Chapter 21: Homecoming

Beijing Youth Film Studio is a production unit affiliated with Beijing Film, primarily tasked with supporting the teaching work of Beijing Film’s various departments, and it also produces several feature films each year.

Huang Lei borrowed the camera from Wu Yuchen, and the post-production was also handled here.

Huang Lei had already arranged the equipment beforehand; Wu Yuchen even took the senior developer technician to dinner and bought him two packs of cigarettes. The technician happily assured them he’d develop the footage beautifully.

The cost of chemicals for developing was naturally covered by Wu Yuchen and his group; they could leave the developing to the technician, who’d likely finish in three or five days—perfectly timed for next weekend, when Wu Yuchen would have time to edit.

He took three days off last week with Huang Lei’s guarantee; he couldn’t take time off again next week—he had to attend class properly.

By the time he finished handling all these matters, it was already afternoon.

Wu Yuchen didn’t linger at school; he boarded the bus home.

Wu Yuchen was a native of Beijing, so he could often go home on weekends, but he hadn’t returned in two or three weeks while preparing for “Car 44.”

When Wu Yuchen opened the door and stepped inside, he saw a middle-aged man sitting stiffly on the sofa opposite the entrance, shaking a magazine in his hand and raising his eyes to look at him:

“Oh? Finally decided to come home?”

“Dad, I already told you—I’ve been busy filming these past two weeks!” Wu Yuchen said, changing into slippers as he explained.

Wu Jianping glanced at his son, clearly unconvinced—how could a freshman possibly shoot a film so easily?

“Wait a bit—your mom’s on duty at the hospital today; she won’t be back for a while. If you’re hungry, eat some fruit first.”

“Alright, alright, don’t worry about me—just read your military magazine.”

Wu Yuchen looked again at his father’s full head of black hair and felt slightly dazed.

Unlike other reincarnators whose past lives were filled with suffering, his parents before rebirth were in good health—his mother often danced in the square, his father still ran every morning, though their hair had turned white. Their only concern was his personal life—he had girlfriends but no intention of marrying or having children.

Wu Yuchen was genuinely happy to return and find his parents suddenly twenty or thirty years younger, no longer nagging him about marriage.

His father’s name is Wu Jianping—a name typical of the 1950s. In his youth, he served in the military and even fought in the Sino-Vietnamese War, earning military honors on the battlefield.

He could have risen further in the military, but during a home visit in the early 1980s, he saw his son barely recognizing him and, with a firm decision, applied for discharge to be with his wife and child. He was assigned to a publishing house, where after more than ten years, he became a senior editor—a low-level cadre, little more than a minor official in Beijing.

Frankly, Wu Yuchen’s interest in film was partly due to Wu Jianping—since the publishing house had access, they could always obtain rare cultural works, including films. Thus, Wu Yuchen grew up watching many foreign films rarely seen on the market, sparking his interest in cinema.

When Zhou Shulan entered the house, she heard the sizzling of stir-frying from the kitchen and felt puzzled—her husband Wu Jianping was a typical northern roughneck who could barely cook noodles or porridge. Who on earth had entered the kitchen?

Then she saw her husband standing at the kitchen doorway, peering inside, and asked: “Jianping, who’s that?”

Wu Jianping’s expression changed; he pointed with his chin toward the kitchen: “Go see for yourself.”

Zhou Shulan walked to the kitchen door and saw her son—the same boy who could only boil instant noodles—now holding a wok in one hand and stirring with the other, his movements surprisingly skilled.

“Chenchen, when did you learn to cook?!” Zhou Shulan asked in astonishment.

“Just learned it, Mom—sit down, taste my cooking today,” Wu Yuchen said without turning around.

Zhou Shulan was about to ask more, but Wu Jianping tugged her sleeve.

Wu Jianping pulled her into the living room and sat her down, then lowered his voice toward the kitchen:

“I think Chenchen’s fallen for a girl.”

Zhou Shulan thought about it—why else would her son, only two months into university, suddenly start cooking?

Aside from the magic of love, she couldn’t think of another reason.

A wave of jealousy surged through Zhou Shulan—she’d raised this handsome boy for nearly eighteen years, and now he was learning to cook to impress some other girl. The thought made her resentful.

Seeing Zhou Shulan rise, Wu Jianping held her back: “What are you doing?”

“I need to ask him!” Zhou Shulan said bluntly.

“Come on, don’t overthink it—Chenchen’s almost eighteen, an adult now. Let him make his own choices.”

Zhou Shulan’s face remained sour; she felt her son was being wronged. In the north, women usually cooked for men, not the other way around. Besides, her son was so handsome—he should be the one being pursued, not doing the cooking!

Wu Jianping knew exactly what his wife was thinking and smiled to comfort her:

“You’re overthinking—there’s not even a hint of anything yet.”

“Isn’t this good? At least Chenchen won’t starve himself in the future.”

“If you’re upset, just have him come home every weekend to cook for you.”

“Get lost—I wouldn’t dare take advantage!” Zhou Shulan said, though she was already planning to eat extra of her son’s dishes.

In the kitchen, Wu Yuchen turned off the stove and plated the food.

His nickname was Chenchen because a fortune-teller said his given name, Yuchen, was too grand and might invite misfortune, so his parents gave him the humble nickname Chenchen to suppress it—but since it sounded similar, only close family knew.

After arranging the five cooked dishes on the table, Wu Yuchen sat down and smiled:

“Mom, Dad, try them—what do you think?”

Wu Jianping looked at the dishes—they looked decent enough. He picked up his chopsticks, took a bite, chewed, and found it surprisingly good!

“Hmm!”

He then bit into a steamed bun and piled on another large helping.

Wu Yuchen saw his father’s eating style and knew he was satisfied; he turned to Zhou Shulan.

Zhou Shulan took a bite, realized this wasn’t the work of a beginner, and her expression darkened further. She put down her chopsticks and slapped Wu Yuchen’s arm:

“You brat—why are you neglecting your studies at university to learn cooking?

How can you waste your energy on this? How long have you been learning?”

Wu Yuchen had never expected this reaction from his mother and protested:

“Mom, I’m not! I’m studying hard at school—call our homeroom teacher if you don’t believe me!

Stir-frying’s easy—I’ve watched you do it so many times. Isn’t it just using your hands?”

Wu Jianping glanced at his son, chewing his bun and vegetables in silence.

“You’re lying to me! Chenchen, be honest—have you started dating someone?” Zhou Shulan finally couldn’t hold back and asked outright.