Luo Xiaolu noticed the girls on the other side of the glass and smiled, waving warmly at them.
“Ah! I’m dead!”
“I love you, Sister Shu Ren!”
“Ah! Ah! Ah!!”
The audition room instantly turned into a fan frenzy. That glass panel was Luo Xiaolu’s last line of defense.
“This damn, irresistible charm of mine!”
Of course, some voice actors screamed not just from fandom—but to win over Director Luo Xiaolu and gain an edge in the competition.
In female-heavy spaces, these invisible battlefields were nothing new.
Chen Chuan watched, irritation simmering.
Normally, these voice actors were all polite to him—many even sucking up.
Today? He’d become mere background scenery.
Thankfully, auditions began soon.
Finally, Chen Chuan’s domain.
“Nope!”
“Next!”
He snapped into work mode.
The project’s hype drew record numbers—talent and amateurs mixed, skill levels wildly uneven.
Honestly? Most weren’t cutting it.
The audition piece: Lavender’s letter to Gong Sheng in the final chapter.
Lavender was already gone. As Gong Sheng reads it, her voice must carry the words—gentle, resonant, alive.
This was the novel’s emotional peak. It moved countless readers, wrung out oceans of tears.
Especially that last line: *“I like you.”*
A tear-jerking bomb. Devastatingly sweet. Cementing *Your Lie in July*’s title as the industry’s most heart-wrenching masterpiece.
That’s why this clip was the ultimate test: cheerful yet deeply tender—not sad, not overly bright, but warm, hopeful, *real*. Only then could it truly move the audience.
Using the hardest piece upfront? Bold. Confident. Nail this, and voicing two hundred million characters later? Easy. Applause for the guts!
So it wasn’t the rookies’ fault. This segment was *that* hard.
Especially under Chen Chuan—a notoriously strict sound director. Passing him? No small feat.
Chen Chuan dismissed candidate after candidate with authority. Luo Xiaolu sat quietly beside him, watching. He felt… pleased.
*She knows her place.*
“You blockhead. Thick-headed silly goose. When I found out we went to the same middle school, I nearly cheered. Should I buy a sandwich from the store just to talk to you? But in the end… I only ever watched from afar. You and your friends were so close… there was barely any space for me.”
A new voice actor stood in the booth, reciting softly. Her tone was gentle, emotion perfectly measured. Most got cut after two lines—she’d sailed halfway through.
“This one’s great!” the sound engineer said.
“Truly expressive,” Chen Chuan agreed.
And yeah—she was seriously kawaii.
“We’ll take her—”
Chen Chuan started to say—
“No.”
Luo Xiaolu’s calm voice cut in.
“?”
Chen Chuan turned.
*Damn it. Here we go.*
Being interrupted mid-sentence? Infuriating.
He swallowed his annoyance. “Teacher Zhou Shuren’s thoughts?”
“Her voice is distinctive,” Luo Xiaolu began gently, “that slight choke adds depth. Control is excellent.”
“But Lavender wouldn’t sound this sorrowful. Her tone should feel warm—like a memory that makes you smile. That’s *our* Lavender: sunny, hopeful, loved by all.”
She’d stayed silent earlier because she agreed with his rejections.
But here? She was meticulous.
In her past life, she’d been Lavender’s die-hard fan. Now? This was *her* story. Every author fights for their work’s soul.
And yes—her artistic metric was on the line.
Risa Taneda’s performance once shattered teenage Luo Xiaolu: that healing gentleness, the bittersweet ache. Lighter the tone, deeper the pain. Sweeter the smile, sharper the grief. A moment etched into her DNA.
So she stayed quiet… then spoke up?
“Dead people don’t sound *that* light!” Chen Chuan snapped, pride flaring. *Who’s the professional here?*
Luo Xiaolu’s eyes widened slightly. “Director Chen… have you read the original novel?”
“No.”
At NB Studio—churning out anime nonstop—he only needed script notes. Reading every source novel? He’d drop dead.
“So you’re judging Lavender’s voice… without reading her story?” Luo Xiaolu smiled sweetly.
Nearby, Green Leaf quietly stepped back.
*When Teacher Zhou Shuren smiles like that… trouble’s coming.*
“What if I haven’t? I’m a pro. I’ll pick the best!” Chen Chuan’s face flushed. Over a decade of experience—questioned by some novelist? Unforgivable.
Beyond the glass, voice actors stretched necks, watching.
“Teacher Zhou Shuren’s right,” the sound engineer said firmly. “She *created* Lavender. Her insight beats ours.”
Arguing character emotion with the author? Wild.
“So you’re casting based on meeting notes and gut feeling?”
“You’re just a writer. What do you *know* about Lavender?”
*Thanks. I’m officially annoyed.*
Luo Xiaolu sighed.
Guess it’s time I step in.
“Let me audition.”
