Reborn as a comedic artist

The camera zooms in.

Having already prepared himself thoroughly, Wang Shuo stood in front of a pile of cement bags, his eyes instantly becoming empty and numb, as if his soul had been ripped away by this heavy life.

He suddenly bent over, used his arms to exert force, and slammed the fifty-kilogram bag of cement onto his shoulder.

At this moment, he is not a millionaire internet celebrity; he is a microcosm of countless working-class people.

As the rhythm picked up, Wang Shuo's unique, deep voice boomed through the sweltering air:

"Wow, working like a pig just to get rich...!"

He carried the cement, his steps unsteady yet resolute as he walked forward.

Each step kicked up a cloud of dust.

The camera followed his every step, capturing large beads of sweat sliding down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging him, yet he couldn't blink.

.....

The scene changes.

Wang Shuo squatted in the corner of a dilapidated shed, holding a large stainless steel bowl in his hand.

The bowl contained only clear broth and water.

He shoveled food into his mouth, his cheeks bulging, but his eyes were fixed on a point of nothingness in front of him. It was the most primal desire for food, and also the most silent indictment of life.

"I'm against eating without meat...!"

This line of lyrics carries a mix of humor and heartache.

Immediately afterwards, he slammed the bowl down, as if it were some kind of decisive signal.

"A choice made out of desperation, so incredibly difficult, all for the sake of a simple meal of four dishes and a soup...!"

......

Wang Shuo rushed into the scorching sun again, his actions even more frantic than before.

He carried and put down bag after bag of cement.

The workers who were watching were initially amused by the spectacle.

But as I watched, my smile gradually faded.

This isn't acting at all.

This is clearly the kind of life they experience every day.

That figure, working so hard to prepare "four dishes and one soup," reminded me so much of myself when I was young, and also of my child who is currently studying.

Cheng Ming stood behind the monitor, his eyes focused.

Wang Shuo is in phenomenal form right now.

The physical limits and the psychological release were perfectly integrated.

"My mouth tastes bitter, like I have heatstroke. Heatstroke is terrifying. Hang in there! Before I could even cry, a white sheet was already covering me in the hospital...!"

When Wang Shuo sang this part, it was as if his bones had been removed.

He swayed precariously under the scorching sun, his eyes beginning to glaze over.

That dizziness wasn't an act; he genuinely couldn't take it anymore.

But he persisted.

He portrayed the struggle of being on the verge of collapse but unable to, wanting to die but unable to, to the fullest extent.

Finally, with a dull thud, Wang Shuo collapsed onto the scorching cement floor.

The scene switched instantly.

Li Qiang, who had already changed into a white coat and was wearing a mask, walked into the camera with a blank expression.

He held a clean white cloth in his hand, his movements mechanical and cold, and slowly covered Wang Shuo's head.

This scene was both absurd and ironic to the extreme.

Life and death are merely a transition in the lens.

........

The music continues; the real climax is yet to come.

Under the white sheet, Wang Shuo suddenly sat up and ripped off the white sheet that represented death.

His face was covered in a mixture of dust and sweat.

"We're all exhausted, often injuring our lumbar spines, working late into the night, and risking serious injury if we're not careful...!"

He stood up shakily and walked once again toward the pile of cement that seemed to never be finished.

This time, his steps were unsteady, and his legs were trembling, but he gritted his teeth.

These words pierced the hearts of every worker present like a sharp blade.

Old Liu's fingers were burned by the cigarette, but he was completely unaware.

"We really can't let them all die. In this dusty sky, let's wipe out your lungs and destroy your bodies...!"

"Those lying in the hospital all have regrets, but there's no turning back now. They're barely clinging to life, and it feels like there's no chance of recovery...!"

Wang Shuo's voice became hoarse.

He carried cement, staggering forward in front of the camera, with a towering, unfinished building that didn't belong to him in the background, and construction debris scattered everywhere under his feet.

This strong visual impact, combined with the straightforward and explicit lyrics, creates a kind of comical feeling called "reality".

"It's like I'm not human, just barely surviving in this society. The difficulty of making money and the hardships of life make me feel hopeless...!"

The camera zoomed in, giving Wang Shuo a close-up.

Those eyes held tears, bloodshot eyes, and even more so, a sense of resentment and mockery towards fate.

.....

The scene shifts again.

This time it was in front of the small shop in the workers' shed.

Wang Shuo was holding a bald mongrel dog he'd found somewhere on a leash, and a bottle of cheap Erguotou liquor in his other hand.

The stained vest paired with ripped camouflage pants and rubber shoes with greasy big toes showing through, made him look incredibly disheveled.

"Walking my mongrel dog, buying alcohol at a small shop, my ideals are left to rot in a corner, endlessly stinking..."

He tilted his head back and took a gulp of wine. The spicy liquid flowed down his throat, choking him and causing him to cough repeatedly.

That sense of despondency, that sense of giving up, that feeling of powerlessness after being ground down by reality—it practically overflows from the screen.

"Camouflage underwear and tattered rubber shoes, the sweltering heat relentlessly penetrated, infecting that pack of dogs as poor as me, their dreams filled with chaotic barking...!"

Wang Shuo pointed to the stray dog ​​beside him, then to himself, and finally to the camera, as if pointing at every viewer in front of the screen.

His expression began to contort, as if he were laughing, yet also as if he were crying.

"Suffering begins to ferment, ideals are brainwashed by reality, passion is burned away by laziness, how many more years will it take to get rich? Right now, all I want is to make money. Time to dream, let's go to sleep together..."

After singing this line, he came to the rope that had been set up beforehand. Wang Shuo remained in that posture of looking up at the sky and howling, frozen in the center of the image of him preparing to end his life of suffering before hanging himself.

"Merciful Father, I have entered a land of abundance...!"

............

The surroundings were deathly silent.

There was no applause, no cheers.

Only the monotonous roar of the mixer in the distance continued tirelessly.

The workers who were watching remained silent.

Some looked down at their cracked hands, while others looked up at the blinding sun with unfocused eyes.

They don't understand what art is, nor do they understand what postmodern deconstruction is.

They felt as if this chubby young man had shouted out all the things they wanted to say but couldn't.

That feeling was both exhilarating and unpleasant.

"Card!"

Cheng Ming's voice broke the silence.

"That's a wrap! We're done!"

With that command, Wang Shuo seemed to have been drained of his last bit of strength, and he sat down heavily on the ground, panting heavily.

"Holy crap, I'm going to die! This is even more tiring than carrying cement last time...!"

Wang Shuo wiped the mud off his face and slumped down.

Cheng Ming walked over and handed him a bottle of mineral water, his eyes showing a rare hint of approval.

"Well done."

"That's right, don't you even know who I am...!"

Wang Shuo took the water and gulped down more than half the bottle in one go, only then feeling a little more alive: "Just now, I really considered myself a part of this place. That feeling of despair was truly unbearable...!"

"Art originates from life, yet transcends it; but for them, it is life itself..."

Cheng Ming patted him on the shoulder, his gaze fixed on the departing figures of his fellow workers in the distance.

Wang Shuo was stunned for a moment, then followed Cheng Ming's gaze.

Old Liu, his back hunched, urged his fellow workers to continue working.

They may have been touched, or perhaps saddened, but life doesn't stop because of a song.

The manual labor continues, and life goes on.

"Alright, stop reminiscing, hurry up and pack your things. We have enough footage here, but we still need to add more scenes and integrate some GG (gameplay elements)..."

Cheng Ming withdrew his gaze and regained his usual composure.

My abilities are limited, but I hope that after the video is finished, it can bring some help to this group!

……