This director only directs blockbusters.

The day Wuershan arrived in Beijing, a yellow wind was blowing in March or April.

Yang Ning arranged to meet at a private restaurant without a signboard by Houhai Lake.

The entrance is as narrow as a slit, but once inside, it's a completely different world—a small courtyard, gray walls, and a few old locust trees that haven't sprouted yet, their bare branches sticking out in the wind.

He arrived twenty minutes early, ordered a pot of tea, and sat by the window to wait.

The wind was strong outside, making the paper windows rattle loudly. A waiter came in to refill his water, but he waved him off and continued staring out the window, lost in thought.

I ran through this person's mind.

Urshan, a Mongolian, was born in 1972.

He graduated from the Directing Department of the Central Academy of Drama and directed one movie, "Soap Opera," which was a box office flop, and then he disappeared from the public eye.

These past few years, he's been filming GG movies, and he's had a lot of work, but he's been holding back a lot of anger—Yang Ning knows this guy wants to film something big.

In his previous life, he only truly rose to prominence in "Painted Skin 2".

That film grossed over 700 million yuan, making the name Wuershan a household name.

Later, "Mojin: The Lost Legend" was even more impressive, grossing 1.6 billion yuan and raising the ceiling of domestic fantasy films even higher.

But that was seven or eight years later.

Now, in early 2004, Wuershan was thirty-two years old, living in Beijing, supporting himself by taking care of his girlfriend, and the fire in his heart had not yet been extinguished.

Yang Ning picked up the tea and took a sip; it was lukewarm.

The door was pushed open.

A person came in, enveloped in the wind. Black jacket, jeans, hair blown into a mess.

He stood at the doorway and squinted at it—

Yang Ning recognized that look; it was a habit he'd developed from staring at monitors under bright light for so long—then he strode over.

They took big strides, with the kind of vigor that only people from the grasslands possess.

"Director Yang!"

When they shook hands, Yang Ning felt the thick calluses on his palms. The location of the calluses was peculiar, the result of years of holding a pen and a walkie-talkie. Yang Ning himself had them in his previous life.

"Director Wu," Yang Ning said, releasing his hand, "Sit down."

"Don't call me Director Wu." Wuershan sat down and waved his hand. His smile was a little forced, but his eyes were steady. "Just call me Old Wu. I'm a few years older than you, but you're a big shot now, so I should be the one respecting you."

Yang Ning poured him tea. The tea rippled gently in the cup.

Wuershan held the cup with both hands, but didn't drink. He first looked at Yang Ning, scrutinizing him as if he were appraising a stranger—

He was indeed a stranger. But Yang Ning looked at him as if he were someone she had known for a long time.

"Director Yang," he began, his voice even hoarser than on the phone, "Miss Xu called to say you wanted to see me, and I booked the tickets without hesitation. To be honest, it was quite unexpected."

"What's unexpected?"

"I was surprised that you knew me." Wuershan paused, looking down at his teacup. "I haven't been very active these past few years."

As he said this, the corner of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh but didn't.

Yang Ning understood that expression—it was a mixture of self-mockery and resentment.

It's that frustrating feeling of knowing you can do it but never having the chance to prove it.

Yang Ning didn't reply, but simply waved to the waiter to order.

The dishes arrived: twice-cooked pork, Mapo tofu, and pickled fish. All are dishes that go well with rice.

Wuershan ate very quickly, but his table manners were impeccable.

He was really hungry—he came straight from the train station, probably without having eaten breakfast.

As Yang Ning watched him eat, she suddenly remembered that she had eaten the same thing when she first came to Beijing.

When meeting someone to discuss business, eat your fill first, lest the discussion fall apart and you lose your appetite.

"Filming GG (Girls' Love), the money's alright." Wuershan put down his chopsticks, lit a cigarette, "but it's not fun."

The cigarettes were Hongtashan. Yang Ning remembered them; they were cheap, but strong. He smoked them too when he was poor in his previous life.

"What kind of shots do you want?" Yang Ning asked.

In the instant Wuershan froze, Yang Ning saw something in his eyes—fire, a fire that had been suppressed for a long time but had not yet been extinguished.

Yang Ning also had that fire, or rather, he once had it. It was extinguished later, but it has been rekindled in this life.

"Big," Wuershan said, gesturing in the air before lowering his hand, "Big scenery, many people, big ideas."

His eyes lit up briefly as he said this, then dimmed again.

Yang Ning could clearly see the process of darkness descending—it was as if he was remembering reality and his current situation.

A guy who makes movies says he wants to shoot big scenes; it sounds like a joke.

But Yang Ning didn't laugh.

"I directed a film, a soap opera," Wuershan said, his voice lowering. "I wasn't satisfied with that film. I had no money, no people, and couldn't make what I wanted to do."

Yang Ning nodded: "I've seen it."

Wuershan looked up abruptly, his eyes filled with surprise.

"Have you seen it?"

"Hmm," Yang Ning said, "The visuals have an idea, but the story doesn't hold up. The camera work is well done, but the coordination is lacking. It's a good piece of work, but it's missing something."

He spoke very directly. He knew that polite words were useless with someone like Wuershan. He had heard enough of them and was tired of it.

Wuershan stared at him for several seconds, then suddenly laughed. The laugh started as self-deprecation, then slowly transformed into something else—a feeling of being seen through, yet strangely relieved.

"Director Yang, you're really being rude."

"There's no need to be so polite."

"Yes." Wuershan nodded, lit another cigarette, "It's boring."

Smoke slowly rose between the two of them.

Yang Ning looked at the cigarette and suddenly remembered something—in his previous life, he first met Wuershan backstage at an awards ceremony.

By then, Wuershan had already become famous, holding a trophy in his hand and surrounded by people.

He watched him from afar, found an opportunity to shake his hand, exchanged a few polite words, and then they were each swallowed up by the crowd.

At that time, Wuershan was full of vigor and was at the peak of his life.

Things are different now. Right now, Wuershan hasn't proven himself yet; he's still a newbie.

"So you called me here because you want to...?" Wuershan asked.

"I want to sign you," Yang Ning said.

Wuershan's hand paused. The cigarette burned between his fingers, and ash fell onto the table, but he didn't move. He looked at Yang Ning, as if he hadn't understood.

"Sign me?"

"I've started a company called Ningyuan Film Industry," Yang Ning said calmly. "I want to sign directors. You're the first."

silence.

Wuershan slowly stubbed out his cigarette. The movement was slow, as if he was stalling for time to think things through. After putting it out, he stared at the cigarette butt for a few more seconds before looking up.

"Director Yang," he said, emphasizing each word, "I thank you for thinking so highly of me. But I have to ask—why me?"

Yang Ning had already thought of the answer. But he couldn't give the full answer.

"I've seen your work, and it's quite good. I believe in your potential, and today's meeting has given me even more confidence because I can see conviction in your eyes," he said. This is true, but not entirely true.

Wuershan didn't speak. He looked down at his hands. They were rough, with paint and grease under his fingernails, bearing all sorts of marks left by life. He looked at them for a long time, then looked up.

"There will be a sequel to 'Purple Clouds'," Yang Ning continued. "I can't film it all by myself."

Wuershan's eyes lit up again. The light was very restrained, but Yang Ning saw it.

"You're asking me to..."

"What are you thinking? Come over here and be my assistant director first," Yang Ning said.

Wuershan was stunned. His expression was complex—a little disappointed, a little surprised, but mostly relieved with a sense of "I see."

He probably thought Yang Ning would directly let him direct the sequel, which was ridiculous. But letting him start as an assistant director is more reasonable and realistic.

"You'll be with me on my next film," Yang Ning said. "From beginning to end. You'll see how the storyboards are drawn, how the directing is done, how I negotiate with the cinematographer, art director, and special effects team—you'll see it all."

He explained it in great detail because he knew that this was exactly what Wuershan lacked: experience, practical skills, and the opportunity to work his way up in a real, large-scale production crew.

"Once I feel you're ready, I'll hand over the sequel to 'Purple Clouds' to you."

Wuershan opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat moved, and he picked up the teacup, his hand trembling slightly. A little tea spilled, and he quickly put it down and wiped it with his sleeve.

Yang Ning didn't rush him. He had been through similar moments himself—someone gives you a chance, but opportunities don't come for free; you have to prove yourself first. He understood that feeling of excitement, nervousness, and fear of messing things up.

"I'm not asking you to take on the main responsibility right now," Yang Ning repeated. "I'm not that crazy. But I believe you can succeed in the future."

He spoke these words with utmost seriousness, because he truly believed. He had read Wuershan's later works and knew how far this man could go. But he couldn't say now.

Wuershan stared at him, his gaze shifting constantly. From doubt, to contemplation, to understanding, and finally to a resolute determination.

Then he laughed.

"Director Yang, that's a bit underhanded of you."

"What do you mean!?"

"Let me work for you first. Only if I do a good job will I have a chance." Wuershan nodded with a smile on his face, but there was no dissatisfaction in that smile. Instead, it had a sense of "that's right." "But to be honest, this is more reassuring than if you just told me to film the sequel."

Yang Ning looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Because you didn't make empty promises." Wuershan stopped laughing, leaned forward, and rested his hands on his knees. "You said you'd let me learn first, to prove myself first—that shows you know what you're doing. It's not just empty talk; it's about me earning my skills."

He paused, looking into Yang Ning's eyes.

"Director Yang, to be honest with you, I'm most afraid of people who start off by flattering me. I've heard enough of those pretty words, and I'm tired of them. Yours is very genuine. I'll accept it."

He stretched out his hand. It was a large, rough hand, palm up, spread out on the table between the two of them.

Yang Ning grasped that hand. He gripped it very tightly.

"The next film won't be in preparation for another few months," he said. "You can come directly, come ahead of time."

"Okay," Wuershan said, shaking his hand firmly in return. "I can come anytime."

The two held hands, neither letting go first. In those few seconds, Yang Ning suddenly felt that he was not holding a person's hand, but an opportunity—an opportunity to change something.

In his previous life, it took Wuershan ten years to reach that point. In this life, perhaps it won't take that long.

After letting go, Wuershan rubbed his hands together and smiled again. This time, the smile was much lighter, as if a heavy burden had been lifted.

"Director Yang, may I ask you another question?"

"ask."

"Aren't you afraid that after I finish my studies, I'll go out and work on my own?"

Yang Ning looked at him for two seconds, then smiled. There was something else in that smile—weariness, insight, and a deep-seated confidence.

"I'm not afraid," he said, his voice soft but steady. "If you leave, it means my temple is too small to keep people here. But my temple will only get bigger and bigger."

Wuershan paused for a moment, then picked up his teacup.

"Director Yang, this toast is for you. Enough talk, let's see what happens."

"Let's see what happens."

The cups clinked together, making a crisp sound.

After Wuershan left, Yang Ning sat for a long time.

The tea got cold and was replaced, then cooled again. He stared out the window, watching the withered branches of the locust tree sway in the wind. Swaying back and forth, it seemed as if waving, or perhaps saying goodbye.

My phone vibrated; it was Xu Qin.

"Are you done talking?"

"Um."

"How is it?"

"Signed. He'll work for me, starting as an assistant director."

Xu Qin smiled and asked, "He agreed?"

"Of course I agree! How could I disagree?"

"Okay, come back. Old Xu and the others are waiting. Liu Yong said he wants to celebrate with drinks."

"What are we celebrating?"

"Let's celebrate our company's first signed director!"

Yang Ning hung up the phone but didn't move immediately.

He looked out the window, and many things flashed through his mind—the Wuershan of his previous life, standing on the podium, holding a trophy, smiling triumphantly.

In this incarnation, Wuershan sat opposite him, his hands calloused and his eyes burning with fire.

Not the same.

He changed something. It was a small change, but it really did.

The question Wuershan had asked at the end was still echoing in his mind—

"Aren't you afraid that after I finish my studies, I'll go out and work on my own?"

I'm afraid. But I'm not afraid either.

What I fear most is the same sense of powerlessness I felt in my previous life. Watching talented people being buried, good projects being ruined, and the entire industry stagnating in a quagmire, while I can do nothing about it.

What he's not afraid of is that in this life, he wants to do something for this industry and contribute to the cultural export of China. With his current abilities, he still has a chance.

Even if it's just about helping those who need it and giving those who need it a push.

He stood up; his legs were a little numb. He had been sitting in the chair for too long.

I pushed open the door and went outside. The wind was still blowing, but it had subsided a bit. The sky was still gray, but a crack had appeared in the clouds to the west, letting in a little light.

He lit a cigarette and walked into the wind.

The red dot of the cigarette butt glowed on the gray street, flickering like a tiny, persistent spark.

The sky over Beijing was overcast and gray.

But his path is becoming clearer and clearer.