As she left the office, her father's words replayed in her mind. I'm not alone… not ever. She let the thought settle, a quiet comfort against the nervous anticipation building in her chest for tomorrow, when everything would truly begin.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Li Zhenwei: Tomorrow, 9 a.m. Private studio. Acting class arranged. Don't be late.
Muyao stared at the screen for a moment before replying with a brief Okay. She set the phone aside and lay back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. Private studio meant this wasn't an ordinary class. Li Zhenwei never did anything without a reason.
The next morning, the car drove her to a secluded building tucked away from the city's noise. There were no signs outside, no reporters lingering nearby. Inside, the acting studio was quiet and restrained—mirrors lining one wall, a few scattered chairs, and the faint scent of old wood.
A man stood near the window, his posture straight, his presence calm yet commanding. He turned as she entered, his sharp gaze settling on her. He was He Yanzhou, an old and highly respected acting coach who had trained many Oscar-winning actors and actresses—including Xie Jingchi.
"You're Lin Muyao," he said.
"Yes."
"I'm here to teach you acting."
That was the only introduction he gave. Yet Muyao already knew who he was—the legendary acting coach whose name carried weight throughout the industry, the mentor behind Xie Jingchi and countless internationally acclaimed performers.
He glanced briefly at her file before sliding a thin script across the table. "Read."
Muyao began. As she spoke, faint inner voices brushed against her consciousness—fleeting judgments, restrained impatience, quiet curiosity. She forced herself to focus on the words, steadying her breathing.
"Stop," the coach said.
Muyao froze.
"You're hiding," he said calmly. "Not your technique. Yourself."
Her fingers tightened.
"I don't need you to perform pain," he continued. "I need you to understand it."
After a brief pause, he added, almost casually, "Some actors have everything they need but still struggle to reach others through their performance."
Muyao's eyes widened slightly. Is he talking about me?
"They learn," He Yanzhou said. "But only after they stop hiding behind what's comfortable and face the truth inside themselves."
The room fell silent. Muyao lowered her gaze, her chest tightening. Truth inside myself… I've never done that before. Can I really do it?
This was only the beginning.
Just like what Li Zhenwei said, He Yanzhou really can look into someone's inner… Muyao's thoughts faltered mid-sentence, as if even she couldn't fully believe it herself. He can actually see… me?
He Yanzhou, who could hear her inner voice, froze for a second. Then a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
So this is what you mean when you say Lin Muyao has something special, he thought, recalling the day Li Zhenwei contacted him, begging him to coach a new actress.
He hadn't taken on a student since he last coached Xie Jingchi—five years ago. At the time, he had planned for Xie Jingchi to be his final student. When Li Zhenwei first visited him, asking him to train a new actress, he had politely declined. But Li Zhenwei was persistent—someone who would do anything to produce the next Oscar-winning star.
After three days of relentless persuasion, He Yanzhou finally agreed. Not because he was annoyed by Li Zhenwei, but because Li Zhenwei had shown him a video of Muyao's audition for Lin Meixin.
Watching it, he noticed immediately: there was something buried deep inside Muyao, something she was holding back, and it kept her from fully expressing herself. But beneath that restraint, he could see raw, untapped talent.
Muyao's thoughts flickered nervously. Does he really think I have potential? I… hope I don't mess this up. I have to do this… I have to show him I can.
He Yanzhou decided then and there to coach her—not only because she was new to acting, but because he could tell she had the potential to reach the very top. He wouldn't allow a bright, rising star to falter when she had everything it took to shine.
Muyao swallowed, feeling a mix of fear and determination. This is it. No more hiding. I have to face it—all of it—myself, my acting, everything.
He Yanzhou's gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "Muyao, listen carefully. Acting isn't about pretending. It's about truth. You can hide behind lines, gestures, smiles… but that won't make anyone believe you. You have to feel it. All of it. Even the parts you don't want to face."
Muyao's throat tightened, but she nodded. "I… I'll try," she whispered.
"Try isn't enough," He Yanzhou said calmly, taking a step closer. "You need to allow yourself to be seen. Every thought, every memory that pulls at you… they are not weaknesses. They are fuel. You let them guide you, not chain you. I will help you. I will push you, but I will not let you fall."
Muyao's hands gripped the script, her knuckles white. The weight in her chest—memories of Lu Luoli, the fear, the sorrow—pressed against her. Yet, hearing his words, she felt a small thread of relief. Someone else understood, someone else believed she could face herself.
He Yanzhou leaned on the edge of the table, his sharp gaze unwavering. "We'll start small. Close your eyes. Think of one memory that is heavy, something you've kept buried. Not to perform it, not to show me—but to let it exist. Let yourself feel it."
Muyao's inner voice hesitated. Can I really do this? Can I let it out?
"Yes," she breathed. Tentatively, she closed her eyes. The memory of Lu Luoli appeared—laughing, the last phone call, the empty space after her departure. The tears she had held back for months pressed against her eyes.
"Good," He Yanzhou said softly. "Now, do not fight it. Let it move through you. If it hurts, let it hurt. If it's confusing, let it confuse you. This is not weakness. This is the first step toward freedom. The moment you stop hiding, your acting will gain life. People will see it. And more importantly… you will see it yourself."
Muyao inhaled shakily, feeling the tension in her chest loosen slightly. She let the memory come fully, letting herself feel the sadness, the longing, and the regret—all the emotions she had buried under polite smiles and controlled laughter.
He Yanzhou watched her carefully, giving her space but never letting her retreat. "Every emotion you've hidden, every fear, every loss… they can be your strength if you let them. We will work through them together. One step at a time."
She opened her eyes slowly, tears streaking her cheeks. He didn't flinch. He nodded slightly, approvingly. "Good. That is enough for today. You faced it. You felt it. You didn't hide. Remember this feeling. The more you face, the lighter your heart becomes. You are stronger than you know, Muyao."
Her inner voice whispered, trembling but hopeful: Maybe… I can carry this. Maybe I don't have to hide anymore.
He Yanzhou gave a faint, encouraging smile. "Tomorrow, we'll go further. But for now, rest. Remember this: you are not alone. And you don't have to bear this by yourself. Not anymore."
Muyao nodded, feeling a warmth she hadn't felt in years. For the first time in a long while, the burden in her heart seemed a little lighter—not gone, but manageable. And she knew, with He Yanzhou's guidance, she could face it, one step at a time.