Rebirth 02, the Celestial Being Told Me to Stop Pretending

The money is in place, but the script still needs polishing.

The script in his hand was, strictly speaking, a bare shell. The structure and framework were there, but the dialogue had too many rough edges, and the comedic pacing wasn't precise enough.

In his past life, when he was a producer, he saw too many scripts die because they didn't get to the final polishing.

Just like home renovation, once the hard furnishings are done, but the soft furnishings aren't, you'll always feel like something's not right after moving in.

Ning Hao also realized this problem.

"My wife is a screenwriter," Ning Hao said as he ate Lanzhou noodles, his chopsticks holding a thin, translucent slice of beef.

"Let her see."

"Your wife?"

"Yes, Xing Aina. She writes screenplays."

Lu Chen paused for a moment while holding the bowl of noodles.

Xing Aina, of course he knew that name.

In her past life, she was involved in all of the films and TV series "Crazy Stone", "Crazy Racer", "No Man's Land", and "Breakup Buddies".

"Breakup Buddies" grossed 11.7 billion yuan, becoming the highest-grossing Chinese-language film of 2014.

Ning Hao's later success as a director with billions in box office revenue can be attributed half of the credit to this woman.

But in 2002, Xing Aina was just a struggling screenwriter in Beijing, revising manuscripts in a basement, and nobody knew her.

"Okay, let her see it," Lu Chen said.

Ning Hao put down his chopsticks and wiped the grease from his mouth: "Let's go, let's go now."

"Now?"

"She revised the manuscript until 3 a.m., slept in the morning, and didn't wake up until the afternoon. Now is the perfect time to go."

Lu Chen thought to himself, "This schedule is even more outrageous than my previous life."

Ning Hao rented a room in the basement of an old residential area outside the North Third Ring Road. To be precise, it was a semi-basement, with the window half-exposed above the ground.

It's like the kind of house where the main characters' family lived in the 2019 South Korean CJ Entertainment film "Parasite".

Lu Chen followed Ning Hao down the stairs. The stairs were very narrow, and it was difficult for the two of them to walk side by side.

"Watch your step," Ning Hao said, turning around.

"Last month I slipped and twisted my ankle, and I was bedridden for three days."

"You're a director, you sprained your ankle and were bedridden for three days, who's going to take care of you on set?"

"My wife is in charge. She was scolding me while cooking noodles for me."

Lu Chen couldn't help but laugh.

Reaching the innermost iron gate, Ning Hao took out his key to open it. The lock was a bit stiff, and he had to turn it twice before it opened.

The moment Lu Chen pushed open the door, he smelled a mixture of smoke and instant noodle seasoning packets, a smell remarkably similar to that of a male dormitory in a university.

The room wasn't big, about 15 or 16 square meters. A double bed took up half the space. The blankets on the bed weren't folded, and next to the pillows were a few scripts and a half-smoked pack of Zhongnanhai cigarettes.

A folding table stood against the wall, on which lay an old-fashioned desktop computer with its screen lit up. Several red pens and a pile of crumpled A4 papers were scattered around it.

There were two bowls of noodles on the table, with chopsticks resting on the rims, and the soup had thickened into a thin film.

A short-haired woman was leaning over a table, clutching a red pen in her hand, scribbling something on a piece of paper.

She was wearing a faded gray sweatshirt with frayed threads on the cuffs, and her hair was casually tucked behind her ear with a pencil.

She didn't even look up when Ning Hao entered the room.

"You're back? The noodles are cold, heat them up yourself."

"I didn't come here for noodles." Ning Hao closed the door.

"I brought you someone."

The short-haired woman paused, pen in hand, but didn't look up: "Who?"

"Lu Chen. The one I mentioned to you."

Xing Aina raised her head and glanced at Lu Chen.

Xing Aina has a very ordinary face, not the kind of face that makes people remember her at first glance, but her eyes are very bright, with the kind of sharpness that comes from someone who has been dealing with words for a long time.

She sized up Lu Chen for no more than three seconds, then said four words:

"Bring me the script."

Isn't it "hello," "sit," or "drink water"?

Bring me the script.

Lu Chen found this woman interesting.

He had met no fewer than a hundred screenwriters in his past life. Most of them would exchange pleasantries and gossip before subtly inquiring about the project budget.

Xing Aina was different; she skipped the formalities and went straight to the point.

He took the script out of his bag and handed it to him.

Xing Aina took it, turned to the first page, and began to read.

Ning Hao moved two folding chairs over and gestured for Lu Chen to sit down.

Xing Aina reads the script very quickly, but not in a superficial way. Instead, she stops at each page and marks it with a red pen.

Sometimes it's crossing out a line of dialogue, sometimes it's writing a few words in a blank space, and sometimes it's flipping back to read it again.

About twenty minutes later, she turned to page thirtieth and put the script down.

Lu Chen and Ning Hao looked at her at the same time.

Xing Aina threw the red pen on the table, leaned back in her chair, stared at the ceiling for three seconds, and then said three sentences.

First sentence: Dao Ge's storyline is too weak.

Second sentence: The comedic rhythm of the dark-skinned man is off.

Third question: Who do you plan to cast?

Before Lu Chen could answer, Xing Aina had already picked up her pen, turned back to page seventeen, and started scribbling next to Dao Ge's lines.

She writes faster than she reads a script, her red pen drawing arcs on the paper, crossing out more lines than she writes.

Ning Hao leaned over to take a look, his lips twitching: "Could you please stop crossing out all my lines?"

"What you wrote, you call that dialogue?" Xing Aina asked without looking up.

"This is called the instruction manual. 'Brother Dao slams his fist on the table in anger'—the audience comes to see the show, not to see you write your director's notes."

"Then how do you suggest we change it?"

"Tell him to stop banging on the table," Xing Aina said.

"A truly angry person doesn't slam the table; they'll remain quiet. You have to let Brother Dao sit down slowly, light a cigarette, take a puff, and then say, 'I'm a man who values ​​rules the most.' That's what dialogue should be."

Ning Hao paused for a moment, then slowly nodded.

Lu Chen sat in a folding chair, watching this scene, and thought to himself, "This is Xing Aina."

In his past life, he had script meetings with countless screenwriters. Most of them could only point out what was wrong with this part, but couldn't explain why.

Xing Aina is different; she can not only point out problems, but also provide solutions directly, and her solutions are even better than the original ones.

In their previous life, this kind of person would have earned at least 200,000 yuan per episode as a screenwriter.

"Sister Xing," Lu Chen said.

"Don't call me 'sister,' it makes me look old." Xing Aina still didn't look up.

"...Teacher Xing."

"And don't call me teacher, I can't teach you." She finally looked up at him. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"I'm ten years older than you, you can call me 'sister' if you want." She paused for a moment.

"But when you called me Sister Xing just now, the way you looked at me was off, like you'd known me for a long time."

Lu Chen's heart skipped a beat. This woman's intuition was too sharp.

"I just think you've made good changes." He said without changing his expression.

"If you revise it well, then listen to me, but don't look at me like that." Xing Aina lowered her head and continued writing. "I'm not your mother."

Ning Hao almost burst out laughing, but quickly covered it up with a cough.

Lu Chen was momentarily speechless.

Han Shangping at least talks business with you, but Xing Aina doesn't even talk business with you; she just starts making changes.

But Lu Chen knew that this was exactly what he needed.

The script in his hand has a structure that is Ning Hao's strength, as is the visual rhythm, but only Xing Aina can polish the comedic dialogue.

Those lines from "Crazy Stone" that made you laugh and still linger in your mind afterward, like "I'm a very rule-abiding person, and public toilets are places you can come and go as you please," were all written by Xing Aina.

"You'll get credit as a screenwriter," Lu Chen said.

Xing Aina stopped writing.

She slowly raised her head and looked at Lu Chen. This was the first time she had looked at him directly for more than three seconds.

"What did you say?"

"You'll get credit for the screenplay," Lu Chong repeated. "Your credits will cover whatever changes you made. You deserve it."

Xing Aina stared at him for about five seconds, her gaze shifting from scrutiny to a subtle approval.

"You're quite generous."

"It's not that I'm stingy, it's that I know what's valuable," Lu Chen said. "A good screenwriter is more valuable than a good director, and there aren't many people in this industry who truly understand this."

Xing Aina's lips twitched, as if she wanted to laugh but held it back.

She lowered her head and continued revising the script, but her writing speed slowed down significantly, indicating that she was thinking rather than simply producing output out of habit.

Ning Hao watched this scene from the side, feeling a little surprised. He had been with Xing Aina for so many years and knew her too well.

This woman has an extremely accurate judgment of people. The fact that she said "not stingy" shows that she approves of Lu Chen as a person, and not just his project.

"Alright," Xing Aina put down the red pen.

"That's all for today. Starting tomorrow, both of you will come in person; I need you to confirm every single change."

"Okay." Lu Chen stood up.

"Also," Xing Aina pointed to the two bowls of cold noodles on the table, "bring some food next time you come. I could smell the sourness in Ning Hao's noodles at lunchtime, but he didn't realize it himself."

"I didn't eat it!" Ning Hao quickly protested.

"Yes, you didn't eat it. You held it for a while, smelled it, and then put it down." Xing Aina rolled her eyes. "Wasting food."

Lu Chen couldn't help but laugh.

When I stepped out of the basement, it was already dark and the air was cold, but it smelled much better than the damp, musty smell inside.

"Your sister-in-law is pretty amazing," Lu Chen said.

"Hmm." Ning Hao turned up his collar to block the wind. "Back when we came from Taiyuan to Beiping, we only had two thousand three hundred yuan between us. She never said a word of refusal."

"What about when you were filming 'Incense'?"

"She invested all of her savings of 150,000 yuan."

Ning Hao's voice was very flat, as if he were talking about something very ordinary: "After filming, the two of us ate nothing but noodles for two months."

Lu Chen remained silent.

He recalled his past life, where he had seen too many director-screenwriter partnerships, most of which were based on mutual interests and ended up breaking up once the project was over.

But Ning Hao and Xing Aina were different; their lives were bound together. Not in a romantic, whispered way, but when they were rolling around in the mud, neither of them would let go.

"You just said she should get credit for the screenplay," Ning Hao suddenly said. "Thank you."

"Thanks, you're all hooking up with mynah birds?"

"That's not what I meant." Ning Hao looked at him. "She's been with me for so many years and written several scripts, but she's never been credited. You're the first person to voluntarily give her credit."

Lu Chen paused for a moment, then said, "That's because the people before didn't know its value."

Ning Hao didn't say anything more, and the two walked along the Third Ring Road towards the bus stop.

Passing by a roasted sweet potato stall, Lu Chen stopped and bought three: one for himself, one for Ning Hao, and one left over.

"This is for your sister-in-law." Lu Chen handed the roasted sweet potato to Ning Hao. "Just say you bought it."

Ning Hao took it, glanced at him, his lips twitched, but he didn't say anything.

It was set by the people who set the rules.