He plays Feng Yuxiu, and his girlfriend is a fairy-like beauty.

When the plane landed, Ye Mo glanced out the window.

Hong Kong.

Hung Kam-po's territory.

He walked out of the arrival hall with his old backpack on his back and saw a person holding a sign that read "Ye Mo" in the distance.

The man holding the sign was in his thirties, with a buzz cut and a muscular build; he looked like someone who knew martial arts.

"Teacher Ye!" The man greeted him with a smile. "You must be tired from your journey! I'm Ah Qiang from the Hong Family Troupe. Teacher Hong asked me to pick you up."

Ye Mo was taken aback.

Teacher Ye.

It's not "Mr. Ye," it's not "Little Ye," it's "Teacher Ye."

A few months ago, this title was only used by stagehands in Hengdian.

Even members of the Sammo Hung Stunt Team are calling it that now.

"Thank you for your help, Brother Qiang." Ye Mo nodded.

"No trouble at all!" A-Qiang took his schoolbag. "The car is outside, Teacher Ye, this way please."

The audition took place in an old industrial building in Kowloon Bay.

The Sammo Hung Stunt Team has been building sets and practicing their skills here for many years.

When Ye Mo arrived, there were already more than a dozen people sitting in the corridor.

Some were wearing white suits, others were wearing sunglasses and practicing their eye contact while looking at their phones—it was obvious at a glance that they were all trying out for the same role.

Ye Mo glanced at it and understood what was going on.

Some of these people looked familiar, while others didn't, but they all possessed martial arts skills.

It's not just for show; it's something that's been truly practiced.

Ah-Qiang led him around the corridor and straight to the innermost audition room.

"Teacher Ye, you don't need to queue. Teacher Hong has already told you that you can go straight in when you arrive."

The corridor fell silent for a moment as soon as he finished speaking.

A dozen pairs of eyes turned to look at them.

"Who's that person? Aren't they going to wait in line?"

"No queue? What's the deal?"

"Are you blind? That's Ye Mo."

"Ye Mo? Which Ye Mo?"

"Feng Yuxiu! The Feng Yuxiu from 'Kung Fu Jungle'!"

Whispers rippled through the corridor like waves.

"Holy crap, it really is him. Is he going to test Ah Jie too?"

"They don't need to queue, they just go straight in—what's the point of trying? It's already decided."

"Pre-arranged? Who would dare to pre-arrange a role for Teacher Hong? Even Zeng Zidan didn't receive that treatment."

"That's true... but that Feng Yuxiu of his is really ruthless."

Ye Mo didn't stop walking, and his face remained expressionless.

It's not an act; he's just used to carrying things alone.

Whether I'm recognized or talked about, it doesn't matter.

The important thing is that scene inside.

The audition room was bigger than I had imagined.

One wall is a mirror, another wall is a floor-to-ceiling window, there is a training mat on the floor, and a knife and gun rack is placed in the corner.

Hong Jinbao sat in the middle of a grand chair, holding a cup of Pu'er tea in his hand. He didn't drink it; he just held it there.

Zeng Zidan was also there, leaning against the window. When he saw Ye Mo come in, he nodded but didn't say anything.

"Teacher Hong, Brother Bullet." Ye Mo bowed slightly.

Sammo Hung raised his chin slightly in response.

"Sit down." He gestured to the chair opposite him.

Ye Mo sat down, his back very straight.

"You know the character, right?" Sammo Hung asked bluntly.

"I've read the script for the assassin, Ah Jie, in 'SPL: Sha Po Lang'."

"What are your thoughts?" Hung Kam-pao asked, looking at him.

Ye Mo remained silent for two seconds.

Then he spoke.

"Teacher Hong, I'd like to talk to you about the character's design first."

Hung Kam-po raised an eyebrow.

modeling?

Before the audition, why don't we talk about the action or the lines, but instead discuss the styling?

That's something new.

"Speak." He put down his teacup.

"The character Ah Jie is written in the script as a cold-blooded killer, ruthless and vicious." Ye Mo paused, "But his ruthlessness shouldn't be written on his face. A real killer is someone you can't tell he's a killer when he walks in a crowd; that's what's truly terrifying."

Hung Kam-pao didn't speak, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"So I suggest—" Ye Mo gestured, "blonde hair, white suit, and sunglasses."

"Yellow Hair?" Zeng Zidan frowned slightly beside him.

"Yes, blondie." Ye Mo turned to look at him. "He dyed his hair that eye-catching yellow, paired with a white suit, and walking down the street you thought he was a carefree rich kid, but when he took off his sunglasses—his eyes were cold."

Hung Kam-po tapped his fingers twice on the armrest of the chair.

He recalled what Zeng Zidan had told him—"When he revised the lyrics and added scenes with Lu Yang, Lu Yang not only didn't scold him, but also let him add more."

He heard about the script revisions.

Modified?

interesting.

"Okay." Sammo Hung stood up and waved to the side. "Makeup artist, take him to get his hair dyed, do it his way."

He glanced at Ye Mo.

Whether what you say is good or bad, I'll see when it comes out.

His tone was neither warm nor cold, but there was something different in his eyes.

look forward to.

Forty minutes later.

The doors to the audition room opened.

When Ye Mo walked in, Zeng Zidan was drinking water.

The moment he saw Ye Mo, the cup stopped at his lips.

Yellow hair.

It's not that cheap, salon-dyed yellow; it's a cool-toned, almost white yellow.

The white suit fit him perfectly, neither too loose nor too tight.

The top button of her shirt wasn't fastened, revealing a bit of her collarbone.

Sunglasses covered his eyes, revealing only his high nose bridge and pursed lips.

He stood there, looking less like an actor auditioning and more like a rich young master who had just finished drinking in Lan Kwai Fong and was passing by when he happened to kill someone.

Refined.

Clean.

evil.

Yes, it's evil!

Hung Kam-po slowly sat up straight in the armchair.

He stared at Ye Mo for several seconds.

Then he laughed.

It wasn't a polite smile, nor the perfunctory smile a senior might give to a junior.

It was the kind of smile—how to describe it—that you finally found after searching for two years.

"That's it," said Sammo Hung, his voice low but his tone heavy. "When I was writing the script, this was what I had in mind, but I couldn't put it into words. You've said it."

He pointed at Ye Mo, then turned to Zeng Zidan and said, "Look, look—this is what Ah Jie is all about."

Zeng Zidan put down his water glass, looked at Ye Mo, and his lips twitched slightly.

"Didn't I tell you? This kid isn't just changing the words, he's changing the soul of things."

"Alright, the styling is done." Sammo Hung sat down again. "We haven't even tried acting yet. Come on, let me see what else you can do besides styling."

Ye Mo took off his sunglasses and placed them on the chair next to him.

He walked to the center of the practice mat and stood still.

"Teacher Hong, the character Ah Jie only has one line in the whole film." He said, while cracking his knuckles. "So his ruthlessness can't be shown through words, it can only be shown through actions."

He picked up a prop dagger from the knife rack.

The dagger was short, with a blade only the size of a palm.

Holding it in his hand felt like it was an extension of his hand.

He closed his eyes.

one second.

two seconds.

three seconds.

When he opened his eyes again, the blond guy was still the same blond guy, and the white suit was still the same white suit.

But the person has changed completely.

His eyes were no longer those of Ye Mo—the clean, slightly lazy, and playful eyes of a young man.

It became Ah Jie's.

air.

It's not cold, it's empty.

Like a mirror without a reflection.

Look into his eyes, you can't see anything.

There was no anger, no murderous intent, no emotion whatsoever.

But the dagger in his hand spun around twice.

The movements were casual, as if he were twirling a pen.

Then he moved.

It wasn't a rush, nor a lunge; it was an extremely light and fast movement—the toes touched the ground, the body remained close to the ground, and the dagger slashed upwards from below, the blade drawing an invisible arc as it brushed against the air.

Hung Kam-pao's fingers stopped.

If that stab was real, the opponent's hamstring would have been severed.

Ye Mo did not stop.

The dagger is alternated between the two hands: backhand stab, fronthand slash, elbow strike to switch blades, and knee strike to catch the blade.

Every movement connects to a joint—wrist, elbow, knee, ankle—the dagger seems to come alive on his body, sliding from one joint to another, from one hand to the other, so fast that it's impossible to see.

What's even more terrifying isn't the speed.

It is quiet.

In the entire audition room, apart from the sound of his footsteps and the rustling of his clothes, nothing else could be heard.

He didn't pant, didn't shout, and didn't make any unnecessary sounds.

Like a real killer.

When killing someone, you won't even get a second breath.

The final blow—

Ye Mo lowered his body, swept his right leg horizontally, pressed his left hand to the ground, and pulled the dagger from his waist with his right hand. He spun half a circle and plunged the dagger into the abdomen of the person in front of him.

Then he looked up.

Yellow hair hung down, obscuring half an eye, and his white suit was splattered with imagined blood.

His lips moved slightly.

His voice was hoarse, like a knife cutting through sandpaper.

"--die."

The only line of dialogue in the entire film.

Then he pulled out the dagger and wiped it on the corpse's clothes.

The movements were casual, as if he were wiping a clean pair of hands.

He straightened up, his gaze shifting from "A-Jie" back to "Ye-Mo".

Then he turned around and looked at Hung Kam-po.

"Teacher Hong, I'm done performing."

The audition room was silent for five seconds.

Zeng Zidan leaned against the window, arms crossed, his face expressionless.

But his right index finger kept tapping his arm.

This is his habit when he's nervous.

It's not because I'm afraid.

It's because of excitement.

Hong Jinbao stood up from the armchair, took two steps, and walked up to Ye Mo.

He reached out and pinched the collar of Ye Mo's white suit.

"You just said that Ah-Jie only has one line in the whole movie," Sammo Hung said in a low voice, "but you're scarier when you're not talking than when you are."

He released his grip and took a step back.

"This role is yours."

Ye Mo's heart skipped a beat. But he didn't show it on his face, simply nodding and saying, "Thank you, Teacher Hong."

"Don't thank me." Sammo Hung turned back to the armchair, picked up his teacup, and drank it this time. "You're the one who did it right. You came up with the look, you did the choreography, you gave the look—I didn't choose you, Ah-Jie chose you."

He sat down and looked at Ye Mo.

"Your fee will be at market rate, you won't be shortchanged. The contract will be signed tomorrow. If there are any scheduling conflicts, please let my people know in advance."

His tone was flat, as if he were explaining an ordinary task.

But Sammo Hung would never assign a job to an actor whose identity was uncertain.

Ye Mo knew that the matter was settled.

"Teacher Hong, I've got it."

Hung Kam-po nodded and took another sip of tea.

"Alright, go back and rest. I'll have Qiang take you to the hotel." He paused, then added, "Oh, by the way..."

"Um?"

"My wife saw your Feng Yuxiu, and she asked me to tell you—don't play such scary roles next time, it keeps her up at night."

Zeng Zidan finally smiled.

Ye Mo smiled and said, "Apologize to your sister-in-law for me."

Hung Kam-po waved his hand and put his teacup on the table.

"Let's go."

......