Rebirth 02, the Celestial Being Told Me to Stop Pretending

At 8:30 a.m. the next day, about ten people were seated in the directing department classroom at Beijing Film Academy.

There were only thirteen students in the Directing Department's Class of 01, including Lu Chen. Eleven of them showed up today, and two others were either skipping class or late.

The classroom can accommodate forty or fifty people, but with only eleven people sitting inside, it felt rather empty. The first three rows were empty, and everyone was crammed into the middle and back rows.

When Lu Chen pushed the door open, the previously noisy sounds seemed to be paused, all abruptly stopping.

It's more uncomfortable when there are fewer people than when there are more. Because you can't hide from anyone; every glance and every whisper feels like it's right in your face.

He had seen these kinds of little tricks many times on film sets in his previous life. It wasn't that he was afraid, just annoyed. He would remain calm on the surface, but behind the scenes, he would put on a show.

Lu Chen walked to the third-to-last row by the window, put his textbook on the table, opened his notebook, and then took out a pen to start writing and drawing on it.

The two girls next to him were talking softly, but it was enough to reach his ears in the quiet classroom.

"Bankruptcy Bro is Here"

"You guys are so mean, giving someone such a nickname."

"Really? His family owes over six million?"

"I heard it from a student in the performing arts department. That student's father knows Lu Chen's father, and he said that the factory has been shut down."

"Oh my god, does that mean he has to drop out of school? He won't be able to afford the tuition."

"Who knows? Look at him, he's acting like nothing's wrong."

"No way, he's still wearing that shirt. I can't even tell if he's really rich or just pretending."

Lu Chen's pen didn't stop; he drew a storyboard sketch in the blank space of the textbook, which was the first shot of the first movie he produced in his previous life.

The composition, shot size, camera position, and movement are all clearly marked.

This is a habit he developed when thinking about problems; his brain doesn't work quickly if his hands aren't moving.

The classroom door was pushed open, and a boy wearing glasses, of medium height, wearing a dark blue polo shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, walked in. He also wore a Casio digital watch on his wrist.

His name is Sun Hao, from Harbin, Heilongjiang Province. He was in the same class as Lu Chen and had been bullied by the original owner of the body quite a bit in the past.

After entering the room, Sun Hao did not go back to his seat, but walked straight towards Lu Chen.

"Lu Chen." He stood in front of Lu Chen's desk, his hands in his pockets, a restrained smile on his lips.

"I heard your father went south for an inspection? When will he be back? Should we all chip in to help your family get through this difficult time?"

The classroom was quiet for a moment, then a few low laughs rang out.

Lu Chen was neither in a hurry nor did he offer any explanation. He looked at Sun Hao with a calm gaze, as if he were looking at a not-so-bright colleague who had asked a rather unprofessional question.

"Have you been experiencing kidney deficiency lately?"

Sun Hao's smile froze on his face. "What do you mean?"

Lu Chen put down his pen and leaned back, the chair back creaking slightly.

"Hormonal imbalances can easily lead to difficulty concentrating and a shift in focus. Your father is in business, so you should know that paying attention to your competitors' internal affairs is the most unpromising business practice, because it shows that you've lost your direction."

The classroom fell completely silent.

Sun Hao opened his mouth, but no words came out. He had prepared a whole bunch of witty remarks, just waiting for Lu Chen to blush and jump up in anger or become embarrassed and angry, so that he could add fuel to the fire in front of the whole class.

But Lu Chen's reaction was completely unexpected. There was neither anger nor sadness; it was as if he were stating a piece of medical common sense.

"You..." Sun Hao's voice was a little dry.

"Alright, go back and sit down." Lu Chen lowered his head and continued drawing his storyboard sketches, his voice neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for the people in the surrounding rows to hear.

"When you can keep a film's budget under 10,000 yuan and still produce something worthwhile, then come talk to me about business."

Sun Hao blushed, completely speechless. He stood there for two seconds, then turned and went back to his seat.

Several people made way for him along the way, but he could sense that there was no friendliness in their eyes; they were all trying to suppress their laughter.

"Your family is bankrupt, what are you still pretending for?" Sun Hao, sitting down, felt annoyed that he hadn't won the argument and muttered to himself.

In a film academy, talent is always the best shield. Even if you're dirt poor, as long as you demonstrate overwhelming professional skills, others will automatically shut up.

But the problem is, talent can't put food on the table.

With no classes in the afternoon, Lu Chen did something he had never done in his previous life: he went to the wholesale market at the zoo to buy clothes.

It's not that he likes to go to places like this; it's that he only has 176.3 yuan. After deducting the 6 yuan he spent on food today, he only has 173 yuan left. He needs to use most of this money to maintain a respectable facade.

In a place like the Beijing Film Academy, appearance is your first calling card. You can be poor, but you can't look poor.

In 2002, the Zoo Wholesale Market was a paradise for all poor students and migrant workers in Beiping, but also a hell for all those who valued taste.

Everywhere you look, there are cheap synthetic fabrics, shoddy counterfeit logos, and garish color combinations. The air is filled with the pungent smell of fabric and glue.

Lu Chen walked around inside for two hours, looked at hundreds of clothes, and finally only bought three things.

A white, old-fashioned shirt, without a label, made of regular cotton, which felt a bit rough to the touch.

But what Lu Chen valued was its cut; the neckline was very low, almost two centimeters low.

This collar style was popular in Italian brands in the 1990s. When it was later imitated in China, the collar was made higher in order to save fabric, which actually made it lose that lazy feel.

After buying it, he used a lighter to burn off all the loose threads on the cuffs and hem, and removed one button from the collar so that it could be left open.

A pair of khaki straight-leg pants, with a wide fit but a high waistline, a popular style in the late 1990s.

What Lu Chen valued was the fabric's drape. Although it wasn't high-quality fabric, the drape could be achieved through washing. After soaking it in salt water for half an hour and then drying it, the pants had a natural texture that had been washed multiple times.

A brown, old leather belt, made of synthetic leather, with a slightly faded buckle, but it's a simple square buckle without any unnecessary embellishments.

This belt looked like a cheap knock-off in 2002, but if styled well, it can have an effortlessly old-fashioned feel.

The three items together cost a total of one hundred yuan.

He spent another 50 cents to take the bus back to Beijing Film Academy, leaving him with 69.8 yuan in his pocket.

After returning to the dormitory, I looked at myself in the small mirror that was pasted on the wall.

The young man in the mirror was 183 cm tall, with a well-proportioned and toned physique, and of course, slightly defined abs.

He has deep facial features, high brow bones, a straight nose, and thin lips. He doesn't have the kind of pleasing appearance, but he has a cool and sharp look.

Wearing this outfit, he doesn't look like a bankrupt rich kid; he looks more like a private assistant to an independent film director or a writer for a niche magazine.

In short, he has that kind of aura that makes him seem neither rich nor poor.

Lu Chen put his leather jacket over his shirt and went to the cafeteria for lunch.

People would glance at him as they passed by, but no one would come up to talk to him.

That's right. What he needs now isn't social interaction, but a sense of presence. To be seen, remembered, but not understood—that's enough.

When I returned to the dormitory that night, Zhao Bo and Wang Yan were not there. They had probably gone to an internet cafe or somewhere to watch movies.

Lu Chen lay on the bed, took out his phone to check, and saw it was still out of credit. He put the phone under his pillow, closed his eyes, and began to think things through.

He spent 176.3 yuan and now he only has 69.8 yuan left. This amount is not enough for him to last until the end of the month, and he needs to find a way to convert it into cash as soon as possible.

In his past life, when he was a producer, his greatest skill was accomplishing the most with the least amount of money.

He now has no team, no resources, and no equipment, but he has something that others don't: over twenty years of industry experience in his mind.

He needs an outlet, an outlet where others can see his abilities.