1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 516 Pants (Request for Manuscript)
If Wang Shuo and his buddies were listening to Zhu Hong's rant, they'd be so frustrated they'd want to vomit blood.

Yes, we guys really can't write it.

But you can't doubt the guys' skills.

Of course, he was the most frustrated.

Others can't write it, but they can still talk about it. They haven't even written the first episode yet, so they don't know the tone of the whole series.

He can't.

Because he wrote the first episode.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and right now, Wang Shuo is in charge of that single step.

If he doesn't come out, everything behind him will be for nothing.

"Comrade Wang Shuo, what do you think of this part of my writing?" At this moment, Feng Xiaogang came over and showed Wang Shuo his manuscript.

Wang Shuo glanced at it and said, "The story is there, and the characters' personalities have been written out."

Wang Shuo frowned. "I just don't get the feel for this language."

"language?"

Feng Xiaogang, who had been a little smug after hearing a couple of compliments, visibly wilted again.

"What language is that?"

"Hey, how about this?"

Wang Shuo's eyes lit up, and he quickly came up with a brilliant idea: "Go find our boss and have him take a look and revise it for you."

"Oh~"

Feng Xiaogang thought for a moment, "Isn't this a bad idea? The boss ordered us to write a script, and we can't write it, so why would we go to him for advice?"

"How will he know if it's good or bad if he doesn't examine us?"

"What if the boss gets angry?"

"Get angry?"

Wang Shuo slapped his thigh and took the initiative to attack, "How could you think of the boss like that? Is he that kind of person?"

"Oh dear, this..."

Feng Xiaogang looked troubled. "Okay, then I'll go and see him."

Wang Shuo smiled slyly, "Yes, go and take a look. Don't worry."

".spit."

Feng Xiaogang went outside and spat where Wang Shuo couldn't see him.

He was a very clever person. As soon as he heard what Wang Shuo said, he realized that Wang Shuo wanted to use him as a tool.

However, he agreed not because he was being manipulated by Wang Shuo.

Rather, he didn't mind being used as a tool by Wang Shuo.

This doesn't mean he's particularly kind; rather, it means he's shrewd. He knew that if he wanted to be a screenwriter, he had to step up and seize every opportunity that might allow him to succeed.

He had observed Hai Ma and his ilk long ago. Among them, Wang Shuo was a rather special one in his eyes. He was not only a famous writer in the cultural circle, but also a talented screenwriter.

Feng Xiaogang believed that this person's future achievements would definitely be significant.

Then he'd be willing to follow that kind of person first.

If Wang Shuo uses him as a tool once, there's a possibility he might use him a second or third time.
As long as I stay by his side, maybe one day it will be my turn to shine.

Well, although he seemed to be completely manipulated by Wang Shuo, Feng Xiaogang actually had his own ideas all along.

Breathing out white steam and shivering from the cold, Feng Xiaogang took a few bus stops and soon arrived at Tuanjiehu, where Jiang Xian lived.

Looking at the towering buildings in front of him, Feng Xiaogang thought back to his own tiny dormitory room and felt incredibly shabby. He developed a sliver of ambition for such grand buildings.

This is what a man should do!
On the other side, Jiang Xian braided his daughter's hair into little pigtails, and it took him more than forty minutes to make it look less like a chicken coop.

I was just about to feed my daughter when I heard a knock at the door.

As soon as he opened the door, he saw a silly young man outside grinning at him, clutching the door frame.

"Hey, Kuzi. Uh oh, Gangzi, what brings you here?"

"Boss, I was worried you might not be home."

"If it had been any later, it really would have been gone. I was just about to go to work."

Jiang Xian invited Feng Xiaogang into the house.

"Come on, call him uncle."

"Uncle~" Jiang Niannian said sweetly as always.

"Oh, this is your daughter? This is the first time I've seen her."

Feng Xiaogang awkwardly pulled out a one-yuan bill from his pocket, thought for a moment, then gritted his teeth and handed over a five-yuan bill instead.

"Here, take the flowers."

"Hmm~"

Jiang Niannian sucked her fingers, tilting her pretty forehead up to look at Jiang Xian.

"Gangzi, what's this all about? You're being too polite. Earning money isn't easy for you either."

"Oh dear, this is for the child."

Feng Xiaogang was very savvy and went over to put the bag directly into Jiang Niannian's pocket, saying, "Take it and use it yourself. Buy whatever you want to eat."

"What would a child this age buy?"

Jiang Xian muttered a complaint, poured him a cup of tea, and asked, "Did you come here today for something?"

"Oh."

Feng Xiaogang slapped his forehead, took out a stack of manuscripts from his bag and handed them to Jiang Xian, "I wrote a section of the script, but I'm afraid it's not good enough, so I'm feeling uneasy. Could you please take a look?"

"I'll take a look."

Jiang Xian sat down, opened the script, and glanced through it briefly.

Feng Xiaogang wrote a dialogue between Yu Deli and Ge Ling.

The gist of the story is that Yu Deli accompanied his wife to the mall. His wife looked at a dress that cost 600 yuan, but Yu Deli thought it was too expensive. Afraid that his wife would be angry, he suddenly came up with a brilliant plan that saved him money and made his wife praise him. When he saw Ge Ling in the editorial department, he couldn't help but proudly show it off to her.

"Not bad."

Jiang Xian first gave Feng Xiaogang a positive comment: "The character of Yu Deli is portrayed so cleverly. He perfectly captures the stingy and cunning old fox."

"You flatter me."

"Praise should be given where it's due."

Jiang Xian smiled and said, "It saves money and appeases your wife at the same time. Gangzi, you didn't write down your own experience of appeasing your wife, did you?"

"No, no, nothing at all," Feng Xiaogang said shyly, waving his hand.

"It's just that the language is too rigid."

Jiang Xian said, "You don't need to feel too much pressure. I know that many people at Haima, especially someone like you, are self-taught and not professional screenwriters. It's very difficult for them to write scripts. But we adhere to a pragmatism. Scripts don't necessarily have to be literary works. As long as they can be used to make movies, that's enough."

"pragmatism."

Feng Xiaogang smacked Jiang Xian's words, "Boss, I understand the principle, but I just can't quite grasp the thread you mentioned back then."

"What line?"

"It's not a thread anymore, it's just that size."

Feng Xiaogang slapped his thigh and said, "To use your words, literature and art, caught between the refined and the popular, each find their place."

"Ow~"

Jiang Xian understood.

“I just can’t figure out the right balance. If I write it too plainly, it becomes vulgar; if I write it too elegantly, it becomes out of touch with the masses,” Feng Xiaogang said, explaining his predicament. Jiang Xian smiled and said, “How about this, I have a draft here. Take it back and take a look. I wouldn’t dare say that it’s very well written, but the main thing is for you to get a feel for the style of this draft. It should be pretty much the same as the feeling I’m describing.”

"Manuscript?"

Feng Xiaogang's mind raced. "Is it your new novel?"

"Yes, I just finished writing it, but it hasn't been published yet."

"Wow!" Feng Xiaogang exclaimed excitedly, never expecting to have the opportunity to see Jiang Xian's manuscript ahead of the public.

Jiang Xian took the manuscript out of the study and handed it to Feng Xiaogang. After thinking for a moment, he added, "Don't lose it. If you do, I'll hold you responsible."

His words were not unfounded.

After the script for "Stories from the Editorial Department" was completed, it mysteriously disappeared.

In the pre-computer era, losing a script meant all the screenwriter's efforts were wasted.

When Wang Shuo, Ma Weidu, and other writers from Haima saw this situation, they figured they should just give up.

Just when everyone was at a loss, Feng Xiaogang said, "I'll write it. It's better to have someone write than no one." So, we decided to give it a shot and let Feng Xiaogang write it. He wrote "Stories from the Editorial Department," and Feng Xiaogang was appreciated and rose to prominence from then on.

Later, many people said that Feng Xiaogang deliberately lost the script, while others said that Feng Xiaogang stole it himself, saying that the script he wrote later was like two peas, almost identical to the lost script.

However, Jiang Xian is more convinced that the thing he wrote later was actually written by Feng Xiaogang himself.

Stealing scripts is absurd.

And if it were a completely identical script, would Wang Shuo and Ma Weidu have let this guy off the hook? Would they have tolerated him continuing to make his own movies and working together for so many years?

Whether it's Wang Shuo or Ma Weidu, they are not people to be trifled with, and you can't easily offend them; their mouths are sharper than the other's.

Of course, Jiang Xian wasn't worried that Feng Xiaogang would actually lose it; even if he did, he could recover it, since the novel was just in his head.

It's just that the part he wrote himself was a bit more complicated.

Feng Xiaogang, carrying Jiang Xian's novel, said goodbye to Jiang Xian's house. He had barely boarded the bus when he couldn't contain himself any longer; his frozen fingers rubbed together the first page of the manuscript and glanced at it.
"A stubborn guy?"

"Huh, you've written this much already?"

He was born in a hutong near the White Pagoda Temple in Fuchengmen, Xicheng District, Beijing. After his parents divorced, he and his sister lived with their mother in a dormitory at a textile factory.

Despite the hardships, and having some Hunanese heritage, he was a native of Beijing.

People from other places might not understand the meaning of the term "wan zhu" (顽主), but they certainly do.

Feng Xiaogang continued reading:

At the crossroads of a bustling commercial street, Yang Chongzheng strode confidently toward a girl he had never seen before, standing beneath a police post.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I rushed as fast as I could, but I'm still late. Have you been waiting for ages?"

"It's alright, you don't need to apologize." Liu Meiping looked at Yang Chong curiously. "Anyway, I wasn't waiting for you, so it's fine if you don't come."

'You were waiting for me, but you didn't know it. No one else came today besides me.'

"Really? You know better than I do what I'm doing—don't interrupt me, the police are right there."

"Did I mistake you for someone else?" Yang Chong still smiled broadly, showing no embarrassment whatsoever. "Aren't you Liu Meiping? You're the head of the handkerchief counter at the department store, waiting for Dr. Wang Mingshui, the proctologist. Who's got the wrong person between us?"

'But Wang Mingshui has two moles next to his nose.'

Oh, he still has those two moles. This morning he was taken from home to the emergency room because a leader was bleeding profusely.

He then hurriedly called our company, asking us to send someone in his place, not wanting to disappoint you. My name is Yang Zhong, and I'm a salesman at 3T Company. This is my business card.

"Three-T Company?" Liu Meiping hesitantly took the business card Yang Zhong handed her, glanced at it, and said, "What's that? The name sounds like they sell pesticides."

"Three Ts" is an abbreviation for "helping others solve problems," "helping others relieve boredom," and "taking the blame for others."

'How could such a thing happen? Who are you people? Shameless busybodies?'

"We are respectable business people, aiming to fill gaps in social services. Don't you think you'd be much less interesting today without me?"

"But I'm not used to it. I was waiting for my boyfriend, but instead, a stand-in showed up, making it seem like we were really being intimate?"

"You don't need to have any ulterior motives. Our professional ethics don't allow me to seduce you in that way. We've made a vow to our customers. To put it another way, I just want to take care of you and stay with you for a day, like Wang Mingshui did."

'Are you as tender, considerate, and understanding as him?'

'I wouldn't dare say it's exactly as described—that would be a mess—I'll try to follow common sense. Where were you planning to go today?' The two walked side by side into the street.

He promised to buy me a leather coat today.

'Oh, he didn't ask me to do that.'

"I told you it wouldn't be the same; Mingshui has always been known for its generosity."

"

Feng Xiaogang was already laughing so hard he hadn't even finished the first chapter, and he was completely engrossed in the novel.

"3T Company".

What an absurd premise.

Jiang Xian wrote it in such a serious manner.

In the midst of the absurdity, the novel was written as if it were a true story, making him even believe that the 3T Company might actually exist.

As they were talking, the car arrived at the station.
Feng Xiaogang couldn't see very clearly because of the swaying in the car, so he quickly got out and returned to the courtyard in Cuihua Hutong to continue reading the novel.
"Ah, life,"

Yang Chong exhaled smoke rings, looked at the ceiling of the cold drink room, and gestured as he spoke.

"That's life. It's like playing football. A bunch of people run around, and you might not score a single goal the whole game, but you still have to play like crazy because the audience is cheering and encouraging you. Life is just running around and listening to others cheer."

"I find you particularly profound." Liu Meiping rested her chin on her hand, staring at Yang Chong with fascination, even forgetting to drink her yogurt. "Are you usually very thoughtful?"

“Yes,” Yang Chong said blankly, “I am usually very thoughtful and deep.”

"Did you go to college?"

"Hmm, I think I've been with him."

"No wonder people who have been to university are always preoccupied and deep in thought."

Do you also love to think?

"Ah, I love to daydream, I love to think about people. My profession is one that involves dealing with people, I talk to thousands of people every day, so I observe the characteristics of these thousands of people. For example, fat people usually like to buy large handkerchiefs, because fat people have a lot of snot, while thin people buy smaller ones."

Is there a relationship between glandular secretion and weight?

"Of course we're related. What in the world isn't related to what else? You and this yogurt bottle might even be related by blood. Your ancestors died, were cremated, scattered in the ground, dug up along with the soil, fired into porcelain or glass, filled with yogurt, and sold to you."

"Is this dialectics? It's quite basic."

"I don't know if it's true or not. I only know that there's a reason for everything. Even someone who sneezes can write a paper of hundreds of thousands of words and get a doctorate."

"Yes, that's right. We circulated this paper when we were in school. They don't call it a sneeze, that's a vulgar term. They call it 'a violent, audible expulsion of air caused by irritation of the nasal mucosa.'"

"You know so much."

"No, you know more."

"You know a lot."

"Ashamed, ashamed."

"Be humble, be humble."

"Let's stop arguing. This will never end. I appreciate your talent."

"I'm truly praising you from the bottom of my heart. I feel like we get along really well, like we're kindred spirits."

"No, no, I can't handle being praised."

"I'm getting angry if you keep being so modest. It's like I'm doing you a disservice by praising you."

"Then let's say I know more. Actually, I feel like we get along really well and are kindred spirits."

"I'm very happy."

"I'm also very happy."

(End of this chapter)