Chapter 70

Qin Yun’s divorce was also known to Shi Lulu, and she knew more than Lin Yao—even details about Qin Yun leaving the marriage with nothing but the clothes on his back. This was because one of her close friends in Beijing happened to be Song Ya’s best friend.

A Land Rover Defender worth over a million clearly wasn’t pre-marital property; it was bought after the divorce. Could Qin Yun have won the lottery?

Although Shi Lulu was curious, she could tell Qin Yun wasn’t warm toward her—quite the opposite, he was cold. If she asked him for a loan, she’d be rejected for sure; better to observe for now.

It was just the wrong time to come—now she had to work for Lin Yao. She should’ve stayed home.

Suppressing her dissatisfaction, she began helping Lin Yao clean the shop. Nearby, Qin Yun watched Shi Lulu work for a while, then silently shook his head—clearly someone used to lying around at home.

When the time came, Qin Yun drove to a restaurant and met Lin Yao’s childhood friend.

“Ah Zhao, you showed up without even telling me ahead of time.”

Jia Tian looked lean, his eyes sharp; he immediately hugged Lin Yao.

“Didn’t I just contact you? How are you doing? I heard you’re a group head now—making money?”

“Pretty good,” Jia Tian said, his gaze falling on Qin Yun and Shi Lulu. “Mind introducing them?”

Qin Yun smiled and extended his hand. “Lin Yao’s senior, Qin Yun.”

Shi Lulu introduced herself too: “I’m Shi Lulu, Lin Yao’s classmate.”

Jia Tian shook both their hands warmly. “Friends of Ah Zhao are my friends. I’ve already booked a table—let’s eat and chat.”

In the private room, Jia Tian clearly knew the owner well—the owner treated him with great respect. Jia Tian was smooth-tongued and charismatic, and soon he and Qin Yun were calling each other brothers.

Learning Qin Yun wanted to experience being a background actor, Jia Tian patted his chest and assured him it was no problem; they immediately exchanged contact information.

Jia Tian said: “Qin Ge, what the public knows about tourist-experience background roles? Those are all put out by us. We charge them to participate—it makes them happy and we make money too. Perfect.”

“Won’t the director object?” Qin Yun had never really understood film crews—he’d only glanced at entertainment news.

“Hahaha,” Jia Tian laughed. “Qin Ge, you probably don’t know much about background actors. Actually, background actors have tiers.”

“Oh? Explain.” Qin Yun became interested.

Talking about his own field, Jia Tian warmed up.

“Background actors fall into three categories. The most basic are the ones who just stand as scenery—no requirements at all. Ugly faces are fine. Hengdian has the most of these. The ones we let tourists experience are exactly this kind. But don’t think just anyone can join—even these roles require going through our group head. It’s a rule in Hengdian now; crews only hire us.”

“That makes sense,” Qin Yun nodded. The logic was simple.

“A better tier gets face time—requires height and looks, and naturally pays much more than regular background actors.”

Beside him, Shi Lulu listened with wide, sparkling eyes. “So are bit players background actors?”

Jia Tian shook his head. “Background actor—just from the name, you know they’re scenery, there to fill space and set the mood. The camera rarely focuses on them. But bit players? They’re minor characters—they have lines, screen time, actual scenes.”

“Oh, I get it now,” Shi Lulu realized. “I heard there’s also a type called special guest actor in Hengdian. What kind of actor is that, Jia Brother?”

Qin Yun was curious too and listened intently.

“You’ve heard of ‘running dragon roles,’ right? But you never hear ‘running background actor.’ Because background actors are scenery, bit players are characters, and special guest actors sit above bit players but below supporting roles—basically a minor supporting role. They have simple storylines. Only professionals handle these. Most tourists who come to Hengdian to experience acting? They’re just scenery.”

He looked at Qin Yun. “Qin Ge, your appearance is excellent—you could be a foreground actor. Tomorrow I’ll arrange a light role for you.”

Qin Yun quickly thanked him: “Jia younger brother, thank you so much.”

“Haha,” Jia Tian laughed. “No need to thank me. As a group head, I’ve got to find background actors anyway—who I hire doesn’t matter.”

Still, Qin Yun didn’t take it for granted—he paid for the entire meal.

With the background actor job settled, his check-in task was now secured. Qin Yun felt good.

…

The next morning, before six, he got a call from Jia Tian.

“Qin Ge, there’s a historical drama needing a background actor as a debauched scholar in a brothel, to highlight the lead. If you have an actor’s card, 300 yuan. If not, 100.”

Qin Yun didn’t hesitate—he agreed. He wasn’t in it for the money; even if they paid him nothing, he’d still do it.

“Good. I’ll send you a location. You’ll need to pass the casting director’s interview, but your appearance? No problem.”

“Got it. I’m on my way.”

Qin Yun quickly finished breakfast and drove to Jia Tian’s destination.

He parked and walked a few steps to see a crowd gathered. Jia Tian was inspecting candidates, picking and choosing. Nearby, several other group heads were also pointing and selecting suitable people.

Seeing Qin Yun, Jia Tian waved. “That’s enough. Everyone else, disperse. Those selected, follow me.”

The crowd scattered immediately, heading toward other group heads.

“Qin Ge.”

“Jia younger brother, had breakfast? I brought you a few meat buns.”

“Perfect—I’m starving,” Jia Tian said without hesitation, taking the buns and eating them right away.

Behind him, several background actors stayed silent, occasionally glancing curiously at Qin Yun, guessing his role.

“Qin Ge, today’s scene is a historical drama—just one shot in a brothel. You’re pure scenery. Just watch the performance. The director’s team will give you instructions.”

“Got it.”

Jia Tian finished his buns in a few bites, then turned and called out: “Follow me.”

Following Jia Tian, the group soon reached the interview site.

The casting director looked frantic, his lips blistered. Seeing Jia Tian, he complained: “I’m casting scholars in a brothel—how can ancient scholars be ugly? What kind of ugly, twisted…?”

Before he could finish the word “melon,” he spotted Qin Yun—and his eyes lit up.

“This one’s perfect. Height and appearance? Excellent. Use this as the standard.”

Jia Tian looked puzzled. “Liu Director, are you sure? My guy here could play the lead. Where am I supposed to find someone like him?”

The casting director snapped out of it, slapping his head. “I got carried away.”

He quickly confirmed Qin Yun’s role as a foreground actor. Of the others Jia Tian brought, only three were selected; four were rejected.

Jia Tian then led the four selected men straight into the crew’s makeup room. Qin Yun saw a long line—at least twenty people waiting ahead and behind.

“Qin Ge, I’ve got other things to handle. Just wait for your assignment. I won’t stick around—you can call me if you need anything.”

“Jia younger brother, don’t worry about me. Go take care of your business. Thanks.”

Jia Tian waved and hurried off.

After all, a group head had to coordinate people, find candidates matching the casting director’s demands—it wasn’t easy.

Qin Yun quietly observed everything around him, waiting patiently.

He waited a full hour and a half before his turn for makeup. But the makeup process wasn’t as long as he expected—after all, a background actor didn’t need elaborate styling; just meeting the era’s requirements was enough.

Even though it was quick, his reflection changed dramatically.

With a wig and light makeup, he instantly became an ancient scholar.

Then came more waiting. As Jia Tian said, background actors spent 99% of their day waiting—they were props, insignificant.

He wasn’t in a rush. For his check-in task, and to experience the life of a background actor—it was interesting.

While waiting, he chatted with a few other background actors nearby. He learned they’d all come to Hengdian chasing stardom, but reality was harsh—not everyone could be Wang Baoqiang.

Most stuck with it because they had no special skills—but being a background actor required none. At least it let them survive.

“Qin Ge, us guys are fine. But women? If they haven’t made it by thirty, they usually go home and get married.”

Qin Yun now understood the cruelty of this world. He asked: “What about you?”

“Me?” The young man, Hu Lin, had come straight out of high school and had been a background actor in Hengdian for two years. “I’m studying acting every day. My goal is to become a special guest actor.”

Qin Yun patted his shoulder. “I believe you can do it.”

“Hehe, Qin Ge, how much did you pay the group head to experience this?” Hu Lin leaned close, whispering.

“I didn’t pay anything—I’m getting paid.” Seeing Hu Lin’s surprise, Qin Yun smiled. “The group head’s my friend.”

“Oh. But Qin Ge, with your looks, not becoming an actor is a waste. I think you could be a big star.” Hu Lin’s naive flattery made Qin Yun laugh heartily.

“By the way, what’s this drama called?”

“Tianyun Mountain Legend. A wuxia drama. The male lead is Xiao Zhan, the female lead is Zhao Liying.”

“Wow!” Qin Yun exclaimed. “Big production! Those two are top-tier actors.”

Qin Yun had assumed Jia Tian had lined him up for some low-budget web drama—but this was a major production with big names.

“I heard this drama was already sold to TV networks and streaming platforms—the investors already made a fortune. With Xiao Zhan and Zhao Liying, it’s guaranteed to be a hit. If you can land even a bit part in a drama like this, you’re set,” Hu Lin said, envious.

Just then, a crew member walked in and shouted: “Foreground actors, follow me!”

Qin Yun watched others leave, still dazed—until Hu Lin reminded him. He jumped up, remembering he was a foreground actor, and hurried after them.

The filming location was a brothel—clearly Ming Dynasty architecture. Under the crew’s guidance, they went to change clothes. Dedicated costume staff assigned each of them outfits.

Qin Yun wore a blue lan shirt, with a right-over-left collar, reaching his ankles.

The moment he put it on, the costume designer’s eyes lit up—she felt as if an ancient scholar had stepped out of history, and she couldn’t stop praising him.