Chapter 35: Playing for Nothing but Authenticity!

Su Mu seemed to have discovered a new world. It turned out that the proficiency in mimicking a character’s behavioral details was gained through observation. Of course, for people without distinctive traits, there was nothing to copy. So, in the days that followed, Su Mu got up at four-thirty to stroll through the morning markets, and at night he wandered the night markets. As long as he didn’t have any scenes to film, he devoted all his time to these places.

He was watching the lives of ordinary people, observing the most genuine reactions of all kinds of characters, and, most importantly, studying how fishmongers killed fish. After all, Gao Qiqiang came from a fish-selling background. Even if that period in the character’s life was brief, Su Mu couldn’t allow any flaw in his performance, so he refused to overlook a single detail.

The truth was, when facing Zhang Jianlin, Su Mu didn’t feel entirely without pressure. He could sense Zhang’s acting skills and presence. Ever since that first day when Su Mu had outshone him, Zhang, in every subsequent scene they shared, performed with a kind of aggressive intensity, as if trying to reclaim his territory.

This made Su Mu feel as if he were guarding his place in the ring. In the end, it reached the point where anyone acting in the same scene as him wanted to try to suppress him.

Naturally, Su Mu did not hold back either. He knew that if he wanted to turn his career around with this drama, he had to outshine Zhang Jianlin. Or rather, his portrayal of Gao Qiqiang had to be even more brilliant and unforgettable than Zhang’s An Xin. Otherwise, he would never achieve the effect he desired.

Just as Zhang Huaimou had said to him on WeChat, the role of Gao Qiqiang was complex and demanded real listening, genuine action, and authentic emotion. If he couldn’t express true feeling, he’d never reach the audience’s hearts.

So, after shooting a few scenes, Su Mu decided to throw himself into his work with relentless energy. Although his control over expressions and emotions was already strong, and he could memorize the script with ease, that was only the baseline. What he truly lacked was authenticity.

In acting, life experience can enhance the realism of a performance—only if you’ve lived it can you portray it truthfully and well. Right now, the only way to master this quickly was to accumulate proficiency through behavioral mimicry.

After all, with his “cheat” at hand, all he needed was to work hard.

...

“Fantastic!”

“Brilliant performance!”

Applause broke out on set. Zhang Jianlin, Zhou Yi, and Ma Baoguo had just performed a scene together and received unanimous praise from everyone present.

“Jianlin’s acting keeps getting better!”

“I didn’t expect the three of them to work together so smoothly. True veterans!”

“That improvisation from Zhang Jianlin was simply flawless!”

Listening to the compliments around him, Zhang Jianlin smiled. He’d been in great form these past few days, but hadn’t had another scene with Su Mu, so he hadn’t had a chance to regain his ground. But at this moment, he was confident—if he maintained this state, he would surely be the soul of the show.

And as for Su Mu? Just someone who’d happened to win once by luck.

Meanwhile, Zhang Huaimou was already calling for the next group of actors over the walkie-talkie.

“Scene 92, everyone get ready—Gao Qiqiang, Tang Xiaolong, Tang Xiaohu. Where’s Su Mu?”

“Director Zhang, Su Mu is killing fish.”

“Killing fish? He’s at it again?”

“Uh… not sure, it’s like he’s obsessed.”

Zhang Huaimou was speechless. When he’d chatted with Su Mu on WeChat a few days ago, he’d just wanted to give him some advice about the importance of authenticity in acting. He never expected Su Mu to take it so literally.

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it. Until Su Mu started killing fish… Now, every day, he slaughtered a dozen or more on set. To avoid waste, Zhang Huaimou had no choice but to have the crew bring a stove over and cook fish for lunch every day. And so, they ate fish every day. They were all sick of it.

The problem was, Su Mu was still going at it.

Zhang Huaimou muttered, “Seriously, is he ever going to stop? Tell him to get over here! And save a few fish—just right for the market scene.”

Hearing the director’s scolding, Zhang Jianlin and Zhou Yi, who had been about to return to their trailers to rest, paused and stayed behind. A glint of satisfaction flashed in Zhang Jianlin’s eyes. Even if he hadn’t had a direct confrontation lately, a chance to compare performances was always welcome. He had just received praise from everyone, including the veteran actors. If Su Mu didn’t perform well in the next scene, he’d at least recover a bit of standing.

“Zhou Yi,” Zhang Jianlin said, “aren’t you leaving?”

Zhou Yi smiled. “The next scene’s Su Mu’s. I want to watch.”

“You seem pretty concerned about him. But lately, that kid’s been working hard—killing fish every day to get into character.”

Zhang Jianlin nodded but said nothing. Internally, he was dismissive. Honestly, Su Mu’s single-minded obsession with killing fish these days made the other actors feel a little awkward. After all, everyone wanted to make a good impression on Director Zhang—diligently studying the script, seeking advice from veterans, rehearsing together in private. That was considered hardworking enough.

But Su Mu had gone a step further, spending all his time in the market, getting up before dawn to kill fish for the sake of portraying Gao Qiqiang. Who was he trying to impress? It made it seem as if the rest of them didn’t take their work as seriously as he did.

But in Zhang Jianlin’s eyes, even if Su Mu killed fish every day, it was just superficial work. If learning a few life skills could improve acting, he’d have won ten Best Actor awards by now.

...

Not long after, Su Mu arrived on set, dressed in a filthy apron, his face smeared with grime, holding two live fish.

“Su Mu, get ready. It’s your scene,” Zhang Huaimou called.

“Alright,” Su Mu replied, turning and walking in.

Watching Su Mu’s hunched figure as he shuffled in, Ma Baoguo and the other veteran actors joked among themselves.

“This is the scene where we’ll see what the kid’s really made of.”

“Exactly. All of Su Mu’s previous scenes were indoors, focused on single emotions, lines, and facial expressions.”

“But today’s scene is in the market—this is where he has to capture the entire essence of the character.”

“They say Su Mu’s performance has overshadowed Zhang Jianlin’s, but I think it’s too early to judge. If he can handle a scene with such a complex setting and background, then he’s truly remarkable.”

The veteran actors discussed among themselves, and the rest of the cast tacitly agreed. Often, the overall setting of a scene could affect an actor’s performance. Previously, Su Mu’s scenes were all indoors, with mid-shots that emphasized his lines and facial expressions. But today’s scene was shot in the open market, with full-body shots—demanding detail in every movement.

A good actor is “acting with their whole body”—every gesture, every action must convince the audience that they’re truly the character, with no sense of discord. That was the difficulty everyone wanted to witness.

“Scene 92! Get ready—action!”

With the director’s call, filming commenced.

This scene depicted Gao Qiqiang’s early days at the seafood market, his first encounter with the brothers Tang Xiaohu and Tang Xiaolong. It was a pivotal moment, laying the groundwork for later conflict in the story. Every detail mattered to convey Gao Qiqiang’s early character.

The market extras bustled and mingled. The camera shifted.

With a single cut—

Bang!

The sound of a cleaver hitting the board rang out.

In that instant, everyone’s gaze was glued to the director’s monitor.

Su Mu was gutting fish—or rather, Gao Qiqiang was. His knife skills were deft and practiced; from slitting open the belly, to removing scales, gills, and swim bladders—every movement was precise. In that moment, everyone believed the man before them wasn’t Su Mu at all, but a true fishmonger. If not in this life, then surely in the next.

Cleanly finishing the job, he handed the fish to the customer, rinsed his hands in the tank, then turned and flashed a quick, ingratiating smile at the Tang brothers.

Just that one motion—

It sent shivers down everyone’s spines.

So natural.

So precise.

Utterly real.

Ma Baoguo couldn’t help but exclaim, “Su Mu’s performance is fantastic! Just that one action outshines Zhang Jianlin’s improvisation.”

“!!!”

“!!!”

Zhang Jianlin was silent—stung once more.

“Cut!” Zhang Huaimou stood up. “Excellent, Su Mu! That’s a take!”