Marrying the Male Lead’s Disabled Uncle – Chapter 24

Before he knew it, it was time for the audition.

This audition was personally conducted by Director Jin and several key producers, which showed just how important this role was to them.

The character had remained uncast for a long time, but now someone had been recommended—and that someone was backed by Yan Han. Naturally, Director Jin took it seriously. He held high expectations, believing that anyone recommended by Yan Han must be exceptional. He was eager to see what this newcomer could bring to the table.

Today, Pei Lang deliberately dressed in a bamboo-green Republic-era long robe. While not exactly traditional costume, it gave him an ethereal and refined aura, exuding a strong classical charm in every movement.

Downstairs, Su Jia had already arranged everything. All Pei Lang had to do was go in and audition—then wait for the results.

Inside the elevator, Su Jia couldn’t help but sigh at Pei Lang’s carefully chosen outfit. She knew Pei Lang’s acting skills—or rather, his lack thereof. Even if Director Jin were blind, he wouldn’t cast him.

But at the same time… Pei Lang was truly dazzling today, so striking that it was impossible to look away.

Thinking about how Pei Lang had put so much effort into preparing, only to likely fail in the end, Su Jia felt a pang of sympathy. After some hesitation, she finally spoke up to offer comfort.

“Just stay calm when you meet the director and give it your best shot. If you don’t get selected, don’t feel discouraged. With your looks, you could be an idol instead. I saw you playing the guitar the other day—do you sing too? You could debut as a trainee, learn to sing, and I bet you’d easily become the center of attention.”

She had already mapped out Pei Lang’s backup career path. She only knew he had performed at the orphanage, but she had no idea how well he actually sang.

Generally speaking, people who played guitar could also sing. Pei Lang had a naturally pleasant voice, and with a little training, debuting as an idol wouldn’t be a problem.

Pei Lang chuckled. “I know. Don’t worry. This is my best opportunity—I will seize it.”

He patted Su Jia’s shoulder in reassurance, even though she seemed more nervous than he was.

As they chatted, the elevator reached the designated floor. Following the provided directions, they quickly found the audition room.

A staff member was stationed outside. Upon seeing Su Jia, they immediately stepped forward.

“Are you Mr. Su?”

“Yes, we’re here for an audition.”

“The director is expecting you. The auditioning candidate must be this gentleman?”

The woman’s gaze landed on Pei Lang, and for a moment, a flicker of surprise flashed in her eyes. But she quickly maintained a professional smile.

“Sir, please follow me.”

She knocked on the door and briefly explained the situation before turning to Pei Lang.

“Sir, please head in—the director is waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” Pei Lang said politely before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

“Mr. Su, please follow me to the waiting area,” the staff member added, leading Su Jia away.

Inside the audition room, several pairs of eyes immediately turned toward Pei Lang. Some were assessing him, others scrutinizing him carefully.

Pei Lang, however, remained composed.

He simply smiled, walked confidently to the center of the room, and stood still.

Before he could introduce himself, the authoritative voice of Director Jin—seated in the middle, holding the most power in the room—spoke up.

“You’re the kid that President Yan recommended?”

“Yes, Director.”

Pei Lang resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. Kid? Yan Han actually called him a kid? Since when was a 27-year-old man over 1.8 meters tall considered a kid?

Director Jin continued, “Do you know my rules?”

“I do. Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Director Jin.”

The so-called rules were simple: no matter who recommended someone, if Director Jin didn’t like them, they would be rejected. No exceptions.

Normally, first-time auditions for major productions were nerve-wracking. Facing such an influential director in a high-stakes setting would make most people anxious.

But Pei Lang?

He was perfectly calm, maintaining a polite smile.

Not overly flattering. Not arrogant. Just the right amount of confidence—making those around him feel naturally comfortable.

Director Jin, a man in his late thirties or early forties, had an imposing presence. His sharp gaze scanned Pei Lang like a machine.

He had to admit—Pei Lang’s appearance and deliberate styling today were incredibly striking.

And appearance was important.

The second male lead in this drama was a complex character, and in the original novel, he was heavily judged based on his looks.

Of course, good looks alone weren’t enough—not in an industry overflowing with attractive people. While Pei Lang’s visuals were undeniably top-tier, what mattered most was whether he could bring the role to life.

When Director Jin cast an actor, he focused on two things:

1. Did they have the right look for the role?
2. Were their acting skills strong enough?

Normally, investors had the final say in casting decisions. But Director Jin was an exception.

He had the creative vision, the talent, and the reputation to guarantee a hit drama—which meant investors lined up to back his projects. With so many eager to fund his works, he held absolute authority in his productions.

Pei Lang respected directors like him—people who had both artistic integrity and real influence.

“Let’s begin whenever you’re ready,” Director Jin said.

Pei Lang, who had been smiling just moments ago, suddenly transformed.

His entire expression shifted as he immersed himself completely into the role.

He had chosen a scene where the second male lead descends into madness, talking to himself as he spirals out of control.

His eyes burned with emotion—jealousy, despair, and unhinged rage all flickering within them. His shifts in expression were rapid yet precise, delivering an explosive performance.

Watching him, Director Jin’s eyes lit up.

Pei Lang’s performance wasn’t just madness for madness’ sake. It was layered, powerful. His pain felt real, his descent into chaos justified.

This was a tricky scene. If handled poorly, it would come across as over-the-top, making the character seem like a mindless lunatic rather than a tragic antihero.

But Pei Lang nailed it.

In just ten minutes, he had fully embodied the role.

Pei Lang was the first to snap out of the scene, but the room was still silent. The judges weren’t ready to return to reality yet.

It wasn’t until Pei Lang politely bowed that Director Jin finally broke into applause.

“Not bad, not bad!” he praised, his eyes gleaming. “You’re a talented kid.”

The character they had struggled for so long to cast… finally had a worthy candidate.

Beside Director Jin, the producers exchanged excited glances. They had expected a decent performance—but this? Pei Lang had exceeded their expectations.

“Thank you, Director,” Pei Lang said humbly, bowing once more.

Seeing that Director Jin was clearly satisfied, Pei Lang hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Director, may I request to perform another scene?”

Director Jin raised an eyebrow but nodded.

“Go ahead.”

Pei Lang wasted no time.

He reached into his long sleeve, and with a flick of his wrist, a folding fan slipped into his palm.

With a crisp swish, the fan snapped open.

His movements were sharp yet fluid, blending traditional martial arts with the elegance of the fan. As he turned and flipped, each movement carried both power and grace.

Then, his expression darkened.

In a flash, the fan closed—transforming from a delicate prop into a deadly weapon.

His movements grew faster, more urgent. His eyes flickered with conflict and despair, his body moving with desperation and frustration—as if he were trying to escape something unseen.

And just like that… the second male lead was standing right before them.

This was the protagonist’s inner struggle—the battle between good and evil—expressed through martial arts.

Pei Lang’s movements weren’t just for show; they perfectly conveyed the character’s internal turmoil. His technique was crisp and precise, seamlessly blending emotion with action. He executed a series of difficult maneuvers: flying kicks, side flips, sword thrusts, sweeps, and parries. Each movement flowed smoothly into the next, making him look like a real martial artist who had stepped straight out of a wuxia novel.

Frankly, with him in the cast, there was no need for a martial arts instructor.

Pei Lang finished his performance with a perfect spin, then bowed—his breathing steady, his expression composed. His stamina was clearly top-notch.

For a moment, the room was silent.

Then—applause erupted.

Director Jin shot to his feet, excitement lighting up his face. He quickly stepped around the table and strode over to Pei Lang, unable to suppress his grin.

“Good, good, good! Hahaha! This role is yours!”

He laughed heartily. “Boss Yan really didn’t disappoint me! Kid, it’s you. I’ll have someone draft your contract right away—salary terms, filming schedule, anything you need, just say the word!”

Pei Lang had been confident about his chances, but he hadn’t expected to be cast on the spot.

What requirements did he have?

At the moment, none.

“Thank you, Director. I’ll follow the production team’s arrangements,” Pei Lang said humbly.

That said—anyone recommended by Yan Han wouldn’t be treated unfairly.

Director Jin was clearly pleased with his new discovery. But then, a thought struck him.

“By the way, kid, what’s your name?”

Pei Lang paused.

Oh… right. I never introduced myself.

He had been wondering why no one had shown any prejudice toward him during the audition. Now he understood.

They didn’t even know he was Pei Lang.

The original Pei Lang had a very different appearance—long hair, heavy makeup, flashy outfits. His transformation had been so drastic that no one recognized him. At most, some people might find him vaguely familiar, but they would never associate him with the Pei Lang they knew.

If he wanted, he could debut under a new stage name.

But Pei Lang had no such intentions.

He had taken over this body—he would take over its name, too. He was Pei Lang.

So, with complete confidence, he spoke his real name.

For a split second, Director Jin frowned.

Pei Lang felt a small twinge of worry.

“This name… It’s the same as someone else’s,” Director Jin muttered. “Since you’re new to the industry, you might as well pick a fresh stage name for your debut.”

Is there a chance that the ‘someone else’ you’re talking about… is me?

Though there was a possibility he could lose the role over this, Pei Lang decided to be upfront.

“Director, I am Pei Lang. The Pei Lang you know.”

Director Jin’s eyes widened.

“???”

He stared at Pei Lang in shock—surprised not just by his identity, but also by his honesty.

“You’re that Pei Lang?”

In his mind, Pei Lang was a laughingstock—a talentless troublemaker who had no place in the industry.

But today… this same Pei Lang had completely blown him away with his acting.

Director Jin’s confusion was evident. What the hell?

He had never met Pei Lang in person before. Everything he knew came from online rumors and gossip videos.

Now, looking at the man before him—poised, confident, nothing like the fool from the internet—Director Jin realized something: Rumors are dangerous.

He exhaled, then made his decision.

“Doesn’t matter who you are,” he said, his tone firm. “This role is yours—so you better give it your all.”

“Thank you, Director.”

Afterward, the production team arranged the contract signing and finalized the schedule.

Pei Lang said his goodbyes to the director and left the audition room.

Meanwhile, in the waiting lounge, Su Jia was a nervous wreck.

She was fidgeting uncontrollably, pacing back and forth.

When Pei Lang finally walked up to her, she practically jumped in surprise.

“You’re done already?” Su Jia asked in shock.

Seeing Pei Lang’s neutral expression—neither happy nor sad—she instantly assumed the worst.

He must’ve been eliminated.

Pei Lang, however, continued to act calm.

Without saying a word, Su Jia rushed forward and pulled him into a hug.

She even patted his back in comfort.

“It’s okay to fail once,” she reassured him. “Director Jin has always had insanely high standards. He’s rejected countless actors, so don’t be discouraged. We’ll just change direction. Or if you really want to act, we can start with small roles and work our way up, one step at a time.”

Pei Lang felt a mix of amusement and warmth.

He held back his laughter, but couldn’t resist letting out a couple of dry chuckles.

“Uh… hehe~~”