The More Tragic I Act The Stronger I Get My Fans Beg Me To Stop Killing Off My Roles Chapter 91

[ … words ]

Seeing Lin Wan’s message, Jiang Ci’s movements paused for a moment.

Psychological preparation?

The first person that popped into his mind wasn’t any popular female star, but that person who played opposite him in the graduation play.

Xia Meng.

Wei Song’s assistant had also given her a business card back then.

That face he had described as a “frozen volcano” appeared clearly in his mind once more.

Technically perfect, emotionally restrained, but hiding within its core a massive energy that could erupt at any moment.

This bore a startlingly fitting resemblance to the Yu Ji from the history books—outwardly gentle but inwardly resolute, who ultimately chose to end her own life.

A perfect Xiang Yu must be paired with a perfect Yu Ji.

The role of Yu Ji was a crucial component of his KPI.

It absolutely could not go wrong.

Jiang Ci picked up his phone. Without replying to the message, he directly dialed Lin Wan’s number.

“Ring… ring…”

The call was answered after just two rings.

“Hello.” Lin Wan’s voice sounded somewhat tired, but still efficient.

“Sister Wan.” Jiang Ci got straight to the point. “Who is the actress playing Yu Ji?”

A brief silence fell on the other end of the line.

That moment of quiet made Jiang Ci’s heart sink.

“Director Wei’s first invitation was to Xia Meng.” Lin Wan finally spoke.

As expected.

Jiang Ci’s guess was confirmed. Wei Song’s eye was sharp; he couldn’t possibly fail to see Xia Meng’s potential.

“But she refused.”

Lin Wan’s next sentence made all the arguments Jiang Ci had prepared get stuck in his throat.

“Why?”

“Her father wouldn’t allow it.” Lin Wan’s phrasing was blunt and straightforward. “That master of drama theory, Xia Chongshan.”

“He believes Xia Meng’s talent shouldn’t be ruined in a superficial place like the film and television industry. That would be a betrayal of stage art.”

Lin Wan, perhaps worried Jiang Ci wouldn’t understand, deliberately mimicked that old pedant’s tone, carrying a hint of lofty disdain.

“Film is the director’s art; drama is the actor’s art. My daughter’s talent should not be reduced to a fast-moving consumer good for capital or raw material for a director to edit at will.”

“He said that exposure to film and television performance too early would cause a stage actor to lose their most precious ‘purity.'”

Purity?

After listening, Jiang Ci just felt a wave of absurdity.

What is purity?

In his simple value system, a platform that can make money is a good platform, and art that can earn Heartbreak Value is good art.

What’s the difference in superiority between stage plays and movies? They’re both acting, both for the audience to watch.

Is performing for a few hundred people in a theater somehow nobler than performing on a screen seen by hundreds of millions?

This logic of art for art’s sake was something he completely failed to comprehend.

Wasn’t this like a top-tier sales manager, ignoring the global market, insisting on going door-to-door selling in their own neighborhood?

Wasn’t that just sick?

“So then?” Jiang Ci pressed on. “Who was finally decided?”

“A newcomer.” Lin Wan’s tone revealed exhaustion. “Has some dance background, her image is somewhat classical, but she has no fame. She’s someone one of the production companies forced into the project.”

A connection hire.

Those three words made Jiang Ci’s heart sink straight to the bottom.

What did a newcomer forced in by capital mean?

It meant the acting could be a disaster.

The willingness to cooperate could be zero.

She might be utterly incapable of understanding the role of Yu Ji, only capable of reading lines from the script and striking a few pretty poses.

The scene of “The Farewell My Concubine,” which he had already mentally rehearsed countless times, the pivotal scene he estimated could harvest a massive amount of Heartbreak Value in one go, now felt as if it had been cut off at the waist.

Expecting a newcomer connection hire to perform a life-and-death parting scene with him that would be enough to break the audience’s hearts?

That was even more unrealistic than expecting Peng Shaofeng to fail his audition.

“Jiang Ci,” Lin Wan seemed to sense his silence, “I know what you’re thinking. But in this matter, we have no say. Your task right now is to secure the role of Xiang Yu first. We’ll deal with other things later.”

“I understand.” Jiang Ci hung up the phone.

He walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the bustling city below with its endless stream of traffic.

A powerful opponent wasn’t frightening.

Because an opponent is a clear target that can be analyzed and defeated.

But an uncontrollable partner gave him more of a headache than any powerful opponent ever could.

Just then, Sun Zhou walked in quickly from outside, holding a tablet.

“Ci-ge, look!”

Sun Zhou handed the tablet to him, his face unable to conceal his anxiety.

On the screen, the official Weibo account for *The Legend of Han and Chu* had just posted a new update.

It was a concept poster.

On an ink-wash battlefield, war banners fluttered in the wind, the setting sun as red as blood.

Two armies faced off, blurred figures charging and fighting amidst the dust.

In the center of the poster were two large Chinese characters: “Chu” and “Han.”

The accompanying text was even more tantalizing.

“[The Legend of Han and Chu Official Weibo]: Five years of forging a sword, today reveals its edge. Grand ambitions, the struggle of heroes, is about to commence! #TheLegendOfHanAndChu#”

Below, they also officially announced some of the already confirmed roles.

Zhang Liang, Han Xin, Xiao He… historical names, each corresponding to a skilled, veteran actor.

Only the two most important roles, Liu Bang and Xiang Yu, were not mentioned at all by the official account, replaced by two large question marks.

Less than half an hour after this Weibo post, the comment section had exploded.

“It’s finally coming! I’ve been waiting forever!”

“This cast is all seasoned actors! Director Wei is awesome!”

“So who’s playing Xiang Yu? Stop keeping us in suspense!”

Soon, the direction of the comments began to shift overwhelmingly.

“Besides Peng Shaofeng, I can’t think of a second person who could play Xiang Yu! Waiting quietly for the king’s return!”

“Support Peng Shaofeng! Won’t watch if it’s not Peng Shaofeng! Anyone else playing it would ruin a classic!”

“Looking forward to my Feng-ge as the Hegemon King! Already starting to book movie tickets!”

A flood of comments and likes, uniform and synchronized, quickly occupied the top spots in the hot comments.

Anyone with eyes could see this was organized water armies and fans controlling the narrative.

Peng Shaofeng’s side had already begun creating a public opinion advantage for the final audition.

Sun Zhou looked at those comments, his hands trembling with anger.

“This… this is just too much! The audition hasn’t even happened yet, and they’re acting like it’s already been decided internally!”

Jiang Ci withdrew his gaze from the tablet.

At this moment, he actually didn’t feel too strongly about these clamorous public opinions.

His gaze fell on the name of the actress playing Yu Ji.

Zhao Yingfei.

To him right now, this name was even more glaring than the name Peng Shaofeng.