Chapter 5 Part 8: Grab the Bull by the Horns

Thud.

At the sudden burst of loud laughter, Lee Sooncheol drew the attention of all the actors, staff members, and agency managers at once.

Yet he was leaning his upper body far back, laughing heartily.

Since Lee Sooncheol rarely laughed so loudly, Su-il laughed along and asked,

“Goodness, sir.

What’s so funny?”

“Haha, hahahaha!”

Lee Jihoon quickly glanced at Yejun and cut in with a slightly raised voice.

“I guess the Chinese sounded strange to you, haha.

It sounded a bit odd to me too.

Don’t you all think so?”

The supporting actors, unfamiliar with Chinese, exchanged uneasy looks.

Jihoon nudged Jisoo, and she reflexively opened her mouth.

“Oh, really?

Sunbae?

Is it actually like that?”

“Yeah.

You can tell just by looking at how Sir Lee Sooncheol is laughing.”

As the reading came to a halt, Director Kim Minsu stood up and asked,

“Sir?

Is something the matter?”

After laughing uproariously for a while, Lee Sooncheol finally came to his senses at Kim Minsu’s words.

Still smiling broadly, he waved his hand.

“Haha!

I’m sorry, Director Kim.”

“No, not at all, sir.

But what is it that amused you so much?”

“Haha, hahaha!”

Lee Sooncheol laughed once more, then wiped at the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief as if tears had formed.

“I’m eighty-nine years old, and I haven’t gone senile yet.

But thinking that some guy barely past fifty has already gone senile—it was just too funny.”

No one understood what he meant.

Su-il quickly scanned the room.

Aside from himself, who was in his late fifties, there were only two other actors over fifty.

But both appeared briefly in Episode 1 and didn’t show up in Episode 2.

Since Episode 2 had started, the only actor over fifty present was himself.

“Sir… are you talking about me?”

“What?

Haha!

No, not you.”

Relieved that it wasn’t about him, Su-il smiled and asked,

“Then who are you referring to?”

Lee Sooncheol snickered.

“Song Minsu.”

Su-il’s eyes widened.

That wasn’t an actor’s name.

After searching his memory, Su-il’s gaze shifted toward Jihoon and Jisoo.

Jihoon looked confused.

Jisoo’s face turned deathly pale in an instant.

Su-il asked again,

“CEO Song Minsu?

You mean Song Minsu from Daehwa Entertainment?

Why would he suddenly come up here?”

“Haha!”

The faces of the former Daehwa Entertainment managers seated behind Jihoon and Jisoo stiffened.

Lee Sooncheol gestured for water.

A staff member quickly brought it, and after drinking deeply, he spoke with a calmer expression.

“Ah, my apologies.

I interrupted the flow.

I really am sorry.”

No one present could stop Lee Sooncheol, yet he bowed his head politely in apology.

Instead, the seated actors jumped to their feet, flustered.

“Oh no, sir.

It’s fine—you don’t need to apologize.”

“That’s right, sir.

Laughter is a good thing, haha!”

Watching Lee Sooncheol apologize one by one, Kim Minsu sensed something and smiled faintly.

“Sir, why don’t you continue what you were saying?

Since you’re already laughing, wouldn’t it be nice if we all laughed together?”

Hearing that, Lee Sooncheol struggled to suppress another bout of laughter as he spoke.

“Isn’t it funny?

Haha.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

Lee Sooncheol looked fondly at Yejun, who was staring back blankly, then burst into laughter again as he turned toward the managers seated behind Jisoo and Jihoon.

“Haha!

Hahahaha!

You chase away an actor who can perfectly speak the Shanghai dialect in just one month, and who can project vocal resonance through the direction of his gaze?

If that’s not senility, then what is?”

In an instant, the reading room fell silent.

Actors with widened eyes exchanged looks, silently communicating.

Did you hear that?

Did Sir Lee Sooncheol really say it was a perfect Shanghai dialect?

Projecting resonance through eye direction?

That’s something even we can’t do—and a rookie did it?

Sir Lee Sooncheol isn’t someone who says things lightly.

All eyes turned toward Yejun.

Suddenly under everyone’s gaze, Yejun swallowed hard, looking unsure.

He’s praising me… right?

There were times when he thought someone was praising him, only to realize later it had been sarcasm.

Having been scolded far more often than praised, Yejun couldn’t judge easily and stayed tense.

Lee Sooncheol smiled and asked,

“You there.

Your name is Ma Yejun, correct?”

At the call, Yejun sprang to his feet and bowed deeply.

“Yes, sir.”

Jisoo’s face hardened.

He couldn’t even remember my name.

They’d never worked together, but at an awards ceremony she’d sat right beside him and acted cute for three whole hours.

Yet he remembered Yejun’s name immediately.

Resentment welled up.

Unaware and uninterested in Jisoo’s thoughts, Lee Sooncheol continued,

“You’ve really never been to Shanghai?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And no Chinese people around you?”

“No, sir.”

“Haha.

Then perhaps you had a very good teacher?

Director, what’s the name of this young man’s Chinese instructor?”

Kim Minsu smiled and replied,

“He’s a junior from my school.

His name is Kim Jungho.”

“Ho ho.

That fellow is going to be in high demand among actors.

To produce pronunciation and tones at that level in such a short time…”

Lee Sooncheol smiled with his eyes as he looked at Yejun.

“Are all your other lines at the same level?”

“…..”

Of course they were.

For a short film, Yejun had been given only two days—and even then he’d rehearsed dozens of times.

This time, he’d had an entire month.

After hundreds of rehearsals, having thoroughly analyzed Zhang Wei’s pronunciation and tones, Yejun smiled lightly.

“当然, 先生.”
(Of course, sir.)

Once again, perfect Shanghai dialect.

Lee Sooncheol nodded deeply, satisfied.

“Good!

Very good.

So perfect that even locals would admire it.

You must have practiced relentlessly.

You only had a month—surely you cut down on sleep.

That’s what a young actor should be like.

Ho ho, I like you very much!”

Overwhelming praise.

Now certain that he was truly being praised, Yejun’s face brightened.

I was praised by a great actor.

He felt like he could leap with joy.

Ecstatic beyond words.

Being praised by an acting teacher was already wonderful—but praise from someone with sixty-eight years of acting experience made the whole world turn pink.

Lee Sooncheol asked,

“But you don’t have an agency right now?”

Swallowing back his smile, Yejun answered,

“Yes, sir.

I’m on my own.”

“Ho ho.

Don’t rush things.

If I weren’t currently running a one-man company after leaving my own agency, I’d take you in immediately.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Lee Sooncheol’s words carried immense power.

The expressions of agency representatives standing behind the actors changed.

Managers whispered among themselves.

Some quietly stepped outside with their phones, clearly trying to report back and move quickly to recruit him.

Su-il looked between Yejun and Lee Sooncheol and asked,

“Sir… is he really that good?”

Lee Sooncheol gazed at Yejun with satisfaction.

“At my age, this is the first time I’ve seen a Korean speak dialect with such perfect tones.

And did you see his acting?”

Su-il recalled Yejun’s earlier look and shuddered, rubbing his arm as he nodded.

“Yes.

His gaze was something else.

It felt like a wild beast had entered the room.”

Lee Sooncheol nodded firmly.

Then his eyes landed on Jihoon’s stiff face—the same Jihoon who had tried to belittle Yejun earlier.

“Hey, Jihoon.”

“Yes?

Ah—yes, sir!”

Flipping through the script, Lee Sooncheol pointed at a line.

“#A-1, Take 1.

Detective Cha Seung-hyun’s line.
‘What now?’
Do it again.”

“Pardon?”

“Do it again.”

Lee Jihoon swallowed, collected himself, and delivered the line again with a bored expression.

“What now?”

It was a short line.

The annoyance and boredom came across clearly.

For the past month, Daehwa’s acting coaches had drilled that emotion into him through repetitive training.

Even the director and writer hadn’t objected.

Looking straight into Jihoon’s eyes, Lee Sooncheol asked,

“What emotion is inside this line?”

“Boredom and irritation.”

“Why?”

“…Pardon?”

“I’m asking why he’s bored, and why he’s irritated.”

“Well… that’s…”

He’d never thought about it.

He’d simply done what the acting coaches told him.

His script was filled with their checks and notes.

Flipping through it in a panic, Jihoon spotted one memo and looked up quickly.

“At the time of this line, Detective Cha Seung-hyun was dozing off.

Anyone would be irritated and annoyed if woken up, wouldn’t they?”

It was the obvious answer.

Jihoon was confident.

But Lee Sooncheol let out a sigh filled with pure disappointment.

As suffocating silence fell, Su-il stepped in.

“Jihoon.

What sir is asking is whether Cha Seung-hyun is irritated simply because he was woken up.

Sure, waking someone makes them annoyed—but that’s irritation.

Boredom and annoyance aren’t emotions you feel just because someone woke you up.”

Flustered, Jihoon rummaged through the script again.

But in his panic, he couldn’t find a proper answer among the countless notes.

After waiting briefly, Lee Sooncheol clicked his tongue and turned to Yejun.

“You.

What’s the exact meaning of the line you just delivered—translated into Korean?”

Yejun answered immediately.

“A professional always keeps one bullet in reserve.

Whether for himself or for others.

That’s what it means, sir.”

“Yes.

Then why do you think Zhang Wei says that?”

Yejun recalled the pier rehearsal.

Zhang Wei had embedded his axe into the table.

The Joseonjok approaching from behind knew that and launched a sneak attack.

But Zhang Wei spotted him in the mirror and immediately pulled another axe from his waist and split his head.

It was all in the stage directions.

Not spelled out explicitly, but the entire worldview existed within the script.

Yejun replied smoothly,

“Zhang Wei carries three axes on his body.

Two at his waist, one on his leg.

After killing the Joseonjok who attacked him upon seeing the axe stuck in the table, he delivers the line as if mocking the man’s stupidity.”

Lee Sooncheol smiled slightly.

“Is that all?”

After glancing at Hong Jihyun, who was smiling brightly, Yejun continued,

“Seen through this line, Zhang Wei is a man who feels no fear toward killing.

Rather than spending time persuading those who stand in his way, he kills them and takes what they have.

He considers himself a professional.

Zhang Wei rose from a low-level gang member to a Honggun and Shanghai branch chief through merit.

To him, chaos like this is everyday life, and the line comes from confidence rooted in that.”

He ended not with “I think,” but with certainty—
“This is what it means.”

That confidence drew deep satisfaction from Lee Sooncheol, Hong Jihyun, and Director Kim Minsu.

Hong Jihyun smiled broadly as she thought,

Knowing there are three axes requires carefully reading even the stage directions.

In fact, Zhang Wei never once uses the axe on his leg until he’s arrested.

And the shot showing that axe doesn’t appear until Episode 4.

This means Yejun analyzed not just Episode 2, but his entire role thoroughly.

Director Kim Minsu nodded faintly, smiling.

An actor who asks why the character speaks this line now—what experiences shaped him, how he lived to reach this moment.

Right now, Zhang Wei is fully alive inside Yejun’s head.