I have a persona specifically for acting.

Tong Zhao just nodded to confirm the schedule, and the promotion for “Heartless Tribulation” immediately kicked off.

This project had been in the pipeline for far too long.

She was added to the crew group, and before she could even send a message saying “Hello everyone, please take care of me,” the chat was flooded with responses—

Director Zeng: “Welcome, Savior!”

Chen Zhuzhi: “Welcome, Savior!”

Ding Jiao: “Welcome, Savior!”

…

Aside from the assistant director, the male lead, and the female supporting role, the rest were important cast members and crew.

With such a grand title thrown on her, Tong Zhao found it hard to distinguish whether it was genuine admiration or just flattery.

Fortunately, Ding Jiao, who plays the female supporting role, immediately stepped in to explain: “Brother Qiu couldn’t find a satisfactory female lead. Over the years, he tried several times to hold open auditions for newcomers… but every time the female lead ended up dying in the water dungeon. If it weren’t for finding you, we’d still be waiting. Although our schedules are free during the wait, no other production can compare to Brother Qiu’s!”

Assistant Director Zeng: “Brother Qiu’s business skills are top-notch! [thumbs up][thumbs up]”

Shi Qianqiu: “It’s mainly about this! [gold coin][gold coin]”

Everyone burst into laughter.

Although Shi Qianqiu had a gray industry background, the crew members seemed completely unafraid of him. It was just that the assistant director particularly listened to Shi Qianqiu.

Tong Zhao privately teased him about this, and Shi Qianqiu readily explained: “It’s because he used to be addicted to gambling and ended up owing me several thousand.”

Tong Zhao: “A few thousand? Really?”

Shi Qianqiu: “A few million! [heart]”

…Alright.

Tong Zhao accepted “Heartless Tribulation,” and the news of her collaboration with the renowned director Shi Qianqiu spread quickly.

The entertainment industry changes rapidly; someone who debuted a year ago is already considered a senior. When “Heartless Tribulation” was initially casting, it created quite a buzz, but after being delayed for some time, netizens struggled to recall what it was about. Fans cheered as their “sister” landed another major project, until they saw Shi Qianqiu’s name, along with marketing accounts reminding them of the movie’s delays—

“The fourth female lead selection flopped just three minutes into filming; the longest anyone lasted was ten minutes.”

“The director known for making things difficult for actors: Shi Qianqiu.”

“Shi Qianqiu: I recognized Tong Zhao’s ability to solve problems.”

Shi Qianqiu’s words didn’t seem like a mere evaluation of an actor.

Since the rise of instinctive films, two schools of thought have emerged in the directing community.

One emphasizes a highly detailed setting to ensure actors stay on the predetermined plot, striving to achieve traditional film effects during the era of instinctive cinema. This school’s prominent director, Chen Shengwen, once said, “The only benefit of instinctive films is the ability to create holographic viewing experiences and grand scenes that reality cannot achieve; otherwise, there would be no point in their existence.”

The other approach is like Shi Qianqiu’s, believing that instinctive films should be shot from a completely new perspective.

“Shi Qianqiu: I see a new era in Tong Zhao.”

…

Although Shi Qianqiu genuinely looks forward to Tong Zhao’s professional abilities, his handsome face alone could have earned him a direct debut in acting. Thus, he became another name in her long list of rumors, and “Heartless Tribulation” was touted as their powerful collaboration.

But it wasn’t true; it didn’t exist.

Aside from work-related matters, Tong Zhao hadn’t been contacted privately by Director Shi.

Soon, “Heartless Tribulation” was restarted, and the cast gathered on the twenty-third floor of the studio.

Everything was ready.

The set modeling had already been completed; all that was missing was the female lead.

Chen Zhuzhi, who played the male lead, had a strikingly handsome and resolute face. Having just turned thirty, he looked incredibly well-maintained and appeared to be in his mid-twenties—a very classic handsome man.

As soon as Tong Zhao arrived, he greeted her with a smile: “I’ve been waiting for you! This is the first time I’m looking forward to my opponent so much. I just hope I won’t lose all my scenes.”

This was quite different from his confident demeanor in front of Shi Qianqiu.

“Better not go too hard on me, senior.”

Tong Zhao’s humble reaction surprised Chen Zhuzhi a bit.

He had observed her previous works, and although her characters in “Countdown 72 Hours,” “The Legend of Ming Emperor,” and “King of the Sea” seemed vastly different in personality, they shared common traits—she was very proud, strong-willed, and openly aggressive. He speculated that when there were men to rely on, she would prefer to use them, but when they were unreliable, she could depend on herself.

Like Han Zhi, Chen Zhuzhi categorized Tong Zhao as a difficult woman.

From “Countdown 72 Hours,” he could tell she would be a formidable opponent.

The contract stated that whoever performed better would be the real lead.

If one underperformed, they might lose a third of their scenes.

That was an outcome Chen Zhuzhi could not accept.

Unlike Tong Zhao, three years ago, Chen Zhuzhi faced a scandal when an ex-girlfriend reported him for domestic violence, costing him a hefty settlement. Many of his female fans left, and those who remained were somewhat clueless. However, he gradually started receiving offers for negative roles, opening up a new path for himself. Yet no film had cast him as the male lead, and “Heartless Tribulation” was his one and only opportunity.

“The downside of instinctive films is that you can’t even give the little fairy a break without losing control.”

He said this, yet ever since learning about the female lead, he had been subtly expressing his dislike for her. Instinctive films can be influenced by subconscious feelings; for instance, during “The Legend of Ming Emperor,” Song Wanzhu almost left the project after a poor first impression of Tong Zhao during her audition.

Chen Zhuzhi not only didn’t want to go easy on her, but also aimed to be ruthless.

Though he felt a bit guilty about the young woman, he was determined to secure the male lead role.

“Heartless Tribulation” had faced too many failures in casting a female lead, and Chen Zhuzhi had been persuading Shi Qianqiu to abandon the dual-lead concept and turn it into his own showcase. Shi Qianqiu had even considered it, and Tong Zhao was his last choice; if he could make her fail, his solo plan would succeed.

After all, with Tong Zhao’s current popularity, she wouldn’t lack for opportunities!

Tong Zhao smiled but said nothing.

Just then, others also wanted to chat with the rising star, and Chen Zhuzhi’s feigned compliment was smoothly brushed aside.

“Zhao Zhao, I really loved your performance as Feng Yanqi!”

Ding Jiao, true to her name, was a petite girl who usually played spoiled characters. Her family ran a substantial business in another city, and she had grown up with everything going her way, so she had never faced hardship. This made her portrayals of entitled roles particularly realistic. Shi Qianqiu occasionally lamented in the group chat that while Ding Jiao was charming, she lacked the venomous edge; if only they could have Xu Zhu instead.

Ding Jiao hesitated for a long time about whether she should be angry. In the end, her girlfriends privately advised her not to let this exceptionally difficult person get to her, so she decided to act like she didn’t see it.

She wasn’t being malicious at all!

“Then I’m really happy!”

When the girl complimented her, Tong Zhao smiled, this time genuinely.

Though she hadn’t been in the industry long, her performances had been so successful that she stood out among her peers. Ding Jiao had debuted earlier and, while envious of her luck, recognized that there were roles Tong Zhao could play that she couldn’t. With no rivalry, admiration took its place.

If Tong Zhao could perform well, it would benefit everyone!

“I actually wanted to add you in the group for a while, but I was a bit shy. I thought it would feel more sincere to add you after we met and greeted each other,” Ding Jiao said, pulling her hand to exchange WeChat contacts.

Ding Jiao stuck out her pink tongue and smiled, revealing cute dimples on her cheeks.

She really did seem well-protected.

“I also watched ‘King of the sea,’ and I thought you might be even more charming in person.”

Tong Zhao replied, “Huh? Am I not charming enough right now? I’m wearing makeup.”

Though she said that, she actually knew the reason.

Tong Zhao was still dressed low-key today.

She wore a black shirt with jeans, neatly tied her hair back in a ponytail, and donned a cap that could be pulled down to shade half her face. From a distance, all that could be seen were her elegant jawline and supple lips, making her the coolest sight on the street.

With the aura given to her by the Concubine Chen, she could easily overshadow everyone.

If she always appeared with feminine charm, it would eventually become tiresome. So unless her agent insisted on stealing the spotlight for a press event, she prioritized comfort in her outfits, opting for whatever felt best, maybe adding some cute accessories.

Like the black cap she wore, which had a pair of pointy cat ears on top.

When talking to her, Ding Jiao couldn’t help but glance up, thinking she was just too cute!

She hadn’t expected Tong Zhao to be so adorably cool in person.

“Ah, it’s not that I think you’re unattractive!” Ding Jiao shook her head, frustrated with her poor expression skills. “Your features are beautiful, really; only a blind person would say otherwise. But it feels different from what I see on camera…”

Tong Zhao found the girl a bit amusing.

She smiled and asked, “In ‘King of the Sea’, do you prefer Han Zhi or Tong Zhao?”

Ding Jiao immediately displayed an embarrassed expression, clearly caught off guard.

“Ahem, I’m a fan of Han Zhi’s girlfriend…”

In Tong Zhao’s mind, her other personas laughed at how popular Han Zhi was.

Tong Zhao: [Underestimated, brother Zhi should show her a thing or two.]

Han Zhi: [Okay.]

As soon as the words were spoken, in Ding Jiao’s eyes, the person in front of her seemed to change.

It was an invisible transformation that only the one being looked at could feel, something only the top traditional actors could achieve—though Ding Jiao wasn’t sure, as traditional films had been declining for a long time.

Tong Zhao was already taller than her, and today she wore thick heels, making her almost a head taller.

At that moment, Tong Zhao lowered her head, her thin lips lifting into a casual smile. Her light-colored eyes sparkled like intoxicating nectar, and the indoor lighting reflected in them, creating a starlit effect: “What about me? Don’t you like me?”

Ding Jiao felt a rush from her gaze, her ears tingling.

A woman in love wouldn’t mistake her boyfriend; that feeling belonged to her brother Zhi!

“Love, love, love!” she raised her hand in a threefold declaration of affection.

Unfortunately, that feeling faded in an instant. Tong Zhao patted her head, saying, “It doesn’t matter if you like me; I’m straight.”

“I’m straight too,” Ding Jiao retorted, covering the spot that was patted.

After that little interaction, their relationship truly became much closer. Ding Jiao was curious about the way Tong Zhao’s demeanor could change so quickly, but she liked both versions: “Ah, I always wanted that heart-fluttering feeling in a relationship, and I didn’t expect to find it in a woman. If you ever decide to change genders, you have to tell me; I’ll bring the civil affairs bureau over!”

“You have some dangerous thoughts.”

They lay in front of the holographic filming pod, and Ding Jiao kept chattering away.

Tong Zhao had to let Lu Xianzhang know in advance, so she turned to Lu Xianzhang for some company.

“Can I gossip a bit?”

Lu Xianzhang: “Sure.”

“Are you and Wei Zekai for real?”

Ding Jiao had heard from her dad that the Wei family was incredibly wealthy, much richer than hers.

If she were to compete for Wei Zekai, she felt she wouldn’t stand a chance.

Lu Xianzhang frowned slightly, feeling uncomfortable: “It’s fake.”

She could distinguish who her friends were, but she still had a deep-rooted resistance to men.

“That’s good; no rush to date. Nowadays, guys are just too immature. I still feel something for the Han Zhi you portrayed. Wuu, I love him so much…”

Lu Xianzhang: “…Thanks, but maybe love yourself a bit more.”

At this moment, the equipment started to operate, and their consciousness gradually became blurred.

—

“Heartless Tribulation”

[Main Characters]

Chen Zhuzhi as: Shao Xuanzheng

Tong Zhao as: Mu Yingchen

Ding Jiao as: Li Qiaoqiao

—

Tick, tick…

Tong Zhao felt her eyelids heavy, and pain radiated from her limbs.

The good news was that her legs hurt a bit less.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to open her eyes and look down.

The bad news was that the reason it hurt less was because they were submerged in ice-cold water.

Tong Zhao found herself in a water prison, surrounded by solid stone walls. Looking up, she saw a reservoir above. Water was slowly trickling in through an inlet, gradually rising in the prison… Compared to when she was first locked in, the water level had risen significantly. She estimated that in about seven days, it would reach her mouth and nose, drowning her.

The chains binding her had a mechanism that tightened slowly, restricting her movement bit by bit.

When she was first locked in, Tong Zhao could still sit and lie down to rest.

Later, as the water level rose higher and reached her calves, she could only sit.

Then…

She had already been standing for a whole day.

In front of Tong Zhao was a high platform with a sword on it.

The sword was the most ordinary kind, forged by a mortal blacksmith, and could not cut the chains that bound her.

Shao Xuanzheng said to her, “My path is to leave a way out in everything; this sword is your only means of escape.”

It hinted that this was a sword for her to use to end her own life.

Shao Xuanzheng had schemed and drugged her, shattering her golden core when she was at her weakest. Her spiritual roots were also severely damaged, making it difficult to channel spiritual energy. She had only a trace of spiritual aura protecting her, barely avoiding the issues that arose from being submerged for too long, but the pain was relentless.

To achieve the desired effect, Lu Xianzhang signaled Tong Zhao to voluntarily sign a contract refusing the pain waiver.

Tong Zhao felt that she didn’t need to push herself so hard.

She believed this was a good opportunity to cultivate her heart again—instinctive films were like the illusionary seas of the past in the cultivation world. If she turned on the pain waiver effect, it wouldn’t be as effective; without the bone-deep pain, how could one truly be tempered by fire? This was also why she particularly disagreed with dual cultivation; enjoying the merging of desires might enhance cultivation, but it lacked the process of refining the heart, which would eventually lead to stumbling over inner demons.

At that moment, the staff of “The Heartless Tribulation” were observing the scene.

The set designer quietly complained, “Even if Tong Zhao said she doesn’t need the pain waiver, brother Shi, you shouldn’t have agreed so readily! Several actors who had the pain waiver before couldn’t handle it and chose to end their lives. If we scare off the leading actress on the first shot, we’ll have to wait again.”

The leading actress was afflicted with a life-exchanging curse; if she ended her own life, the effect would be even better.

To some extent, it would also reduce the karmic burdens entangling Shao Xuanzheng.

After activating a 50% pain waiver, the pain would be significantly alleviated.

However, the set was incredibly oppressive, accompanied by constant water sounds and rising water levels. Even actresses with strong psychological resilience chose to end their lives after trying to escape in vain.

Shi Qianqiu stated emphatically:

“Practitioners should speak less falsehoods. What Shao Xuanzheng said is true; there’s a hollow section in the stone wall behind Mu Yingchen. If she pries open the sword hilt and strikes the hidden talisman against the hollow stone wall, a secret passage will be revealed. He indeed left her a way out, confident that given her condition, she wouldn’t survive outside for more than seven days and would ultimately die from the curse. Moreover, he believes that without solving the riddle, Mu Yingchen would attempt to use the sword to end her life after several tries.”

The set designer continued to passionately complain, “Who would even notice that the stone wall is hollow? Are we supposed to smash our heads against it?”

“Others can’t,” Shi Qianqiu firmly believed in his choice of leading actress. “Tong Zhao can.”

Meanwhile, the assistant director monitoring Shao Xuanzheng slowly raised a hand, saying, “Um, I don’t know why, but when we officially started filming, Shao Xuanzheng hesitated for a long time and didn’t put the talisman in the sword hilt. He almost directly killed her with the sword instead.”

Shi Qianqiu: “…”

All the staff: “…”

Shi Qianqiu: “I believe in Tong Zhao; she will definitely find a solution in a desperate situation!”

Everyone looked at him.

Shi Qianqiu: “At worst, we can restart again. I have the money.”

Hearing this, everyone felt relieved.

Chen Zhuzhi’s self-persuasion tactics were very effective.

People’s thoughts are inherently fleeting. Tong Zhao threatened his status as the leading man, and his wariness of her was deeply rooted in his subconscious, causing his character to be more cautious of Mu Yingchen. He would rather risk damaging his own path than allow her to rise.

…

In reality, Chen Zhuzhi was overthinking.

Even if the talisman were really hidden in the sword’s hilt, Tong Zhao wouldn’t think of it.

Because of her cultivation, particularly in swordsmanship, Lu Xianzhang was the most straightforward and simple-minded among all her personalities, except for Xiao Zhao (the five-year-old version of Tong Zhao at that time). Any extraneous thoughts would only interfere with her sword intent. She believed that “not cultivating a saintly heart leads to true virtue; if one seeks to become a saint, they invite all kinds of evils.” Before crossing into that body, the original host often questioned why her husband betrayed her, why he chose immortality over family—

“Oh, great heaven, why have you treated me so?”

Later, that husband knelt before Lu Xianzhang, begging for her mercy, but she didn’t ask further.

In short, Lu Xianzhang was not good at solving puzzles.

Under the tense gaze of the staff, she reached for the mundane sword, weakly swung it a couple of times, and her face showed visible disdain: “Forget it, I’ll just make do with this…”

Tong Zhao was quite decisive; she opted for self-destruction faster than others.

When she raised the sword towards herself, Deputy Director Zeng signaled to the logistics team that they could prepare for a restart.

“Are the instruments all set?”

“Holy crap!”

“Deputy Director, look quick!”

“That’s brutal!”

Just as Deputy Director Zeng turned around, a series of sharp intakes of breath echoed from behind him.

He turned back, stunned.

Tong Zhao had directly chopped off her locked left hand, the pristine white hand falling into the water, creating a splash of crimson blossoms on the surface.

Then she raised her stump of a left hand, coldly glaring as she dipped her right fingers into the spurting blood. She lifted her right hand high, using her own blood to draw an explosive rune on the chains, and with the little remaining spiritual power she had, she shattered the iron chains.

After the golden core was destroyed, Tong Zhao had almost no spiritual energy left.

Only a small portion of her blood remained circulating in her body, close to an artery, scientifically speaking. She could have wielded the sword, but the blood on her right hand was insufficient for the spell. This was a limitation imposed by Shi Qianqiu on the actors; otherwise, they could use their spiritual power freely, and the water prison would never hold her.

This was precisely why the male lead was confident she wouldn’t escape.

Who knew someone could be so ruthless to themselves?

Next, she plunged into the icy water and mimicked her earlier actions to shatter the chains on her legs.

With her freedom restored and one hand still functioning, she had more options for escaping.

The staff exchanged confused glances and murmured:

“The female lead lost her left hand? Just like that?”

“That’s brutal! How could she do that? She hasn’t even activated the pain exemption!”

“What did you expect? A woman who can extract bullets with tweezers is not an ordinary person.”

Outside the water prison, a tall, mute, illiterate guard was stationed to prevent him from seeing anything he shouldn’t. Tong Zhao used her sword to take down this first little person, snatched his waist pouch, and placed her severed hand inside, deciding to escape from the Shao estate first.

Deputy Director Zeng was moved: “Finally, we have a female lead who can successfully escape the water prison!”

“Brother Shi’s challenges are really set against people.”

“That’s not fair,” Shi Qianqiu defended himself. “Out of humanitarianism, I arranged the plot to start when the supporting character, Li Qiaoqiao, visits the Shao estate. To welcome the distinguished guest, Shao Xuanzheng made all the preparations, even hiring a theater troupe and acrobats from the common folk. That was when the guards were at their weakest…”

“Very humane.”

“Even that old rascal Miyazaki would want to give you a pat on the back.”

“Can’t say it’s hellish difficulty, just that it’s impassable.”

When Tong Zhao was leaving the Shao estate, she heard about today’s big event.

It was said that Shao Xianzhang’s partner had run away with a man practicing the demonic path, leaving behind a letter asking him not to pursue her, severing all ties.

Recently, Shao Xianzhang had been exchanging letters with Li Qiaoqiao, his childhood sweetheart, inviting her to visit, which showed he had moved on from his heartbreak.

However, it was said that Miss Li suffered from a heart ailment, and despite spending a lot of spiritual medicine, it had not improved.

Although her cultivation was not poor, Miss Li was fated to have a short life; her fate was truly unfortunate.

Though not his destined partner, Miss Li also came from a prestigious sect, making them a good match. Her temperament was much gentler than Mu Yingchen’s… Moreover, with Shao Xianzhang’s current level of cultivation, he didn’t need to force himself to engage in dual cultivation with someone who was his destined match to improve his skills. The rough-speaking servant chuckled, saying it was good that the woman had left, as it cleared the way for Miss Li.

Tong Zhao smiled.

Indeed, not only did it clear the way for a newcomer, but she would also use her life force to extend hers.