Chapter 9

Ji Yuchen’s thoughts were probably unique among the audience.

The overwhelming reaction of most viewers was: Wow, so beautiful!

The puppet moments were beautiful, and the scene where human emotion finally appeared was also beautiful—everything about it was simply beautiful.

“Is it just my imagination, or does this guy look even better than when he played Xu Yunfei?”

“No, it’s not just you. He really does look better. Not just him, but everyone else too. Maybe because there are fewer contestants now, everyone’s makeup is more refined.”

“Really? Don’t they all look the same? They looked like this last time, and they still look like this now. What’s the difference?”

“You don’t do makeup, do you? The makeup’s clearly changed! But to be fair, the difference isn’t huge. After all, few mature actors can really transform their looks for each role, let alone these young people in their early twenties.”

“But Qilin Yuan can! His acting is amazing!”

“Maybe it’s not just his acting—it’s the stark contrast, and he’s good-looking… Watching a beauty cry, it just breaks your heart…”

“It must be acting, right? At least he’s better than the other side.”

“Definitely. The acting on the other side is terrible. The judges said so too: even though there weren’t many scenes to show, Qilin Yuan’s performance was clearly superior.”

…

Just like in the first round, Qilin Yuan’s second-round performance sparked lively discussion online.

The core of the debate revolved around whether “playing an emotionless puppet brilliantly” counts as good acting.

But despite all the talk, the audience had no objections to Qilin Yuan’s victory over his opponent.

What’s there to object to? Just because someone cries louder or contorts their features more doesn’t mean their acting is better! They both cry—look at how he cries, and then look at Qilin Yuan. Both are sad, but Wang Yuwei’s wailing didn’t seem half as sorrowful as Qilin Yuan’s single tear. It’s unbearable to watch.

The audience mercilessly mocked Wang Yuwei, which brought relief to the production team, who were dealing with his agent’s complaints. They confidently threw the audience’s hot comments back at them.

Yes, they had promised to take care of Wang Yuwei as much as possible, but is this the judges’ fault? Is it theirs?

Who could have predicted that with such different roles, Wang Yuwei would lose so decisively? The negotiations with the judges were about them handling the behind-the-scenes manipulation, not honest judges—otherwise, how could they have secured judges of this caliber?

Le Xi watched the online debate and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

During the performance a few days ago, anyone with eyes could see that Qilin Yuan was the better actor. The judges agreed, but he was worried Wang Yuwei’s company might stir up trouble.

Luckily, they failed to sway public opinion, and the viewers firmly supported Qilin Yuan.

---

Qilin Yuan looked at him, helpless yet amused. “Stop worrying about me. If anything, you should worry about Si Qi. Of the three of us, only he was eliminated. What if he can’t get over it?”

Le Xi waved his hand decisively. “With his personality, he’s the last one who’d feel bad about it. Besides, sure, the other side is royalty, but if he hadn’t forgotten his lines while crying, the judges wouldn’t have eliminated him after weighing things up.”

As he spoke, Le Xi remembered something. “Tomorrow, the third round starts and we’ll be split into groups. I’m probably getting eliminated too. Do your best!”

Qilin Yuan wasn’t sure whether to admire his optimism or his concern for others. Still…

Looking at Le Xi, he thought that it was precisely because these two were so simple and without any malice that he himself had been able to gradually recover the mindset of a twenty-two-year-old after the hardship and weariness of his previous life.

“Don’t overthink it. Who knows, maybe I’ll get eliminated first. But honestly, even if we do, it’s not a big deal. There’s a lot of unfairness in this industry, but plenty of opportunities too. I think all three of us have talent, and our futures will be bright.”

Le Xi burst out laughing. “You’re really lying through your teeth! Can you seriously compare our talent to yours? At best, we’re passable, but you’re blessed by the heavens. Otherwise… why would He Ransheng be so jealous of you?”

Le Xi didn’t say the last part, but Qilin Yuan understood.

In his view, He Ransheng’s conditions weren’t bad either, with connections and backing. He couldn’t fathom why He Ransheng was so fixated on him.

“If you get a chance tomorrow, you should try a period costume, especially a scholar role. I think it’d suit you.” After a brief pause, the two tacitly skipped past the previous topic.

Qilin Yuan looked at Le Xi and earnestly advised, “This show has high viewership. Even if not everyone in the industry is watching, there are definitely a lot. We shouldn’t waste this opportunity.”

Of course, Le Xi knew this, but he had never considered himself suited for period drama.

He looked up into Qilin Yuan’s eyes and saw there was no hint of joking. Resolute, he replied, “Alright.”

Either way, he’d be eliminated sooner or later—he might as well give it a shot.

“What about you, Lin Yuan? Is there any role you want to show the world?”

Qilin Yuan’s smile was bright and sincere. “Yes! I want to play a vase—every kind, in every style imaginable.”

His eyes grew dreamy and distant. “I wonder what kind of vase I’ll get to choose next round.”

He wasn’t afraid of He Ransheng scheming—he was only afraid they’d take all the vase roles, leaving him no choice.

That would be truly sad.

.

Fortunately, the worst-case scenario didn’t happen. Not only did nothing go wrong, but the third round—from selecting scenes to performing—went smoothly, as if nothing was amiss.

Qilin Yuan was briefly puzzled, but soon set it aside. Who cares? After three rounds, he’d already achieved his goals.

Yes, his goals.

---

When he first entered the show, he set his sights on playing a few favorite vase roles and, incidentally, poaching some fans from the royal faction. Now, he’d played a fragile vase, a beautiful puppet vase, and a useless vase who just raised his head and shed tears at a forty-five-degree angle when trouble struck. Many of the viewers who initially liked him had become true fans, making him the biggest beneficiary of the show’s popularity. He was satisfied—very satisfied.

He wasn’t alone. Thanks to consistent production quality and more controversial scene choices, the third round of “The Strongest Acting” was even more popular, and more people benefited from the show’s buzz.

Take Le Xi, for example. Though he expected to be eliminated, he followed Qilin Yuan’s advice and picked a scholar role—and won, even gaining attention outside the show. Or the royal faction’s best actor, who garnered lively discussion with his young police officer role.

“I suspect my opponent in the fourth round will be either you or him,” Qilin Yuan quietly analyzed with Le Xi before the group selection.

He Ransheng was terrible at hiding things; his frequent glances at Qilin Yuan, full of smugness, clearly signaled he’d dug a deep pit for him.

Le Xi had a calm attitude. “If we’re opponents in the fourth round, you pick the script—something we can both shine in—and let the outcome be decided by our skills. If not… I’ll wait for you outside!”

Listening to him, Qilin Yuan was once again reminded how foolish it had been to trust Lu Xiang’s manipulative encouragement years ago.

Friends he’d known for less than a month already understood how to handle accidental groupings, but Lu Xiang… well.

Qilin Yuan couldn’t be bothered to think about him. As the host read out the group assignments, “Qilin Yuan” was followed by “Lu Luo,” and he realized he’d guessed right.

Still, he didn’t believe He Ransheng thought this grouping would definitely eliminate him. There were surely more traps ahead. Sure enough, when the scene selections appeared on the big screen, he understood everything.

One scene had strong dramatic conflict, with two characters who both had plenty of room for performance, and both fit the types he and Lu Luo had played before.

One was a just and brave young general, willing to risk his life for the people. The other was beautiful on the outside, venomous within—jealous of the young general, she betrays him before battle, poisons him, and forces him to watch his people slaughtered by the enemy.

Tsk, what a deep scheme! Qilin Yuan genuinely marveled.

The second role, to put it nicely, was three-dimensional. More bluntly—it was low. There were two common approaches.

One is to play the character as someone with hidden pain, eliciting sympathy and reversing the audience’s perspective in favor of the character.

The other is to follow the script faithfully, making the character thoroughly detestable, so much so that people confuse the actor with the role and want to berate him on sight.

Qilin Yuan had no doubt that if he chose the first approach, the judges would eliminate him with, “It’s likable, but that’s not what the script calls for.” If he chose the second, it would devastate the fans who liked him for his “pure goodness.”

Moreover, the role was hard to play well. He might end up with a muddled performance and get eliminated for “lack of skill.”

They really went to great lengths to trip him up. Hearing Lu Luo choose this script outright, Qilin Yuan sighed inwardly.

He didn’t tear up the script or snatch the young general’s role, but instead, with “considerable tact,” selected the traitor when it was his turn.

Since they wanted to see it… he couldn’t let them down, could he? Qilin Yuan smiled with innocent delight.