The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 71: New Year’s Eve Hot Pot Gathering

The next morning, the sunlight was just right.

Jiang Ci arrived at Liu Guodong's office.

He placed the eight-hundred-word reflection report he had typed up early that morning neatly and formally on the heavy redwood office desk.

"Teacher Liu."

Liu Guodong was sitting behind the desk, leisurely sipping a cup of hot tea. A faint aroma of Pu'er tea filled the office.

He lifted his eyelids slightly, saw Jiang Ci, and showed not a hint of surprise on his face.

It was as if he had long anticipated his arrival at this exact time.

Liu Guodong didn't even glance at the reflection report. Instead, he pushed a form already signed on his side of the desk towards Jiang Ci.

"Leave School Approval Form."

His voice was steady, carrying a composure that suggested everything was under his control.

Jiang Ci looked at the form and was momentarily stunned.

This efficiency was just too high.

"Teacher, you..."

"Last night," Liu Guodong interrupted him, setting down his teacup, "in the three hours after the performance ended, I received no fewer than twenty phone calls."

He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his abdomen.

"Directors, producers. Without exception, they were all asking me about you."

He looked at Jiang Ci, his tone full of pride.

"You are now the newest 'gold-lettered signboard' of our Capital Film Academy."

Jiang Ci's heart was utterly unmoved.

Gold-lettered signboard?

It sounded less substantial than the project codename "Cash Cow."

However, Liu Guodong's tone suddenly shifted.

The slight smile on his face vanished instantly, replaced by the kind of seriousness unique to academic authority.

"But, Jiang Ci."

"Today, I want to give you a warning."

"The more everyone praises you, the more the spotlight shines on you, the more you must keep your composure."

"Flowers and applause are the things most likely to make people lose their way."

"The path of art allows for absolutely no falsification, and there are absolutely no shortcuts to take."

Every word Liu Guodong spoke was forceful and resonant.

Jiang Ci shelved the jumbled KPI calculations in his mind and nodded solemnly.

"Teacher, I understand."

He expressed his gratitude sincerely. "Thank you for your guidance during this stage play performance."

Liu Guodong stared at him for a few seconds, as if gauging the sincerity in his words.

Then, he nodded and pulled open a drawer beside him.

From it, he took out a thick, unmarked kraft paper envelope.

*Thump.*

The envelope made a dull sound as he placed it on the desk.

"This is my reward for your performance."

Performance reward?

Jiang Ci's mind began racing again.

Was it a bonus? Some out-of-print, treasured script? Or perhaps handwritten performance notes from some master?

Liu Guodong seemed to see through his thoughts and shook his head.

He pushed the heavy kraft paper envelope towards Jiang Ci.

"You are a genius. Everyone acknowledges that now."

"But a genius needs to know the boundaries even more."

His voice lowered slightly, carrying an unprecedented gravity.

"Open it and take a look."

"See how an actor can be elevated by a role, and also... how they can be destroyed by it."

Jiang Ci reached out and took the envelope.

Its weight was more than he had imagined.

He opened the flap and pulled out not a script, nor a bonus.

It was a thick stack of documents.

Each document was a case study of an actor who had once left their name in film history.

There were detailed biographies, analyses of the classic roles that made them legendary overnight, but more prevalent were the tragic records of their lives plummeting downward afterward.

Alcoholism, depression, suicide, spending their remaining days in psychiatric hospitals...

One shocking photo after another, lines of cold, detailed written records.

Jiang Ci's fingertip traced the title of one document — *Actor Gao Xiang: Clinical Psychology Report on Personality Confusion with the Portrayed Character 'Patient No. 23' After Immersion in 'The Asylum'.*

In that instant, he felt as if struck by an electric current.

For the first time, he felt so directly the real and brutal risk on the path to the pinnacle of art that lay behind the "Heartbreak Value" he pursued daily.

So, "madly devoted to the craft" was never just a compliment.

It could also be a one-way ticket to destruction.

But did he have a choice?

He slowly and solemnly placed the documents back into the kraft paper envelope.

Then, he bowed deeply to Old Liu before him.

...

Afternoon, Dorm Room 404.

Jiang Ci returned to the dorm and began packing his luggage.

The *Three Lifetimes Tribulation* crew had agreed, and the final scenes for "Chu Wuchen" promised to the Director were about to begin.

He efficiently booked a flight ticket online for that evening to the film and television base.

Just as he zipped up his suitcase, a hand pressed down on it.

It was Zhao Zhen.

"Bro Ci, you're leaving already?"

"Yeah, the crew is pushing." Jiang Ci replied.

Zhao Zhen stood in front of him, his expression brooking no argument.

"No way!"

He announced loudly, "What's the date today, have you forgotten?"

Jiang Ci thought about it.

"December 31st."

"Right! New Year's Eve!" Zhao Zhen's voice grew even louder. "Tonight, no matter what, the three of us brothers have to get together! Consider it your farewell party!"

Jiang Ci looked at his face, which clearly said 'refusing is disrespectful,' then glanced at Chen Mo beside him, who wasn't speaking but clearly felt the same.

A small space suddenly cleared in his mind, which had been filled with KPI calculations.

He thought for a moment and nodded.

"Alright."

The cold wind on New Year's Eve stung people's cheeks.

But inside the small hot pot restaurant that had been open for four years near the school gate, steam was rising.

Jiang Ci, Zhao Zhen, and Chen Mo sat around a table.

In the copper pot, red oil churned, and white broth bubbled.

Zhao Zhen raised his beer bottle high, his face flushed.

"Come on! Brothers!"

Using his signature loud voice, he addressed the entire shop. "Let's wish our Old Jiang a smooth journey, immediate success, and an early crowning as Film Emperor!"

"Bottoms up!"

*Clink!* Three beer bottles collided.

The cool liquid slid down their throats, carrying a spicy malt aroma.

The atmosphere reached its peak.

Chen Mo adjusted his glasses, fogged up by the steam, and leisurely picked up a slice of freshly cooked tripe.

"Rational analysis," he began in his usual calm tone, "Jiang Ci, I must remind you."

"The entertainment industry is more complex than we imagine. Especially big directors at Wei Song's level. They view actors like tools."

He paused, as if weighing his words.

"You need to have your own judgment. Don't let him PUA you."

"PUA?" Zhao Zhen almost spat out his beer. "What's that?"

"Psychological manipulation," Chen Mo explained succinctly. "Destroying your confidence through criticism and denial, making you develop absolute dependence and obedience towards him."

Jiang Ci's chopsticks, holding a slice of mutton, stopped mid-air.

He looked at these two brothers before him—one boisterously painting a blueprint of a Film Emperor for him, the other coolly and seriously analyzing potential risks for him.

The emotions belonging to "Jiang Ci," the ordinary university student, buried deep in his heart for four years, were completely steamed out by the scalding hot pot vapors.

At this moment, he temporarily forgot about the life countdown, forgot about the Heartbreak Value KPI.

He just felt a deep warmth in his chest.

He smiled, rolled that slice of mutton in the sesame sauce dip, and stuffed it into his mouth.

"Don't worry."