Chapter 57: The Counterattack of the Reborn Supporting Actress, Part 8

(Page 1/3)

“This is perfectly normal. It’s rare for everyone to make it through.”
“Yeah, we’re used to it by now.”
“Sigh, when will escape rooms be open as amusement parks? I’d love to try it.”
“Heh, you up front—how many rounds do you think you could get through?”
“Whether I pass or not doesn’t matter to me—it just sounds fun, and I want to try.”
At this point, the audience’s comments were calm and composed. Meanwhile, the next team in the studio was getting ready to take the stage. “There’s no need—I can absolutely answer all the questions in record time. I guarantee the tilt on the final stage won’t even reach forty-five degrees.” Mu Yin’s bold claim naturally set off a flurry of comments.
“That’s a cocky way to talk!”
“Are they trying to set up a genius persona? Just wait—she’s going to be slapped in the face soon enough.”
“Exactly, this is about to be the fastest collapse of a public image ever.”
“Whose clueless celebrity is this? Doesn’t her agent reign her in?”
The snark flowed freely, but the show went on. The content for the second team’s round was soon aired, and the audience watched in shock as Mu Yin answered quickly, reporting her answers in the shortest time possible.
She was so fast that, apart from a handful of people, most didn’t even register what was happening before she cleared the stage. If it weren’t for the time spent reading the questions, she could have been even faster. It was as if everyone could hear the resounding slap in the face—but unfortunately, it wasn’t Mu Yin being slapped, it was them.
“This really is the fastest face-slapping scene ever. Too bad the one getting slapped is me.”
“A true boss—Boss, do you need a leg pendant? I’m in college and I don’t do cute acts.”

(Page 2/3)

“Isn’t this cheating?”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe everyone else got fake scripts and hers is the real one.”
“Yeah, maybe she’s got some powerful backer.”
“Those saying that, you can look it up—Zhang Moran’s family is only upper middle class, not wealthy, so how could she have bought her way in?”
“Who knows, maybe there’s someone supporting her behind the scenes.”
When the round ended, Mu Yin revealed her photographic memory. The hosts tested her on the spot to confirm she was telling the truth—they made her repeat every sentence they’d said since the start.
Mu Yin was becoming famous. The debate about whether she had a script or truly had photographic memory shot up the trending searches. Just at this moment, the “Celebrity Talents” show also began airing. The previous episodes had all been pre-recorded practice scenes, and the audience was used to such variety shows in recent years.
Still, Mu Yin’s performance caught everyone’s eye. Having just trended online, viewers were already familiar with her. She wasn’t just a pretty face—she was genuinely talented. Her unique classical music style was compelling. Despite wearing a modern short skirt, her aura made it seem as if she was clad in traditional attire, playing the zither.
As a result, on the day of the theme song’s live broadcast, Mu Yin received a large number of votes. In fact, because she and Liao Minmao shared the double-C position, a group of fans started shipping them as a couple.
The training period in the show was broadcast as pre-recorded and edited clips, but the stage performances were live. That meant they couldn’t afford any mistakes onstage. After the theme song performance, the first rankings were announced. No one would be eliminated in this round—it was just to give them an initial ranking before the real tasks began.
It was a comprehensive talent show, so the top twenty were allowed to pick their teammates. Once teams were selected, just like in other shows, they had to sprint to claim their desired projects. Only here, it wasn’t song titles they were fighting for, but the core themes of stage plays.
There were 200 contestants split into 20 groups, meaning ten people per group. The initial topics were all familiar fairy tales or myths. Mu Yin quickly scanned the choices and discussed them with her teammates.
Though the show was new, they all knew most performances would be in the form of stage plays or operas. Based on her understanding of her chosen teammates, Mu Yin picked a topic that suited them well.

(Page 3/3)

She chose a story called “The Plum Blossom Spirit’s Gratitude on Mount Mei,” which tells of a plum blossom spirit named Mei Shan repaying a kindness. Like most tales of spirits repaying humans, it was a story of an otherworldly being and a human.
What set this one apart was that the spirit was male—or, since tree spirits are usually genderless, let’s just say he took on a male form because his benefactor was a woman.
The details of how the woman saved Mei Shan are unclear in the legends; it was simply an act of kindness, a drop of water repaid with a spring. The story had been adapted for TV a few times, mostly in the style of the “Divine Jade Attendant” (Jia Baoyu) watering the “Red Pearl Grass” (Lin Daiyu) by the Silver River—nurturing a magical plant that leads to bonds of gratitude. In other words, she’d often water the ancient plum tree in her courtyard (or temple), and feelings developed from there.
Honestly, such gratitude seems a bit far-fetched—after all, the tree had been alive for centuries without her help. If you want something more plausible, perhaps there was a drought, and the heroine watered Mei Shan—though there’s only one version like that.
Clearly, the task was to write a script based on this myth and perform it as a stage play. In their practice room, the team began brainstorming. They had a scriptwriter, a director, even a lyricist and composer—in picking her team as the top-ranked contestant, Mu Yin had unreservedly selected top talent from every specialty, thanks to Liao Minmao’s gentlemanly concession.
“How about this: Mei Shan had just survived a tribulation and was left weak. Because of the lightning, a wildfire broke out. Although the fire didn’t kill Mei Shan, who was on the verge of becoming human, it left him even weaker and desperately thirsty. That’s when the heroine comes and waters him.”
Li Qiqi, the scriptwriter, began to expand on this idea. “But why would the heroine go to a burnt mountain?”
“Um…to collect charcoal?” Li Qiqi scratched her head, then suddenly thought of a reason.
“That works,” the others agreed after some thought. After all, after a wildfire, burnt wood does make good charcoal, so they nodded.
“Then you can write the script along those lines. By the way, do you know how to structure a stage play script?” As captain, Mu Yin finalized the plan when everyone agreed.
“I’ve never written one before, not sure what the differences are,” Li Qiqi admitted, scratching her head.
“The stage plays I’ve seen are the kind where people break into song at any moment,” Chen Xizeng, the team’s vocal expert, chimed in.