After being dumped by the diva, I was picked up by her arch-enemy.

Li Jianming put down his teacup.

His gaze shifted from the old locust tree in the yard to Jiang Yichen's face.

"Comrade Xiao Jiang, I'm telling you the truth."

Li Jianming's tone turned somber.

"Your performance in Seoul truly shook the whole of Asia. 'Nocturne' broke records for plays, gained tens of millions of followers on overseas social media, and international music critics lined up to write reviews for you."

He paused.

"but."

The word "but" made the air in the yard feel several degrees colder.

"Popularity has an expiration date."

Li Jianming held up one finger.

"One month, two months at most. Once the next global hot topic emerges, these numbers will drop. In the era of short videos, everyone's memory only lasts seven seconds."

Jiang Yichen did not refute.

Because what Li Jianming said was true.

"We've been doing cultural export for over a decade. How much money have we spent? How many overseas tours have we organized? How many Confucius Institutes have we established?"

Li Jianming shook his head, his brows furrowed.

"And the result? Mainstream Western society still doesn't understand the core of Chinese culture. All they ever see are kung fu, pandas, and red lanterns. They remain at the symbolic level and have never truly stepped inside."

He looked at Jiang Yichen.

"Comrade Xiao Jiang, do you know what can truly penetrate cultural barriers?"

Jiang Yichen said, "Movie."

Li Jianming patted the stone table.

"That's right! It's a movie!"

His voice suddenly rose in pitch.

"A song, no matter how good, is over in three minutes. A video, no matter how stunning, is forgotten after you watch it. But a good movie can keep a foreigner sitting there for two hours, trying to understand the soul of another civilization."

Li Jianming stood up and put his hands behind his back.

We need a movie.

"It's not the kind of pseudo-international work that piles up Eastern elements and specifically caters to Western aesthetics."

"It is a film that is truly rooted in the deepest part of Chinese culture."

"It needs to be able to enter the main competition of Cannes, Venice, and the Oscars."

"It aims to make film critics around the world say after watching it—'So this is China.'"

Li Jianming turned around and stared intently at Jiang Yichen.

"This is more than just a movie."

"This is a 'Cultural Great Wall' project."

"It's a national mission."

The courtyard was quiet for a few seconds.

The wind rustled through the branches and leaves of the old locust tree.

Li Jianming walked back to the stone table and placed his hands on the edge of the table.

"We want you to take the lead."

"From the script to the lead actors, the country provides you with unlimited resources and no budget limit."

"If you need real locations, we'll close off the streets for you. If you need extras, the military will provide them. If you need filming locations, we can even empty the Hall of Supreme Harmony in the Forbidden City for you."

"But the prerequisite is—you have to produce a work that will go down in history."

Jiang Yichen sat on the stone bench, his fingers unconsciously twirling the teacup.

He did not agree immediately.

No budget cap is set.

National-level resource allocation.

He knew better than anyone what this meant.

This also means that if things go wrong, the consequences will be more than he can bear alone.

This isn't like making "Crazy Stone," where even if it loses money, it's only a few million.

This is a matter that the entire nation is working together to promote.

He's done; he's a cultural hero.

If he loses, he will become public enemy number one.

Tremendous stress.

But Jiang Yichen's heart was racing. Not from fear, but from excitement.

He already has something in his mind.

A blurry outline is gradually becoming clearer.

"Director Li."

Jiang Yichen put down his teacup and looked up.

"I have one condition."

Li Jianming raised an eyebrow slightly. "Go on."

"Absolute creative freedom."

Jiang Yichen's tone was calm, but every word he spoke was firm and resounding.

"I write the script, I cast the actors, and I decide the filming method. No matter how sensitive the subject matter or how daring the content, no one can interfere with my creative process before the final film is released."

"Including people in the censorship department."

"Including you."

The air in the courtyard tensed for a moment.

The two young men behind Li Jianming subconsciously took a half step forward.

Li Jianming raised his hand to stop them.

He stared at Jiang Yichen for a full ten seconds.

Then he smiled.

"Comrade Xiao Jiang, you are the bravest young man I have ever met."

He extended his right hand.

"make a deal."

"From today onwards, you are the executive producer of this project. This equates to having the highest creative authority. I'm issuing you the approval document."

Jiang Yichen grasped his hand.

Give me a week.

"I'll hand in the script."

Li Jianming patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm waiting for your good news."

He turned and left with his men. The sound of the black Hongqi sedan's engine gradually faded into the distance.

Hou Fei peeked his head out from the corner of the wall.

"Third Brother, they're gone."

Jiang Yichen did not respond.

He stood in the courtyard, looking up at the sky.

In late autumn, the sky over Beijing is high and the clouds are light.

A week?

It won't take a week.

He only needs three days.

Because that story was already etched into his very bones.

That evening.

Jiang Yichen entered the studio and locked the door.

A4 paper, pencils, and a thermos are placed on the table.

Before putting his phone into Do Not Disturb mode, he sent a message in the "Supervision and Management Committee" group.

"I'm going into seclusion for a few days to write. Don't worry, I'll eat on time."

Xu Zhiyou replied instantly: "Going into seclusion again! Last time I lost four pounds in three days! This time I'll have Butler Zhang bring every meal to your door, and you have to record it on a CD!"

Gu Ruanxing replied after half a minute: "Quiet is fine if you need it. But you have to let me know you're safe at least once a day, or I'll fly over and bang on the door myself."

Jiang Yichen replied with "Received".

Then place the phone face down on the corner of the table.

He picked up the pencil.

Take a deep breath.

The pen tip landed on the paper.

first day.

He wrote about Cheng Dieyi's childhood.

Little Bean was sent to an opera troupe by his mother. A finger was severed. The struggle and fall from "I was born a delicate woman" to "I was born a man".

The words flowed out almost without pause.

Those images were so clear.

It was so clear that he could see, with his eyes closed, a child in the snow-covered pear orchard, his throat gripped by fate.

the next day.

He wrote about the entanglement between Xiaolou and Cheng Dieyi.

It tells the story of Juxian. It tells the story of how the wheels of history crush the fate of every little person.

I wrote until four in the morning, and three pencils broke.

Butler Zhang knocked on the door to deliver the meal. Jiang Yichen opened the door a crack, took the tray in, ate a few bites, and then sat back down.

Day three.

He wrote the ending.

Cheng Dieyi sang Yu Ji for the last time on the stage.

He committed suicide.

The pen tip stopped on the paper.

Jiang Yichen stared at those few lines of text for a long time.

He put down his pencil and rubbed his sore eyes.

It was already bright outside the window.

On the morning of the fourth day, the sunlight of the capital city slanted in through the studio window, falling on the papers scattered on the table.

Jiang Yichen pushed open the studio door.

He hadn't had a good night's sleep for over sixty hours.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he had a bluish stubble on his chin. His hair was a mess. He looked like a wild man who had just emerged from the deep mountains.

But his eyes were frighteningly bright.

That kind of light isn't the exhilaration that comes after exhaustion; it's the certainty and confidence that a creator has after completing their most satisfying work.

He was clutching a thick stack of A4 paper in his hand.

It has more than two hundred pages.

Hou Fei was squatting in the yard, eating a pancake.

When Jiang Yichen came out, Jianbing almost dropped the pancake.

"Third Brother! You've finally come out!"

Hou Fei ran over and looked him up and down.

"Your face...it startled me. Are you alright?"

Jiang Yichen ignored him.

He walked straight to the stone table, sat down, and took out his phone from his pocket.

I dialed Chen Hao's number.

"Feed? Brother Chen!" There was a clattering sound coming from Chen Hao's end, like he was working in the editing room.

"Come to the capital."

"Huh? When?"

"Now."

Chen Hao paused for a moment.

"Brother Chen, what happened?"

"I have a notebook."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

Then came the sound of a chair being kicked over.

"I'm buying a ticket right now! The fastest one!"

Four hours later.

Chen Hao rushed into the backyard of the Qilin Opera Troupe, looking travel-worn.

He was running so fast that he tripped on the threshold as he entered the room, stumbled forward two steps, and bumped into the stone table.

"Brother Chen! I'm here! Where's the notebook?!"

Jiang Yichen sat opposite him and pushed the thick stack of A4 papers over.

Chen Hao grabbed it.

Turn to the cover.

Three characters.

Farewell My Concubine.

Chen Hao was stunned for a moment.

"The subject matter is traditional Chinese opera?"

He looked up and glanced at Jiang Yichen.

Jiang Yichen picked up the thermos.

"Read the main text."

Chen Hao turned to the first page.

ten minutes.

Little Bean joins an opera troupe. He is beaten, punished, and forced to sing the line, "I was born a beautiful woman."

Chen Hao still had a smile on his lips.

"This kid's character is interesting, and quite tragic."

twenty minutes.

Little Bean has grown into Cheng Dieyi. His portrayal of Yu Ji on stage was stunning. Offstage, he was inseparable from Duan Xiaolou.

Chen Hao's smile vanished.

Thirty minutes.

The Japanese army occupied Beiping. Cheng Dieyi was forced to perform for the Japanese. Duan Xiaolou was arrested. Cheng Dieyi went to save him.

Chen Hao's fingers began to exert force as he turned the page.

The pad of my finger left a white mark.

Forty minutes.

Juxian appears. Duan Xiaolou marries her. Cheng Dieyi gets drunk and smashes his sword in the snowy night.

Chen Hao's Adam's apple bobbed.

One hour.

The Cultural Revolution. A struggle session. Cheng Dieyi and Duan Xiaolou were forced to denounce each other.

Duan Xiaolou shouted in front of thousands of people, "I don't know this person."

Chen Hao slammed the script down on his knees.

"Hold!"

He cursed.

He quickly picked it up again and continued reading.

One and a half hours.

The final scene.

Twenty-two years later. Cheng Dieyi and Duan Xiaolou performed together on stage for the last time.

The gongs and drums sounded. Yu Ji's water sleeves fluttered.

Cheng Dieyi finished singing the last line.

Draw your sword.

He committed suicide.

Chen Hao closed the script.

He froze in place.

The courtyard was quiet. The only sound was the autumn wind rustling the leaves.

A long time passed.

Chen Hao raised his head.

His face was covered in tears.

It wasn't the kind of silent tears; tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, and snot was coming out of my nose too.

He opened his mouth.

His voice was completely hoarse.

"Brother Chen."

Chen Hao wiped his face hard with his sleeve.

"This thing..."

He looked down at the stack of papers in his hand as if he were looking at a living, breathing person.

"This is not a script."

"This is a life."

Chen Hao stood up, his whole body still trembling.

He took two steps, then turned back.

"Brother Chen, if this script is filmed..."

He took a deep breath and used all his strength to finish what he was about to say.

"It will win an Oscar."

Jiang Yichen put down the thermos.

So, do you dare to accept?

Chen Hao looked at him.

Tears still clung to her face, but her eyes were already burning with fury.

"catch!"

He held the script tightly to his chest.

"Brother Chen, even if this film bankrupts me, I, Chen Hao, will accept it!"

Jiang Yichen stood up and patted him on the shoulder.

"It won't lead to financial ruin."

"The government will pay for it."

Chen Hao was stunned for three seconds.

Then his knees buckled again.

"What?"

"No budget cap."

Chen Hao rolled his eyes and slumped onto the stone bench.

It took him quite a while to find his voice again.

"Brother Chen."

"Um?"

"What good deeds did I, Chen Hao, do in my past life to meet you in this one?"

Jiang Yichen did not answer.

He looked at the thick stack of scripts in Chen Hao's arms.

On the cover, the four characters "Farewell My Concubine" lie quietly in the autumn sunlight.

The story of Cheng Dieyi is about to begin.