Chapter 82: The Third Kind of Temperament

The gentle prelude began, its melodious and classical style drifting softly through the air. Although Xu Mengqi was not an exceptional singer, her taste in music was exquisite.

“What a beautiful prelude,” she murmured, delight lighting up her eyes after only a few seconds.

But an even greater surprise awaited her.

As the languid prelude unfolded, a sense of melancholy gradually enveloped her—a mood that fit almost perfectly with the main storyline of “A Thousand Lifetimes of Spiritual Fate.”

Then, the singing began:

“Our first meeting, as if vows entwined, the wind stirs clouds to drift and curl,
In the passage of years, I ask—what year is tonight?
My heart knows, and only hopes that this longing endures through cycles of time,
In a fleeting moment, how many times have blossoms bloomed and withered?”

The electronic vocal lacked much emotion and distinctiveness. Even so, Xu Mengqi could sense a profound, genuine feeling flowing through the song, every word and phrase stirring her soul.

It was hazy and sorrowful, yet rich and powerful.

Especially as the chorus built layer upon layer, Xu Mengqi felt a shiver run through her.

As the female lead in “A Thousand Lifetimes of Spiritual Fate,” in that moment, she felt a sudden kinship with her character. The music drew her back into the drama’s entangled, passionate romance—a love that etched itself into the soul.

Not until the electronic demo ended did Xu Mengqi look at the computer with a complex expression, murmuring, “It’s truly beautiful.”

Wang Mo smiled. “In what way?”

“The lyrics, the melody, the arrangement—they’re all beautiful. I can hardly believe you wrote such a song in just two days. Clearly, hard work is worthless before true talent.”

Wang Mo’s smile didn’t waver.

Inwardly he thought, “Talent? Worthless before the system.”

Xu Mengqi seemed still lost in the song.

Wang Mo asked, smiling, “Do you think you can handle it?”

“I can!” she replied instantly, her eyes blazing with resolve. “Even if it’s beyond my reach, I must have it! You promised—if I can’t sing it well, there’s always the sound engineer!”

A song like this—one that could intoxicate her with just an electronic demo—how could she possibly let it go?

No matter what, she had to make this song her own.

Wang Mo’s eyes twinkled. “Alright, it’s yours.”

Xu Mengqi nodded and played the demo for “Peach Blossom Promise” again. At the height of her enthusiasm, she even sang along for a few lines. Only after a long while did she sigh contentedly, “It seems that I, Xu Mengqi, might finally have the chance to see the real landscape of the music world.”

Wang Mo coughed. “Don’t get overconfident—what if it flops?”

Xu Mengqi glanced at him. “Are you worried the song isn’t good enough?”

“My song,” Wang Mo replied, “is naturally excellent.”

Anything produced by the system was destined to be outstanding.

Xu Mengqi beamed. “In that case, I have every confidence.”

…

After handing the song to Xu Mengqi, Wang Mo left the rest to her—she would handle negotiations with the production team.

With his business here concluded, he needed to prepare for his upcoming meeting with He Zhixing in the capital.

Yuan Xiong wholeheartedly approved of Wang Mo’s decision.

On the morning of the third day, Wang Mo rose late, had breakfast, and went to the film crew to say his goodbyes.

But upon arrival, he found the atmosphere heavy with tension.

Director Guo Wei, in particular, looked grim.

Seeing Wang Mo, Xu Mengqi approached. “You’re here?”

“Yes, I came to say goodbye. I’ll be leaving soon,” Wang Mo replied, then gestured at the set. “What’s going on?”

Xu Mengqi sighed. “We’ve hit a snag with filming. Director Guo is furious.”

She explained: today’s scene required a simple shot of an immortal making an appearance. This immortal only had a handful of scenes in the show, but his presence ran through the entire fantasy story. So, while his appearances were few, the role was crucial.

Unfortunately, the actor chosen—no matter how he tried—couldn’t capture the immortal’s ethereal, otherworldly presence. Instead of a transcendent sage, he came across as nothing more than a grumpy old man.

“Director Guo has called ‘cut’ more than twenty times now, still unsatisfied, so he’s lost his temper,” Xu Mengqi whispered.

Wang Mo asked, “Is it really so hard to play an immortal?”

“Everyone here is an experienced actor. The man playing the immortal has been in the business for years. Normally, this wouldn’t be difficult. The challenge is that the immortal never shows his face—only his back is seen, with no lines or actions. Just a solitary silhouette in the moonlight. Such abstract acting is what’s tripping him up.”

Wang Mo nodded. In that case, it really was a difficult performance.

On set, Director Guo just glanced at Wang Mo and nodded, then announced darkly, “Take a break. We resume in ten minutes. This shot must succeed, or no one leaves tonight.”

The crew fell silent.

Guo added, “The immortal’s face isn’t shown—it’s just a back view. So anyone can play the part. Use this break to discuss among yourselves. If anyone dares to try, step up. If you satisfy me, I’ll give you more scenes!”

At those words, excitement rippled through the set.

Having the director add scenes for you was a rare opportunity. Who wouldn’t be tempted?

Soon, the actors gathered in groups, debating how best to portray the immortal’s entrance.

“I think you need to add some gestures.”

“No, I think it’s all in the costume. The right clothes are what make an immortal seem otherworldly.”

“I feel there should at least be some lines.”

“Oh, it’s too hard—I can’t do it…”

As Wang Mo listened, he thought the matter had nothing to do with him.

Suddenly, an actor not far away spotted him and exclaimed with “delight,” “Hey, Mo, why don’t you join in the discussion?”

Wang Mo shook his head with a smile. “No need—I know nothing about acting.”

But the man had already come over. “That’s okay, just give us your opinion. As they say, those outside the game see it more clearly. Maybe someone who doesn’t act can offer valuable insight.”

“That’s right, Wang Mo, give us some advice.”

“We’re counting on you.”

“You were a top star once, surely you have something to say.”

“Exactly, have some faith in yourself.”

…

As he listened, Wang Mo realized some of their words carried an undercurrent—nothing overtly wrong, but somehow unpleasant.

He glanced at Yuan Xiong.

Yuan Xiong’s smile didn’t falter, but he whispered, “Ignore them. Outwardly they seem friendly, but they’re probably hoping you’ll embarrass yourself. No matter what advice you give, you’ll likely be criticized.”

“Really?” Wang Mo replied. “But if I just walk away, won’t they laugh at me even more?”

Yuan Xiong nodded. “Yes, but at least you won’t hear it…”

You’re as eloquent as ever.

Without another look at Yuan Xiong, Wang Mo strode toward the group.

As he walked, he said, “Sorry, I’m not much for advice. But as a child, I dreamed of immortals several times. Would you like me to show you how the immortals in my dreams appeared?”

As he spoke, a thought flashed through Wang Mo’s mind: if he remembered correctly, he still had one unused temperament transformation.

“System, I confirm my third temperament: Immortal!”

System: [Request received. Host now possesses Immortal temperament and can switch at any time.]