Chapter 73: Recite a Poem!

After hearing the host’s words, Galen sensed something was amiss. According to her, Sun Youjia had surely signed with DreamStar Entertainment. And, judging by the nature of “Dream Star Light Show,” it was impossible for them to eliminate their own people and let outsiders benefit. To them, Galen was the outsider; their aim should have been to suppress him and boost Sun Youjia’s fame.

But...

Suddenly, Galen thought of something. He immediately pulled out his phone and opened the Scale Search browser. As the largest search engine, Scale tallied daily search indices from netizens. On the search index page, under the term category, Galen entered both his own name and Sun Youjia’s.

The results appeared quickly.

Before the competition, Galen’s search index was about the same as Sun Youjia’s, averaging just over three thousand daily. From the evening of the competition onward, Sun Youjia’s index soared, shooting straight up past a hundred thousand, and Galen’s rose sharply afterward, eventually outpacing Sun Youjia by more than two hundred thousand.

On the second day, both Galen and Sun Youjia’s indices continued to climb at a near-vertical rate. If the Star Light Show had ignited a spark the night before, the next day was when the fire truly radiated. With overwhelming online promotion, and friends and family spreading word in every way, both of them became sensations.

Galen glanced back at the news from that day. Besides reports of his successful challenge, breaking a six-week stalemate, and winning by the largest margin, there were plenty about Sun Youjia as well.

“Taiwan Music Can’t Continue—Former Idol Singer Sun Youjia Defeated,” “The Older Brother Succeeded, What About the Younger?” “Old Faces Out of Favor? Audiences Prefer Fresh Faces!” “Sun Youjia Couldn’t Renew the Weekly Champions’ Glory!”...

These articles, ostensibly negative, were in fact boosting Sun Youjia’s fame.

By today, the single-day search index for “Sun Youjia” had broken eight hundred thousand, while Galen’s was around one million three hundred thousand. The gap seemed wide, but compared to other contestants, or even regular B- or C-list celebrities, both were winners.

After checking their indices, Galen entered another name—the previous week’s champion. That person’s current search index was just over sixty thousand; on competition day, it topped three hundred thousand, but dropped to one hundred fifty thousand the next day, and fell below one hundred thousand on the third.

Compared to those who had advanced to the semifinals, Sun Youjia—who was eliminated in a head-to-head—had benefited greatly!

Realizing all this, Galen couldn’t help but sigh inwardly: the entertainment industry was unfathomably deep!

Once the morning interview ended, Galen headed to Wu Chaoyang’s office suite for a nap.

After waking in the afternoon, he resumed recording the second session, feeling much more refreshed than before. It took just over an hour to finish everything.

Immediately, Galen had to hurry to the next battleground—the set of “Beauty of the City.”

After more than an hour’s drive, the outline of the film studio finally appeared.

Entering the gates, he made his way to the Pavilion of Blossoms.

Same location as yesterday’s shoot, same crew.

But today, both the male and female leads were present. It was Galen’s first time meeting the stars of this drama.

The male lead, Guo Cheng, played a rich young man deeply infatuated with the heroine.

The female lead, Cao Xiwen, played Zhou Shishi.

As Galen arrived on set, the first to spot him was Sister Hao, who greeted him with a cheerful smile. “Ah Lun! You’re early today! Have you eaten? I’m about to pack lunchboxes—just let me know what you want, I’ll have them make it special for you!”

Sister Hao was the life manager for the crew, handling all aspects of daily living—food, drink, sleep, and other logistics.

“No need, no need!” Galen waved his hand. “I’m not hungry.”

“Nonsense!” Sister Hao feigned annoyance. “You rushed over at this hour, must’ve skipped a meal. We’ll probably shoot till past ten tonight—how can you last if you don’t eat?”

“Well... anything’s fine!” Galen smiled. “I’m not picky.”

Sister Hao’s eyes twinkled. “Got it! I’ll make sure your portion’s extra generous!”

“Thank you, Sister Hao!”

As they spoke, the assistant director walked up. “Galen’s here? Are you ready for those upcoming scenes?”

“Ready!” Galen nodded. “I can shoot anytime.”

“Good! I’ll call you when it’s your turn.” The assistant director smiled. Although Galen had performed superbly yesterday, he wasn’t convinced this kid could nail every scene in one take today.

After the assistant director left, Galen walked toward the Pavilion of Blossoms.

Inside, a scene was being filmed—a heated argument between Guo Cheng and Cao Xiwen.

Guo Cheng’s face was contorted with fury, veins bulging, pounding the table and shouting, “I’m willing to pay to redeem you! Will you leave with me or not?”

Cao Xiwen looked indifferent. “Since I stepped into the Pavilion of Blossoms, I never planned to leave.”

“Why? Why? What about me displeases you? Or is there someone else in your heart? Who is it? Tell me, who!”

Guo Cheng was like a raging lion, shoving teacups and teapots aside, wild as a madman.

“I’m just a courtesan. I can play along, but grow old together? I can’t.”

Cao Xiwen turned to face Guo Cheng. “Leave. I’m tired.”

Their acting was so compelling—every line, every expression—that Galen was mesmerized.

This was a golden opportunity to learn by observation!

More scenes followed—some with supporting roles, some with leads.

After watching for a while, Galen took his script and found a shady spot under a tree to practice alone.

Apply what you learn. Though none of the leads or supporting actors had taught him directly, Galen realized that acting was all about the drama—so long as the scene was full, the performance would be too.

Acting should be natural; you can’t constantly remind yourself you’re acting. You have to immerse yourself in the role, lose yourself completely, to succeed.

But how does one lose oneself?

Galen scratched his head, closed his eyes, leaned against the tree, and forced himself to become the scholar in the script, thinking of nothing else, not worrying about good or bad performances.

He didn’t know how much time passed before someone nudged him. “Ah Lun! It’s your turn—the director’s calling you!”

Galen opened his eyes and saw it was Assistant Ding.

“Alright! Coming!” he replied.

Watching Galen run toward the Pavilion, Assistant Ding smiled wryly behind him—tonight’s progress would probably be slow again.

“Director Zhao!”

Galen approached Zhao Xin. “When do we start?”

Zhao Xin stretched and said, “As soon as Sister Cao finishes her makeup. How did your practice go?”

“Uh... should be okay!” Galen smiled. He’d been confident with the assistant director earlier, but now he felt strangely unprepared.

“Just follow along. If you nail the scene, I won’t reshoot.”

Zhao Xin’s reassurance steadied Galen’s nerves.

Cao Xiwen changed costumes, descending gracefully from upstairs, signaling Zhao Xin with a nod. Zhao Xin immediately raised the megaphone and called, “Okay! All departments, in position...”

The script supervisor hurried to the camera, holding the scene slate. With a call of “Three! Two! One! Action!” the slate snapped shut, and filming began.

This scene had Zhou Shishi set a challenge for the guests: whoever writes the best poem on the theme of “Lantern Festival” would win her company for the night.

The crowd erupted—some surprised, some thoughtful, some full of confidence.

The camera swept across their faces, lingering longest on Galen, who was a main character in the scene. He followed the script, first appearing deep in thought, then, as if struck by inspiration, his brow relaxed and a faint, scholarly smile appeared.

The camera lingered on him, as he was one of the central figures.

This take went smoothly, and even Zhao Xin, watching the monitor, was quietly impressed—the expressions were pitch-perfect.

The script had called for Galen to end with a confident, poised smile, but his performance was more restrained, adding a touch of scholarly elegance. In that brief, pursed-lip moment, the entire scene was complete.

“Cut! That’s a take!”

After the shot, Zhao Xin stood up, clapping. “Excellent, Galen! That was really well done—try to keep this state for the next scenes!”

“Mm!” Galen nodded.

On the other side, Cao Xiwen glanced at Galen, her brows furrowing slightly.

She’d seen the Star Light Show video online and recognized Galen. She knew he could sing, but acting? Could he handle it?

Meanwhile, Guo Cheng was chatting with the assistant director. Hearing Galen’s name, he looked over curiously.

The assistant director chuckled, “I didn’t expect Galen to improve so much!”

“Huh? You’ve filmed with him? Isn’t he a singer?” Guo Cheng asked.

“He shot a few scenes last night,” the assistant director replied, recounting Galen’s repeated takes from yesterday.

Guo Cheng scoffed, “Another outsider wading into muddy waters!”

Filming resumed inside—the next scene was for an extra. At Zhao Xin’s call, the actor shouted, “I’ll go first!”

He recited, “This poem is called ‘Night Lanterns’: A thousand doors unlock, ten thousand lanterns shine, mid-January stirs the capital’s ground. Three hundred palace maidens dance in sleeves, entering the heavens with song.”

“Nice!”

“Bravo!”

The extras applauded. The camera focused on Cao Xiwen, who smiled softly but shook her head. The extra was stunned and left disappointed.

Several others tried, but all were politely refused.

Then the camera turned to Galen, who stepped forward calmly and said with a bright smile, “Miss Shishi, I’ve written one as well.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Lanterns fill the city, drifting spring mist; the treasured moon sinks across the sea. I wish to search for the moon in heavenly palaces, but the moon is surely in my hometown...”

“Cut!” Zhao Xin interrupted midway. “No, no! The emotion isn’t right—you didn’t convey the poetry’s meaning! Start over!”