Chapter 547 - 355: What Is Your Name?

Chapter 547: Chapter 355: What Is Your Name?

The young actor jumped, his head snapping up to look at Li Wei.

"Mr... Mr. Li Wei!" he said immediately. "I’m sorry, I was just too nervous."

He wasn’t very tall, and while he was reasonably handsome, good-looking guys were hardly a scarce resource in a place like Hollywood. Unless someone was as devastatingly handsome as Li Wei, they stood little chance of standing out.

Standing at only about five foot nine, with dark stubble shadowing his jaw, he looked a bit older than his actual age.

"Relax," Li Wei said. "I don’t have classes tomorrow, so I’m not in any rush to get off work."

The young actor forced a strained smile.

"I feel like you’re a bit too tense," Li Wei observed. "It seems like you want to do well a little too badly."

"That’s right." The young actor smiled bitterly. "This is the biggest production I’ve ever been a part of, and it’s one of the few roles I’ve had that actually shows my face and has lines.

"Even if it’s only one line," he added with self-deprecation.

"What’s your name?" Li Wei asked suddenly.

"Ryan Reed, Mr. Li Wei," Ryan replied.

"Alright, Ryan." Li Wei nodded. "I’ll remember you."

[Knight’s Aura - First Sequence (Silver)] activated.

He patted Ryan on the shoulder. "I believe you can do this, okay? Think about it carefully. You’re a Guard Captain in the royal palace who was fast asleep.

"You were sleeping soundly, and then suddenly!" he prompted. "You get woken up!"

Ryan’s hand was already resting on the hilt of his sword.

"You’re dragged out of bed by your subordinates, standing barefoot on the freezing stone floor, wearing uncomfortable armor, all to catch a thief in the middle of the night," Li Wei said. "What are you thinking?"

"Anger," Ryan answered instinctively. "I want to catch the thief and whip him."

"But you can’t," Li Wei said, "because he’s someone the King wants to see. So what do you do then?"

"I’d be resentful," Ryan mused, "but I could only swallow it down."

"That’s exactly the feeling." Li Wei nodded. "Shoot it just like that!"

At that moment, Don Quixote’s voice drifted over from nearby.

"What’s going on?" He walked over with a cup of coffee in hand. Glancing at Li Wei and then at Ryan—who was dressed in full armor but exuded absolutely zero presence—he added, "I thought that last take was pretty good."

"I’m sorry," Ryan spoke up. "I was just too nervous."

He didn’t know Don Quixote, but given how casually the man carried himself, he figured he must know Li Wei. Moreover, judging from his demeanor and attire, he was likely a person of some status.

Don Quixote grunted in acknowledgment, looking Ryan up and down for a few seconds.

"What’s there to be nervous about?" he teased. "First time acting?"

"No, I’ve been in the industry for eight years." Ryan forced a smile. "It’s just that none of my previous roles required me to speak. I just had to lie there, or maybe walk by carrying a tray."

Don Quixote nodded.

"Still... I have to thank you for giving me this opportunity." Ryan looked at Li Wei, speaking a bit sheepishly. "If you hadn’t increased the investment and doubled the required number of extras, I probably wouldn’t have made it into the cast, let alone get to act in a scene opposite you."

Hearing Ryan’s heartbeat gradually slow down as his emotions stabilized, Li Wei knew his [Knight’s Aura] was taking effect.

"Don’t worry about it," he said. "Just do exactly what we talked about."

Just then, the megaphone crackled to life.

"All units, back to your marks!" the executive director shouted. "Team B, stand by! Ready for take two!"

The lights flared up, the cameras started rolling, and everyone returned to their positions.

"B-1! Take two!" Del Toro’s voice echoed through the soundstage.

"You aren’t going anywhere!"

As if guided by God, Ryan delivered the line flawlessly this time, his tone brimming with resentment, smugness, and a twisted sense of pleasure. This take was more than ten times better than the last.

Del Toro nodded, silently signaling that it was a print.

"Good take. You there... Guard Captain," the assistant director said, giving Ryan a thumbs-up. "Moving on!"

"It was all thanks to Li Wei’s guidance," Ryan said modestly. "He gave me confidence and inspiration."

Nearby, the Netflix PR team and the journalists’ eyes lit up. They quickly jotted down this exchange, preparing to polish the anecdote and post it online to build hype for the movie.

Twenty minutes later, Ryan Reed removed his makeup, threw on a gray hoodie, and left the set with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

He found Old Mike, the talent broker, in a corridor near the side exit of the studio.

"Who were you again?" Old Mike didn’t recognize him. "We had a lot of extras today."

"I’m Ryan Reed, the one who played the Guard Captain. I had a line," Ryan said hastily.

"Oh, right, the guy with the line." Old Mike nodded, peeling four fifty-dollar bills from a thick stack of cash. "The production pays 250 USD. I take a 20% cut, so here’s 200 USD for you."

"Is there more work tomorrow?" Ryan’s eyes burned with eagerness. "Li Wei’s production team pays really well."

"No idea." Old Mike handed him a receipt. "Keep an eye on the group chat yourself."

Ryan gave a small "Oh," signed the receipt, and turned to walk down the corridor toward the parking lot.

Passing the pantry, Ryan glanced around. He noticed several unopened boxes of drip bag coffee on the counter. Even the paper cups next to them were printed with the production’s exclusive logo.

Major productions really were on a whole different level.

Seeing that the hallway was empty, he quickly grabbed a handful of the drip coffee bags and stuffed them into his backpack. After a brief moment of hesitation, he put two bags back. Then, he zipped up his bag and walked out of the studio.

Ryan Reed’s trusty companion in life was a 2009 Honda Accord of unknown ownership history. One of its headlights was half-shattered, the trunk wouldn’t close properly, and the seat cushions were permanently indented.

Ryan got into the car and drove straight to a gas station, putting in exactly 40 USD worth of gas—he couldn’t afford a single dollar more.

"Gas prices just keep going up," he muttered. "Fack the damn state government."

He then drove down a street in North Hollywood and parked his car in front of a grocery store.

"Hey, Jamaal," Ryan called out, poking his head out of the car. "I’m here to pay you back."

"Pay me back for which time?" The owner, Jamaal, didn’t even look up. "You still haven’t paid me for the time before last."

"I’m paying it all off this time." Ryan pulled out 70 USD. "The 70 bucks I owe you for the beer, eggs, and that case of bottled water."

"Did you finally cave and do porn?" Jamaal asked in surprise. "Otherwise, where’d you get all this cash?"

"It’s from Li Wei’s production. They’re loaded, and I got lucky enough to be picked as an extra with a speaking line," Ryan said proudly.

"No wonder," Jamaal said. "I thought I was never going to see this money again."

"Heh."

Ryan grabbed five packs of instant noodles and a bottle of hot sauce from the shelves. "Put these on my tab as usual. I’ll pay you back when I get more money."

Jamaal waved him off, too lazy to argue with him about it.

Shortly after eight o’clock that evening, clutching the noodles and hot sauce to his chest, Ryan walked into a dingy, gray two-story apartment building in North Hollywood.

"What awful luck," he sighed as he unlocked his door. "I ran into the landlord’s son and had to hand over another 50 USD."

This building had originally been an old three-bedroom apartment, but the unscrupulous landlord had forcibly subdivided it into seven tiny single rooms using drywall and plywood. Almost everyone living here was a broke extra who had just arrived in Hollywood.

Robert, who lived next door to Ryan, boasted a career-high achievement of playing a pedestrian who got hit by a car in a web series.

Ryan squeezed sideways past several pairs of shoes and a folding bicycle cluttering the hallway. Looking at the mess, he actually felt a hint of smugness. At least after scraping by in Hollywood all these years, he managed to afford a car. Plus, compared to all the miserable bachelors here, he had a beautiful girlfriend.

Sometimes, a sense of superiority and happiness was built purely on such comparisons.

This feeling of superiority lingered alongside the foul stench of feet wafting from the shoes in the corridor, only dissipating when he finally retreated into his own room.

Pushing the door open, a tiny room of barely fifty square feet greeted him. A double bed was pushed against the wall, taking up half the floor space. The other half held a simple IKEA wardrobe, a low coffee table, and a loveseat with broken springs.

Ryan dumped the instant noodles on the coffee table, kicked off his shoes, and curled up on the sofa, pulling out his phone.

The extra casting group chat was flooded with a dense wall of notifications, ninety-five percent of which had nothing to do with him. The competition in Hollywood was fiercely intense, and the casting requirements were absurdly specific. They screened for ethnicity, age, height, and weight, sometimes adding baffling criteria like breast size, hair length, or specific facial features.

Ryan noticed that Old Mike had posted another message:

[*The Last Flying Dragon* Production - Extras Casting for Tomorrow: April 17th to 19th, Warner Bros. Stage 9. Requires males aged 20-40 to play Middle Ages soldiers/villagers. Those with experience in armor scenes preferred. 200 USD, meals included.]

Ryan hesitated a bit. For an extra who had already shown his face and spoken a line, legitimate productions usually wouldn’t hire them a second time. However, he scrolled through the rest of the chat and found nothing else that fit his profile.

Whatever. He’d just apply and see what happened.

He sent a private message to Old Mike, asking if he could join tomorrow’s shoot.

When Old Mike didn’t reply right away, Ryan set his phone down.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside. A key slid into the lock, turned twice, and the door was pushed open. Claire squeezed her way inside.

Today, she was wearing a white dress shirt, her hair tied back in a ponytail, and faint traces of makeup still lingered on her face. Even in this dimly lit cubicle, her beauty gave Ryan an undeniable sense of unreality. Hollywood had no shortage of pretty girls, but Claire was the type who would turn heads even in this city.

"How was today?" she asked, hanging her bag on the hook behind the door. "Did you get to see Li Wei?"

"I did." Ryan sat up straight on the couch. "Not only did I see him, but I actually talked to him."

"No way, really?" Claire’s eyes instantly lit up. "You talked to Li Wei?"

"A hundred percent true." Ryan nodded. "He even coached my acting."

"Wow!" Claire plopped down on the edge of the bed. "Is he really as handsome in person? He already looks gorgeous in his online photos and competition videos."

"He’s even more handsome than he looks on screen." Ryan paused to think of a comparison. "He’s a whole level handsomer than Henry Cavill in the movies. It’s like wherever he walks, he brings his own spotlight."

"And he’s genuinely a nice guy," Ryan added. "I messed up my first take, and the director tore into me. But he came over to help me get into the right headspace, and I nailed the second take."

"What about you?" he asked. "How was your audition today?"

Claire fell silent for a moment, the smile fading from her face. Reaching up, she pulled the hair tie from her ponytail, letting her hair cascade down before combing her fingers through it.

"Well..." she began, "the producer told me to go to his hotel room to discuss it."

Ryan froze mid-motion.

"I flat-out refused," Claire said, furrowing her brow. "I blocked his number too. I was so furious I didn’t even eat dinner."

Ryan opened his mouth.

Being over thirty, he obviously knew what he was supposed to say in a moment like this. Things like, "Don’t be mad," or "A guy like that isn’t worth your time," or "Come on, let’s go out and get something nice to eat to take your mind off it."

If he followed the standard script, this was the part where he should stand up, wrap an arm around her shoulders, and take her to that Central Asian restaurant down the street—even if it was just for two of their cheapest doner kebabs.

But he had less than fifty bucks left in his pocket.

And he still hadn’t figured out next week’s rent.

The words died in his throat, swallowed back down. At that moment, he truly didn’t know what to say. He felt an inexplicable surge of grievance and anger. Why was he already thirty years old and still hadn’t made a damn thing of himself?

"Come on," he said suddenly. "Let’s go out and grab some food."

So what if he had less than fifty bucks? For the simple fact that Claire had dated him for two years without breaking up, he was willing to spend every last dime he had on her.