Rebirth of Chinese Entertainment, the Diary of a 95 Flower

Jiang Yang replied: "Accepting money is a sign of respect for money."
Zhou Ye typed: ["Thank you for teaching me so much these past few days. It wasn't a waste of time. This is my tuition fee. Also, please keep my contract. If you give the money to someone else, you need to return this five thousand yuan to me."]
Jiang Yang messaged me: ["You're too kind. Even if you don't pay, I'll keep this contract for you for life. I'll add you to my company's internal group in a bit."]
[“That’s not a good idea, I haven’t even signed the contract yet.”] Zhou Ye typed.

"It's okay, I'll just send a few red envelopes in the group."
["OK."]
After talking with Jiang Yang.

Zhou Ye stared at his blurry reflection in the subway car window.

I am still the same person.

I feel like something's different.

Four days ago, Jiangyang's old man said that the Corolla he was driving was a broken car. Jiangyang couldn't understand it because he had been riding in a Mercedes since he was born, and subconsciously thought that the Corolla and Mercedes were in the same class of cars.

She assumed that the clothes in Uniqlo were priced the same as the affordable luxury brands she wore.

They believe that urban villages are merely gathering places for distinctive homestays.

I didn't know that some families need to calculate their water and electricity bills.

I didn't know anyone would check the price tag before buying clothes.

I don't know if anyone would agonize over a dinner that costs 200 yuan per person for half a month.

I rubbed my eyes hard, took off the filter I'd worn for seventeen years, and tried to see the world from a different perspective.

Those wrinkles that I couldn't see before are now hurting my eyes.

She fiddled with the edge of her phone case, pressing her forehead against the cold car window.

In the blurry reflection from the car window, I saw the chilblains on the hands of the woman who worked at the convenience store yesterday.

I saw an uncle shivering from holding his breath at the entrance of a public toilet, repeatedly calculating whether the one yuan fee for the toilet was worth it.

Each image, like a scalpel, slices through the thin membrane of one's cognition.

Suddenly I realized that such scenes must be commonplace in my hometown.

I can only see these things because Jiang Yang brought me here.

The old man scavenging at the garbage station had such a clean handkerchief for wrapping the cake, but my first reaction was that it was dirty.

The subway station arrival announcement sounded.

Zhou Ye looked at the hurried crowd on the platform and said in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible, "Now I see it. Does this count as a new beginning?"

I opened the post I made on WeChat Moments during the Chinese New Year.

My gaze was fixed on that line of text.

My name is Zhou Ye, the "Ye" in "wild horse."

She reposted a private message on her WeChat Moments that was only visible to herself.

The accompanying image shows Huang Lei writing his own comments outside the Beijing Film Academy after the third round of auditions, thanks to his connection with Jiang Yang.

The inscription reads: "The vitality of performance stems from reverence for reality."

Her tightly clenched fist is visible at the edge of the photo.

The caption is:
My name is Zhou Ye. "Ye" in "wildfire spreading across the plains" refers to the wildfire that burns away my former self.
Upon arriving at the entrance of Qinghua High School, I was stopped by the security guard because I didn't have a school ID. After giving my name, the guard took out his walkie-talkie to confirm, then stepped aside and his tone became polite.
"Go inside. The lecture hall is on the third floor of the main building. Don't wander off."

We arrived at the back door.

Zhou Ye quietly pushed the door open and went in.

Zhao Jinmai is speaking on the stage.

Zhuang Dafei heard the back door of the lecture hall open.

She didn't look back, holding a pen, writing something in the diary on her lap.

Whenever I have a difficult decision to make, I write it down so I can look back on it in the future.

I just wrote down today's date.

Pause.

I started flipping through the previous content.

It says:

January 3, 2011, snow.

The snow in Canada is so thick, it's like cotton candy.

I video chatted with my dad today, and he asked me, "Dafi, how's your piano teacher over there?"

Actually, during my time as an exchange student in Canada, I didn't go to the music room very often.

Every day after school, I would sneak off to watch the drama club rehearse.

I want to tell my dad that I might prefer performing to music.

But those words lingered in my throat for a while before I said them. I told my dad that the piano teacher here was great, and that I'd practice hard for a quiz next week.
Flip through the pages at random. [April 25, 2012, cloudy.]

"My parents came to the premiere of 'The Old Man's Wish'."

After the screening, the director praised my talent, and my mother smiled and patted my head.

On the way home, Dad said:
"You acted well, but this path is too difficult. You should focus on learning music instead."

I didn't say anything, I just looked down and played with the hem of my skirt.

They're right, I know.

But why does my heart feel like it's stuffed with a wet cotton ball?

In the evening, Mom heated up a glass of milk for me and said softly:

"Go to bed early, you have a violin lesson tomorrow."

Her gentleness left me without even the courage to argue.
I saw an article from 2013.

October 15, 2013, sunny.

"After filming the commercial today, my mom took me to eat my favorite ice cream."

She sat across from me, smiling, and asked, "Are you tired?"

I shook my head, but actually my face was stiff from smiling, and my fingers were trembling a little from playing the piano continuously.

But looking into her expectant eyes, I just couldn't bring myself to say that I didn't want to film anymore.

"I'm not tired, I'm quite happy."

I lied, but my mother's smile was real.
Continue reading.

It was written on New Year's Day last year.

January 1, 2015, Sunny

"For the New Year, the whole family writes a wish list together."

Mom wrote: "I hope Dafie gets into Berkeley."

Dad wrote: "I hope Dafie wins an award in the piano competition."

I gripped the pen and wrote down one last thing:
"I hope to make my parents happy every day."

They laughed and said I was sensible.

Back in my room, I stared at another note I'd secretly written: I want to apply to the Beijing Film Academy.
After thinking for a moment, Zhuang Dafei picked up her pen and wrote on the latest page:

A few days ago was the day of the third round of entrance exams for the Beijing Film Academy.

I stood at the school gate, took a picture, and wanted to send it to my parents.

My finger hovered over the send button, but I ended up deleting it anyway.

The future they envisioned for me was so bright, how could I bear to shatter it?

On the subway ride home, I stared at the billboard outside the window, looking at the smiling actress on it.

What if that were me?
At this point, Zhuang Dafei paused and pulled out a sticky note from her diary.

There are three lines of text above.

The first line was written by your father: Music is your talent, don't waste it.

The second line was written by my mother: No matter what you choose, we will love you.

Interspersed in the middle is a line of small handwriting by Zhuang Dafei herself: But what if I choose a path that even I myself am not sure about?

Music or performance?

Actually, I didn't have the answer myself.

I came to the school's seminar on "A Little Reunion" to find the answers.

The lead actor, Jiang Yang, is a very good actor. I've also heard his new song, and it's soaring in the rankings on various music charts.

She wasn't much older than me.

I wonder if Jiang Yang has the same worries as me?
How did Jiang Yang deal with it?
Suddenly, a timid female voice sounded in my ear: "Hello, is this seat taken?"

Noticing someone approaching, Zhuang Dafei closed her diary and turned her head to see the girl who was walking over on tiptoe with her neck hunched: "Sit down."

He glanced at Zhou Ye sitting next to him.

She smiled politely: "Which class are you in? Why aren't you wearing your school uniform?" (End of Chapter)