CHAPTER 186: IS IT FATE?

’What does it mean when a particular piece finds a particular artist? Is it fate?’

It was a question steeped in luxury and romanticism.

But it was a question that bore precious memories for Jean-Louis Groux.

It was something Mr. Cao would always bring up while he was visiting. He had heard it so many times that it had almost become an inside joke.

But it wasn’t as if the French director hadn’t given it some serious thought.

’Out of thousands of singers, how does a song—which would go on to become extremely popular—end up in the hands of a particular musician?’

Was destiny at play behind one-hit wonders? Were they meant to be?

Or would the song have done just as well in the hands of another?

In that sense, music had similarities with acting.

There were often roles meant for someone, or so was Mr. Cao’s belief.

The French director didn’t see it that way. Certainly, there were actors better suited for a particular role than their peers.

There were certain actors that were meant to play villains—so much so that one would have to believe they were born for it.

Director Groux acknowledged that, but he also believed that actors playing antagonists were often better actors than those playing protagonists—a sentiment common among directors.

And directors loved their villains.

Yet the question had started to bug the director.

’What does it mean when a particular piece finds a particular artist?’

It was constantly on his mind since he began casting for Lady Ethereal.

At some point, he had wanted to see this meant-to-be actress for The Lady.

It was a tall ask and an impossible task.

’It’s a miracle.’

If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, he had found her; he had found The Lady.

The moment Averie Quinn Auclair stepped out of the makeup room, the good director had this feeling—that something was different.

There was no shadow of The Photographer in that face—not even a speckle.

"We’re filming in ten," he had inadvertently told his AD.

He had meant to give them more time to prepare, but there was nothing he wanted to see more than the man in the clothes of a woman on his screen.

And before long, he had called action for scene 21.

The venue of the scene was a picturesque theatre, its walls lined with marble statues, gold pillars, and flowery fretwork of silver.

Dressed in suits and dresses inspired by The Belle Epoque—with a touch of fancy pretentiousness—were fifty or so extras playing the upper-class audience.

Their moustaches were bushy, and their cleavages were glossy.

The wooden stage, bathed in the burning stage lights and draped with red curtains, was crowned by a face carved in wood. One half of it was crying, and the other half was laughing—signifying the art of acting.

An Eastern play was on, where characters dressed in vivid colors acted in an overly dramatic fashion.

It was happening in front of him—accurately and according to his script—yet there was no joy in the director’s face.

Throughout the take, his eyes were stuck to the one screen dedicated to the close-ups of Averie, who was backstage.

There was no reason to have a camera back there, as The Lady was only supposed to be filmed once she was on stage, and the angle wasn’t suitable.

’Open your eyes; I want to see what you’re seeing.’

It was a madhouse, where even the director did not care about the tall men and women performing a play on the stage.

The actors on stage, wearing masks of animals that hid their identities, exited the stage from the right.

They hadn’t dropped their acts until the end, but now their part was done.

The sound of a taiko, a Japanese drum, sounded. It was followed by a tam-tam, a Chinese gong.

The sound seemed to come from the heavens as it echoed in the chamber, bouncing off the sculpted chests of the marble statues.

A moment later, the two instruments were struck again.

The frequency rose as the audience looked up and around for the source of the symphony.

Like a snake coiling itself around a prey, the two instruments mingled systematically with each beat.

And from somewhere behind the audience was plucked the first string of a guzheng.

The audience turned to see a woman covered in a white veil playing the instrument in the gallery opposite the stage.

Averie’s eyelids flickered, and the one who opened them was The Lady.

The black contact lenses could no longer hide the glow of the actor’s pupils. They gave off the ardent shine of cinders every time he blinked.

For a moment, the director was stunned.

The Lady was there.

Only

The Lady was there.

He didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t know how he knew that. Perhaps it was the instincts passed down by his ancestors, or perhaps it was the intuition of a filmmaker, but he knew that the person in front of him was not the actor but the character.

And only the character.

Mr. Cao’s words popped up in the good director’s head.

And for the first time in his life, he solemnly pondered the sentiment.

’Is it fate?’

The Lady took a step forward, her feet covered by the dress. Casually, she sauntered onto the stage while the audience remained distracted by the veiled instrumentalist.

She clasped her hands around the umbrella, covering the upper half of her face. Her rich lipstick, thicker at the center and thinner at the edges, helped bloom a mysterious smile.

The veiled instrumentalist halted her hands and stared at the stage, prompting the audience to follow suit.

Silence spread throughout the theatre like fog on a cold night.

The Lady tilted her head and slightly shifted her umbrella, obstructing her face diagonally.

Her hair was black; her eyelids were shaped like a fox and painted red.

With one eye exposed, she rotated her umbrella.

A simple action.

It was only that.

’Then why?’

Every single person in the studio—actors and crew alike—saw an illusion.

The illusion of The Lady standing in the rain.

’What is this?’

Hairs stood up on the director’s arm. He was clearly seeing rain. The Lady—his character—was walking in the rain, teasing him with only one eye.

’What’s with that eye?’

He felt strength leaving his legs.

’This is dangerous.’

He could not take his eyes off the purple glint in The Lady’s eye.

He wanted to; he needed to.

But he couldn’t.

She had him and everyone in the room under her spell.

’Hallucination? Hypnosis?’

The thought itself was ridiculous.

As if blinded by a holy presence, the entire room was dazed. For the enraptured extras and the speechless crew, the time seemed to shrink.

Astonishment from earlier had long melted away; it had turned into unrestrained awe.

What they were seeing, they could not fathom.

If they could, they would attest that The Lady was exuding a rich purplish aura. Her barely twitching lips seemed to form words that they understood but could not articulate.

And even that thought disappeared with her every movement, leaving behind an afterthought of regret.

’What was it again? What did she say?’

She said nothing. How could she when the only movement of her lips was the edges moving up her cheeks?

Her dress—colored white, red, and black—had a pair of tall-legged avians designed on her sleeves. And every time she clasped her hands together, they seemed to embrace each other.

It wasn’t a dance, nor was it some detailed act. It was just one woman moving around on the stage somewhat whimsically.

Her gestures were smooth.

Her expression was lively.

Her gaze was teasing.

She was a complete contradiction when compared to The Photographer.

As if satisfied with the response, The Lady covered her eye.

Once again, the instruments played, filling the theatre with music.

She didn’t speak a word but pranced around with measured grace. Being swung around, helping hide half her face, was always the red wooden umbrella.

The extras had forgotten that they too were supposed to act; the strange visual stimulus was enough to leave them dazed. Their expressions were so chilling that even the cameraman shivered.

Yet The Lady kept up her act, glancing every now and then at the galleries.

The music, drumming in Hyerin and Ari’s ears, felt heavier.

What previously appeared to be man dressed up as a beautiful woman had transformed into a painting—a portrait of nobiliity long perished.

Admiration had welled up in Ari’s heart to the point of bursting. There was something magical about that existence that could not be defined as human.

All her doubts about Averie’s acting had instantly melted away. Now, she knew why he was chosen for every role that he had played.

’This... will be shown at a film festival, right?’ Her eyelids shook. ’Does anyone even stand a chance?’

But the woman next to her had different worries.

So vivid was The Lady that Hyerin feared she had killed her most precious friend.