Chapter 33: The First Dream Realm Activation

With Lin Zuiwei’s words hanging in the air, Nazha felt her character slipping away.

She never expected Zhang Yang would step up to advocate for her so directly. To claim she wasn’t moved by this gesture would be a lie.

After all, securing even a minor role in such a high-profile production was an opportunity many theater graduates could only dream of. Despite already having landed a part as one of the three female leads in Xuanyuan Sword, Nazha wouldn’t dismiss any chance to further her acting career.

“Your personal assistant?” Lin Zuiwei scrutinized Nazha from head to toe, her initial instinctively resistant.

Nazha possessed an otherworldly beauty that bordered on aggressive—she was the type who could stun anyone with just a glance. Lin Zuiwei had noticed her striking appearance yesterday.

Assigning such a stunning beauty as someone’s personal assistant seemed like a waste; indeed, Lin Zuiwei had entertained thoughts of recruiting her and grooming her into stardom, though she hadn’t yet acted upon them.

Now, seeing Zhang Yang fight for Nazha’s role, she understood his intent perfectly. From a purely aesthetic standpoint, there were no issues whatsoever. However…

If someone with clearly superior looks and figure compared to me plays Zhao Jingniang, won’t she outshine me entirely?

“This role is quite significant,” Lin Zuiwei said after some deliberation, voicing her concern tactfully. “Can your personal assistant truly handle it well?”

It was plain to everyone that she intended to politely decline the request.

Nazha sighed inwardly, convinced she’d lost the part. Yet, out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Zhang Yang’s expression remained utterly unchanged. He spoke up confidently:

“Ziwei-jie needn’t worry. While Nazha serves as my personal assistant, she is also officially contracted with Tangren Productions. In May, she’ll join our team to film a self-produced fantasy drama series, set to play its third female lead.” His reassurance carried an unspoken promise: This isn’t merely a favor—I have skin in the game.

“Right, in that drama, Tang Yan plays the female lead, while Po Shi-jie is the second female lead,” Zhang Yang continued. “Her character’s role is similar to Violet from Sword and Fairy 3—a pivotal supporting part.”

“Oh, and I’ll be playing the male secondary lead,” he added with confidence. “My role will mirror Xu Changqing’s in Sword and Fairy 3. I’m sure I can do it justice.”

Hisss!

Zhang Yang’s revelation sent waves of delight through Liang Xinqian and Lin Zuiwei.

Sword and Fairy 3 had been a phenomenon—a massive hit series where five main actors were already three first-tier stars, with the other two poised to join their ranks soon. This year, they stood a strong chance at ascending further still.

Tangren Productions’ prowess in crafting martial fantasy dramas was widely acknowledged within the industry. For Nazha and Zhang Yang to secure roles as the male and female secondary leads respectively, they must have earned Cai Yining’s approval—a clear indication that both had significant potential for stardom ahead.

entrusting the characters Zhao Kuangyin and Zhao Jingniang to them indeed seemed like a safe bet. Moreover, this collaboration might even allow Tangren to help arrange some positive publicity stunts, potentially boosting the show’s popularity.

Additionally, since Nazha was entirely new to the scene, signing her now wouldn’t require much investment—an excellent value proposition.

Lin Zuiwei alone harbored concerns about being outshone by such formidable talent.

Just then, Zhang Yang spoke up again, addressing her worries directly: “Zhao Jingniang is only a minor character; Nazha will definitely handle it well.”

“The role of ‘Knight Deliverer,’ who escorts Jingniang across thousands of miles, underscores Zhao Kuangyin’s virtue—he remains untainted by carnal desires, ever ready to act courageously for justice.”

“But in our drama,” Zhang Yang continued, “Zhao Kuangyin refuses because his heart belongs to Ma Fuya—his white moonlight love.”

“Among countless beauties across the land, he harbors affection only for Sister Ya-Ya.”

These words brought immense satisfaction to Lin Zuiwei.

Indeed, according to their portrayal, Nazha played Zhao Jingniang—a character who fell for Zhao Kuangyin and was willing to offer herself as an artistic sacrifice to him.

Yet Zhao Kuangyin’s heart belonged solely to Ma Fuya; even if it were unrequited love, he wouldn’t accept Zhao Jingniang’s advances. This implied that Zhao Jingniang paled in comparison to Ma Fuya, highlighting through contrast just how exceptional she must be.

Only such a Ma Fuya could truly embody the title of Pride and Prejudice Empress!

“So that’s how it is.” A radiant smile blossomed on Lin Zuiwei’s face. “A-Yang, why didn’t you mention this earlier? Honestly, I had considered signing Nazha with my agency for training—I never realized she was already affiliated with Tangren Productions.”

“Well then, let’s leave things as they stand. With Nazha playing Zhao Jingniang, I feel reassured. As for the other roles, Director Lin can choose them freely.” Everyone readily agreed to these minor arrangements without objection.

“The remaining scenes involving you will also be filmed by Director Lin,” Liang Xinqian said warmly to Zhang Yang. “Just follow along with him.”

Those navigating the entertainment industry were often astute individuals. Recognizing someone like Zhang Yang—a rising star likely to gain prominence—they would eagerly foster good relations early, provided it didn’t compromise their own interests. It was a shrewd move to secure future favors before they became too costly.

Even using the production’s funds and resources to advance his own connections was within consideration.

After exchanging a few more words with Zhang Yang, Lin Zuiwei and Liang Xinqian finally departed.

Lin Feng called Zhang Yang into his room to discuss script details and action choreography.

“I see you’re quite skilled in martial arts?” Lin Feng said, visibly pleased by this revelation.

Before formal filming began, he had wanted to assess Zhang Yang’s flexibility and comprehension—essential for designing fight scenes later on. To his surprise, Zhang Yang demonstrated an impressive set of boxing techniques.

“It’s what they call ‘childhood training,’” Zhang Yang admitted without reservation. “These days, it’d take at least three or five average men to get close enough to me.”

Only by showcasing one’s true abilities could one hope for better treatment, he believed.

“Well then, I’ll consult with our stunt coordinator,” Lin Feng replied eagerly, rubbing his hands together as if anticipating a challenge. “We’ll design a challenging yet visually stunning sword and spear routine for you.”

As an action director, this was precisely where he could shine—finally a chance to deliver some memorable moments.

“That sounds great; I’m open to whatever you decide,” Zhang Yang responded. In truth, he preferred to devise his own moves, but there was a distinction between martial arts and stage combat. He decided to first observe the standards set by this production’s stunt team before making any decisions.

They continued discussing the script until well past lunchtime, wrapping up just before dinnertime.

Here is your copy of the script, Nazha,” Zhang Yang said, handing over several sheets of paper. “Memorize your lines over these next few days.”

The series was titled Prestige Imperial Concubine. Even Zhao Kuangyin played merely a supporting role, so naturally, Zhao Jingniang’s part would be even smaller—a mere footnote in this grand narrative.

Zhao Jingniang’s role was minimal—just three scenes. In the first, she nearly falls victim to mountain bandits at a Daoist temple before Zhao Kuangyin arrives as her heroic savior.

In the second scene, after he escorts her for hundreds of miles, she confesses her feelings only to be firmly rejected by Zhao Kuangyin. At this moment, he produces a memento that serves as a reminder of his true love—the white moonlight of his past.

The third and final scene might not even make it into the film: Upon returning home, Zhao Jingniang is falsely accused by her brother-in-law and sister-in-law. To prove her innocence and escape marriage altogether, she chooses to become a Buddhist nun instead.

Combined, these parts barely amounted to half an episode’s worth of screen time. Yet if played well, they could leave a lasting impression on audiences.

“Brother Zhang,” Nazha asked, clutching the thin script with barely contained excitement, “should we inform K-sis about this?”

“No need,” Zhang Yang replied without hesitation, shaking his head. “It’s just a minor role. If K-sis found out, she’d likely complicate things further. I’ve negotiated a special appearance fee of 3,000R for you; consider it pocket money.”

Three thousand? Nazha’s heart skipped a beat.

Jiang Jinfu, playing the male lead, earned a salary of seventy thousand yuan, while she, as the third female lead, received only thirty thousand post-tax.

Yet through Zhang Yang’s connections, she had somehow managed to earn another three thousand in just a few days!

A seed planted itself deep within Nazha’s consciousness, promising one day to sprout and grow.

Noticing her silence, a hint of satisfaction flickered across Zhang Yang’s eyes. He left Nazha to study the script alone and sought out the production accountant to arrange separate billing.

“The rules require contracts for all cast members,” the accountant explained. “Without one, there’ll be trouble.”

“The pay for this role is set between three to five thousand yuan per day,” Zhang Yang said with a smile. “I’ll just take three thousand.”

The financial coordinator understood immediately and sighed. “Fine, setting up a contract would indeed be troublesome. I’ll arrange for you to work as a screenwriting assistant instead. You’ll receive five thousand yuan for your three days of hard work, and we’ll handle the taxes here at the production company.”

He had someone draft a simple labor agreement for Zhang Yang, stipulating a total payment of five thousand yuan for three days’ worth of work. Then he handed over thirty-five hundred yuan to Zhang Yang outright—the remaining fifteen hundred quietly disappearing without further explanation.

“Thanks, bro!” Zhang Yang departed effortlessly.

Over the next few days, following instructions from the production team, adjustments were made to the shooting schedule. Each day, Zhang Yang found himself in one or two scenes alongside Lin Zuiwei.

Having lived through two lifetimes, his talent and skills compounded; his acting was now on par with that of a seasoned film star. Most shots were nailed in a single take.

After completing the original script’s filming requirements, Lin Feng assembled a smaller crew to shoot additional content he’d written separately.

“Get some rest tonight,” Zhang Yang advised as he delivered Nazha back to her hotel room. “Don’t falter tomorrow—you owe me that much.”

“I know, I know—I won’t embarrass you,” Nazha hastily replied before closing the door behind him.

Over their brief interactions over these past few days, she somehow felt increasingly apprehensive about being alone with Zhang Yang.

Back in his own room, Zhang Yang finished showering and began writing more scripts after drying off.

When enough time had passed, he sent a message to Nazha. Receiving no response even after waiting patiently, he lay down on his bed and silently willed himself into dreamland:

Pride and Prejudice Empress, Zhao Kuangyin!