Drifting on a String - Chapter 51

Chapter 51

This was the 102nd time Chen Piaopiao had dreamed of Tao Jin.

In the dream, Tao Jin, in her early twenties, was wearing a long coat and picking her up at the Capital Airport. She pushed her suitcase and ran over, and they hugged each other tightly. Tao Jin's smile was jostled by the impact, vividly real.

They held hands and went to queue in the taxi area. The Beicheng night was cold and distant.

The elegant and beautiful Tao Jin whispered to her, her words turning into white puffs of breath in the winter air.

The dream ended there.

The sound of the plane gliding on the runway reached her ears. The aircraft had landed at Beicheng Dayuan Airport, a new airport built and put into use in recent years, as large as the two previous Capital Airports combined. Chen Piaopiao took off her eye mask and looked out the window, vaguely recalling the year she had carried her luggage from Xindu to the Capital Airport.

Back then, the school dorms didn't have air conditioning, and the whirring of the fan was a constant sound in her ears.

It always sounded like it was about to fall.

She didn't know how she had managed to endure four summers like that.

"Piaopiao, wear these sunglasses. And swap your bag for this one." Li Yu, beside her, handed her a new Morila bag.

There was nothing inside. The bag's opening was deliberately left open, creating the impression that it was well-used.

"I put two bottles of sunscreen in it," Li Yu said. To give it some weight.

Li Yu was her assistant. The company had assigned one to her before, but once, when Chen Piaopiao was on a variety show, the production team, wanting to surprise her and create a so-called "highlight" of genuine emotion, invited her beautiful mother without telling her. The assistant responsible for the script and schedule had cooperatively kept her mouth shut. At that moment, Chen Piaopiao had stood on stage, expressionless, for three seconds amidst the faint stir in the audience.

Afterward, she came to her senses and said with a smile, "I really didn't expect this."

After the show was recorded, she fired the assistant and hired Li Yu.

Chen Piaopiao didn't have any friends she trusted enough to be her personal assistant. Before her debut, Li Yu had worked at a bar for a while, and the two of them had a good relationship.

At twenty-three, a woman was in the prime of her life, but in the entertainment industry where "fame comes to the young," Chen Piaopiao still felt she wasn't young enough.

After only a three-hour flight, her skin was as thirsty as if it had been deprived of water for days, and there were faint dark circles under her eyes.

When she was eighteen or nineteen, she always thought she had capital to squander. Skin so supple it looked like it would break at a touch was nothing rare; she never imagined it would one day abandon her.

The same went for other things.

"Should you reapply some perfume?" Li Yu asked.

Chen Piaopiao ran her fingers through her wavy hair like a comb. "We don't have any perfume brand collaborations, do we?"

"No."

"Then there's no need."

Chen Piaopiao's entire look today was from Morila, and the bag was the latest model sent over by the brand's PR, not yet even available in some stores. Recently, both fans and the media knew she had a fondness for this brand. In reality, it wasn't that she favored the brand, but that the brand favored her.

The president of the Greater China region wanted to sign her as an exclusive brand ambassador and was currently in an observation period. The two parties were cooperating, writing some press releases highlighting her ability to drive sales and her perfect match with the brand's image, which would be compiled into an internal business report for submission to headquarters.

It wasn't a major brand, positioned as light luxury, but for Chen Piaopiao to even get access to this resource was no small feat.

Because her origins weren't good.

Not her family background, but the entertainment industry's invisible hierarchy of debut methods, much like how theater academy students always felt they had a better foundation than film academy students. This world of fame and fortune had its own form of "snobbery."

Chen Piaopiao didn't debut in a movie, nor did she start by participating in a TV series. She started as an influencer. First, a product-seeding blogger, then a beauty livestreamer, and finally, she was signed by Shengying Entertainment to act in short dramas. The kind of short dramas with lines like, "It's been a long time since the young master has smiled like this."

The name of her agency, Shengying Entertainment, also revealed its lack of real power and low standing in the industry.

Its original Chinese name included "Tianxia"—literally "Under Heaven"—and companies that used that name usually failed to conquer anything.

But a small company had its advantages. There was no struggle for the "top sister" or "second brother" position, because Chen Piaopiao was the only one who had become even slightly famous. Naturally, all resources were funneled to her. The boss treated her like he was holding a goose that laid golden eggs and even spent a fortune to hire the veteran agent Zhuang He to shape her career. He wanted to use Chen Piaopiao's image overhaul to complete the company's transformation from an influencer incubator to a player in the film and television industry.

Zhuang He came over from Taicheng and watched Chen Piaopiao act in two scenes.

It was a period idol drama. The director was from Hong Kong and had directed some quite popular works twenty years ago, but now his aesthetic and technical skills couldn't keep up, so he could only direct third-rate web dramas.

But he held himself in high regard, believing he was an artist.

What Zhuang He witnessed was this washed-up artist spitting as he scolded Chen Piaopiao, saying, "You can't even han? What the hell are you filming? Over a hundred people are waiting for you to use your eye drops!" His Mandarin was laced with a Hong Kong accent; han meant to cry.

The producer standing nearby told the cameraman, "Turn it off for now."

They were still filming behind-the-scenes footage.

By now, Chen Piaopiao was considered a minor online star with her own fanbase. This director was still living in the dream of twenty years ago when he could scold actors at will.

If this got out, it would either lead to fans making posters demanding an explanation, or it would generate negative buzz before the show even aired, with rivals buying up gossip bloggers to flood social media with GIFs of her being scolded by the director.

After visiting the set, Zhuang He called Chen Piaopiao's boss.

First, she arranged for a teacher from the theater academy to join the crew as a coach. Then, she rejected all the scripts that came their way and had the boss give Chen Piaopiao a six-month period to settle and grow. There were two options: one, attend an acting training class, or two, perform in a stage play.

The first was easier to achieve—you could get in just by paying. But it could lead to a downward spiral, because when an actor who already had a few works online went back to a training class with newcomers, it was tantamount to a tacit admission of poor acting skills, a sheepish retreat back to the starting line.

The second was a brilliant path, provided she could land a good stage play role. Both inside and outside the industry, stage plays were always held in high regard as an art form. A play by a top director was something even A-list actors fought for. In terms of improving acting and line delivery, as well as adding a touch of class, it was better than gilding in gold.

The hierarchies of the entertainment world were sometimes harder to cross than class divides.

"A stage play should be helpful for your acting," Zhuang He told Chen Piaopiao in her office. "It forces you to go deep, to explode, to cry and shout, to pour your heart out every performance. Your acting right now is just like your name—it floats."

Zhuang He smiled without reservation.

"What did the boss say?" Chen Piaopiao asked only this one question after finishing her durian mille-crepe cake.

"You don't need to listen to what others say," Zhuang He said, her brow arching. "If your boss had a way to manage you, he wouldn't have hired me."

That was true. The only things the boss would tell Chen Piaopiao were not to eat durian mille-crepe cake, not to eat braised prawns in oil, not to eat spicy numbing hot pot—that female celebrities should eat grass.

Before Chen Piaopiao entered the industry, the boss's understanding of celebrities was so shallow it came from gossip bloggers.

Wearing sunglasses, she walked with her head down through the crowd of fans at the airport, accompanied by their soft chatter and footsteps. Chen Piaopiao ducked into the commercial vehicle, and Li Yu collected a few letters as usual. Before the door closed, the fans said, "Bye-bye, Piaopiao, see you next time."

Chen Piaopiao waved. "Bye-bye."

When she was still a nobody, Chen Piaopiao used to complain about celebrities who claimed they wanted to be low-key but then paraded through airports in sunglasses like it was a fashion show, afraid people wouldn't know they were famous. In reality, if you just pulled on a hat and a mask and dressed like a landlord collecting rent, who would even look at you?

Only later did she understand that flight information and ID numbers were no secret among fans and proxy photographers. Unless you could tunnel underground like a gopher, they would always manage to dig you up. Fans might be merciful, but if a proxy photographer shoved a camera in your face and flashed the light in your eyes, the probability of catching a few shots of you rolling your eyes as you blinked wasn't low.

So, sunglasses were a necessary form of protection.

Later still, the airport walk became part of her styling work, because Chen Piaopiao had brand collaborations.

The T-shirt, pants, shoes, and even the belt she was wearing now had all been sent to her. What to wear on which flight, and how to pair it, had long been decided for her.

Among the proxy photographers were people from her publicity team. Before the commercial vehicle even reached the second ring road, the edited photos would be sent to the inboxes of gossip bloggers.

If you were a bit more famous, you'd get your own Weibo post. If you were less known, you'd be lumped in with other eighteenth-tier actors in a monthly airport look compilation.

"It's four o'clock now. We'll go home, you'll change, and we'll head downstairs at six to have dinner with Director Sun." Li Yu placed the letters on the seat beside her, scrolled through the messages on her phone, and reminded Chen Piaopiao of her schedule.

"Why is your voice so hoarse?" Chen Piaopiao turned to look at her. "Do you have a cold?"

"No," Li Yu cleared her throat. "Is the time I just mentioned okay with you?"

"Mhm." She rested her head against the glass window and closed her eyes.

Director Sun was a renowned stage play director in the industry. The play Chen Piaopiao was returning for was his, titled The Dreamer.

First, Zhuang He went for two dinners, then Chen Piaopiao went for two dinners.

Zhuang He hadn't used her connection with Director Sun in a long time, so she wasn't very confident. Fortunately, Director Sun liked Chen Piaopiao very much. For their first meeting, Zhuang He had arranged a retro-style private room. A veteran agent's clever tricks were often hidden in the details. The restaurant's elevator was beautiful, and the light was hazy and smoke-like, similar to stage lighting, casting across Chen Piaopiao's profile.

Zhuang He had instructed Chen Piaopiao to stand to Director Sun's right and not to speak.

And so, Director Sun saw a face full of stories.

Under the dim yellow light, her skin was fair, almost translucent. She leaned against the British-style elevator wall, a narrow mirror running down the middle. In the mirror was another Chen Piaopiao, as if framed in a painting.

Directors in the artistic circle were all like that; they loved to discover an actor's narrative potential and possibilities in unguarded moments. This gave them a great sense of accomplishment.

If he could frame your face in his mind's viewfinder, it was better than submitting a hundred resumes, better than performing a hundred dull, uninspired auditions.

The deal was solid from the very beginning of the meal. As long as Chen Piaopiao didn't do anything crazy, there wouldn't be a problem.

The second dinner was arranged by Director Sun's assistant. Zhuang He already knew what was up and had the business and legal teams prepare a contract. After the dinner, she leaked the information to the paparazzi to get a shot of Chen Piaopiao's group leaving the restaurant.

The news that Chen Piaopiao might be collaborating with Director Sun spread through the gossip circles.

Director Sun was especially protective of his reputation. Of course, he wouldn't meet a female actor at night for personal reasons. He wouldn't allow others to speculate on any other motives either, which meant this collaboration was set in stone.

However, what was unexpected was that after the second dinner, where they had a simple discussion about the script and he heard Chen Piaopiao's ideas, the score Director Sun gave her was even higher than Zhuang He had anticipated.

Zhuang He had originally only aimed for a supporting female role, but Director Sun was likely going to cast Chen Piaopiao as the female lead.

This made Zhuang He's heart flutter. She hadn't been this excited in a long time, because as far as she knew, a rising starlet being heavily promoted by another major company was also trying to tear this resource away.

For an agent, money wasn't the most important thing, nor was fame. The most important thing was that the person in your hands made you proud.

The third dinner was booked in a private room at a members-only Cantonese restaurant, a private kitchen tucked away in a hutong, not open to the public. Chen Piaopiao got out of the car and went straight inside, not bothering to hide behind a mask or hat. She wore a simple gray T-shirt and jeans, her long hair freshly washed, hanging straight down and carrying the faint scent of jasmine.

She entered with a bare face, holding her phone in her right hand. "Director Sun."

Her smile was natural and casual.

After struggling for so long, Chen Piaopiao was very good at guessing what people were thinking. Director Sun liked what was natural, what was unpretentious, and he also liked culture. Her status as an An University graduate was a unique level of education in the entertainment industry, which perhaps also made Director Sun see her in a better light.

In the vast room with its carved wooden tables and chairs and exquisite welcome refreshments, Director Sun had only brought his assistant and his business manager. They were in the middle of ordering.

Chen Piaopiao hadn't even brought her assistant; she had come just like that, plain and simple.

"What would you like to eat?" Director Sun offered her the menu.

Chen Piaopiao smiled and shook her head. "Just order me a small seafood salad with sauce. Anything else is fine."

Director Sun liked it when young women were like this—not demurely saying 'anything is fine,' nor being overly slick and taking charge, but directly stating what she wanted to eat, turning a purposeful meal into a casual get-together with acquaintances.

"You see?" Director Sun smiled and gave his business manager a look, as if they had been discussing something before Chen Piaopiao arrived and were now concluding it.

Chen Piaopiao didn't pry. She sat down gracefully and brushed her hair back.

After Director Sun finished ordering, they chatted for a bit before he had his assistant hand over the script.

"Take a look, young lady."

He stretched his shoulders and, in a rather paternal tone, handed the female lead role to Chen Piaopiao just like that.

Chen Piaopiao read the script with her lips pressed together, her expression serious.

Director Sun didn't rush her. He picked up a magazine to read, occasionally turning to speak with his assistant. The business manager was a woman in her forties named Tian. She spoke up and asked Chen Piaopiao, "How should we handle the contract? Should I talk to A'Zhuang?"

She was Zhuang He's contact; they had both started out in Hong Kong years ago and she was still used to calling her A'Zhuang.

"Mhm, I'll tell Sister Zhuang," Chen Piaopiao said, closing the script.

The business manager was happy with this and had no objections. After a while, the food arrived. Director Sun and Chen Piaopiao ate and talked, and he asked her why she had come alone.

"I gave them a break," Chen Piaopiao said, gathering her long hair to one side and smiling wearily. "They were stuck on set with me for four months."

"So you'll have a break after this?" Director Sun asked.

"Yes, I've cleared my schedule for The Dreamer."

Sister Tian raised her eyebrows. "You cleared your schedule before you even signed?"

"If I couldn't sign, I was going to enroll in an acting training class, the company said," Chen Piaopiao said, taking a sip of orange juice.

The three of them at the table laughed. She was still young, after all, and quite frank.

Director Sun dipped a piece of roast goose in some plum sauce, placed it on his plate, and said to Chen Piaopiao, "Since you have a break, you should go to Mozhen next month. Our team will be there for the theater festival, and I'd like to hold the first script reading there. It'll be a good chance for you to get a feel for the stage play atmosphere. Right?"

Director Sun's verbal tic was "Right?", but he never required an answer.

"Okay."

"And also meet the producer of The Dreamer."

They had a habit of shortening the play's title to Meng Li—'In the Dream'—which made the sentence sound strange.

Even stranger, Chen Piaopiao felt goosebumps rise all over her body as if on cue.

"The producer?" She stroked her right shoulder with her left hand, as if casually soothing the fine hairs on the back of her neck, then blinked her sparkling eyes and asked softly.

"At the back of the script," Director Sun gestured vaguely in the air, "is our team."

Chen Piaopiao picked it up and flipped toward the back, the subtle fragrance of the exquisite dishes in the air.

The pages rustled, and the smell of ink was familiar, reminding her of the print shop next to the cafeteria back in college.

At the end of every semester, there were always a lot of people printing their theses. The print shop was small and narrow, and she couldn't squeeze in, drenched in sweat. She had taken out her phone to complain to someone: "Help, I'm stuck behind the graduating students. The person in front of me has a super long thesis to print."

The memory was hazy, like a phantom. The person on the other end had replied: "hhhhh."

The name at the top of the chat history was Tao Jin.

Chen Piaopiao's hand paused as she flipped through the script. The complete production team for The Dreamer was on the last page.

First line, Producer: Tao Jin.

A few months ago, after Zhuang He had gone to the first dinner with Director Sun alone, she had said she needed to negotiate further, then analyzed the situation for Chen Piaopiao: "Director Sun is fine, he doesn't care that you act in web dramas, but there's a bit of a problem with the producer."

"A'tian said, the producer doesn't want to use you."

The producer: Tao Jin.

Chen Piaopiao's ex-girlfriend.

Get instant access to all chapters now.

Previous Table of Contents Next