Chapter 162

Two days later, Zhou Mingxing arrived at Sanchaling Village, covered in dust from travel. He called over Wei Sheng, shut the door, and spent the entire night talking with Chen Shu.

At dinner, seeing the three of them chatting and laughing at the same table, Chen Qingyao bit her lower lip and walked over to greet them.

Chen Shu still wore that same cheerful smile, as if he wasn’t the one who had been put in an awkward position by her just days ago.

That only made Chen Qingyao even more uneasy.

But in the following days of filming, there was no sign that Director Chen was giving her a hard time. In fact, the entire production seemed to be moving along faster than before.

Still, Chen Qingyao couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Unable to bear it any longer, she called her agent.

After hanging up, Liang Aiai felt uneasy too. She asked around but didn’t hear anything about Chen Shu bringing in some top-tier screenwriter to revise the script. After thinking it over, she could only try to reassure Chen Qingyao and told her to focus on finishing her scenes for the movie.

“Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye on things. Once the final cut is ready, we’ll definitely get to see it first. If the production dares to cut your scenes, don’t be polite—we’ll see them in court,” Liang Aiai said, trying to comfort her artist.

Little did they know, with Zhou Mingxing on board, Chen Shu didn’t need to go looking for some big-name screenwriter.

Because both Wei Sheng and Zhou Mingxing had recommended the same person: Liang Yi.

There was no helping it—Teacher Wang Wu (Liang Yi’s pen name) wrote such hilariously addictive scripts that once you read one, you couldn’t forget him. Even as a “love rival,” Zhou Mingxing had to admit that Teacher Wang Wu had a spark of genius when it came to screenwriting.

When Chen Shu heard they might be able to bring on the screenwriter of “Daji Reborn,” he was overjoyed and agreed to the collaboration with Zhou Mingxing on the spot.

“What about casting?” In front of the investor, Chen Shu didn’t dare act high and mighty, so he humbly asked for Zhou Mingxing’s input.

“Since it’s our own company investing, we’d prefer to cast from within our talent pool first. Of course, if we really can’t find someone suitable, we’ll be counting on Director Chen to give us some good recommendations,” Zhou Mingxing replied smoothly.

Chen Shu was very pleased with that answer.

As a director, the worst thing is when investors insist on force-feeding certain actors into the project. It’s not that money can’t be spent, but there has to be a fit. No matter how good-looking or talented an actor is, if they don’t suit the role, even if the director puts his life on the line, it won’t work.

Think about it—if you cast a forty-something man with a wrinkled face and a beer belly to play a sixteen-year-old high schooler, who’s going to watch that?

Fortunately, Zhou Mingxing was investing in this drama with the goal of making money and winning awards. He and Wei Sheng were on the same page: running an entertainment company is ultimately about profit, not promoting individual stars. To put it bluntly, artists are resources—put the right resource in the right place, and if it brings in money for the company, that’s enough.

Blindly trying to boost someone’s career? Sure, you can throw money at it and hype up their market value, but then what? Milk their fans dry? Keep churning out garbage films for quick cash? And when the artist’s commercial value is used up and they’re no longer popular, just toss them aside and start hyping up the next idol?

That wasn’t what Zhou Mingxing wanted.

He’d already made enough money in this lifetime to last three. In the years he had left, he wanted to leave behind something meaningful in China’s film and television industry.

Take, for example, the new Rural Revitalization drama Wei Sheng and Chen Shu had mentioned. After multiple discussions between him and Chen Shu, they decided to scrap the movie idea and go straight into producing a full-length TV series—with a carefully polished script.

Liang Yi never imagined that while sitting at home, a new script opportunity would fall right into his lap.

And the person coming to discuss business with him? None other than the future stepson he’d been trying so hard to win over… Wait, when did he become the go-to screenwriter for Zhou Mingxing’s company?

“Uncle Liang, have you ever seen the 1983 version of Song of Sending Off the Lover?”

“What?” Liang Yi blinked, confused.

So, Wei Sheng spent two hours rewatching the classic film with him—the one that had once drawn crowds across the country.

Liang Yi had seen it before. In fact, for his generation, even if you were deaf or blind, you’d still have seen or heard of that movie. Back then, there were only so many films in circulation, and Song of Sending Off the Lover, with its borderline romantic elements, was already considered daring for its time.

Young men and women were obsessed with it. If they heard it was playing somewhere, they’d ride their bikes for two hours just to catch a screening.

But it had been so long that Liang Yi had nearly forgotten the plot. He vaguely remembered the tragic romance between the leads and the folk song the male lead sang before his death.

He never expected to watch it again after all these years.

But classic films are timeless. Even after a century, they can still move people with their themes of patriotism and love. People from that era were shy about expressing emotions, which made a single handkerchief, half a letter, or even a forgotten melody enough to stir deep memories of someone dear.

After watching the film, Liang Yi had only one thought in his heart: he wanted to confess to Hu Qianqian.

They weren’t young anymore. Every day wasted was one less day they could spend together. Liang Yi didn’t want to end up like the male lead in the movie—regretting on his deathbed that he never told the girl how he felt. He could be touched by such a story, but he absolutely didn’t want to live it himself.

If Wei Sheng knew that he had, completely by accident, pierced the final veil between his mother and his “soon-to-be stepfather,” he’d probably regret it to his core.

But at the moment, he had no idea.

“Uncle Liang, the people of Langshan have sacrificed so much for the rise of our nation!”

“Seventy years ago, three hundred men from Sanchaling went into the mountains, deep behind enemy lines, risking their lives to deliver vital intelligence. Not one of them came back alive…”

“Forty years ago, Langshan mobilized its people to build a reservoir to support the country’s hydropower development. Two generations of hard work laid the foundation for the economic rise of eastern China…”

“Now, life is finally getting better for people across the country. But in Langshan, in Sanchaling, there are still folks who can’t even bear to buy rice or flour to eat. When I saw them roasting potatoes in the hearth to serve us, it really broke my heart.”

“Uncle Liang, there are so many screenwriters in the industry. Do you know why both Mr. Zhou and I want you to write this script?” Wei Sheng asked.

Liang Yi replied, “Isn’t it because I’m cheap?”

Wei Sheng: “…”

“Ahem! It’s not about the budget. And besides, your rates have gone up! Don’t change the subject. What I mean is, you’ve been a lawyer for so many years, helping countless people at the bottom of society with legal aid. I don’t think there’s any other screenwriter who understands better than you just how important the phrase ‘educating before alleviating poverty’ really is.”

Liang Yi nodded. “That’s true. Sigh… Some people, they could stand on their own and earn a living, but they’d rather kneel and beg like beggars…”

That was exactly why Liang Yi liked Wei Sheng.

Years ago, Liang Yi had been just like him—full of passion, believing that with enough skill and dedication, he could serve the country and help the people.

And what was the result?

A battered housewife, nearly beaten to death, came to him for help. Liang Yi spent countless hours and risked his own safety gathering evidence to put the abuser behind bars and win her freedom. But in the end, all it took was the man’s family saying, “Think of the child,” and the woman not only dropped the charges—she voluntarily went back to live with her abuser.

After returning to his hometown to start a business, Liang Yi was extorted by the local village tyrant. Even though he had solid evidence that could land the guy in jail, his relatives and friends, afraid of getting dragged into the mess, came to him one after another, pleading with him not to make things worse. In the end, Liang Yi didn’t even dare ask for compensation. He abandoned his investment—over a million yuan—and fled, leaving everything behind.

Disheartened time and again, Liang Yi finally came to a painful realization. He thought he finally understood why Mr. Lu Xun¹ gave up medicine to pursue literature.

The law is indeed a weapon for citizens to protect their legitimate rights. Unfortunately, some of our fellow countrymen have already been tamed by capital, becoming its slaves. They don’t see the law as a tool to resist capital, but rather as a tail to wag in flattery. And lawyers? To them, lawyers are nothing more than props used to grovel and beg…

Disillusioned, Liang Yi had no choice but to shut his mouth and pick up his keyboard as a weapon, hoping to awaken the public through his words.

Only when ordinary people truly understand what the law means and are willing to stand up for themselves will the law no longer be seen as a pitiful, wagging tail.

In that sense, he and Wei Sheng were surprisingly aligned in their thinking.

He understood what Wei Sheng meant. Poverty alleviation wasn’t just about helping villagers sell unsold produce or donating some money. That wouldn’t solve the root of the problem.

Only by truly teaching people how to earn a living with their own hands, guiding them onto a path of sustainable prosperity, could they genuinely escape poverty.

Of course, along the way, there would be some who lost their heads after getting rich, squandering their money and eventually falling back into poverty. But as long as some people in a village became wealthy, even the rest—no matter how unmotivated—would still have better options working locally than relying solely on farming.

“Alright! I’ll write the script,” Liang Yi said suddenly. “But now that you’re back, can you stay home a few more days?”

Wei Sheng blinked in confusion. “Stay a few more days? Why? Something up?”

Liang Yi cleared his throat, his tone a bit evasive. “Your mom and I aren’t getting any younger. I don’t want to keep dragging things out. So… I’m planning to propose to her in the next couple of days.”

“What?!”

Wei Sheng—certified mama’s boy—leapt up on the spot.

(End of chapter)

Translator’s Notes

• *Song of Sending Off the Lover*: A classic 1983 Chinese film celebrated for its poignant blend of romance, patriotism, and subtle emotional expression, which captivated audiences nationwide during an era of limited film options.