Shrine - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It had been two years since Ruan Ruan and Shi Ran last crossed paths.

At that time, she was chosen by the TV station to record a variety show with Shi Ran. Ruan Ruan wasn't originally on the list of invited artists; she was a last-minute replacement. The reason she was chosen to fill in was that she'd come from one of the station's talent shows, was cheap, and a flop—unpopular enough to have an open schedule.

Back then, she was only 24, acting opposite the 27-year-old Shi Ran. The latter was effortless and perfectly composed, while the former was timid, shrinking, and spoke in hushed tones.

The reason Shi Ran was able to quickly gain a firm foothold in the cutthroat film industry was her exceptional professional skill.

There's a saying that goes, "The strong never complain about their circumstances." This saying fit Shi Ran perfectly.

Her debut was in an up-and-coming director's first film. Fresh out of university, Shi Ran's performance in the 20-minute short earned it a nomination in the short film competition category at one of the three major film festivals. That same year, Ruan Ruan was queuing up for an audition under the scorching sun, waiting so long her vision blurred. The casting director squinted, snatching her application form. "What school are you from?"

"Chunmei Arts Academy."

"What?"

"Chunmei Arts Academy, in Taizhou."

"A second-tier school? Third-tier?"

"A junior college." Ruan Ruan shifted her shoulder bag behind her, sweat trickling from her neck down to her chest.

"This talent search is for casting a remake of the Four Great Classical Novels. Have you read them?" the casting director asked, his beady eyes blinking.

"I... I have, sir," Ruan Ruan said timidly.

The casting director gave her a once-over from the corner of his eye, his gaze taking in her slender figure. "Alright, go home and wait for a call. Keep your phone on."

She scratched the side of her nose and squeezed her way out of the crowd of people packed together like steamed meat. Wanting to check if she still had credit on her phone, she scrolled through Weibo.

The top trending topic was Shi Ran's name.

#Shi Ran Short Film Competition# #Shi Ran Death of Green Plum#

Death of Green Plum was Shi Ran's debut film. Ruan Ruan remembered it so clearly because "Green Plum" (Qingmei) and "Spring Plum" (Chunmei), the name of her own academy, were just one character apart. Her vision had been so blurry at the time that she'd almost misread it. She had to blink hard a couple of times before she realized her mistake, finally seeing the film's title—and Shi Ran—clearly.

The news article included a photo of her from university, dressed in black practice clothes. Her hair was in a high bun, and her face was bare, but her entire aura was academic and orthodox—the kind of orthodox that would never be asked, "Is your school a junior college or a technical school?"

Shi Ran had the face of a model student, with such well-proportioned features that you couldn't find a single flaw even with a magnifying glass.

Usually, when the stingy heavens grant someone such malleable features, they tend to collect a debt when it comes to their figure. But not with her. The heavens were so generous to Shi Ran it was infuriating. They gave her a face made for film and a model's figure, as if to say, "The feast is laid out for you; eat as you please."

Some people live life as if they're begging for scraps, while for others, fate invites them to a banquet.

But Ruan Ruan wasn't jealous. She was born without a jealous bone in her body. When she was little, her younger brother hit her with a brick, causing her to go blind for a short time. Unable to attend class, she would carry a small stool to the mouth of the alley every day and listen to her classmates go to school, yet she never felt a shred of jealousy.

She would just smile timidly. When a classmate asked, "When are you coming back to class?" she'd say, "Soon, soon. My mom said I'll be fine after taking medicine for a couple of days."

In truth, she was scared back then, but she was always grateful.

She grew up in the countryside. Her birth parents ran off right after she was born, and she lived with the village chief's wife until she was four or five. Then, a couple from the town adopted her because they couldn't have children of their own at the time.

In the countryside, there was a belief that a childless couple could adopt a child to "secure a pregnancy" or "attract a younger sibling." There was no scientific basis for it, and it's unclear if it was just a superstition to bring peace of mind, but in any case, a few months after adopting Ruan Ruan, her mother became pregnant.

She gave birth to the son the family had been hoping for. Her father and mother poured all their attention onto their son. Occasionally, while holding him, they would smile at others and say that Ruan Ruan had come to repay a kindness—that ever since they took her in, their lives had gotten better.

Back then, her parents ran a clothing stall at the local market and occasionally had to travel with the truck to stock up on inventory. The burden of caring for her younger brother fell mostly on Ruan Ruan. She would try to memorize her lessons while doing the laundry, but she could never quite grasp them, so her grades were never very good.

By the time she reached high school, it was clear her family didn't want to support her through university. Ruan Ruan enrolled herself in Chunmei Arts Academy. The school had just been established and was recruiting students; tuition was only 2,000 yuan, and it included room and board.

After Ruan Ruan graduated, the academy went out of business. Fortunately, her degree and academic records were still officially recognized, but it meant that every time she looked for a job, she had to explain the situation and have all her documents printed out in advance.

If this were a novel, you could say Ruan Ruan had a disastrous start.

But she had also received some blessings from fate: a beautiful face, an intuitive grasp of things, and the resilience to endure hardship. With these three meager advantages, she drifted between various talent shows and film crews and actually managed to make a small name for herself.

At least she no longer had to worry about rent.

Two years ago, when she received the notice from the production team inviting her to the variety show, Ruan Ruan was so happy she almost forgot how to eat. The show's makeup artist, Sister Zhang, asked her, "Are you available?"

"I am, I am, I am, I am."

Sister Zhang smiled. During the talent show back then, she had done makeup for several of the young girls. Ruan Ruan was always willing to be last, waiting until she was so sleepy her eyes watered. She would just smile and say, "Sister Zhang, are your hands sore? I can put on my own foundation if you like."

The girls in the talent show were all vying for attention, terrified that their foundation might be a fifth of a shade too dark or that their concealer wasn't perfect. But Ruan Ruan would watch Sister Zhang's technique from the side, and the next time, she would do her own base makeup beforehand.

For that variety show, she summoned every ounce of her energy, yet her nervousness was still plain to see.

Meanwhile, Shi Ran, who carried the entire show, revealed her astonishing professional skills even on a variety program. She switched from playing a chef to a police superintendent and back to her identity as an actress, the transitions seamless, as silky smooth as if she'd eaten a hundred bars of Dove chocolate.

Few people would use "silky smooth" to describe someone's acting, but that's truly what Shi Ran was like.

While hiding her identity, she even incorporated an unintentional break into a smile and the superintendent's habitual gesture of clasping her hands behind her back into her performance, allowing her scene partner to become instantly immersed and creating palpable tension.

On that variety show, Shi Ran displayed a charisma that was like a spotlight.

Every one of her expressions was perfectly controlled. During the crime-solving segment, she would joke with Ruan Ruan, and when she laughed, it was as if the two had known each other for a long time.

She would also casually talk about desire, setting up jokes and asking a suspect, "How long were you two doing it?"

Or even: "When she was with you, did she enjoy it?"

A smile in her eyes, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned.

It was easy to get the false impression that she was approachable, as if you could chat with her about anything under the sun.

Ruan Ruan thought that maybe they would go out for a nice meal, have a cast dinner, or at least exchange contact information after filming wrapped. But when the house lights came up, Shi Ran stood among the staff, coolly sipping mineral water. She asked if they had enough footage, and upon learning they could leave, she simply nodded and walked out with her assistant.

Her assistant held a large, thick black umbrella for her. She ducked slightly, walking under it with her head down, the silence of her lips screaming "keep your distance."

On that world-weary face of hers, it seemed that even the flowers, trees, sun, and rain were "strangers."

That was the closest Ruan Ruan had ever been to a Best Actress. That year, Shi Ran was 27, and she had already won the title three years prior. However, what brought her even greater public exposure was her CP with the second female lead in an idol drama.

At the same age Shi Ran had been when she was crowned Best Actress, Ruan Ruan—a talent show contestant so unpopular she could only find work as a last-minute replacement—had a chance encounter with the superstar at the zenith of her career.

It was an ephemeral dream, a fall back to earth. Flowers wilt, waters recede, and each must walk their own path.

Two years later, the 26-year-old Ruan Ruan had become a familiar face around the film studio complex, known for taking any role she could get. When she wasn't filming, she would run between different sets to show her face, often still wearing makeup from another production. This not only allowed crews to see what she looked like with makeup on but also let them know she was actively working—a starlet still in the game.

Gradually, production teams started thinking of her when they couldn't find anyone else. She was "good value for the price," wasn't fussy, and didn't even have a manager—just one assistant. She did whatever the crew asked, and since she rented a place in the studio complex, she was available at a moment's notice.

In the scorching heat of July, she received a call sheet from the production team of Mystery Guest, a show she had previously auditioned for.

Resources from an A-list production like this would normally never flow her way, but Director Luo was different. He liked to cast new faces in supporting roles. Setting aside the quality of the series, it was one of the few crews that held open auditions. Ruan Ruan had tried out three times before finally landing the part.

On the casting board, Ruan Ruan's photo was on the far right, placed with the pictures of a few child actors. The middle was crammed with character names and makeup test photos. On the far left, in the largest empty space, there was no photo—only a name.

It was written in large characters, stroke by careful stroke.

Shi Ran.

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