I really didn't intend to make a living based on my looks.

Chapter 97 "Ideal Thirty Years" and the Artistic Young Woman Liu Shishi

Jiang Chen left the coffee shop but did not go home.

He turned a corner, walked through the tree-lined avenue of ginkgo trees at the Beijing Film Academy, and headed straight for the graduate student building of the directing department.

At the end of the second-floor corridor, there is a classroom with a sign that reads "Graduate Class 2".

He pushed open the door and went inside, where he found one of his senior classmates.

The senior student sat by the window, holding a copy of "Film Art," with a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

He appears harmless and is an ordinary student.

Jiang Chen sat down and chatted with her for a long time.

We talked about movies, scripts, and art.

We talked about everything from Akira Kurosawa's "Seven Samurai" to Jia Zhangke's "Xiao Wu," from Hollywood genre films to European auteur cinema.

The senior student didn't talk much, but every word she said hit the nail on the head, showing a keen insight honed from being immersed in films since childhood.

Jiang Chen also talked about his ideas for "My Love from the Star".

Aliens, four hundred years, a big star, loneliness and protection.

When Jiang Chen invited her to be a co-writer and assistant director for "My Love from the Star," she didn't immediately agree. Instead, she asked a few questions about the project's implementation.

Who are the investors? Has the broadcasting platform been decided? How will the production team be assembled?

Jiang Chen answered each question one by one. She remained silent for a while before finally nodding.

Then Jiang Chen started talking about Lu Yang's movies.

He said the script was excellent and the director was very talented; all that was missing was an opportunity.

"I would like to ask you to help me meet Mr. Han from China Film Group."

The senior student looked up and gazed at him through her glasses.

Those eyes were calm, like a still pool of water.

She roughly guessed that Jiang Chen knew something, but she neither asked nor denied it.

She stared at him for a few seconds, as if weighing his worth or considering the feasibility of the matter.

Finally, she nodded.

For Jiang Chen, the script was only part of the greatest help he received after his rebirth.

More importantly, these are the identities of low-profile bigwigs in the film and television industry.

Just like this year's second-year master's students in the directing department, most people only know Wen Muye and know that he will make "Dying to Survive" in the future!

Little did they know, this bespectacled senior was actually a truly worthwhile person to associate with in the entertainment industry.

Fumino's films were able to be made because she was the screenwriter, but even more so because of her powerful network of connections!

She kept a low profile at school, and apart from the school's higher-ups, the students didn't know anything about her background.

Jiang Chen knew that her name was Han Jianu, and that she was Han Sanping's daughter!

Han Sanping, chairman of China Film Group, is the helmsman of China's film industry and controls the most core resources of the domestic film industry.

Investment, distribution, cinema chains, censorship.

A single word from him can make a film go smoothly from project initiation to release.

When it comes to attracting investment for a film, the hardest part is never the money, but the connections.

It's an opportunity to meet.

It's the ticket that will get Han Sanping to sit down and listen to your story for five minutes.

What Jiang Chen is doing now is connecting these relationships.

This is the biggest advantage that reborn people have in the entertainment industry!

April 16, Wuhan.

The promotional tour for "Sad Fairy Tale" had just ended, and it was already completely dark when Liu Shishi came out of the back door of the cinema.

September in Wuhan still carries the heat of summer, and the wind blowing from the Yangtze River feels sticky and clinging to the skin.

It was already 10 p.m. when I got back to the hotel.

She was too tired to talk. Her assistant followed behind, carrying her bag and asking if she wanted anything to eat, but she shook her head.

After entering the room, I closed the door, leaned against it for a few seconds, then kicked off my high heels, stepped barefoot onto the carpet, and walked into the bathroom.

The sound of rushing water lasted for a long time.

When she came out, she was wrapped in a white bath towel, her hair was wet and draped over her shoulders, water droplets dripping down the ends of her hair, landing on her collarbone, and then sliding down the edge of the bath towel.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wiped away the condensation on the surface with her hand, revealing a clean face.

No makeup, no filters, no retouching by a professional—this is just her.

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It's not the kind of beauty that's aggressively beautiful, but the kind that's quietly beautiful, like a delicate chrysanthemum, not vying for attention, yet impossible to ignore.

She turned to the side and looked at her figure in the mirror.

With a background in ballet practiced for many years, she had a graceful figure. She pursed her lips in satisfaction, turned around, and walked out of the bathroom.

The phone lit up.

She picked it up and saw it was a text message from Wu Qilong: "Shishi, why haven't you been talking to me lately? Are you very busy?"

She placed her phone face down on the bedside table and didn't reply.

I haven't been in a good mood lately.

Actually, it's nothing serious, but I just feel really down.

The story begins with the Golden Eagle Awards last month.

The Golden Eagle Goddess election in August has four candidates.

Liu Shishi, Yang Mi, Tang Yan, Zheng.

Fans cast their votes enthusiastically for over half a month, and she ultimately won the Golden Eagle Goddess title with 241 million votes.

Of course she was happy with this result; who wouldn't be happy in her shoes?

The Golden Eagle Goddess is chosen by audience votes, representing popularity and recognition.

But before her joy had even subsided, something happened that she couldn't quite describe.

In the days before the voting results were officially announced, Tang Yan posted a Weibo message saying, "You are the goddess in my heart," and tagged Yang Mi.

Yang Mi replied quickly, her reply sweet and showing a deep sisterly bond.

The two engaged in a back-and-forth exchange on Weibo, with fans celebrating along with them.

Liu Shishi was completely dumbfounded!

She wasn't angry, she was just a little upset.

The three of them were originally best friends. Although they weren't exactly inseparable and contacted each other every day, she always felt that this relationship was real.

But Tang Yan and Yang Mi's actions, whether intentional or unintentional, resulted in a 2-to-1 outcome, with them forming a group ahead of time and leaving her alone outside.

How can I describe that feeling?

It's like when it's your birthday, your friends come over, they give each other gifts, then turn around and say "Happy Birthday" to you before leaving.

The fans were engaged in a fierce online battle.

The arguments ranged from voting data to the character of celebrities, from those with connections to those with powerful backers, from Weibo to Douban, and from Douban to Rabbit Zone, spreading to every place where people can type.

She didn't want to see it, but she couldn't escape it.

When I open Weibo, my homepage is full of posts about it.

When I opened the private messages, they were full of fans' complaints and questions.

She didn't know how to handle this friendship.

To question it? That would seem petty.

Pretend nothing's wrong? But it's frustrating.

She rummaged through her suitcase and pulled out a physical album cover, took out the CD inside, gently placed it into her ultra-thin Sony CD player, put on her headphones, and pressed play.

The album title is "Evening Breeze and Boy".

This is a physical album that Yang Mi personally sent to me a few days ago.

Not only her, but also Tang Yan, Liu Yifei, Qi Wei, Bai ———

And there's also Li Xiaolu and the Teddy Sisters group, etc.

Everyone received a copy, and Yang Mi sent them to all her close female friends.

She didn't give away a single album of her own back then.

She clicked on the song.

Ideal Thirty Years

The intro is a guitar, softly, like someone plucking the strings in your ear.

Then came the drumbeats, not heavy, but striking my heart one beat at a time, like rain pattering on a windowpane in the dead of night.

"After the rain, a car drove by, passing through the pale twilight, the old metal car heading south, the lover was no longer there."

Liu Shishi froze completely.

These words were like an invisible hand, gently squeezing her heart.

It wasn't pain, it was a soreness, an indescribable feeling, like something was stuck in my chest but I couldn't find a way out.

A car drove by after the rain —

A scene suddenly appeared in her mind: a gray sky, a wet asphalt road, and an old metal car driving from a distance, its headlights casting two dim yellow lights in the rain.

There was a person sitting in the car, whose face she couldn't see, but she knew it was someone who was about to leave.

"Listening to the poetry radio station under the thick smoke, the unmoving cough, at least makes the journey home seem lovely."

She closed her eyes.

Thick smoke, a poetry radio station, and an emotionless cough.

These words, when put together, inexplicably reminded her of those sleepless nights during her student days.

She lay alone on her bed in the dormitory, listening to the radio with headphones on. The host's deep voice flowed through the darkness, playing songs one after another, occasionally saying a few words, and occasionally coughing.

At that time, she thought that she would be very different in the future, that she would go to faraway places, meet amazing people, and live a dazzling life.

But now?

She was sitting in this hotel room, having just finished a roadshow, and had to catch an early flight to the next city the next day.

It's not quite the future I imagined, but I can't quite put my finger on why.

"The strings have lost their grace, and the child who listened to the song that night is nowhere to be seen again."

She especially liked this sentence.

Who isn't a child listening to music?

There's a child inside everyone, a child who secretly puts on headphones late at night, turns the volume up to the maximum, and lets the music shut out the whole world.

But then the child disappeared.

It doesn't disappear suddenly; it's worn away little by little by time, by work, and by interpersonal relationships.

The strings have lost their grace, not because the instrument has changed, but because the person playing it is no longer that child.

"Time rushes by in a monologue, grinding the vicissitudes into a cassette tape, and the withered sentiments are crushed into the annals of time."

Her eyes suddenly felt a little hot.

It's not that I want to cry, it's more like I've been struck by something.

What artsy young women find hardest to resist are sentences that carry a sense of regretful aesthetics.

She didn't want the cliché of "I love you but you don't love me," nor did she want the childish notion of "we'll be together forever."

What she wanted was this: to turn those turbulent days of her youth into an old cassette tape, put it in the deepest part of a drawer, occasionally take it out to listen to it, and then laugh and say to herself, "I was so silly back then."

That's what makes this song so amazing.

It's not telling you "don't be sad," nor is it comforting you "everything will be alright." It's saying that's how time is; it takes away many things, but those things that are taken away will remain in the song.

"Just grow old, don't wake up from loneliness, the departure you long for is just a place with nowhere to stop."

She listened to this line many times, and each time she had a different feeling.

Don't wake up from loneliness. People are often unaware of their loneliness when they are alone. The real pain comes from the moment they wake up from loneliness.

You suddenly realize that you are alone in this city, no one is waiting for you to come home, no one will text you late at night to say "Are you asleep?" You open your phone and scroll through your contacts, but you can't find anyone to talk to.

Jiang Chen's lyrics are like a poem.

It tells you that you need to get used to it.

It's not that you stop being lonely once you get used to it; it's that you get used to loneliness itself.

"Just sing, squint your eyes, and the collapse of hot tears is just an existence that hasn't arrived yet."

The song has ended.

Liu Shishi sat there, motionless.

The towel slipped completely off, but she didn't notice.

These lyrics—

Like a dull knife, slowly, slowly, it cuts through the hard shell in her heart.

It's not that she hasn't heard good songs.

But this song is different.

It doesn't sensationalize or shout; it simply narrates calmly, like someone talking to themselves in the dead of night, facing an empty wine glass.

"Just grow old, and let loneliness never wake up."

She read it aloud softly.

For an artsy young woman like her, this kind of song is incredibly powerful.

It's not the saccharine sweetness of pop music, nor the anger of rock music; it's a kind of—how should I put it?

It is a sobering decadence, a gentle despair, a stubbornness that knows everything will disappear but still wants to take one last good look before it vanishes.

She suddenly realized how many films she had made, how many roles she had played, and how many awards she had won over the years.

But who will sing for her about those turbulent times, those withered sentiments, those shattered eras?

Jiang Chen.

She'd heard that name far too often lately.

Soaring popularity, universally condemned online, albums selling like hotcakes, a top-tier celebrity —

Like everyone else, she initially thought this was just a hyped-up newcomer.

But now, listening to this song, she suddenly felt—

"How can someone be so talented?"

She suddenly felt a little envious of Yang Mi.

It's not that I envy her popularity or her resources; what I envy is that her boyfriend is Jiang Chen.

How much must a person have in their heart to write a song like this?

Two days later, in a hotel in Qingdao.

Yang Mi had just finished filming "Midsummer's Love" and dragged her tired body back to the hotel.

She was removing her makeup, taking a shower, and applying a face mask when she was sprawled on the bed, bothering Jiang Chen, when the doorbell rang.

She shuffled to the door in her slippers, and froze when she saw the person standing outside.

"Shishi?"

"Honey, I—I happen to be in Qingdao for an event, so I thought I'd drop by and see you."

Yang Mi blinked and smiled.

"Come in!"

She grabbed Liu Shishi's hand, pulled her into the room, and closed the door behind her.

Then he opened his arms and hugged her tightly.

"Shishi, what brings you here? That matter—"

Liu Shishi's body stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed. She hugged Yang Mi back, resting her chin on her shoulder. "It's nothing. We're all in the entertainment industry, we all understand."

"real?"

"real."

Yang Mi released her. "So you came here today specifically to see me?"

"Um."

"Happy!" Yang Mi jumped up, and the ball shook violently.

"I'll treat you to seafood! Qingdao prawns! I heard there's a really authentic one—"

"Mimi," Liu Shishi interrupted her, "I need to ask you for a favor."

Yang Mi was taken aback: "What kind of help?"

"As you know, Nicky Wu has been pursuing me, which is really annoying. I've rejected him many times, but it's no use."

Yang Mi blinked, not quite understanding: "And then?"

"I want your boyfriend to help me," Liu Shishi looked up, her eyes serious, "to act as my boyfriend and help me reject him."

Yang Mi: "??????"

(P.S.: Just to explain to everyone, the initial subscription was only a little over 800, not quite 1000. The author isn't lying, but recently I've been updating with 8,000 to 9,000 words each time.)

(The old book is finished, with only some extra chapters left. If the average daily subscription rate keeps rising, it will definitely reach 10,000 words per day.)

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