Chapter 12

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The third test was the most crucial one. It was the highlight of the examination, testing vocals, physical movement, lines, and acting.

This year, the admission quota was nineteen students, making the selection rate approximately one in six. This was the decisive round, where the instructors would thoroughly assess every aspect of your abilities.

If you passed this stage, the future path would be wide open. If not?

It would be almost as if you had never even come.

That morning, Lin Hao ate sparingly. With singing and dancing on the agenda, he needed energy, but being too full wouldn’t be ideal either.

For the vocal portion, he chose “Moscow Nights.” Lin Hao had a knack for the bamboo flute and had considered performing a song to showcase this talent but ultimately decided to play it safe. For the physical movement segment, he prepared a Tibetan Guozhuang dance titled “Harvest,” choreographed by his instructor.

For the lines segment, today’s challenge was either a self-chosen prose or dramatic monologue. Lin Hao picked an excerpt from Shakespeare’s *Twelfth Night.* As for acting, it was once again impromptu, either a solo or a group performance. The unpredictability was intentional, but it was still beneficial to have pre-prepared scenes, like the skit Hu Jing had rehearsed in advance.

Rehearsed routines were useful at moments like these.

Finally, there would be a knowledge test, which was relatively easy, focusing on foundational concepts.

Lin Hao mentally reviewed everything, gathered his materials, and set off.

His candidate number today was one, which was both fortunate and nerve-wracking. Being the first meant there was no reference from others, but it also meant he could finish early and rest. Results would be released around March, though he expected to know sooner. In the meantime, he’d focus entirely on academic studies.

…

The morning in the capital was cold, especially with the wind. Even if you had a bicycle, riding it in this weather wasn’t appealing. Lin Hao was no exception; with a scarf wrapped around his neck, he walked slowly.

He had woken up a bit later than usual, but still thought about how he would need to wake up early for morning training once admitted to the Central Academy of Drama. Thinking about it felt torturous; even now, waking up early for senior year was already a struggle. Sometimes, Lin Hao wondered, *I already have money, so why am I putting myself through this?*

Maybe, it was simply because he loved it.

Upon arriving at the school, he noticed that a sizable crowd had already gathered.

Today felt different. Perhaps it was because there were fewer people, or everyone was used to the routine, or maybe because it was the most intense part of the competition. The atmosphere was heavy; parents and students alike were visibly tense.

When Lin Hao entered, he drew a lot of attention.

It wasn’t just about his looks—though, admittedly, most here were attractive—but also his strong track record in the previous rounds. If nothing unexpected happened, he was essentially a shoo-in for admission this year.

Some felt envious. Many others were still uncertain about their own fates.

Lin Hao’s calm demeanor as he strolled in made it look like he was confident and relaxed.

Maybe he was. Lin Hao scanned the room and spotted his small group waving him over. After exchanging a few words, the first five candidates were called into the room.

…

Inside.

Compared to the nervous candidates, the judges were quite relaxed today.

It was typical; just as teachers encourage you to stay calm before major exams, the evaluators also hoped the students could perform at their best in this final round. At this stage, the candidates should have already demonstrated their skills and potential.

They proceeded one by one, starting with the vocal test. Lin Hao sang *Moscow Nights* first.

Vocals weren’t something he had trained for since childhood, so he chose a simple but solid performance. Hitting the right notes and conveying the emotion was enough; after all, this wasn’t a music academy. Trying to show off with overly complex pieces could backfire when facing professional evaluators.

It was better to avoid pretending to be more skilled than he was.

Everyone in Lin Hao’s group seemed to be playing it safe. There were four men and one woman, all with relatively average foundations.

The second segment was dance. His piece, “Harvest,” was newly choreographed by his teacher and was supposed to be impressive.

But then, things took an unexpected turn. The other candidates began to shine.

Those who had made it to the third round clearly had something exceptional. To Lin Hao’s surprise, the others showed off their impressive physiques with powerful, precise dance moves. Splits and flips were executed effortlessly, and their performances were rhythmically and emotionally compelling.

Watching from the side, Lin Hao couldn’t help but think, *Shouldn’t these people be applying to the Beijing Dance Academy instead?*

The third segment, lines, was Lin Hao’s chance to stand out. He had chosen a foreign text, specifically to challenge himself. Having one specialty might get you admitted, but having two could make you stand out even more. In those three minutes, he delivered a bilingual rendition of the Shakespeare excerpt.

It certainly caught the judges’ attention. One of them even engaged him in conversation—in English.

This judge had likely studied in the United States, and Lin Hao’s English was genuinely impressive. Plus, in 1995, conversational English proficiency was still rare in China.

This turned out to be his strength. The judge asked about his academic grades, and upon hearing Lin Hao’s good scores, the judge’s smile widened. Academic performance was still an important criterion, even in performance schools.

Finally, they reached the fourth test: impromptu acting.

…

Lin Hao had a sinking feeling. When one of the middle judges, presumably Professor Chang, announced the start of this round, several of the evaluators seemed to perk up.

Lin Hao’s mind raced. What challenge would they throw at him? Mime, gender-bending roles, or abstract concepts?

Maybe he was overthinking. Surely it wouldn’t be that bad.

His acting skills were… decent. After returning to acting training, his instructors and senior students had helped him shed many rigid habits, broadening his range. But that also made him feel less secure, as if he lacked a safety net.

Sometimes, when asked to improvise on the spot, he wasn’t entirely confident. Or rather, he feared he wouldn’t deliver his best performance. That’s why people like Xu Wei said he seemed older than his years; he had an old soul that lacked the reckless spirit of youth.

It probably also had to do with his mindset:

*I’ve given up so much to pursue acting, leaving behind a comfortable life. With this golden opportunity, I have to be perfect.*

The judges behind the table had no idea what Lin Hao was thinking. They presented him with a prompt that was neither easy nor difficult but certainly unique.

“I’ll act, and you pick it up. If you can’t, I’ll stop.”

The judge who spoke was sitting on the far side, finally looking up.

Wow, who was this? Quite confident, huh?

Lin Hao had been acting for several years and had earned some recognition in the field, but he’d never heard anyone make such a claim. Judging by the students’ reactions, this judge must be famous, and they seemed quite thrilled. Wait, even Lin Hao felt he had seen this person before…

No, he *definitely* had seen him before!

Finally, he squinted at the nameplate that had toppled over. It read… Chen Baoguo.

Wait, what did I just say?

Haha, I was joking, but oh boy… I might be in trouble.