In the last minute, a contestant, panting heavily, rushed into the classroom. Upon seeing Qin Jiran, he clearly paused for a mont before hurriedly explaining, "Qin, Teacher Qin, sorry, I’m late, I, I..."
"One more minute, take your seat," Qin Jiran interrupted the contestant’s explanation and gestured for him to sit down.
The contestant was taken aback but soon revealed a smile of surprise, bowed to Qin Jiran, and quickly took his seat. The contestant sitting next to him imdiately gave him a thumbs up, and the latecor wore a grateful smile. He owed a debt of thanks to the friend who had texted him, or else he really would have been late.
After the last minute passed, two chairs were still empty, but Qin Jiran had no intention of waiting any longer. He stood up and said in his sowhat unique and indifferent voice, "I won’t bother introducing myself. Let’s start class. In a performance class, the most important thing is the ’act’ itself. Whether you are acting well or badly, you are still acting, whether it’s acting out a play or an entire lifeti’s worth of roles..."
Qin Jiran didn’t call roll and didn’t say another word about the two absent contestants; he simply composed himself and began the lesson. His reaction was clearly not what the audience had expected. The expressions of the contestants changed, so puzzled, so disappointed, and others understanding.
As for Qin Jiran, he was well aware of many things about many people, even without asking. He had reviewed each contestant’s file, not just once. He knew who had arrived and who hadn’t at a glance, so there was no need to ask. He wasn’t a real teacher and didn’t need to take responsibility for them.
Half an hour into the class, the remaining two students also finally arrived. The classroom was really just a large living room, so the two didn’t even need to knock; they simply faced Qin Jiran directly upon arriving.
"Teacher Qin, we’re truly sorry. We practiced too late last night and overslept this morning. We are very sorry," a man and a woman said as they stood together. Although there was a slight distance between them, their interaction seed sowhat unusual.
"Take your seats," Qin Jiran said tersely, without any unnecessary words. After his brief instruction, he continued to share his experiences. Although he was only responsible for this one lesson, the content he taught was delivered with great care, drawing from his own personal experiences and without any sense of perfunctory treatnt.
After speaking for nearly an hour, Qin Jiran began the more interesting improvisation lesson, a part of the class that the contestants were indeed more interested in, and Qin Jiran did not disappoint them.
"I can give you a demonstration. Just tell what you want to see, and I’ll act it out," said Qin Jiran, his expression indifferent yet brimming with confidence. As the two-ti consecutive winner of the Starlight Award for Best Actor, his acting skills were certainly superb.
"Teacher Qin, what do you think is the most difficult to portray?" a contestant asked curiously.
"Every actor has their strengths and weaknesses, but a qualified actor should be able to play anything, and an excellent actor should be able to take on any role. So, what do you think I should consider the hardest role to play?" Qin Jiran replied with a question instead of an answer, yet it was a confident response.
As the winner of the Starlight Award for Best Actor not once, but twice, who dares to say Qin Jiran’s acting is poor? That would be like questioning the entire entertainnt industry!
"Teacher Qin, can you perform a crying scene for us? It’s said that good actors are great at crying scenes, capable of crying on cue. Can you?" another contestant asked curiously. For those who hadn’t really entered the entertainnt industry, many things were a source of great curiosity. However, about half of the contestants were professionals, either students or graduates of performing arts, so they were sowhat less impressed.
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