Rebirth 02, the Celestial Being Told Me to Stop Pretending

I hit the back of my head on the metal bed frame railing; it really hurt.

Lu Chen opened his eyes and saw a yellowish ceiling with a Chow Yun-fat poster with curled edges pasted on it, and a small mirror taped to the side.

The air smelled of instant noodle seasoning packets, mixed with the smell of sweat and cheap cigarettes.

These three things together can basically pinpoint the location of male university dormitories in China in the early 21st century.

He didn't move.

It's not that I don't want to move, it's that information in my brain is gushing out like water from a burst dam, and my temples are throbbing.

The original owner of this body was also named Lu Chen, 21 years old, a 2001 undergraduate student majoring in directing at the Beiping Film Academy. His father was in the building materials business, owning a factory and a villa in Shunyi.

After his memories spun around like a revolving lantern, Lu Chen finally sorted out one thing.

He traveled through time, or more accurately, he was reborn.

In his previous life, he was one of the top three gold medal producers in the country, and the total box office of the films he handled exceeded 20 billion.

At the age of forty-one, he worked three consecutive all-nighters to personally oversee the post-production of a major project, and then suffered a heart attack and died suddenly in the editing room.

Starting over in this life wouldn't be so bad.

The Directing Department of Beijing Film Academy is a place that countless filmmakers dream of getting into.

In his previous life, he was a producer and never formally studied directing, so this is like making up for lost time.

Lu Chen took a deep breath, preparing to sit up. The Nokia feature phone next to his pillow rang.

The old-fashioned ringing sound, mixed with electrical static, was particularly jarring in the quiet dormitory.

He picked it up and glanced at the screen: Dad.

"son."

"Um."

"I have something to tell you, but don't be in a hurry."

"you say."

"The cash flow has dried up. We owe more than six million yuan. The factory was seized this afternoon, and your Uncle Zhang and the others took everything they could."

There was a pause of about three seconds.

"Your Uncle Zhang has some connections in Guangdong Province. Your mother and I are taking the train south tonight to avoid trouble. I still have 176.3 yuan in your card; it hasn't been frozen yet. You'd better take care of yourself."

"Beep beep..." The phone call ended.

"Yeah, now my living expenses are really cut off," Lu Chen thought to himself.

Lu Chen looked at the call time on the screen: one minute and twelve seconds.

Then a short message pops up at the top of the screen: Insufficient balance, please pay in time.

He placed his phone next to his pillow and stared at the Chow Yun-fat poster on the ceiling for a long time.

More than six million.

This was over six million in 2002. In 2002, the price of a house within the Third Ring Road in Beiping was about four or five thousand yuan per square meter. Over six million could buy a large apartment of 1,200 square meters within the Third Ring Road.

In other words, the original owner's father didn't just lose some money; he risked his entire family fortune, along with the next ten years or so.

Lu Chen sat up and looked around.

The wardrobe was half-open, with two expensive-looking brand-name shirts and a leather jacket hanging inside, but the pockets were turned inside out, probably because the original owner had searched for cash after learning the news.

Under the bed was a pair of nearly new Nike basketball shoes, on the bookshelf were several empty mineral water bottles, and on the windowsill was a cactus that was almost dried up.

This was all his possessions.

No, there's still 176.3 yuan.

Lu Chen put on his shoes and went downstairs, where he ran into his roommates Zhao Bo and Wang Yan returning from outside.

Zhao Bo was carrying two plastic bags filled with stir-fried dishes from the cafeteria, while Wang Yan was carrying a stack of CDs.

The two people were stunned when they saw Lu Chen. Then their eyes met quickly, as if they had exchanged some information. Then they looked away at the same time, pretending to be nonchalant.

"You're back?" Zhao Bo stepped forward and greeted Lu Chen.

"Mm," Lu Chen replied.

"Have you eaten? I brought back two dishes." Zhao Bo lifted the plastic bag up a little, but the movement was a bit awkward, as if he wanted to hand it over but didn't want to.

"No, I'm not hungry."

Lu Chen walked past them and went downstairs.

Wang Yan's hushed voice came from behind: "I don't know how that news got out. Did you tell him?" Zhao Bo replied: "What good would it do? The whole department knows."

Lu Chen did not turn around.

He realized something when he walked out of the dormitory building: the original owner's reputation at school might have been worse than he had imagined.

He needs to think a few things through.

First, money. How long could one hundred and seventy-six yuan and thirty cents last in Beiping (Beijing) in 2002?

Second, reputation. The news of the Lu family's bankruptcy has already spread. Judging from his experience in those two seconds when he went downstairs just now, his social death at Beijing Film Academy is a fait accompli. He, Lu Chen, has "collapsed."

Third, his way out. In his past life, he was a top-notch film producer, possessing all the information about the Chinese film industry for the next twenty years. This was his only weapon, his only trump card.

Lu Chen stood at the dormitory entrance, looking at the hazy sky in the distance, and let out a deep breath. He took out his Nokia phone from his pocket and opened the text message inbox.

Two unread text messages: one was a mobile payment overdue notice, and the other was from the landlord: "Xiao Lu, you're half a month behind on the rent this month. If you don't pay soon, I'll come and take the apartment tomorrow. Also, please check the water and electricity bills."

He put his phone back in his pocket and patted his pants pocket.

There was a bunch of keys in the left pocket, a few loose coins in the right pocket, and a wallet in the back pocket. Opening it, I found a meal card, an ICBC bank card (presumably the one the original owner's father mentioned had 176.3 yuan), and several one-inch ID photos.

Lu Chen clicked his tongue: "You know what, he's quite handsome. What did I have to do with the Heavenly Banquet if I met you in my past life?"

He needs to figure out what to eat for dinner first, and then he needs to find a way to get more money.

In his past life, he had seen too many stories of entrepreneurship and too many cases of bankruptcy turning around. The core logic was always the same: use the least amount of resources to leverage the greatest amount of leverage.

But now he can't even find a fulcrum for the lever, I'm really speechless.

But it doesn't matter. He has plenty of ideas and brains, and besides, he's a genuine direct descendant of the Beijing Film Academy.

Lu Chen walked out of the school gate at a moderate pace, with his back straight, just like usual.

I ran into a few acquaintances on the way. They either pretended not to see me while talking to the person next to them, or they cast a slightly mocking and appraising glance at me from afar.

He did not avoid any scrutinizing gazes.

Because in this circle, once you bow your head, you can never raise it again.