Chapter 36: The Production Team's Move Was Too Ruthless

Good acting does not necessarily equate to a good performance.

This sounds like a paradox, yet Yu Wei gained a profound understanding of it during the filming process. Although he had perfectly mastered the acting techniques required for the protagonist of *The Piano Tuner*, his performance still only reached the level of "resemblance"; he was far from being "the character himself."

True cinematic classics are marked by the absence of perceived performance; it feels more as if the character has stepped into reality. Ultimately, art is the art of humanity. Regardless of how many attribute points or experience levels the system grants him, true, seamless mastery requires one to walk the path oneself. For Yu Wei at this stage, however, his refined technique was sufficient; true emotional resonance and the infusion of a soul would have to come step by step. Besides, an actor doesn't need to resonate with every role, or they would go mad sooner or later.

Yu Wei’s performance left Qi Luo’an and the others astonished. After all, just two days prior, he couldn't even manage his performance in an MV, yet during the shooting of this short film, he was even able to turn the tables and direct others. Rather than progress, it felt more like he had been possessed.

Although *The Piano Tuner* was more difficult to film than an MV, the entire process went much smoother due to Yu Wei’s "substitute-level" performance. The crew didn't understand the logic behind it and could only attribute it to the "screenwriter bonus"—after all, he had written the script, and perhaps the creator had a deeper understanding of the character.

In the final scene, Yu Wei played the piano while shirtless, feigning complete ignorance of the danger behind him. He knew well that he must not move his eyes, nor reveal even the slightest trace of visual awareness. But the instinct for fear was so powerful that those eyes, disguised as blind, were pinned to the eerie and terrifying reflection. In the mirror, Qi Luo’an’s figure was silently closing in on him step by step, her gaze hollow yet sharp, locked tightly onto the back of Yu Wei’s lowered head.

"Cut!"

The moment the film officially wrapped, Yu Wei finally released his pent-up tension, his body going somewhat limp. Even though he had only tapped into a fraction of the emotion, he could feel the terror looming right before him—mostly because Qi Luo’an’s gaze was so fierce, it didn't feel like acting at all.

Do failed authors deserve to die?

"I didn't notice while we were filming, but you actually have abs?" Qi Luo’an fiddled with her hair, her eyes drifting downward. She was indifferent to it, really, just happened to notice.

"For the time being, yes."

As a trainee, Yu Wei might have been lackluster in many areas, but his physical fitness was decent; he exercised whenever he had the chance. However, after becoming a web novelist, he figured he would soon have to bid farewell to the word "exercise" and that becoming a shut-in was only a matter of time. Regardless, the peers Yu Wei knew all suffered from some form of occupational disease; judging by health indices and morbidity rates, being an author was practically a high-risk profession.

After the filming of *The Piano Tuner* concluded, what remained was the long post-production and editing phase. Yu Wei couldn't help with this and could only continue to follow up and offer suggestions. It is difficult for such things to be perfect, but he still hoped to align it as closely as possible with the original work.

Lu Zhou and Zhang Lingye wanted to host a wrap party, but both Yu Wei and Qi Luo’an declined; they were busy. In recent days, because of the filming, the pacing of Yu Wei's novel had slowed to a crawl, which is a devastating blow for a web novel in the entertainment genre. He wouldn't dare speak for other genres, but the pacing of an entertainment novel must never drag; even in a slice-of-life story, the protagonist cannot simply stand still.

This time, Yu Wei had already decided what to write: *I Am a Singer-Songwriter*, a show focused on original music competition. Rather than cutthroat rivalry, it focused more on the collision of inspiration. There is no standard answer for what constitutes good original music; the program was a process of exploration, and Wei Yu would gain a more profound understanding of scoring. Which is more important, the lyrics or the melody? How does one balance appeal with artistry? Who triumphs, technique or emotion? Artistic works are not just good or bad, not just masterpieces or trash; scores are merely a reference, and the protagonist needed to develop more comprehensive thoughts.

"Everyone says I’m clickbaiting with 'plagiarism' in my titles, right? This time, I’m actually going to plagiarize."

He planned to return to the traditional "copycat" trope, writing about popular works from Blue Star—not for the protagonist to sing, but for the other contestants. As for Wei Yu, he would continue to sing songs from Earth. The readers here would surely be more familiar with the other guests' songs, and they would wonder how Wei Yu would respond. Then, Wei Yu would sing a song no one had ever heard before.

In most entertainment novels, the protagonist copies existing works while the side characters are made up. He planned to reverse it: the side characters use existing songs, while the protagonist continues to "invent" his own. Writing an entertainment novel this way would usually be considered a massive flaw, but he was different—he actually had the songs, and he had plenty of choices.

"I can’t pick songs that are too classic, or it will easily spark controversy." Yu Wei wouldn't go looking for trouble, but he knew how to tailor his approach. He planned to pick some viral songs that were already polarizing or even suspected of plagiarism, and then strike hard! As long as the work he presented was solid, he would remain in the clear outside the arena.

Yu Wei wasn't acting on a whim. While filming these past few days, he had been thinking about why his novel was failing so badly. Lack of skill was one thing, but on the other hand, his book lacked immersion. Entertainment novels require immersion; whether it's stories about the Chinese entertainment industry or "copycat" tropes, they are essentially a form of cultural identification—an identification with excellent works. But his book, *Why Does the Star Care So Much About Ratings?*, lacked this because the protagonist's songs were effectively original, making it hard for readers to directly relate.

If Yu Wei incorporated real-world songs, it would be different. Readers would see it and think, "Hey, this song is indeed average, but it's not something just any nobody can beat. I want to see how you win..." Once there is immersion, there is anticipation for the following plot. When readers see that, they'll think, "Holy crap, is Wei Yu actually going head-to-head with the entertainment industry?"

"Everyone will soon know that I wrote the book."

When *Heart Wall* came out, readers thought it was a coincidence, but with the seventh episode of *Hello, Roommate* about to air, once they heard *Hearing the Sound of Rain*, they would surely understand everything. The show was only airing its sixth episode tonight—content from a week before Yu Wei’s recording. After this episode ended, the preview for the next one would be released.

With nothing to do after finishing his writing, Yu Wei opened the comments section to take a look. The theme of the sixth episode was "losing money." Coconut Milk had accidentally torn the sofa in the cabin, and the landlord, Teacher Zhong, made them pool their funds to pay the penalty: ten game coins. The subsequent content followed the familiar variety show trope of completing tasks; the six of them worked frantically to earn money, struggling for a week.

"No wonder they were so miserable about paying rent the day I arrived... it turns out they had been bled dry in the previous episode."

Yu Wei thought he would only appear in the preview, but he appeared at the very end of the episode. The sun was just right and the breeze was gentle; he knocked on the cabin door and locked eyes with a bewildered Tong Yulu, and then the sixth episode came to an abrupt end with his arrival. The production team was quite professional at leaving cliffhangers; they were on par with a web novelist.

Yu Wei was just teasing the production team when the preview for the seventh episode hit him with a critical blow. It started with footage of him typing in his room. Then the scene cut to others working, then back to a close-up of him typing in his room. This repeated several times. The screen was already filled with question marks—why was Yu Wei always typing regardless of the scene changes?

Yu Wei hadn't expected to have so much screen time, and without exception, it was all him typing in his room. The comparison shots lasted for a full minute, maximizing the comedic effect. The viewers watching this were more confused than the last—did this guy come on the show to write a thesis?

Before they could react, the final scene of the trailer shifted drastically: it was Yu Wei playing guitar and singing for the other guests. Only then did the show announce the theme of the seventh episode: *How is a song born?*

Clearly, the production team intended to open the seventh episode from Yu Wei’s perspective; after all, in terms of content, he was indeed the core of this episode. The trailer was full of highlights, using the minute-long comparison shots to show Yu Wei’s "maverick" nature, only pointing out at the very end that he was creating music. The episode title was more of a question: how is a song born? So, was Yu Wei tapping away at his computer because he was writing a song?

Watching this trailer, let alone the audience, even Yu Wei wanted to watch it again.

"The production team is ruthless. Are they using me as a comma?"