Soul Returns to Hong Kong: From Tailor Shop to Richest Woman

Lin Lanying raised her hand and slapped him on the back of the head: "Sit still! Don't sway around in the car, behave yourself!"

Lin Qian immediately quieted down for two seconds, then couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "But is my sister really going abroad? And she's going to be making movies with those big foreign directors!"

He Dazhu sat in the passenger seat, listening to his son's ramblings. He looked at the night view flashing by outside the window, his heart churning with emotion.

He used to be someone who considered even returning to his hometown a huge deal. He worked as a carpenter on construction sites and as an apprentice in Yau Ma Tei, where being looked down upon was the norm. But now? His daughter was just sitting properly in a private room at the Peninsula Hotel, drinking tea and discussing multi-million dollar scripts with foreign directors and producers in English.

A few years ago, no, even half a year ago, he wouldn't have dared to dream of something this crazy.

Lin Ying leaned against the car window, not responding to Lin Qian's words. The neon lights outside slid across the glass, making the Hong Kong night exceptionally bright.

She had actually been quite restrained in her remarks at the dinner table: the protagonist cannot use a magic wand; Eastern sword cultivators cannot kneel down to learn from others, nor can they lose the heritage of their ancestors and use other people's rules to prove themselves—that would be assimilation.

The car stopped downstairs at Taikoo Shing, Lin Lanying paid the fare, and the family of four went upstairs.

After entering the room, Lin Qian still wouldn't stop. He changed into slippers and followed Lin Ying around, saying, "Sister, you were really impressive at the dinner table! That foreign director initially said he couldn't understand those pieces of paper, and I almost thought he was going to delete all of yours."

"It's not a piece of paper." Lin Ying put her schoolbag next to the sofa, turned around and corrected, "It's a talisman."

"Yes, yes, talismans." Lin Qian immediately corrected himself, "Anyway, if he dares to change it, I'd like to slam my fist on the table for you!"

Lin Lanying poured a few glasses of warm water from the kitchen and handed them to them: "Why were you banging on the table? How much of the foreigner's English did you understand?"

Lin Qian was speechless: "I... at least I understood the word 'magic wand'."

He Dazhu took the water and chuckled, a rare occurrence for him: "Understanding the magic wand is enough. Anyway, your older sister just drew a line, you're not allowed to use it."

Lin Lanying looked at Lin Ying: "Are you tired tonight? Do you want to take a shower and go to bed first? Don't bother with those books anymore."

"I know." Lin Ying picked up her water glass, took a sip, and said, "I won't watch it today."

Lin Lanying was relieved: "That's good. You have school tomorrow, don't overwork yourself."

After washing up, the family members went back to their rooms.

Lin Ying lay on the large bed in the master bedroom, but didn't fall asleep immediately. The room in Taikoo City was well soundproofed and very quiet. The curtains were drawn, and the streetlights outside cast a faint shadow.

She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting away.

Tonight's dinner at the Peninsula Hotel was a test of capital and dominant culture.

The foreign director asked her, "What if Western audiences can't understand the talismans?" His real meaning was simple: if foreigners can't understand them, then they should be removed immediately and replaced with wands, spells, and magic systems that they are familiar with.

Boss Peng was willing to help her control the situation at the dinner table because the film was promising and could make a lot of money. Su Zhihao was willing to sit on the sidelines as a supporting character because he knew the project was lucrative.

Lin Ying knew that there was something deeper than business.

She didn't suddenly become hot-blooded; when a minority culture is altered on someone else's table, it will eventually become a sensational gimmick, or a cheap background for the plot, or at most, just a dispensable layer of oriental patterns on the yellow-skinned protagonist.

In her past life, she lay on a sterile hospital bed, watching far too many Western films like this. Eastern elements were forcibly packaged, while the core always gave way to others. Yellow-skinned protagonists could stand on the poster, but the real logic to break the deadlock ultimately came down to that magic wand, that magic system.

Why should our own cultural heritage and energy give way to their magic?

Lin Ying rolled over, her anger burning fiercely, and slowly sat up. She walked to her desk and turned on the lamp.

The light came on, illuminating the high school math book and the thick English dictionary on the table. Beside them was a blank notebook she had prepared specifically for this purpose. She opened to the first page, picked up her pen, but didn't immediately begin writing.

For some reason, she suddenly remembered the trip she had taken with Lao Dou back to his hometown a while ago.

My hometown had mud roads, earthen walls, and dilapidated tile-roofed houses. The villagers wore drab, patched clothes, and their eyes held a calculating and ignorant look.

The mainland is very poor, and its current backwardness is real. She had taken that more than 30-hour green train journey and knew that the road was full of poverty, inferiority, and exhaustion, which could not be described by a single line of text in the newspaper.

But being poor doesn't mean being spineless, and being backward doesn't mean having no future.

That place is now looked down upon by Westerners, by outsiders, and even by many locals in Hong Kong. Even some of its own people believe that all that remains there is mud, hunger, and ignorance, and that it will never catch up with the Westerners.

Lin Ying knew perfectly well that it wasn't true.

That place will rise from the mud time and time again, forging its own path through hardship. When others doubt its potential, it will forge its own way. When others impose technological blockades, it will grit its teeth and build its own technology. When others mock its poverty, it will ultimately silence those who ridicule it with tangible results, defeating all those who looked down on it.

She will return to the mainland. Not to that dilapidated village that only knows how to ask for money and even wants to take girls hostage. She will go to a much bigger place. She wants to see the factories that have sprung up, the schools that have been rebuilt, and those places that have just opened their doors, are still chaotic, poor, and clumsy, but have already begun to run forward desperately.

Since she traveled back to the 1980s, a time of abundant wealth, it wasn't just to bring her family to live in Taikoo Shing.

If she only focuses on the little money in her pocket, all the books she read in her previous life that filled the room, the history of the rise of great powers she witnessed, and the eighteen years of illness she endured would really be a huge loss.

She wrote this film to target the international market, wanting to tell all Westerners in her own way that people of Asian descent are no less capable than them.

Lin Ying lowered her head, uncapped her pen, and forcefully wrote four characters on the white paper of her notebook:

Cultural export.

After finishing writing, she paused, the image of the frowning face of the foreign director at the dinner table flashing through her mind. She actually had some concerns. The film industry involves too many people: directors, producers, editors, and overseas distributors. If any link in the chain goes wrong, its core content could be arbitrarily altered. Boss Peng might be able to control things from the beginning, but he might not be able to control things from the end.

She can't put all her eggs in one basket with films dominated by capital.

Learn first, then write.

She's still too young; at eleven, her Grade 6 grades need to be solid to ensure she can get into the secondary school placement process next year. Secondary 1 through 7 is the real stage for building a solid foundation and a complete knowledge system. She needs to systematically learn English, mathematics, science, history, economics, and law.

Once she reaches middle school, her schedule will be more stable than it is now in elementary school, and she won't be as busy as she is now. At that time, she can start to actually write a book.

Write long novels, truly substantial works.

She wasn't just writing for Hong Kong; nor was she just writing for film companies to make quick money. She wanted to write for a wider audience, to solidify her Eastern worldview on paper, stroke by stroke.

Lin Ying continued writing a few more lines in her notebook: Eastern cultivation system, the rise of modern industry, ordinary people changing their destiny, women are not appendages, the nation is not a backdrop.

The pen nib rested steadily on the paper. Westerners can spend decades packaging magic, knights, vampires, and superheroes, and selling them worldwide. So why are Eastern swords, talismans, formations, elixirs, Taoism, and national spirit relegated to mere fancy, mysterious decorations?

Lin Ying didn't believe in this nonsense; if they couldn't understand it, she would write it until they could.

She closed her notebook. The desk lamp was still on, but she didn't continue writing. Starting too early would only result in superficial writing; she needed more experience and a broader perspective.

--------

the next morning.

When Lin Lanying pushed open the door to wake her up, she immediately noticed the notebook on the desk hidden under the math book. "Didn't you say you weren't going to study last night?"

Lin Ying had already sat up in bed and lifted the blanket: "I didn't look at it for long, I just wrote a few lines."

Lin Lanying walked over, frowning, and said, "I'm increasingly less inclined to believe your 'several lines' now."

Lin Ying smiled and did not refute.

While eating breakfast, Lin Qian was still talking about the Peninsula Hotel from last night.

"Mommy, the carpet in that hotel was so thick! It was completely silent when I walked on it. Can we have a carpet that thick in our living room too?"

Lin Lanying said irritably, "Get a 90 on your math test first, then you can talk to me about the carpet."

Lin Qian was immediately silenced and buried his head in his rice.

He Dazhu was going to work at the jade carving shop today, so he ate quickly. Before leaving, he asked Lin Ying with some worry, "Sister, you rejected that foreigner to his face last night. Afterwards... will they secretly change your script again?"

"Yes," Lin Ying answered decisively, "but we signed a contract, and if I don't agree, they can't change it. They'll definitely try to test us again."

He Dazhu sighed: "What can we do? You wrote this script with all your hard work."

"Keep an eye on it." Lin Ying picked up her milk glass. "I've had Attorney Shen keep a close eye on the contract, I'm watching the storyboard, and I'll be reviewing the sample footage. As long as they still want to use my script to make money off foreigners, they can forget about messing around."

He Dazhu nodded vigorously and patted his chest: "Okay! If you really go to a film set abroad, whether it's America or Iceland, your mother and I will definitely go with you! We can't let a little girl like you get bullied by foreigners there."

Lin Lanying, holding her bowl, also chimed in, "Your father is right. It's such a far place; a little kid like you absolutely cannot go there by yourself."

Lin Qian suddenly raised his hand: "I want to go too!"

At the same time, all three people at the dinner table turned to look at him.

Lin Qian felt a little guilty under her gaze and lowered his voice, "I... I can help my sister with her luggage."

Lin Lanying sneered, "Do you want to help me with my luggage, or do you want to go abroad to see foreigners?"

Lin Qian was completely deflated and dared not utter another word.

Looking at the people at the table, Lin Ying's restless fighting spirit gradually calmed down.

------

On February 22, St. Paul's Primary School officially opened.

In the classroom of Class 1, Grade 6, everyone still carried a bit of the carefree attitude that hadn't quite worn off during the winter break. Teacher Chen stood on the podium, tapped the blackboard, finished explaining the key points of the new semester's Chinese language curriculum, and then turned around to write a composition topic on the blackboard with chalk.

My ideal

Some people said they wanted to be doctors; others said they wanted to be lawyers in Central; and still others wanted to work at a bank.

Lin Ying sat in her seat, looking down at the composition book lying flat on the table. She held the pen, but didn't start writing immediately. Her mind flashed back to the impoverished village she had seen on New Year's Eve, and the disdainful looks in the Peninsula Hotel. Finally, her thoughts settled on the white paper filled with grand plans.

After thinking for a few seconds, he put down his pen and wrote the first line.

My ideal is to let others hear our voices.

She didn't write anything too intense or sharp in her composition, and as a primary school student, it wasn't appropriate for her to write too deeply about family, country, and the world.

She writes about how reading enlightens us, the power of language, the dissemination of stories, and the boundaries of film. She writes that she wants to share her nation's culture and heritage in a way that others can understand and respect.