14. "In Search of an Actor"

The banquet lasted two days, and Chen Ruomin spent both days accompanying Chen Liwan, learning to recognize various guests. Fortunately, as a second-generation heiress who started in business as early as middle school, Ruomin wasn’t fond of the task, but found it posed little difficulty. Her beauty added a layer of charm; any inadvertent flaws she revealed were easily overlooked by those she met.

On the afternoon of October twentieth, the main audition event titled “Seeking Actors” officially commenced. Unlike typical talent shows, “Seeking Actors” was not a competition intent on crowning first, second, and third place winners. From the outset, the audition focused on specific roles. Of the four IPs Twin Stars planned to produce, aside from the few officially announced roles, thirty major characters remained, all to be cast from this open selection.

Thousands across four major regions had already undergone initial screening for appearance, temperament, and talent; those who reached the main division resonated, to some degree, with these thirty characters. After arriving at the main division, whether contestants could advance hinged on their innate talent.

The first round would last five days. Four hundred contestants, divided by role, received their daily challenge each morning from the production team. The order of appearance was determined by drawing lots, and each performed an improvised three-minute scene.

“Watch closely. The scale of next year’s audition will only grow, and your father will leave it all to you,” Chen Liwan said.

As the main figures behind the scenes, Chen Liwan and Ruomin were neither on stage nor among the judges. Instead, they sat in a VIP box on the second floor of the stadium—the best vantage point. Three enormous LCD screens broadcast the event live from different angles. Several aides waited outside, ready to answer their questions or receive instructions.

“‘Sovereign of the Firmament’ is the largest IP in this audition—a fantasy epic with a male protagonist. Ten roles are open for casting, and a hundred forty-five contestants made it to the main division. Here are the profiles of today’s seventy-eight contestants,” chief planner Zhang Jiang said, sliding two tablets with curated pages to Chen Liwan and Ruomin. The profiles displayed color ID and lifestyle photos of each contestant, their chosen role, name, height, weight, birthplace, and personal background.

“The first role is the male lead, Lu Chen, from ‘Sovereign of the Firmament’. Our challenge is a highlight from the novel: during the revenge battle, Lu Chen accidentally knocks off the villain’s mask and discovers that ‘Slaughterborn’ is actually his mentor—the person who raised him and died saving him. Everything Slaughterborn did was to exploit Lu Chen’s bloodline to obtain the legendary Eight Treasures of the Firmament. Lu Chen’s entire life had been manipulated by Slaughterborn’s lies.

“This scene relies mainly on memory and psychological activity, with almost no dialogue—a true test of acting skill.”

Given Twin Stars’ business interests, Ruomin had watched plenty of films and read countless novels since childhood. She was naturally familiar with “Sovereign of the Firmament,” which dominated the male-targeted web fiction charts for a year. Hearing Zhang Jiang’s explanation, she instinctively frowned.

“Isn’t it too challenging to test this segment in the first round?”

If the competition existed merely to showcase actors’ skills, it might be understandable. But this audition featured mostly amateurs and unknown actors, many with little performance experience. To start with such a complex psychological scene seemed overly harsh.

Zhang Jiang calmly nodded in response to Ruomin’s doubt. “If we were judging solely by this round, it would indeed be tough.”

Ruomin said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. He continued, “That’s why the final round’s challenge will be the same.”

Her expression changed slightly. Using the same test for both preliminary and final rounds revealed much. Simply put, comparing the exact same challenge vertically made the contestants’ progress clear at a glance. More complexly, many actors are “flash-in-the-pan” types—brilliant at first glance when encountering a script, but their first take is also their highest point, both ceiling and floor. Such actors, bluntly speaking, have no training value.

“How secure is the competition format?” Ruomin asked.

The basic requirement for this selection’s effectiveness was secrecy. Otherwise, if someone exploited the rules—concealing their strength in the early rounds or consulting experts for the finals to create the illusion of “great growth potential”—Twin Stars would suffer a huge loss.

“This segment was designed by me. Besides myself, only the chief director, Chairman Chen, and… Miss Chen know the details.”

…

The performances continued on stage. The seventh contestant was up. The script remained identical, with sparse lines. By the third performance, Ruomin found herself bored.

Her patience was never abundant, but as Twin Stars’ future successor, and with this event marking the company’s inaugural audition, the executives paid close attention. Ruomin forced herself to watch.

“Why group performances for the same role together? It leads to aesthetic fatigue,” she complained.

“Because comparison is clearest when grouped. Only actors with fresh interpretations stand out quickly,” Zhang Jiang replied, neither humble nor arrogant.

Most performances were alike: Lu Chen’s shock and disbelief upon discovering Slaughterborn’s identity. None were professionally trained; their grasp of emotions lacked finesse, resulting in exaggerated acting across the board.

“Will this round be broadcast as the first episode of ‘Seeking Actors’ on Twin Stars Media?” Ruomin yawned, asking. Zhang Jiang nodded. She snorted.

“Who’d watch such rubbish?”

Chen Liwan looked helpless. Zhang Jiang, whom he poached at great expense from a rival company years ago, had worked his way up to director after much experience. Though not always meticulous, Zhang Jiang was full of ideas and had planned several quality variety shows for Twin Stars. Now, Ruomin, an outsider, had rebuked him directly…

Sure enough, Zhang Jiang’s expression soured as he explained, “Miss Chen, the broadcast will be edited.”

“I know it will be edited,” Ruomin retorted, pointing at the screens before them and cutting to the heart of the matter. “Even the finest acting, repeated more than three times on the same scene, causes visual fatigue. As hosts, we struggle to focus—how much more so for ordinary viewers? This level of performance won’t hold attention for even ninety seconds at the start.

Tell me, how will such a show attract ratings?”