Rebirth 02, the Celestial Being Told Me to Stop Pretending

The day after the film arrived at the Central Academy of Drama, Lu Chen received a call from his head teacher, Yang Lin.

"Lu Chen, a producer from Guangxian Media says they'd like to see your short film. Could you come over if it's convenient for you?"

Lu Chen was silent for two seconds on the phone.

"Teacher, I'm not available right now."

Why?

"It's not time yet."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone, then Yang Lin said, "Are you sure? Guangxian is a big company."

"Teacher Yang, these things mean nothing to me."

Yang Lin didn't try to persuade her any further, only saying "You decide for yourself" before hanging up the phone.

Lu Chen put his phone back in his pocket, stood by the window in the dormitory corridor, and looked at the students playing football on the playground below.

He has his own ideas and clear plans for the future. What he needs now is not a door, but a key.

Signing a contract with a big company can lead to being tied to an unsuitable project, unable to produce a single work for two or three years, and fading into obscurity once the initial hype dies down.

The next day, another project manager from China Film Group contacted him through the school. Lu Chen declined again, but this time he was more cautious and asked Yang Lin to help him get the other party's contact information.

That afternoon, while Lu Chen was researching in the library, he ran into an editor from the magazine "Film World".

The other person approached us on their own initiative. They wore gold-rimmed glasses and a dark gray suit, and looked to be in their early thirties. They spoke with the dignified air of a cultured person.

"Lu Chen, I'm Zhou, an editor at 'Film World' magazine. We'd like to ask you to write a column."

Lu Chen put down the book in his hand and looked the other person up and down.

In 2002, "Film World" was a significant film magazine, with its readership mainly consisting of industry professionals and seasoned film enthusiasts. Writing a column in it was tantamount to establishing a voice within the industry.

"What type of column?" Lu Chen asked.

"Regarding short film creation, we've read your recent posts on Tianya and Xici, and they're very insightful. We think you could expand on these topics and turn them into a series."

Lu Chen thought for a moment and said, "Okay, but I have one condition."

"What are the conditions?"

"I decide the content of this column; you can't change it."

Editor Zhou paused for a moment: "This...we need to review the manuscript."

"You can review the paper, but you can't change my viewpoints and logical arguments. You can offer suggestions, but the final decision rests with me."

Editor Zhou pushed up his glasses, clearly not expecting a sophomore to make such a request.

Normally, when students write articles for magazines, the editors say whatever they want, and there's no room for negotiation.

"I need to go back and discuss it with the editor-in-chief," Editor Zhou said.

"Okay." Lu Chen stood up, picked up the book, and prepared to leave.

"Wait a minute," Editor Zhou called out to him, "Aren't you afraid we'll reject you?"

Lu Chen glanced back at him: "Rejecting it won't cost me much. I don't care about those pittances in royalties."

Actually, it's still not good enough. The royalties from submitting articles to only two or three magazines are not enough to improve the current predicament.

Writing a column in "Film World" is different; it's not just about increased payment. It also gives you a voice, which is even more important.

Editor Zhou adjusted his glasses, a look of doubt flashing in his eyes.

Why?

"Because you need me more urgently than we need you. Right now, your magazine is losing readers and your audience is shrinking. You need fresh content and topics to maintain your attention. My current popularity is ready-made traffic for you."

Editor Zhou was silent for a few seconds, then said, "I'll give you an answer tomorrow."

The next day, Editor Zhou arrived as expected, with the editor-in-chief's approval.

"Three hundred words per thousand words, that's our highest standard," Editor Zhou said, his tone much more polite than yesterday.

Lu Chen quickly did the math in his head: a 2,000-word column would cost 600 yuan, and if he wrote two to three articles a month, his income would be between 1,200 and 1,800 yuan.

With the money I earned from previous magazine articles, I no longer have to worry about money every day.

"Sure," Lu Chen said. "For the first installment, I want to write about why Chinese cinema needs more genre films."

Editor Zhou was taken aback: "Isn't this a reflection on the creation of a short film?"

"I've already posted my review on Xici, so there's no point in writing it again. Genre films are a more in-depth topic and are more likely to spark discussion within the industry."

"But isn't it too technical? The average reader might not understand it."

"Those who can't understand it are not our target audience. I want people in the industry to see this article and let them know that I'm not just a student who can make short films."

Editor Zhou thought for a moment and nodded in agreement.

Lu Chen returned to his dormitory, sat down at his desk, opened his notebook, and first made an outline.

The genre dilemma of Chinese films: art films win awards but no one watches them, while commercial films make money but are criticized.

Exploring the possibilities of low-budget genre films, using "Who Turned Off My Lights" as an example. The future direction is multi-narrative structure combined with dark humor.

He spent two hours writing this 2,000-word column. The core argument of the article is clear: Chinese films do not lack artistry, but rather the ability to tell a good story within a commercial framework.

Genre films are not synonymous with vulgarity, but rather a mature narrative system. Good genre films can find a balance between commercial appeal and artistic merit.

"Genre is not a limitation, but a framework," Lu Chen wrote at the end of the article. "A good director does not dance within the framework, but dances with the framework."

He sent the article to Editor Zhou, who quickly replied with four words: "Published next Monday."

Lu Chen turned off the computer and leaned back in his chair.

He knew this was just the first step. A single column wouldn't change anything, but it could be a seed.

When he finally comes up with a decent project, this seed will sprout.

That night, Lu Chen lay in bed, staring at the Chow Yun-fat poster on the ceiling. The edges of the poster were curled, but Chow Yun-fat's eyes were still sharp; he was thinking about his next move.

The posts on Tianya and Xici have already generated a lot of buzz, the short video has been uploaded to the Central Academy of Drama and the Communication University of China, and the column article will be published next Monday, which will spark another wave of discussion.

But that's not enough. What he needs is a real project, one that can turn people in the industry from paying attention to taking action.

Sorry Ning Hao, it's you for "Diamond", which later became "Crazy Stone".

This is the highest-return film that Lu Chen can think of right now.

In its previous life, this film grossed 23 million at the box office, with a production cost of less than 3 million, resulting in a return on investment of over seven times.

If Lu Chen can finish this film ahead of schedule, he will be able to truly establish himself in the industry.

More importantly, it pioneered the genre of Chinese black comedy, transforming Ning Hao from an unknown young director into a sought-after commercial film director. Ning Hao won the Best Director Award at the Beiping University Student Film Festival last year for his student film "Thursday, Wednesday," but he's currently still making music videos and remains relatively unknown.

Next year, I will film a movie called "Incense", which won the gold award in the Asian Digital Competition of the Asian DV Competition Unit at the Tokyo Filmex International Film Festival and the Hong Kong International Film Festival.

Ning Hao is probably a student in the cinematography department at Beijing Film Academy. We could get him to work on this project together, and it wouldn't be a bad deal for him to be my assistant director.

But the problem is, he has nothing now.

He had no money, no connections, and no team. His only assets were that six-minute short film and the growing online buzz.

However, Lu Chen wasn't in a hurry. In his previous life, he started from scratch, and his greatest skill was getting something for nothing.

He turned over and closed his eyes.

My mind started playing the scenes from "Crazy Stone" automatically, frame by frame, like a projector that had been turned on.

He remembers every scene, every line, and every joke perfectly.

The only problem now is how to turn this project from a concept into reality.

But Lu Chen already had a plan. He didn't need to convince everyone; he just needed to find the right person.