Chapter 21: The Entire Film Industry Is Waiting to See the Joke

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The public was abuzz with heated debate over Cheng Cheng’s “open casting” move. Soon, hashtags like #ChengChengTurnsDirector# and #ChengChengOpenCasting# trended on Weibo, sparking waves of ridicule across the entire internet.

Ordinary bystanders commented:

“How dare he say ‘a chance to collaborate with renowned directors and actors, gaining valuable acting experience’? Does he really consider himself a famous director? Anyone involved in his films must have a bleak future ahead!”

“This is hilarious. Who even is he? Now he’s imitating famous directors by holding open casting calls? What a joke.”

“Cheng Cheng’s mental state is really concerning; his words are soaked with signs of instability.”

“Hahaha, what a clown!”

Cheng Cheng’s detractors voiced their disdain:

“Just a publicity stunt!”

“Does the internet have no memory at all? Or am I imagining things? Didn’t he already crash and burn?”

“This is such a sad reality—after hurting a girl, he still shamelessly appears in public, and everyone tacitly agrees to keep silent. Only the victim remains wounded in her own world.”

“Ha! Boycott trash films! Boycott trash people!”

Even Zhang Jiao herself posted on Weibo:

“…Seeing everyone so passionately rallying around my situation, I feel deeply saddened yet moved. Thank you to all the sisters who support me; it is your attention and encouragement that give me the courage to face this unfortunate ordeal.

My purpose in speaking out is to raise awareness about the grave issue of infidelity and to seek justice for other victims like me, so that everyone can bravely stand up.

However, it pains me greatly that despite publicly exposing Cheng Cheng’s actions, he remains unfazed, continuing to promote his new film on Weibo, further disregarding and belittling the harm he caused me.

But I know, no matter how Cheng Cheng tries to package himself or conceal the truth in the court of public opinion, his behavior is unforgivable. I am fighting back and working with a legal team to defend my rights!”

Zhang Jiao’s post stirred the waters once again.

Not only did her supporters rally enthusiastically, but influential figures and marketing accounts seized the opportunity to dredge up the scandal, reigniting the controversy.

Insiders sneered:

“Now anyone thinks they can be a director.”

“A desperate gamble. He’s alienated so many people and still wants to make films? Delusional!”

“Hasn’t he considered that his films won’t get screened?”

“Wanse Film Studio is just messing around with him!”

Among the various reactions, only a few staunch supporters remained, like Xiao Heizi:

“There’s nothing else I can do for Brother Frog, but I will definitely buy a ticket to support his film’s release!”

“Keep it up! No matter how long it takes, we hope to see the truth prevail and the slanderers punished.”

“Brother Frog, you are now our role model. Take care of yourself! If you can’t be a star, directing and producing is another path. Xiao Heizi will always back you!”

“Your efforts to fight social injustice will be remembered. Thank you for lighting the way for our times and for your immortal achievements! Brother Frog, keep going!”

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“Bro doesn’t know much about films, but he knows who’s standing up for us! Brother Frog’s lawsuit isn’t just for himself—it’s for all of us! When the movie comes out, I’ll be there to watch!”

“Count me in!”

Amidst the online clamor, Cheng Cheng paid no mind.

In this world, the loudest voice does not equate to truth.

Though it seemed that only a handful of diehard fans supported him and that no actors would submit resumes for his film, the reality was quite different.

To give some perspective: Every year, tens of thousands of students enroll in acting exams; nationwide, approximately 1.28 million people work as actors. In Hengdian alone, temporary actors number over 200,000.

Yet, the total number of TV dramas and films produced annually barely reaches 5,000—and many of those never see release, unseen and unrated.

There are far more actors than available roles in film and television.

Moreover, open casting calls are exceedingly rare. For major productions, actors are typically invited or pre-selected. How could they possibly open it to the public?

—

At Imperial Capital Film Academy,

A flashy pink Ferrari slowly pulled up at the school gate.

The convertible door opened, and a striking woman stepped out.

She was flamboyantly dressed in a tight black one-piece dress that clung to her curvaceous figure. Her shapely legs were wrapped in stockings, making it hard not to gulp in admiration.

After stepping out, she bent slightly, posing seductively to plant a kiss on the driver’s cheek. Then she grabbed a luxurious gift box from the passenger seat, flicked her deep burgundy waves, and sashayed into the campus.

Ignoring the gazes fixed on her and the buzz of whispered gossip, she strode confidently through the school and back to their dorm.

Inside the dorm, she casually tossed the gift box onto the desk, feigning indifference.

Their room housed four students; at this moment, only Yan Gou’er was there with her.

Wang Hong flipped her hair and asked, “Xiao Gou’er, you’re not going out again?”

Yan Gou’er looked up from her textbook, “Film and Television Performance: Body and Movement,” revealing a pure, lovely face.

Sunlight streamed in, outlining her with a golden halo.

Her eyes were strikingly clear, dark as ink. Her nose was small and delicate. Her lips were rosy and tender, still holding a touch of babyish roundness.

Softly, she said, “Mm-hmm, I’m studying.”

Wang Hong looked at her with pity and urged, “Xiao Gou’er, this won’t get you anywhere.”

Yan Gou’er remained silent and returned her gaze to the book, diligently taking notes.

Growing frustrated, Wang Hong stepped forward, snapping the book shut and raising her voice slightly:

“Xiao Gou’er, you’re always like this—reading and reading! But you’ll never break through if you keep this up. Do you know? Last night I went to an industry party with top directors, producers, and actors—all were there. I finally got a huge opportunity! If I seize it, I could become a leading lady and walk the red carpet like them!”

Yan Gou’er quietly asked, “But is it worth giving up studying for those opportunities?”

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Wang Hong was momentarily stunned, then exclaimed loudly, “Reality is brutal. Without backing, it’s hard to get real chances in this industry! Look at our dorm—four of us. You were first in our major, I was second, but now? Xing Fei’s uncle is Ma Tan, and Ling Qi comes from a film family. Both have endless resources and have each starred in a drama! Only the two of us remain nothing. We’re already juniors! We can’t afford to wait!”

Yan Gou’er replied, “Hong Hong, maybe you’re right. I’ve never had those chances. But I believe that only through constant learning can one truly stand firm in acting.”

Wang Hong, exasperated, said, “Xiao Gou’er, you’re too idealistic. You haven’t faced reality! In this industry, you either have powerful connections or you’re willing to humble yourself. Otherwise, you won’t make it. Why would investors pour millions into you?”

She spoke earnestly, “Xiao Gou’er, you have so much more going for you—great figure, beautiful looks—you should be the one who makes it big.”

Yan Gou’er shook her head stubbornly, “Hong Hong, I understand your choice. But that’s not what I’m after.”

Before Wang Hong could reply, voices approached outside the dorm.

“No chance, the lead is already decided. But I can still fight for second lead. My aunt can help.”

“So you won’t be around next semester?”

“Yeah, this film’s a big investment. I’ll be in training with the crew for two months if it’s confirmed. Probably won’t be at school.”

“I’m so envious you’re in Master Gong’s film.”

“Don’t be. Don’t tell me you have no plans for next semester!”

“Hehe, you guessed it. I have a drama based on a big IP—can’t remember the name—but it’s supposed to be popular. My dad said it’ll boost my public profile.”

It was Xing Fei and Ling Qi returning.

Pushing open the dorm door, Xing Fei first noticed the gift bag on Wang Hong’s desk and her flashy outfit. She showed a hint of disdain but said nothing, continuing her carefree chat with Ling Qi.

Wang Hong saw them enter and stopped chatting with Yan Gou’er.

Xing Fei remarked, “By the way, I saw something funny online today. Cheng Cheng’s lost it again. He says he’s making a film and holding an open casting call. I’m dying laughing!”

Ling Qi couldn’t help but chuckle, “Probably can’t find actors, so he’s pretending it’s an open call. What does a disgraced artist know about filmmaking? He just wants to use this negative publicity to stay relevant.”

Xing Fei agreed wholeheartedly, “Exactly. Who’d act in his film? The box office might tank, but worse, it’ll be a lifelong stain on his record!”

Ling Qi added, “I bet hardly any actors will even submit resumes. At least in our school, no one would be that blind.”

Xing Fei laughed, “Of course not! My aunt said the whole industry’s waiting to watch Cheng Cheng make a fool of himself.”

Ling Qi said, “Three hundred million yuan budget. Even if they squeeze it dry, there’s still tens of millions. Heh, who wouldn’t want to see a multi-million-yuan firework show?”

Xing Fei grinned, “And then—boom! That’s it! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

The two burst into laughter. Hearing their conversation, Wang Hong found it amusing. This former top star was truly bizarre.

Only Yan Gou’er’s expression remained unchanged.

Later that evening, after dinner, she studied for two more hours, showered, and slipped into fresh pajamas. Opening Weibo, she searched for Cheng Cheng’s account.

After a long look, she carefully opened a resume she had sent countless times, made some revisions, attached recent photos, and wrote “none” under “Previous Roles.” She sent it to the email listed on Weibo.

Before sleep, she watched half an hour of film, tucked herself in, closed her eyes, and awaited slumber.