Zhang Sirui

Zhang Sirui has lived a rough-and-ready life for years, like one of the guys. When the bureau held a combat competition, her frame barely topped five foot five, and among more than a dozen contestants, only Fu Chongzheng, who stood six foot two, had her beat by a little. When she ran into suspects in tight quarters, she had rolled around in the mud and waded through stinking ditches full of filth. She had fought until she was nearly comically stripped of her clothes, and she had fought with her life hanging by a thread. There’s a scar the size of a bottle cap on her chest, left by a homemade iron pitchfork wielded by a farmer’s wife. The pain was one thing, but its location was downright awkward. There’s another scar, about the size of a bowl, on her waist, left when a panicked suspect dragged her behind his car during her first case after graduation.

Huo Wei has lived a particularly haphazard life. His life took a sharp turn when he abandoned the mathematics department at B University to apply to B Film Academy, and he grew into Dajiang’s marquee movie star. He has a refined, cinematic face, and can always get inside a role with uncanny precision before portraying it just as precisely. He can be the young master Gu, with misty rain in his eyes; the bold and imposing Han Cheng; the sinister, calculating General Wu; the carefree, guileless Zhao Tu; or the sweet, innocent Ximen Erbao. But when it comes to the one role he has no choice but to play as himself, Huo Wei, he finds it harder and harder to do justice to the part.

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