14 Supporting Male Role in the Entertainment Industry

After arriving at the set, Pan Wu had already finished his scenes and removed his makeup. He called out to Shen Ancheng, inviting him to go out for drinks.

Shen Ancheng sat aside, waiting for Pan Wu to pack up, and asked, “Was that actress just dismissed?”

Pan Wu replied, “Yeah, I was supposed to have a scene opposite her, but the director decided it’s better to find someone else and push the scene back. Nowadays, young actors really…” He trailed off with a sigh.

Shen Ancheng pondered for a moment and asked, “Who was the male actor opposite her in that scene?”

Pan Wu looked back at him. “Why do you ask?”

Shen Ancheng recounted the incident he had witnessed outside earlier.

Pan Wu frowned, stopping his zip on the backpack and looking over. “That coincidental?”

Their eyes met, and Shen Ancheng suddenly understood what Pan Wu meant.

Indeed, it was a striking coincidence. The young woman was heard silently crying as she confided her troubles, only to walk away immediately afterward, brushing past him—perhaps intentionally playing hard to get.

It wasn’t surprising that Pan Wu would suspect a young girl like that. In their world, any kind of drama could unfold in reality right before one’s eyes. Having been immersed in the industry for years, he was no longer shocked by what he saw and had grown hardened.

Shen Ancheng shrugged. “Whether intentional or not, I’m just curious if what she said is true. If it’s really some kind of scheme, then it was aimed at the wrong person.” It was just a chance encounter; the most he could do was inform a friend. There was no way he would meddle in someone else’s production.

The only thing he could do was find out who the male actor was. If he was a lecherous harasser who disrupted the shoot, he should be blacklisted immediately.

Pan Wu agreed. They wouldn’t necessarily intervene to help that girl, but it was worth verifying the truth.

He dropped his bag and headed out. “Wait here. I’m going to check the studio.”

As the male lead who had a good relationship with the director, Pan Wu was allowed to watch the playback and behind-the-scenes shots of the recent scenes. The director, still angry and cursing the casting director, waved him in without hesitation.

Watching the footage, Pan Wu frowned.

“Director Liu, this matter... the girl might actually be somewhat innocent.”

Director Liu turned, his expression unchanged. “How so?”

Pan Wu pointed to the video. “Look.”

The male actor’s actions were subtle, arguably justified by the script. Even if dissected, the situation was ambiguous.

But everyone here was a man, seasoned in showbiz. On and off screen, whether it was scripted or an excuse to harass, it was obvious.

Gradually, the room quieted. The director’s anger subsided and was replaced by disgust. “A dog never stops eating shit.”

Pan Wu stood and patted his shoulder. “Since we’re not filming today, get some rest.”

No one mentioned firing the male actor along with the actress. The dancer had several small scenes, including with the male lead, but she was still a minor supporting role, half of her scenes unfilmed. Chen Tongkai, the male actor in question, was one of the main supporting roles with substantial screen time, and they were close to wrapping up. Letting him go would be a huge loss for the production.

Nor did anyone suggest calling the actress back. Given their relationship, her mediocre acting, and the risk of stirring up bigger trouble, it was better to avoid it.

Though everyone despised Chen Tongkai for disrupting the shoot, the grievance wasn’t their own, and they didn’t know the young actress. No one was foolish enough to say, “We must support justice regardless of cost!”

So the matter remained quietly understood and was set aside for the time being.

Director Liu asked, “When is Director Shen leaving? Let’s have a gathering before you go.”

Pan Wu replied, “I haven’t asked yet. I’ll find out tonight and we’ll arrange something. I’m off now!”

Outside the studio, Shen Ancheng and his assistant waited. Pan Wu hurried over and nodded to him.

Shen Ancheng smirked and asked, “Who is it?”

Pan Wu whispered, “You probably don’t know him. He’s a fifth- or sixth-tier actor named Chen Tongkai.”

Shen Ancheng noted the name.

“How much screen time does he have?” he asked.

Pan Wu got into the assistant’s car. “Quite a bit. They’re almost done shooting. The director’s disgust is just a tally in his mind.”

Whether that tally was significant depended on Chen Tongkai’s future. Ultimately, everyone loathed him for harassing a female actor on set and seriously disrupting filming. As long as it didn’t affect the production, most people didn’t want to get involved—they couldn’t even control it.

Shen Ancheng, now in this role, was familiar with these unspoken rules, but inwardly it was his first time witnessing such chaos. In his previous life, he had remained aloof and protected, with his beloved wife by his side, never encountering such scenes.

So even though he saw through it all clearly, he couldn’t help feeling uneasy.

Not wanting to spoil the mood, Pan Wu changed the subject. “There’s a great barbecue place nearby. We won’t leave until we’re drunk tonight.”

Shen Ancheng loosened his shirt collar with one hand, pushing aside his thoughts and leaning back with a smile. “Sounds good. Haven’t had a drink in a long time.”

They went straight to the barbecue joint. It was quiet in broad daylight, but by the time they left, the place was packed.

Shen Ancheng said, “I was hoping to have you in my new movie, but you already took the period drama. What a shame.”

Pan Wu raised his glass to clink with him, drinking more than half before saying, “Come on, it’s nothing. I trust your film. It’s definitely different from this TV series.”

Shen Ancheng felt pleased and smiled broadly. “Then it’s settled—you’ll be my second male lead.”

Pan Wu chuckled, “What? Anzi, that’s not fair. Who’s the lead then?”

Shen Ancheng replied, “The main role is a college student, so the age gap is too big. Don’t underestimate my second lead.”

Pan Wu clicked his tongue, “Fine, just tell me your schedule in advance. The rest is up to you.”

For an actor to commit without reading the script or negotiating pay, and not even knowing the details—especially someone of Pan Wu’s status not playing the lead—required deep trust.

Shen Ancheng understood and smiled wider.

This trip was both to confirm a friend’s role and to unwind. Learning that Director Liu wanted to have dinner with him, Shen Ancheng agreed, and they gathered again the next day.

From his memories, he knew that gatherings in this industry varied. Before meeting, he emphasized there would only be a few of them.

Pan Wu understood and only invited a close circle. After the gathering, everyone went home separately.

Shen Ancheng exchanged much experience with Director Liu, who was still filming the period drama. Though Shen now had considerable fame and box office success, he had directed only a few films. There was much to learn from someone like Liu, who shot dramas year after year.

One was humble; the other eager to build connections. The conversation was lively, and they bonded well.

On the third day, Shen Ancheng returned.

In the following months, he reviewed the original owner’s professional skills while immersing himself in writing and refining the fifth draft of the screenplay left behind.

Winter passed into spring, the new year came, and film studios once again filled with crews bustling to shoot new productions. Shen Ancheng’s new film finally began casting.

This film’s female lead was central. The story would revolve around her growth during a heavy, painful period in history, reflecting the sorrow, resilience, and heroism of the people through her lover and family.

Both leads were college-aged, so casting focused on newcomers.

For young actors, news of the project was electrifying. Established actors might worry about Shen’s inconsistency, but newcomers had nothing to fear—getting cast at all was a golden opportunity!

As soon as the announcement came out, the inbox flooded with audition videos.

Shen Ancheng had his casting director sift through them first, selecting the promising ones for his final decision and to confirm the on-site audition list.

Anywhere with power breeds corruption in various forms.

After a while, Shen heard that his casting director had gone into hiding. Their team joked that if he didn’t hide soon, Director Song would be “worn out to death.”

Shen rarely spoke up in group chats, but seeing their messages, he sent a single message: “I don’t care what’s going on in other teams. In our production, everyone must stay within the red lines. I don’t want scandals topping headlines before we even start filming.”

These days, scandals didn’t just topple actors or stars. Directors, crews, writers, investors—anyone’s scandal could hit the top trending topics. Sometimes it came from confessions by those involved, other times from netizens with far-reaching influence. Though the impact varied, any project tainted by a fatal scandal would collapse.

The director’s demand was entirely understandable.

Once Shen spoke, the group immediately pledged to uphold standards and promised they wouldn’t slip, especially the “hot” casting director.

Shen also understood the casting director’s predicament. He too had disappeared, turning off his phone and internet, ostensibly to focus on the script with the writing team, but actually avoiding acquaintances and pulling strings to place people.

Small roles could be filled as favors, but major roles were non-negotiable.

A month later, the casting director sent Shen the shortlisted materials.

Shen spent a day and night reviewing, trimming, and finalizing the interview list.

There were dozens of men and women auditioning for roles from leads to supporting parts.

On audition day, Shen’s assistant picked him up and took him to the venue. He arrived neither early nor late; many actors who came earlier were already waiting.

Shen entered through a different passage, climbed the stairs, and could see through a window the audition waiting room below. All were young, under thirty, looking fresh-faced and student-like due to their professions. Handsome men and beautiful women, some with simple makeup, others with exquisite hair and attire, some wearing qipao or school uniforms. Each was either nervous or hopeful, and any slight noise outside quieted the room.

This was the journey of chasing a dream in showbiz.

Shen felt a pang of emotion.

“Director?” the assistant asked as Shen paused.

Shen lowered his gaze and was about to leave, but then stopped to look again.

He saw two people enter the waiting room. Leading was Zhou Zhiyu, accompanied by her assistant.

Today, she wore ordinary college student attire, neither leaning into the rumored period style nor dressing to outshine competitors.

A very wise choice.

Shen nodded secretly and stepped away.

Casting auditions were crucial for these hopefuls’ careers, but for judges like Shen, they were exhausting.

Having spent two lifetimes watching from the sidelines, this was his first time selecting actors personally. He fully understood how grueling it was to sit and judge people.

These selected newcomers were already outstanding, but when different people stepped onto the stage, their odd and varied responses and performances…

At first, Shen couldn’t help but smile and shake his head, politely asking some to leave. Gradually, he grew tired—no longer smiling or speaking kindly.

The audition process shifted into a high-efficiency mode: brief and direct assessments. Poor performances were dismissed with a stroke of the pen and an assistant’s words. Those who persisted faced blank expressions until stagehands escorted them out. Even the somewhat acceptable ones only received a polite “good job” before being sent away.

Unbeknownst to him, the stricter and colder he became, the more devastated the actors who left were, and the more anxious those waiting grew.

At that moment, Zhou Zhiyu, dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, opened the door and entered.

The stage assistant followed the usual procedure: “We have makeup removal products here, please remove your makeup first.”

Zhou Zhiyu stood center stage. “Teacher, I haven’t put on any makeup today.”