Zu Cheng
The school was quieter than expected.
Afternoon classes were still in session. The corridors were mostly empty, save for the occasional voice drifting through closed doors.
I gave my name at the front desk.
They were expecting me.
I was escorted to the principal's office.
The parents, along with the child, were already seated across from him.
The room was formal but not imposing: certificates lined the walls, a bookshelf neatly arranged behind the desk. The principal sat at the center, composed, hands folded as if he had already measured the situation before I arrived.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward me.
The boy sat between his parents, posture straight, though his fingers were slightly curled against his knees.
"Mr. Zu," the principal said, gesturing toward the empty chair opposite them. "Please, have a seat."
"Thank you."
I took the seat without hesitation, offering a brief nod to the parents.
"This is the student you mentioned," the principal continued. "And his parents. I've informed them of your request in general terms. You may explain the rest."
I inclined my head slightly.
"I'll keep it straightforward," I said. "I'm currently working on a project that requires a child actor. I came across your son's performance from the recent school event. His delivery, timing, and presence stood out."
The parents exchanged a brief glance.
"I'm not here to pressure a decision," I added. "Only to ask if you'd be open to letting him audition. If it proceeds further, all terms: schedule, compensation, and safety will be discussed transparently."
The room remained quiet for a moment.
The father was the first to speak. "This is... unexpected."
"Understandably."
"We've never considered something like this before," the mother added, her gaze shifting briefly to the boy beside her.
I followed her line of sight.
The child met my eyes this time.
There was no hesitation in it.
"You wouldn't be committing to anything immediately," I said. "An audition is simply an evaluation. If it doesn't suit you or the parents, we stop there."
The principal nodded slightly, as if reinforcing the statement.
The father leaned back, considering. "What kind of project is it?"
"A short film," I replied. "Character-driven commercial. Minimal schedule."
"And the environment?" the mother asked. "We're concerned about studies."
"Filming will be structured around his availability. Education takes priority."
The father looked down at his son. "What do you think?"
The boy didn't answer immediately.
He thought about it.
Then, calmly, "I want to try."
We exchanged our cards after finalizing the schedule.
I went over the terms, conditions, and safety protocols in detail: working hours, on-set supervision, and academic priority. Nothing ambiguous, nothing left open to interpretation.
There was a brief pause when they stared at my card.
"PKU... Film Division?" the father read aloud, his brows drawing slightly. "You're still a student?"
"First year," I confirmed. "Film & Directing department."
The hesitation was expected.
"This project is independently managed," I continued, before the doubt could settle. "The production team is in place, and all operational aspects are handled professionally. My role as a student doesn't affect the standards we maintain on set."
The principal remained silent, observing.
"We'll also ensure a guardian is present at all times during filming," I added. "And if needed, you're welcome to visit the set beforehand."
The mother seemed to relax slightly at that.
"And the schedule?" she asked.
"Structured around his classes. We won't interfere with his academics."
The father nodded.
"That's acceptable," he said.
I acknowledged it with a slight incline of my head.
Before leaving, I informed them that since the next day was a school holiday, we could tentatively schedule the audition then.
"I'll confirm with my team and call you by tonight," I added.
They agreed without further questions.
That settled the immediate concern.
The phone buzzed.
It was Ray.
"Yu's younger timeline is done. Only the reflection sequence is pending. I checked the footage. It holds. Can you come and recheck?"
I agreed and went straight to the club.
Yu was sitting on the couch with a blueberry mask on and turned his head, "The transition... isn't sitting exactly right yet... the dance part."
I nodded and asked Aryn, "Show me."
The scene played. It's rushing the moment.
I suggested, "Slow the first part by 10%; let it breathe."
He nodded and adjusted.
"Anything else?" I asked as I walked towards the couch. "It was done beautifully."
Mei and Yu exchanged a glance.
"We know."
"The ending sequence is complete. Should I begin the vocal track?"
"Not yet. We lock the visuals first. Then we build the voice." I glanced back at Ms. Yua.
Mei mentioned, "But you didn't say what happened to the kid."
Everyone looked at me.
"The kid wants to do it, and parents agreed too. But..."
"But?"
"Tomorrow I'll take an audition. We can't just film a kid."
"Well, that's Zu for sure. Right, Mr. Director?"
I laughed it off.
I stepped out. The night air was quieter outside the club.
I stepped away from the entrance before making the call.
It rang twice.
"Good evening. This is Zu Cheng."
"Yes?"
"I'm calling to confirm tomorrow's audition schedule."
"Yes, yes."
I went over the time, location, and expected duration. Clearly. No room for confusion.
They agreed.
"Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."
The call ended.
I glanced up at the starry sky.
Tomorrow, Yu will be at his work.
That means I'll be alone to judge the skill and potential.
I exhaled lightly.
...How many days have I missed again?
I opened the chat.
Typed.
Read once.
Send.
Message:
Mr. Qin,
This is Zu Cheng (PKU, Film & Directing, Year 1A).
I am currently managing an independent film project, which has required my absence over the past few days.
I will ensure that all academic responsibilities are met and would appreciate your understanding."
The screen dimmed in my hand.
I should head back.