Last day, afternoon.
The crew was shooting the climax scene: the male lead, cornered in a narrow alley, facing four or five armed thugs alone.
The choreography for this scene was complex, demanding extremely high physical stamina and muscle memory from the actors.
Brother Qiang, as the fight choreographer, personally stepped in to demonstrate the blocking and moves for the lead actor.
Cassius held his breath, eyes glued to the center of the set.
Brother Qiang's figure darted rapidly between the "enemies."
Block, dodge, counter...
His movements flowed like water, packed with power and rhythm.
With every precise dodge, with every perfectly timed exertion of force, grey or green orbs dropped one after another.
[Physicality Attribute: Reaction +2]
[Physicality Attribute: Agility +2]
[Physicality Attribute: Power Generation +2]
[Physicality Attribute: Rhythm +2]
...
Cassius was like a player with an auto-loot cheat code, frantically absorbing everything.
The warm current of attributes flooding his body was almost continuous. He could feel his control over his own body approaching a critical tipping point.
Finally, Brother Qiang finished with a beautiful spinning kick combination that "knocked down" all the enemies, landing in a steady, grounded stance.
Snap!
Cassius felt something inside him break open.
A powerful, pure wave of warmth surged from his core out to his limbs, rapidly washing over his muscles, bones, and nerves.
Subconsciously, he slipped into the fighting stance he had practiced most over the last few days.
In an instant!
His perception of every part of his body became clearer and sharper than ever before.
Moves that used to require conscious thought and control now felt like instinct.
Power transmission felt smoother, and his balance leveled up significantly.
[Physicality: Lv1 (3/200)]
Physical coordination, power control, and muscle memory significantly improved. Efficiency in learning and mastering basic physical movements increased.
Breakthrough!
Cassius suppressed his excitement, holding the stance, savoring the feeling of being reborn.
His body felt evolved!
He now had absolute confidence that he could execute those "tough guy" moves in front of the camera. At the very least, he wouldn't look full of holes like a high school calisthenics student anymore.
"Hey! Kid! What are you posing for? It's a wrap!"
Brother Qiang's shout pulled him back to reality.
Cassius quickly relaxed his stance and jogged over, unable to hide the grin on his face.
"Brother Qiang, that combo just now was too cool!"
"Cool doesn't pay the bills. Still just hard-earned money."
Brother Qiang wiped his sweat, looked at Cassius, and nodded.
"But you, kid... your progress these past few days has been scary fast. Even your eyes look different. You're starting to look like a real practitioner."
"It's all thanks to you and the guys teaching me well!"
Cassius thanked him sincerely.
"Cut the ass-kissing!"
Brother Qiang laughed, then turned serious.
"But Cassius, I gotta remind you. Your progress is built on the fact that you already had decent physical fitness and you were hyper-focused. This is a crash course."
"Real kung fu takes time—it's water grinding stone. It's forged over thousands of repetitions. Right now... to use our words, you're a paper tiger. You got the form, enough to bluff laymen and the camera, but meet a real fighter, and you'll pop with one poke."
Cassius nodded seriously.
"I understand, Brother Qiang. I'm just doing this to survive the audition. If I really want to walk this path later, I'll definitely train properly."
"Good, as long as you know."
Brother Qiang patted him.
"Not coming tomorrow, right? Good luck on the audition. Make us Asian actors look good."
Saying goodbye to Brother Qiang and the stunt brothers, Cassius walked out of the studio.
The setting sun stretched his shadow long. He subconsciously shook out his arms and legs, feeling the lightness and coordination brought by the Physicality attribute.
Brother Qiang called him a paper tiger. But this paper tiger... at least right now, looked scary enough to fool anyone.
---
The next day.
Cassius followed the address Rob gave him to a rather old-looking industrial building in downtown Los Angeles.
It wasn't glamorous like Warner Bros.
More low-budget independent films chose places like this.
The audition was held on an empty warehouse floor.
There weren't many people, but the mix was interesting.
Besides the casting team—all white—there were a few Asian men sitting sporadically in the corners. They varied in age and build, communicating zero with each other, eyes full of competition.
Cassius even saw a familiar face—another Asian extra he often bumped into on the Santa Monica corner.
Their eyes met briefly, then quickly separated, like strangers who had never met.
A burly white man in a tight T-shirt with bulging muscles, looking like the fight coordinator, stood with his arms crossed.
He scanned the Asian actors with a slightly contemptuous look and muttered to a casting assistant next to him:
"Knew it would be like this. A bunch of bean sprouts or kung fu grandpas. Bruce Lee's been dead for years, and they still think Hollywood wants to see this sht."
The casting director was a middle-aged white man with glasses who looked more focused on paperwork.
He coughed, interrupting the muscle-head's complaints, then addressed everyone:
"Thank you all for coming. We're looking for a young Asian face. The role has quite a few action scenes."
"We're going to demonstrate a simple fight choreography. Our fight coordinator, Mike, will show it once. You will imitate it one by one. Focus on form and presence. It doesn't need to be identical."
Hearing this, Mike, the fight coordinator, walked to the center. He cracked his neck casually. Crack-crack.
He demonstrated a combo:
Jab, side kick, low sweep, followed by a simple chokehold pin.
The moves weren't complicated, but they required speed and power. Especially that final chokehold—it needed to show instant explosiveness and control.
"See that clearly? Who's first?"
Mike finished, clapped his dust-covered hands, his tone impatient.
A skinny Asian guy with glasses raised his hand first. His movements were soft, like he was doing Tai Chi in the park, and he even tripped over his own feet. Mike and the muscle-head PA let out stifled snickers.
The guy walked off blushing, head down, afraid to look at anyone.
Two more went up.
One was overweight and slow.
The other had some form, but it was clearly traditional martial arts style—big, sweeping movements. It looked pretty, but in a modern fight scene that demanded grit and realism, it looked outdated.
Mike frowned the whole time.
"Next!"
The casting director's voice was getting tired.
Then, the Asian extra Cassius recognized went up.
He took a deep breath and started.
His moves were sharper than the previous guys—you could tell he practiced privately. But during the sweep-to-choke transition, his rhythm fell apart, and the chokehold was sloppy and dragging.
Mike criticized him without mercy.
"Too slow! Are you giving him time to sing a lullaby? Next!"
The extra walked off with an ugly expression, muttering in under his breath: "Cao, foreign devils don't know sht."
Passing Cassius, he shot him a glance filled with Schadenfreude:
You won't do any better.
Cassius sighed internally.
This was the reality.
White people looked at you with prejudice, and some of your own people wanted you to fail just so they wouldn't feel alone.
"Next! You in the black T-shirt!"
The casting director pointed at Cassius.