a more distinctive personality to it, the audience will hardly remember him!"

"I also think it’s necessary to observe his acting, especially since Hu Jinghui is later moved by Judge Di’s sincerity, and sacrifices himself to protect him, dying by Li Qingxia’s blade. Such emotional depth demands real skill!" This was Liang Guanghua’s opinion.

"I’ve read the script. Why not perform the scene where Hu Jinghui gives his life to strike back at Li Qingxia in the end?" As soon as Liu Qingshan finished speaking, everyone present looked astonished.

After all, the scene Liu Qingshan chose was the most emotionally complex for Hu Jinghui in the entire play. Under the circumstances, when it was almost certain he would play Hu Jinghui, he could have chosen a much simpler scene to showcase himself. Choosing the most difficult part without hesitation meant Liu Qingshan was either arrogant or had unshakable confidence in his ability.

He paid no attention to the others’ whispered doubts, simply laying his sword aside, standing still, and centering himself in silence.

The plot was as follows:

The battle in Youzhou had begun. Yu Feng unexpectedly led his men to storm the governor’s mansion, and Li Yuanfang hurried to the rescue with the guards.

In the midst of the fierce fighting, Princess Li Qingxia appeared. Under Judge Di’s astonished gaze, she raised her dagger and stabbed at him.

At the critical moment, Hu Jinghui leaped forward, the dagger plunging deep into his chest, and he fell to the ground.

Li Qingxia cursed him furiously, hating him for his betrayal. She raised her dagger again, but now Hu Jinghui was behind her. Summoning his last strength, he struck Li Qingxia down.

Thus, Judge Di was saved, and Hu Jinghui perished.

What Liu Qingshan sought to express was not only the moment of the leap, but also the challenge of confronting the invisible Princess Li Qingxia. This sort of mimed performance, with no real partner, is even more complex—especially since from start to finish, it was all him alone. Even those unfamiliar with the plot could grasp the essence of the scene.

Because he didn’t have to worry about blocking, he could perform with ease; at an intermediate actor’s level, he already matched the standards of the A-list—skills required of any leading star. Combined with his martial arts, even his body language was convincing.

Naturally, the result was another wave of astonishment among those present.

"Qingshan, are you sure you’re not from a professional academy?" Feng Xiangzhen’s face was filled with amazement.

"But you’re not without flaws," Liang Guanghua observed. "Your mimed actions are still a little stiff. Of course, in actual filming, with scene partners, that will improve."

Liu Qingshan stood there, straight as a student at an exam, respectful: "My greatest weakness isn’t that, but my unfamiliarity with camera positions and blocking."

"That’s all inexperience, then why are your facial expressions so well controlled?" Liang Guanghua pressed on.

"In three years, I’ve appeared in over two thousand productions, big and small. Though I’ve never shown my face, I could watch others’ performances and then practice in front of the mirror when I got home."

"Heavens, over two thousand? Do you know how many days there are in three years?"

"Sometimes I’d do several shoots in a single day. Usually, it was just a crowd of actors shuffling from one studio to another, then collapsing to play corpses."

"I see!" Qian Yangqiu finally spoke up. "For a long time, Qingshan didn’t grasp the real art—he didn’t realize, besides acting, blocking and body language were equally important. By the time he noticed the flaw, it was a bit late!"

"But it doesn’t matter. For an actor, expression is the heart of performance. The rest can be honed with experience," Feng Xiangzhen now spoke up for the young man before her, her fondness undisguised.

Liang Guanghua also showed his approval: "He’s already achieved something remarkable. With no professional guidance, he’s mastered such exquisite facial expressions—even I feel threatened!"

It’s long been said there’s rivalry among peers; that Liang Guanghua could use the word "threatened" showed he genuinely regarded Liu Qingshan as a competitor in pure acting. Of course, saying so in front of him meant there was no hostility—rather, more appreciation.

Feng Xiangzhen turned to Zhang Zijian. "Don’t just stand there with your mouth open. Surely you have something to say?"

In truth, since Liu Qingshan’s performance began, Zhang Zijian’s jaw hadn’t closed. This young man had surprised him too many times. If he were just another newcomer from an academy, Zhang Zijian wouldn’t have reacted so strongly.

"Right now, my mind is reeling. The phrase ‘hidden masters among the people’ keeps flashing before me. Maybe it’s just my own limited experience, but I can’t absorb it all at once."

Zhu Yanping laughed heartily: "We’re all the same. Yesterday I was just like you are now. But I’m older than you, and I knew enough to hold onto this man, not just sit there in a daze!"

Qian Yangqiu nodded at Liu Qingshan. "The upheaval in our crew is entirely thanks to Brother Yanping’s efforts. Do you have the confidence now to play Hu Jinghui well?"

"But I’m cutting in halfway—what about Brother Zhu and the others?" Liu Qingshan hesitated, uncertainty on his face.

Qian Yangqiu waved him off. "That’s our directors’ concern, not yours! We haven’t discussed this with the producers or planners yet, so your appearance fee probably won’t be very high. You should be prepared for that!"