Chapter 83: Is It Pretty?

A moment later, Wu Yuchen walked from behind to the front of the stage and smiled: “Dear teachers, any suggestions or guidance?”

“Little Wu, your film really made us old folks feel deeply moved!”

“Nothing more to say—I already praised you and Hou Teacher enough earlier. When your movie airs, I’ll bring my kids to watch it together.”

The person laughing the brightest among those present was Director Gu. He hadn’t expected that investing just 300,000 yuan could produce such an excellent film.

“Little Wu, you’ve given our Film Channel a real surprise!”

Wu Yuchen smiled and replied: “Director Gu, as long as the Film Channel is satisfied, that’s all I ask. Actually, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Go ahead.”

“I want to submit the film to international film festivals. Would that be okay?”

Since the Film Channel was the investor of “The Two of Us,” any official submission abroad had to go through official channels—Wu Yuchen couldn’t handle it privately.

“Of course no problem! You can send this film anywhere you want!” Director Gu slapped his chest. With the subject and theme of “The Two of Us,” no one would block it—the authorities would greenlight it without hesitation.

At this point, Hou Keming spoke up: “I suggest you enter it in the Tokyo Film Festival. Japan has a strong preference for films with delicate emotional depth—‘The Two of Us’ would suit them perfectly.”

Wu Yuchen nodded in agreement: “Hou Teacher, you’re thinking exactly what I was thinking.”

Japan began entering an aging society in 1970, and by 1994, its elderly population had doubled—it had fully become an aging society.

Especially after the bubble burst, Japan entered its “lost decade,” and now society was filled with voices reflecting on structural problems—such as concerns over aging and the erosion of human warmth.

That’s why, in his past life, “That Mountain, That Man, That Dog” caused such a huge sensation and achieved high box office numbers only after its release in Japan. Now, submitting “The Two of Us” to the Tokyo Film Festival is perfect.

After seeing off everyone who came to watch the film and finalizing arrangements for “The Two of Us,” Wu Yuchen went to check on Li Xiaoran.

Entering Li Xiaoran’s room, he saw her sitting on the sofa, pouting, hugging her knees, with an envelope filled with cash on the table.

Wu Yuchen walked over, glanced at it, and smiled:

“How much did you make?”

“Two roles—4,000 yuan.”

“That’s great! You just started acting and already earned this much—why are you still unhappy?”

“I don’t want to act anymore,” Li Xiaoran mumbled.

Wu Yuchen sat beside her, watching her curiously, waiting for her to continue.

“In my first role, I played a maid. As soon as I walked in, they ordered me to kneel. After I knelt, they pointed at my nose and scolded me: ‘Can you even act?’ Later, when I brought tea to the lead actress, I’d taken one step when she shouted ‘Stop!’ She ignored me completely and told the director I was blocking her light—then she scolded me again.”

“I don’t know how to act, but you can tell me! You come in saying nothing, just yelling—this is so disrespectful!”

Li Xiaoran felt deeply wronged. She’d danced since childhood, excelling naturally and moving smoothly forward—even when she skipped class, teachers scolded her but still protected her out of pity for her talent. At the Eastern Song and Dance Troupe, she’d secured one of only three spots before graduating—she was practically the pride of the Dance Academy. How could she have endured such humiliation?

“That night, I swore I’d never act again.”

“Then why did you go back?”

“The next day, my landlord came to collect rent…”

Wu Yuchen nearly laughed out loud, quickly covering his mouth: “Then what?”

“Then I took a role in a Taiwan big production—‘The Bodyguard: Jade Doll.’ The leads were He Jiajin and Ye Tong. I played Female Role No. 18.”

Wu Yuchen thought to himself: You’ve already started far above most extras—your looks really are an advantage.

“There was extreme discrimination in the crew. Taiwan actors had their own makeup artists; mainland actors had another team. I was at the bottom of the mainland group…”

Actually, there were extras below her—but extras weren’t even allowed makeup artists.

“There was an old woman in the crew called Sister Wanjun—she only touched the heads of the male and female leads, ignored everyone else. After filming, I swore again: if I ever act in their productions again, I’ll make Sister Wanjun do my hair!”

Wu Yuchen watched Li Xiaoran’s wounded expression—he realized people only unlocked their inner strength and potential after experiencing hardship firsthand.

“The entertainment industry is brutally real. Do you know why I told you to apply to film school? If you say you’re from film school, no one would point at your nose and scold you like you’re a nobody—you’d start with far better treatment than a background extra.”

Li Xiaoran didn’t speak this time—she nodded.

Wu Yuchen smiled and said:

“If you want to go to school, you have three options: a four-year undergraduate program, a two-year vocational program, or a one-year advanced training course.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The four-year undergraduate program offers a complete, systematic education—detailed and thorough—with the highest recognition and value. The two-year vocational program covers nearly the same curriculum but compresses four years’ content into two.”

“But both require you to take the college entrance exam—you’d have to sit for next year’s test if you want to enroll.”

“What about the advanced training course?”

“The one-year advanced training course focuses entirely on practical skills and instruction—two weekend classes per week. The barrier is low: you just need to pay the tuition and register before the semester starts.”

Both the Central Drama Academy and Beijing Film Academy offered such courses. Originally designed for professional actors seeking further training, they produced great talents—like Director Chen Ming, Wei Zi, and veteran actors like Zhang Guangbei and Li Chengru all attended.

But later, the standards dropped drastically—ordinary enthusiasts could enroll, and some stars emerged too, like Yang Xue, who played Jiang Yuyan.

Li Xiaoran thought for a moment and asked:

“Are the teachers in the advanced training course the same as in the other programs?”

“Yes, the same.”

“Then I’ll take the advanced training course—I don’t want to wait until next year.”

Wu Yuchen nodded. He guessed Li Xiaoran would choose this. But back then, the teachers in the advanced training course still had integrity—they taught real substance. If you were willing to learn, you’d gain something. Still, the quality of students was nowhere near that of the undergraduate class, so few truly rose to prominence.

Actually, among the three, the vocational program had the worst atmosphere. Students in the advanced training course were all genuinely interested in acting; those in the vocational program mostly just wanted a junior college diploma or prestige.

For example, some women with decent looks would claim they graduated from the Central Drama Academy or Beijing Film Academy—this raised their “price” for being kept or sold. Later, online photos often showed luxury cars waiting outside these schools to pick up female students—most were from the vocational program.

Wu Yuchen then asked: “Have you told your parents you quit your job?”

Li Xiaoran shook her head: “I want to make something of myself before I tell them.”

Wu Yuchen understood and said: “Alright, I’ll cover your enrollment fee for now—I’m lending it to you. When you make it big, pay me back.”

This time, Li Xiaoran didn’t refuse. She lifted her chin, her big eyes fixed on Wu Yuchen’s face, and suddenly asked: “Why are you so good to me?”

Wu Yuchen sensed her words carried a test. After what happened with Ceng Li, he was more cautious now, afraid of being reckless again. He paused, then smiled:

“Hehe, you’re my sister!”

Li Xiaoran wrinkled her nose, then suddenly leaned over and kissed his cheek: “That’s the interest on the loan~”

With that, she grinned mischievously and cheerfully got up to head to the kitchen.

Wu Yuchen touched his cheek, feeling slightly conflicted—Ceng Li was still distant. He sighed. Hesitation came from lack of confidence, from not having enough status yet!

If he had Chen Kaizi’s status in China, he wouldn’t hesitate. Everyone in the industry knew about Chen Kaizi’s relationship with Ni Ping and Chen Hong—even Ni Ping pretended not to know, just hoping to turn a blind eye.

Who ever said a single bad word about Chen Kaizi? Everyone just said: “Great director, talented artist—that’s how intellectuals are!”

To achieve his goal of becoming Li Xunhuan, Wu Yuchen needed to show more talent, constantly raise his status, and keep pushing toward Kaizi!

That night, Li Xiaoran finally finished playing the ending of “The Legend of Sword and Fairy” after returning from filming.

“What a crappy game! Why did Ling’er die?! My Ling’er!”

Li Xiaoran’s eyes reddened, tears falling as she pounded the keyboard.

Wu Yuchen handed her a tissue and murmured: “But Yue Ru is still alive, isn’t she?”

“But Ling’er’s gone! What kind of stupid plot is this? Why can’t the three of them live happily together?”

Wu Yuchen handed her another tissue: “There’s An’u too~”

“Go away!”

…

The next day, a private room in a restaurant.

As Wu Yuchen opened the door, he saw Tu Honggang sitting comfortably with one leg crossed, looking triumphant. Seeing him, Tu grinned broadly and waved: “Hey, little brother, come on in—look at the menu, order whatever you want!”

Wu Yuchen knew Tu had made a lot of money this past half-year and didn’t bother being polite, but they only ordered four dishes and one soup—enough to eat.

After a few pleasantries, Tu spoke up:

“Little brother, your MV for ‘Chinese Martial Spirit’ was great. Now I want to make an MV for ‘Farewell My Concubine,’ and I thought of you.”

Wu Yuchen smiled and asked: “Thanks for remembering me, Brother Tu. Why didn’t you ask Director Zhang Guoli? I heard many singers hire him.”

Wu Yuchen remembered that in his past life, Tu Honggang and Zhang Guoli were longtime collaborators, and Zhang had directed the MV for “Farewell My Concubine”—which was quite good at the time.

Tu waved his hand:

“Don’t mention it. I went to see Old Zhang, but as soon as I found him, his son Zhang Mo got into trouble at school—he had to go home and deal with it.”

Wu Yuchen understood. Honestly, he had no interest in making MVs, so he said:

“Brother Tu, the MV I did for you last time wasn’t actually filmed—it was edited. If I had to shoot one from scratch, I might not be able to—I’ve never done it before!”

“You can definitely do it. I saw that short film you shot at the Gong Wangfu . If you can make a movie, an MV is nothing to you!”

Wu Yuchen couldn’t refuse now. He thought Tu was a good guy, and he’d seen the original “Farewell My Concubine” MV anyway—copying it with a day or two of work wouldn’t be hard.

“Brother Tu, how do you want to shoot it?”

Tu Honggang, pleased Wu Yuchen agreed, smiled and said:

I’m trained in Peking Opera. I’ve always wanted to make an MV for ‘Farewell My Concubine’—I want to blend Peking Opera elements into it. The scenes of the Overlord and Yuji must be there—the Overlord’s majesty, and Yuji’s tenderness…

Tu poured out every idea in his head like beans spilling from a sack.

“Brother Tu, you want all these effects?”

“All of them!” Tu said firmly.

Wu Yuchen realized that if Tu insisted on all this, the version Zhang Guoli had made in his past life was indeed quite good—it included everything Tu wanted.

“Brother Tu, five ten thousand yuan won’t get you the same effect as ‘Chinese Martial Spirit.’ Let me share my initial idea.”

“Go ahead.”

Wu Yuchen didn’t want to overthink—he simply recounted the original plan for “Farewell My Concubine.”

“Good! Good! Let’s do it your way—I’ll go prepare right away!”

After parting, Wu Yuchen went straight to Li Xiaoran’s home:

“Sister Ranran, I’ve got a job for you—female lead in the ‘Farewell My Concubine’ MV, 3,000 yuan. Interested?”

“Really? Of course I’ll come!” Li Xiaoran was desperately short on cash, and Wu Yuchen couldn’t help but smile at her joyful leap of excitement.

The original female lead in the MV of “Farewell My Concubine” was actually Yin Qiaoqiao, and rumors spread that she had an affair with Zhang Guoli during filming, caught by Deng Jie. Wu Yuchen was actually doing Zhang a favor!

It’s just an MV—anyone could’ve been chosen, so naturally he picked Li Xiaoran, who was closer to him.

Besides, giving Li Xiaoran more filming experience now would make it easier for her to take on roles while attending her training class. Wu Yuchen planned to offer her real opportunities after she’d studied for a year—otherwise, with her current inexperience, any good chance would likely be wasted.

It was too bad Ceng Li wasn’t in Beijing; she was trained in Peking Opera and would’ve been the perfect choice.

The MV shoot was straightforward—plus prep and props, it was all done in two or three days.

A few days later, Tu Honggang watched the newly finished MV on TV:

It opened with Yu Ji weeping, then unfolded the story of “Farewell My Concubine” as she turned the opera script. Then came Tu Honggang leading the extras, striking ancient Chinese war drums with martial vigor, each drum emblazoned with the character “Ba.”

The sky flashed with scenes of ten thousand horses galloping—just a few brief shots transported viewers to a distant ancient battlefield, as if Xiang Yu himself stood before them.

The powerful drumbeats, paired with forceful lyrics, ignited instant passion. Li Xiaoran’s graceful dance movements were perfectly timed, complementing Tu Honggang’s commanding presence.

When the MV ended, Tu Honggang clapped with delight:

“Perfect! I didn’t pick the wrong person! Come on, bring your wife—we’re going out for late-night skewers!”

“Tu Ge, we two…”

“Come on, don’t be shy—I can tell what’s going on between you two! If you like her, go after her! What’s there to be afraid of?” Tu Honggang patted Wu Yuchen on the shoulder, lecturing him.

Wu Yuchen couldn’t explain his relationship with Li Xiaoran, so he just shook his head.

Seeing this, Tu Honggang dropped the subject and drove them off in his newly bought car toward a barbecue joint in Xizhimen.

At the barbecue spot, Tu Honggang ordered a mountain of food—only stopping when Wu Yuchen and Li Xiaoran held him back.

After a few minutes of laughter and chatter, Tu Honggang grinned and asked Li Xiaoran:

“Xiaoran, let me ask you—do you have a boyfriend?”

Li Xiaoran paused peeling her peanut and replied openly: “Nope!”

Tu Honggang burst out laughing and gave a thumbs-up:

“Look at this brother of mine—good-looking, makes great videos, writes songs and composes music—his talent’s undeniable! Aren’t you even considering it? Once this chance is gone, it’s gone forever!”

Wu Yuchen was caught off guard by this sudden ambush and coughed several times.

Li Xiaoran glanced at Wu Yuchen beside her and smiled at Tu Honggang: “Maybe he just doesn’t find me attractive~”

Then she lowered her head again and resumed peeling peanuts.

Tu Honggang noticed Wu Yuchen’s expression—he wasn’t stupid. He realized things weren’t as he’d assumed, maybe he’d said the wrong thing, so he quickly changed the subject: “Hey, why’s our barbecue taking so long to come?”

Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and headed straight for the counter, escaping the awkwardness.

At the counter, Tu Honggang asked: “Boss, why isn’t our food ready yet?”

“Sorry, yours isn’t done yet.”

Tu Honggang glanced at the table beside them and pointed:

“They came after us—why are they served first?”

Before the boss could answer, the man at that table snapped back:

“Who the hell are you pointing at?”

“Who I point at is none of your business! I’m just asking for my food—what’s it to you?!”

Tu Honggang, not one to be intimidated, glared down at him.

“Try pointing at me again, you little shit!” The man leapt to his feet, sneering.

“I’m pointing right at you, you little bastard—so what?!”

After Tu Honggang left, no one spoke at the table—only the sound of Li Xiaoran peeling peanuts.

Wu Yuchen was still mulling over Li Xiaoran’s earlier words when a sudden crash erupted nearby.

Both turned to look—Tu Honggang had overturned a table, kicked one man to the ground, and was sprinting back toward their table.

Wu Yuchen immediately stood up, shielding Li Xiaoran on one side, unsure of Tu Honggang’s intent—was he fleeing or fighting? If he was running, Wu Yuchen would grab Li Xiaoran and bolt immediately; the other side clearly had numbers.

Tu Honggang leapt over in three strides, skidded to a stop, yanked a set of keys from his pocket, and thrust them into Wu Yuchen’s chest, shouting:

“Forget me! Drive the car away! It’s brand new!”

Wu Yuchen couldn’t help but laugh and sigh—so that’s why!

Tu Honggang grabbed a nearby folding table, spun around, and charged back: “You son of a bitch!”

Wu Yuchen looked at Tu Honggang, charging like a battle god, then at Li Xiaoran beside him—he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the exit.

Once seated behind the wheel and starting the car, Wu Yuchen thought: Tu Honggang never even asked if he could drive—but maybe he didn’t want to drag them into trouble. He really was a decent guy.

Li Xiaoran, in the passenger seat, fretted: “What do we do? Will Tu Ge be okay? They looked like a lot of people!”

Wu Yuchen drove over a hundred meters, then stopped and quickly pulled out his phone to call the police.

After dialing, he considered going back to help—but feared leaving Li Xiaoran alone, so he could only pray the cops would hurry.

Maybe Wu Yuchen’s call worked, or maybe the restaurant had called immediately—within five minutes, several officers entered the shop.

Wu Yuchen and Li Xiaoran both exhaled in relief. He drove back and parked across the street, then crept to the entrance: inside, chaos reigned—broken bottles littered the floor, six or seven people, including Tu Honggang, were huddled against the wall, heads down, being scolded by the officers.

Wu Yuchen spotted Tu Honggang—his face seemed unharmed, though his clothes bore several footprints; nothing serious. But one of the others had a gash on his forehead, blood trickling down.

Tu Honggang caught sight of Wu Yuchen at the door, shook his head, and signaled with his eyes for him to leave.

An officer at the door asked Wu Yuchen: “Do you know them?”

Wu Yuchen shook his head: “No. I was just watching.”

He understood Tu Honggang’s meaning—if he got involved, he’d be taken in for the night.

“What’s so interesting? Go home—it’s late!”

Wu Yuchen smiled at the officer, then turned and walked back to the car.

“How’s Tu Ge?”

“He seems fine. I’ll call his company—they’ll handle it.”

Hearing this, Li Xiaoran patted her chest and sighed: “Good. Tu Ge’s a good guy—just a bit hot-headed sometimes.”

After the call, Wu Yuchen smiled: “That’s just his nature. Otherwise, how could he sing ‘Farewell My Concubine’ so well? He and the song are one.”

With that, Wu Yuchen restarted the car and drove Li Xiaoran home.

The summer breeze drifted through the window, brushing Li Xiaoran’s face—cool, gentle, soothing. Neither spoke much on the ride; the awkwardness from the dinner table had returned.

At the building, the car was off. Wu Yuchen was about to step out when he noticed Li Xiaoran still hunched over:

“What’s wrong?”

“The seatbelt’s stuck—I can’t unfasten it.”

“Let me see.”

Wu Yuchen leaned over, pressing the buckle repeatedly—after a while, a click sounded.

He exhaled in relief, lifting his head—then his gaze accidentally slipped into the low neckline of Li Xiaoran’s top.

Today, her short-sleeved shirt was cut unusually low; from his angle, the view was utterly unobstructed—the towering peaks left him momentarily stunned, unable to look away.

“Nice view?”

Li Xiaoran’s voice snapped him back. He looked up—her eyes met his. Those once pure, lively eyes now held a hint of seduction. They stared into each other’s gaze; the air thickened with something strange.

The next moment, the two embraced without a word.