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

On the day of the audition.

Liu Weiqiang's studio is located in an old industrial building in Kwun Tong.

The exterior walls were painted gray-blue, and the elevator had an old-fashioned sliding door; you could hear the steel cables rubbing against each other as it clattered upwards.

Ye Mo arrived at 9:30 a.m.

He wore a simple white shirt, his hair was dyed back to black, and he looked clean and neat.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, there were already seven or eight people sitting in the corridor.

He glanced at it.

I know them all.

Zhang Jiahui was sitting against the wall, flipping through a page of the script, his brow furrowed.

Inside was Lin Jiadong, wearing headphones, eyes closed, muttering to himself.

There are also a few top-tier actors in the Hong Kong drama industry—Benny Chan and Ma Tak-chung—who would be ratings draws in prime time on TVB.

They're all from the Hong Kong entertainment circle.

Zhang Jiahui is a leading man favored by Milkyway Image and has been nominated for the Hong Kong Film Awards several times.

Lin Jiadong has just transitioned from supporting roles to leading roles, and his acting skills and reputation are on the rise.

Ye Mo walked to the end of the corridor and sat down in the last empty seat.

No one greeted him, and no one stared at him.

Zhang Jiahui, who was sitting diagonally opposite him, glanced up at him, his gaze lingering on his face for a second before returning to his script.

That look wasn't disdain, it was just a habit—a veteran actor who'd been on set for twenty years, what newcomers hadn't he seen?

Chen Haomin, sitting next to Ye Mo, turned his head, looked at Ye Mo for several seconds, and then whispered, "Feng Yuxiu?"

Ye Mo nodded: "Hello."

Benny Chan didn't say anything more, nodded, and continued reading the script.

The corridor returned to silence.

The rustling sound of turning pages and the buzzing white noise from the air conditioner vents.

No one whispered to each other, and no one tried to get close to anyone.

Everyone sitting here has worked their way up, one role at a time.

Their attitude towards a newcomer was not rejection, but composure.

Ye Mo pulled the script out of his bag, flipped to the audition scene, and took a deep breath.

The door opened once.

Everyone looked up at the same time.

Those who came out weren't there to call out numbers.

She is an actress who has just finished her audition – Liu Qingyun.

When he pushed the door open, his face was expressionless, but there was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

The agent went up to him and offered him water. He shoved the script into the agent's hand and said in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft, "Go back and wait for our notification."

The corridor fell silent for a moment.

Lin Jiadong took off his headphones, glanced at Liu Qingyun's back, and then put them back on.

Zhang Jiahui turned a page of the script in his hand, turning it rather forcefully.

Several people stood up, went to the water dispenser at the end of the corridor to get water, and exchanged glances and whispered a few words.

"Qingyun is here too? He was nominated for Best Actor last year, wasn't he?"

"Even he's auditioning—what kind of person does Director Liu want this time?"

"Who knows? Anyway, I'm just here to try my luck."

The people were speaking in hushed tones, but the corridor was too narrow, and their voices dispersed with the slightest touch.

The tension in the air spread, like an invisible string being tightened a little more.

Ye Mo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He began to sort out his role.

Chen Yongren, an undercover agent.

He staked out the rooftop, his beard unkempt, his eyes weary. The first thing he did every morning was to confirm who he was—a policeman or a gangster.

He lies more naturally than he tells the truth, and he feels more lonely when he laughs than when he cries.

The script gave Liu Weiqiang a lot of close-ups and extreme close-ups—meaning that the performance of this character was not in the lines or the actions, but entirely in his face.

When to furrow one's brow, when to purse one's lips, when to look empty and when to look bright—a single frame can ruin a character.

Ye Mo mentally broke down the character into a framework: outwardly roguish, inwardly weary, and at his core lonely.

Three layers, each layer must be visible to the audience simultaneously.

"Ye Mo." The stagehand called out as he came out of the room.

Ye Mo opened his eyes, stood up, and put the script into his bag.

He tugged at the hem of his shirt, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

The audition room was small, with one white wall, one table, and two chairs.

Cables were scattered haphazardly on the floor, and a surveillance camera was placed in a corner.

Liu Weiqiang sat behind the monitor, holding a pen in his hand. When he saw Ye Mo come in, he nodded.

Sitting next to him was Sammo Hung—he was actually there, holding a cup of Pu'er tea that had been brewed countless times, with a relaxed expression on his face that said, "I'm just here to take a look."

"Director Liu, Teacher Hong." Ye Mo bowed slightly.

Liu Weiqiang put down his pen.

"I watched Feng Yuxiu's performance; he acted quite well." He paused, "But Chen Yongren is not Feng Yuxiu. Feng Yuxiu is extroverted, while Chen Yongren is introverted. It's easier to play a madman because you can explode outwards, but with an introverted character—you have to let the audience dig in themselves. How much can you dig out?"

"I'll give it a try," Ye Mo said.

"Okay, you don't have to act the whole thing, just one scene—Chen Yongren meets Huang Zhicheng on the rooftop, and Huang Sir asks him if he can still hold on, but he doesn't answer. You just start acting from the part where he doesn't answer." Liu Weiqiang pointed to the script, "I'll give you the lines."

Ye Mo walked to the center of the room, moved a chair to one side, and stood still.

He closed his eyes and began to visualize the rooftop.

The wind was strong, and looking down, you could see the neon lights of the entire city.

He had spent countless nights squatting here, his beard unshaven for three days, his eyelids heavy and drooping, and not a single bullet in the pistol at his waist was real—his life depended entirely on a file, and only one person knew about that file.

He opened his eyes.

Liu Weiqiang looked at the monitor, his pupils contracting slightly.

It wasn't because he suddenly moved—it was because he didn't move.

Ye Mo did not make any large physical movements.

He simply shifted his weight from his left foot to his right foot, and his shoulders slumped down slightly.

It was just a small change, but the whole person went from a young actor auditioning to a gangster who had been hanging around on the streets for ten years.

"Can we still hold on?" Liu Weiqiang recited.

Ye Mo didn't answer. He turned his head and looked at Liu Weiqiang—no, he looked at Huang Zhicheng.

There was no anger, no resentment, no clear emotion in his eyes, only emptiness.

One person who has been hollowed out is looking at another person who has been hollowed out.

Then he smiled.

At this smile, Hung Kam-po, who was sitting next to him, stopped holding his teacup.

It wasn't a happy laugh, nor a mocking laugh, nor a bitter laugh.

It was an indescribable smile—the corners of the mouth turned up, but there was no smile in the eyes.

It's like saying you have to persevere even if you can't, and it's also like saying what's the point of asking this question.

A single expression conveys three layers of emotions: roguishness, exhaustion, and loneliness.

Liu Weiqiang stared at the monitor, the pen slipping from his fingers and falling onto the table, but he didn't pick it up.

This is exactly the feeling I wanted.

Then Ye Mo spoke.

His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time and was suddenly asked to speak.

"Officer Wong... do I still have a choice?"

It was not a question, nor a plea.

It was a statement so calm it was almost frightening, as if he had been thinking about it for a long time on the rooftop and already knew the answer.

I can't choose anymore; I haven't been able to choose since the day I put on the badge.

When he said this, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to avoid the wind or to hide the tears welling up in his eyes.

Liu Weiqiang stared at the monitor and remained silent for a full five seconds.

Then he stood up, turned around and glanced at Hung Kam-po.

Sammo Hung was also looking at him; the two men, who had been making movies for over a hundred years combined, exchanged a glance.

Ye Mo didn't see that look in his eyes.

But everyone in the room saw it.

Liu Weiqiang turned back.

"Okay," he said, then repeated it several times, "Okay, okay, okay!"

He closed the script.

......