The August Sun: You Are a Leo

Several years ago, during a cold winter in a gloomy southern town, the film crew was busy dismantling and setting up various machines I couldn’t comprehend, switching to new camera angles. I waited with the artist I was responsible for under flickering lights. That night was apricot-gray, with the moon hanging unusually low. An experienced agent approached us. Out of social courtesy, I thought I should at least greet them. Standing straight, I forced myself through a brief exchange, unsure if I concealed my nervousness and awkwardness. Returning to my seat, my artist whispered to me slowly, “Don’t be nervous. You are the best agent.”

Back then, I had just started as a so-called “agent,” with no prior experience in the film and television industry. The idea of becoming an agent, in retrospect, felt absurd. I was inspired by the story of an outstanding industry professional known for “sacrificing and dedicating everything for their artists.” This sentiment, like a dandelion seed, took root and grew within me. Eventually, I packed my bags, left my stable job in my hometown, and decided to head north to become such an “agent.”

Lacking experience in every way, everything I faced back then made me feel incredibly insecure. In that picturesque town, on that chilly night, those words echoed in my heart, warming me to the point of heartbreak.

Those familiar with me might guess that this artist is Peng Haofeng, who has appeared in 90% of TVB dramas, played Uncle Yi in “The Virtuous Queen of Han,” and won Best Supporting Actor and Best Actor at overseas international film festivals in 2016 and 2017.

First Impressions of Peng Haofeng

My initial impression of Mr. Peng: he smoked Kent cigarettes with 0.1mg tar, carried a tin foil ashtray case, extinguished cigarette butts, closed the lid, and tucked it into his pocket. Even in muddy areas far from the set, if he noticed a risk of someone slipping, he would find wooden planks to pave the way, preventing accidents. He was humble, polite, and exceptionally skilled at integrating into a group—a very Leo-like trait. He respected everyone and radiated kindness with his genuine smile.

The Astrology of Acting

From an astrological perspective, the 5th and 12th houses represent actors. The difference lies in their approach: 5th house actors are naturally gifted, with each role reflecting their own personality, while 12th house actors, like Liu Ruyun in “The” or Cheng Dieyi in “Farewell My Concubine,” immerse themselves so deeply that they become the character. In my eyes, Mr. Peng is a 12th house actor. He captures the subtlest emotions buried in the depths of the human soul, measuring the nuances within its cracks. Whoever he portrays feels authentically grown within the story.

Overcoming Language Barriers

For artists from Hong Kong, the biggest challenge in filming mainland productions is the language barrier. He never learned pinyin, and I couldn’t grasp the nine tones and six sounds of Cantonese. I struggled to find a way to teach him standard Mandarin pronunciation accurately. He said, “Record every line for me, and I’ll listen carefully.” When time allowed, he would find a café for me to correct his pronunciation, insisting on being told even the slightest inaccuracy. Syllables absent in Cantonese felt insurmountable, like the final hair’s breadth when tuning an instrument—I couldn’t find a breakthrough.

Surprisingly, even with tricky lines, he never stumbled on set, with almost no NG takes. Later, I learned he listened to my recordings hundreds of times. I regretted not studying dialogue delivery myself to provide a better linguistic environment. Fortunately, upon reviewing the dailies, his logical stress was flawless—a talent I can only describe as innate.

Personal Struggles and Growth

Two years ago, in May, Mr. Peng’s mother passed away. By June, he was in Beijing filming as the male lead in a theatrical release. I sensed the sorrow in his eyes but didn’t know how to comfort him. At that time, my life experience hadn’t yet fully grasped bonds like “blood is thicker than water.” During a break at a friend’s birthday party, his rendition of “Half Moon Serenade” struck me with its raw pain. Amid cheers and applause, I secretly wiped tears in a corner. The month-long low pressure felt overwhelmingly stifling, pushing me to the brink. For the first time, I wanted to escape the set instantly. And so, I left alone.

At 32, life truly feels like a watershed. After the New Year, returning to Beijing, my mom insisted on seeing me off at the station. Outside the hall, she gripped my wrist, tears streaming. I said, “Mom, don’t worry. I’m an adult now. I can take care of myself, and you need to stay well too.” Turning away, I cried uncontrollably. My mom was no longer the sharp, decisive, somewhat assertive career woman I remembered. She had aged, grown vulnerable, and needed my company. Many nights, gazing at Beijing’s glittering lights and the moat’s gentle flow, I sank into melancholy, toasting my hometown and distant dreams. Gradually, I understood that Mr. Peng’s pain was beyond my imagination.

Kindness and Professional Integrity

Last July, a film coincidentally shot in my hometown. At the press conference, my parents visited the set—their first time meeting Mr. Peng. He took a photo with my mom, shook hands, and slipped her some money, saying, “Auntie, your daughter helps me with work away from home and can’t often be with you. Please accept this for some fruits.” Now, when my parents call, their first question is, “How are things with Mr. Peng’s work? He has a family to support. You must work harder!”

Actors face immense passivity and tough times. When I struggled to update him on work, Mr. Peng asked, “What will you do without income?” I replied, “I’ll work harder. Heaven rewards diligence; it will come.” He directly transferred money, saying, “I believe you, but landlords won’t care. Take this as entertainment expenses.” I declined, saying, “I appreciate it, but I trust my effort and luck. I just need time.” He sighed, “Too stubborn…”

The Leo Spirit: Warmth and Guidance

Fortunately, our work gradually improved. My artist, Peng Haofeng, is guileless, empathetic, kind, and upright—a genuinely good person through and through. In this industry, being good unrelated to commercial value. But my artist isn’t a commodity; he’s a living person. From a human perspective, his radiance is like the August midday sun—warm and bright, guiding me courageously through treacherous nights.

People say being an agent is tough, but for me, it’s my artist who has it harder. I recall a turbulent flight back to Beijing after wrapping a shoot, where turbulence was so severe I feared crashing. In that moment, I longed to turn on my phone. Beyond my parents, I desperately wanted to tell Mr. Peng, “Thank you.”

“Virtue bears all things” feels overwhelmingly weighty. Astrologically, it’s a Neptunian energy where everything dissolves into compassion. Thank you for bearing with my immaturity, for teaching without words. I was once a gloomy child, but you let sunlight into my heart. I will spend the rest of my life striving to truly embody the title of “agent.”