Sun Qiaolian sat across from her manager in a quiet café tucked behind the studio district, the kind of place where difficult conversations were conducted softly and without witnesses. The hum of the espresso machine filled the gaps where words hesitated.
Her manager slid a thin folder across the table.
"This is what we secured," she said.
Sun Qiaolian opened it.
Her gaze stalled.
Then froze.
A minor role.
Not a supporting character.
Not a recurring presence.
Not even a disciple with a name the audience would remember.
Just a brief appearance. A few lines. A role so small it could be cut without affecting the story.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the paper.
"…This?" she asked quietly.
Her manager nodded. "Yes."
