Chapter 16: The Reason

At the dinner table, Jiang Qin and Chen Shasha were primarily focused on the script of “Bus 44,” asking various questions.

In fact, these questions were much the same as those raised during that day’s film group discussion; Wu Yuchen answered each one patiently, satisfying the two girls’ every inquiry.

Yin Qiaoqiao, seeing the atmosphere had improved and everyone was chatting freely, casually asked:

“Wu Yuchen, you just entered school—why did you immediately want to make a short film?”

“And how did you even put together your crew?”

Wu Yuchen didn’t overthink it; there was nothing to hide, so he briefly explained the film group and how he recruited actors.

“Wow! You’re so amazing!” Chen Shasha exclaimed.

Jiang Qin couldn’t help but view Wu Yuchen in a new light:

“I heard many senior film direction students haven’t even touched a camera yet—yet you’ve already built your own crew and shot a short film right after entering school!”

A freshman with no money or connections, raising tens of thousands through crowdfunding and personally assembling a crew—few could manage that; they couldn’t help but admire him.

Yet Yin Qiaoqiao, who had asked the first questions, was deeply disappointed after hearing Wu Yuchen’s answer.

She had assumed Wu Yuchen came from wealth or privilege, which explained how he assembled the crew. But this crew turned out to be nothing more than a ragtag student group cobbled together—nothing like her expectations.

He might be handsome, but looks don’t put food on the table!

What good is a little talent?

In this industry, connections, opportunities, money—none of these are less important than talent.

Even with talent, you must have the means to use it!

She had thought he was a golden husband material, only to find he was a humble phoenix; her enthusiasm instantly drained by half.

Wu Yuchen had no idea what Yin Qiaoqiao was thinking; his focus was entirely on Jiang Qin, since she was his film’s female lead. He kept talking with her about the female driver role, striving to explain it thoroughly so she could better understand and embody the character.

After a while, Jiang Qin suddenly asked Wu Yuchen: “Do I need to learn how to drive?”

Wu Yuchen paused, startled—he hadn’t considered this before. He recalled the original film: yes, there were scenes of the female driver operating the vehicle. In his past life, Gong Beibi had taken a full half-month to learn driving specifically for this short.

They could skip the driving scenes entirely, but this was a short film—details like this should be handled properly.

Wu Yuchen thought of the 5,000 yuan Huang Lei had given him, and felt slightly more confident.

“Learn. Senior sister, how many days can you take off?”

Jiang Qin thought for a moment and said: “With Senior Huang around, I can take three days off, plus two weekend days—five days enough?”

The next day, Wu Yuchen brought Jiang Qin to the Beijing Public Transport Company.

“A bus? Not a long-distance coach?” Jiang Qin asked, puzzled.

Wu Yuchen smiled: “We couldn’t afford a long-distance coach—renting one costs two or three thousand a day!”

Back then, long-distance coaches were incredibly profitable; fares weren’t much cheaper than in the future. A ticket from Shanghai to Beijing cost over 400 yuan, hence the saying about saving up for long trips. Think how much profit a single run brought—no company would rent at low prices.

Wu Yuchen continued:

“My script’s title is ‘Bus 44’—it’s Route 44. Just treat it as a suburban line.”

“Besides, buses exist in every country and region; almost everyone has ridden one. Viewers will immediately feel immersed, believing this could happen right next to them.”

Jiang Qin silently nodded—she hadn’t realized there was this deeper intention.

After friendly negotiations with the bus company manager, they rented a bus for five days at 180 yuan per day, on the condition that the company first teach Jiang Qin how to drive.

They didn’t need to fully train her—just teach her the startup procedure, how to drive straight on an empty road, and how to stop. For filming, they only needed a few shots; these two days of training were mainly to give Jiang Qin the demeanor of a female driver.

“Route 44? Can’t I just give you any bus?” Manager Liu said.

“You can use any bus for training, but for filming, it must be Route 44.”

“You film people have so many demands,” Manager Liu grumbled, but he agreed, swayed by the money.

While Manager Liu went to fetch someone, Jiang Qin asked: “Why do we need Route 44 specifically?”

“Think about the fate of everyone on the bus,” Wu Yuchen reminded her.

Everyone on the bus except the male lead dies—“four” sounds like “death.”

Realizing this, Jiang Qin’s eyes sparkled as she looked at Wu Yuchen. She hadn’t noticed so many subtle details in the script—her admiration for him deepened.

The woman assigned to teach Jiang Qin how to drive was female—Wu Yuchen had specifically requested it.

But he couldn’t just leave Jiang Qin there; security in 1995 was far worse than in the future, especially for a beautiful woman. He had to ensure her safety—she was helping him make a film, after all.

Still, by the end of the day, the two had grown noticeably closer.

That night, Wu Yuchen dropped Jiang Qin off at the women’s dormitory. Suddenly, she said, a little shyly:

“Wu Yuchen, I need to apologize to you about something.”

“Huh? What?” Wu Yuchen was puzzled.

“When you came for your interview, I led you the wrong way—you ended up at the Acting Department, and you missed your audition.”

“I never saw you again after that, so I couldn’t find you to apologize.”

“Luckily you got in—if you hadn’t, I’d have felt terrible.”

After she finished speaking, Wu Yuchen didn’t reply. She turned to look—he stood frozen, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

“I’m really sorry—I didn’t mean to.

I didn’t hear clearly, and you looked like you were auditioning for Acting.”

As she apologized, she added an explanation.

“You, you...” Wu Yuchen stammered, then finally said:

“Just do your acting well. Go back now.”

Jiang Qin nodded, sensing something odd about Wu Yuchen, but didn’t dwell on it. She said goodbye and turned into the dormitory.

Watching Jiang Qin’s shadow stretch longer under the light, Wu Yuchen’s gaze grew complex.

He remembered his past life—he too had come to audition for Beijing Film Academy’s Direction Department, but got lost and only realized his mistake halfway through. Though he eventually reached the right place and got a second chance, his performance was ruined by the shock—he failed to get in, and instead enrolled in an obscure school to study photography, slowly climbing his way to directing.

The person who led him astray back then had been Jiang Qin!

How could Wu Yuchen’s emotions not be tangled?

Maybe without that mistake, his past life would have taken a different path—maybe his directing career would have been smoother?

But now, Beijing Film Academy had accepted him.

Wu Yuchen suddenly understood: wasn’t this heaven giving him a second chance? To return and walk a different path at this pivotal moment?

Should he blame her—or thank her?

His mind swirled with thoughts. He stood below the dorm for a long time, then exhaled deeply, his emotions finally calming.

Grasping the present and focusing on the future mattered most.

No matter what, this lifetime he would live with his own brilliance.