Cheng Ran’s injuries were severe, with multiple fractures requiring surgery. Ye Zhou stayed at the hospital for two weeks, only returning to China after ensuring Cheng Ran’s condition had stabilized.
Before leaving, Ye Zhou assigned two bodyguards to Cheng Ran and left him several contact numbers.
Most of the contacts were well-renowned mentors who could greatly assist Cheng Ran if he chose to pursue an acting career.
Additionally, Ye Zhou arranged for Cheng Ran to move into a secure apartment with private security, which was undoubtedly safer and offered better protection than his previous residence.
Ye Zhou had done much for Cheng Ran, but this was the extent of his help.
Cheng Ran recognized the value of these resources and understood Ye Zhou’s good intentions. He knew Ye Zhou had gone above and beyond, yet he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sadness.
On the day Ye Zhou and Jiang Tingyuan left, Cheng Ran accompanied them to the entrance.
The weather was unusually clear, with a cloudless sky and brilliant sunshine. As Cheng Ran watched Ye Zhou’s figure recede into the distance, he suddenly mustered the courage to call out to him.
“Ye Zhou!”
Ye Zhou turned back at the sound. Cheng Ran stood there in his oversized hospital gown, which made him appear even smaller and frailer. His gaze was fixed intently on Ye Zhou, eyes burning with an intense fire.
“I know you want to win awards with ‘Rewind.’ If that’s the case, don’t settle for less.”
“If you can’t find the right actor, why not wait for me?”
“I’ll study relentlessly and hone my acting skills. In the future… I mean, if you haven’t found a suitable actor for your film by then, let me try again!”
Cheng Ran’s voice boomed, as if he had summoned all his strength. His words brimmed with absolute confidence, bold and proud, yet tinged with caution and a hint of uncertainty.
But more than anything, it was determination – a resolve to succeed at any cost, like burning one’s boats to leave no way back.
Ye Zhou was stunned. Looking at Cheng Ran’s pitiful state, wrapped in bandages, he burst out laughing, so hard he started coughing.
Pointing at his own leg, he called out, “Let’s focus on healing that leg first. I’d hate to see a new disabled superstar in the industry anytime soon.”
Cheng Ran, embarrassed by the teasing, lowered his head and mumbled after a pause, “Mind your own business. I won’t end up disabled!”
Though he said this, Cheng Ran’s heart raced at Ye Zhou’s use of the word ‘superstar’. His eyes shone brightly, as if filled with all the stars in the sky.
A superstar? That was… that was quite a dream. Once thought impossible, now this distant dream seemed within reach again, glittering tantalizingly close.
The distance between them was too great for Ye Zhou to hear Cheng Ran’s words. He cupped his ear, leaning forward slightly, and shouted, “What did you say?”
Ye Zhou’s voice snapped Cheng Ran back to reality. People around them were starting to stare, drawn by the commotion. Feeling self-conscious, Cheng Ran licked his dry lips, looked at Ye Zhou, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called out, “I said…”
The words caught in his throat. Cheng Ran pressed his lips together, then spoke softly, in a voice only he could hear, “Thank you.”
Ye Zhou, having caught only the first two words, looked baffled. He was about to ask again when a car horn sounded outside.
Ye Zhou turned towards the noise and saw Mr. Jiang’s car waiting at the entrance.
With no time to inquire further, he waved vigorously at Cheng Ran. “Bye!”
Cheng Ran watched the car leave, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. In a voice no one could hear, he bid Ye Zhou farewell.
“Goodbye.”
I hope that when we meet again, I’ll be someone who can help you.
——
After returning to China, Ye Zhou had planned to continue his search for actors, but a phone call disrupted all his plans.
Shortly after landing, before he could even adjust to the time difference, Ye Zhou received a call. The caller was a woman with a slightly husky voice, but her manner of speaking was refined and composed, easily closing the distance and inspiring goodwill.
Ye Zhou was groggy from sleep. Normally, he might have hung up after a few words, but this call was different. He glanced at the number on his phone, racking his muddled brain for a while, but couldn’t find any clues in his memory.
He forced himself to focus and asked, “Who is this?”
The woman’s voice on the other end didn’t seem to mind Ye Zhou’s confusion. Instead, she spoke softly, patiently introducing herself, “Hello, Director Ye. I’m Sang Yu, Director Sang Huaining’s niece.”
Hearing Director Sang’s name, Ye Zhou’s foggy mind instantly cleared somewhat. He slapped his face hard, and once his senses returned, he quickly said, “Hello, hello.”
Hearing his suddenly alert voice, Sang Yu’s brow, which had been furrowed for days, finally relaxed slightly. But this relief was fleeting as she looked through the glass of the hospital room door at the elderly man sleeping in the bed, her eyes reddening.
“My uncle suffered a cerebral hemorrhage over a month ago and was admitted to the hospital. His condition hasn’t been good these days. Before falling ill, he mentioned you many times. He always praised you and said he very much hoped to work with you.”
“I’m sorry for contacting you so late. I hope you don’t mind.”
Ye Zhou was stunned by this news. Since his video interview with Director Sang, he hadn’t heard any news about him.
He had assumed Director Sang was dissatisfied with his interview and had chosen someone else to collaborate with. He had been disappointed for a long time about missing the chance to work with his idol.
But he never imagined that Director Sang’s silence wasn’t due to dissatisfaction with his performance, but because he had been hospitalized for health reasons.
Even though Sang Yu didn’t go into detail about Director Sang’s condition, Ye Zhou could sense the gravity of the situation.
In the industry, besides his brilliant works and textbook-worthy filming techniques, Director Sang was also admired for his dedication to his craft.
The veteran director had devoted his entire life to the film industry he loved, often spending months researching to perfect a single scene.
He was renowned for nurturing talent. Whether you were a novice actor, director, or someone with some experience facing setbacks or a career low, if you had talent, Director Sang always treated everyone equally, generously offering opportunities.
For a highly respected director like Director Sang, even if he had been dissatisfied with Ye Zhou’s interview, he would have graciously communicated this rather than leaving him in silence.
It had been over a month since Ye Zhou’s interview and this call from Director Sang’s niece. Such a long silence indicated the severity of Director Sang’s condition.
Ye Zhou slapped his forehead, his voice filled with urgency and concern, “How is Director Sang now? Which hospital is he in? May I visit him?”
His immediate concern for Director Sang’s health rather than the film project softened Sang Yu’s already gentle voice, “Of course, if you’d like.”
Ye Zhou quickly received a text from Sang Yu with the hospital’s address and room number.
He jumped out of bed, hastily dressed, quickly freshened up, and rushed out, heading to the hospital according to Sang Yu’s directions.
Ye Zhou recognized the hospital – it was where Mr. Jiang had once taken him for a brain check-up when he suspected Ye Zhou was sick.
Coincidentally, just as Ye Zhou entered the hospital, he encountered the middle-aged doctor who had examined him a few years ago. The doctor clearly remembered Ye Zhou and greeted him from afar.
“Hey, aren’t you that…”
Ye Zhou covered his face, pretending not to hear and quickening his pace, but the overly familiar doctor caught his arm as they passed.
To prevent him from bringing up the embarrassing past, Ye Zhou quickly plastered on a bright smile, exchanged hasty pleasantries, then showed him the address on his phone, asking, “Ge, do you know how to get to Kangxin Building?”
The middle-aged doctor grinned upon seeing the address, patting Ye Zhou’s back, “I’m heading there to pick up some reports. Come on, I’ll take you.”
With the doctor leading the way, Ye Zhou’s journey became much smoother. They easily found Kangxin Building, and the doctor escorted him to the elevator, giving detailed directions to the specific room before they parted ways.
As the elevator doors were closing, Ye Zhou sincerely thanked the middle-aged doctor, who smiled and waved back.
The building had 37 floors, much larger than a typical office building. Even with the doctor’s directions, it took Ye Zhou about ten minutes of wandering before he finally found Director Sang’s room.
Several flower baskets stood outside the room, looking fresh and recently delivered. Various expensive nutritional supplements filled the hallway.
A woman in her early thirties with a gentle demeanor sat on a bench nearby. Hearing footsteps, she looked up and saw Ye Zhou checking his phone against the room signs.
Sang Yu stood and approached Ye Zhou, extending her hand. “Hello, you must be Mr. Ye Zhou. I’m Sang Yu.”
Due to their previous phone conversation, they didn’t exchange many pleasantries and quickly got to the point after a brief handshake.
Sang Yu led Ye Zhou to the room, explaining, “My uncle has regained consciousness, but he’s only awake for short periods each day. The doctors say he needs more rest before starting rehabilitation.”
Through the window, Ye Zhou saw the elderly man in bed. Though it had been just over a month since their video call, Director Sang appeared much thinner and frailer, having lost his previous vitality.
Seeing this change, Ye Zhou felt deeply saddened.
Sang Yu sighed softly, “Uncle’s health has been poor for the past two years. We’ve all urged him to rest, but his passion for film won’t let him.”
“Since he woke up, he’s been insistent on contacting you, asking me to see if you’re still willing to work with him.”
“Work together?” Ye Zhou’s eyes widened in surprise. “But can Director Sang handle the hard work of filming given his current health condition?”
Sang Yu fell silent for a moment, then smiled bitterly, “It’s his wish. If we don’t let him film, he might regret it for life.”
Ye Zhou sensed something off about this statement but couldn’t pinpoint the issue. His voice grew hoarse as he looked up at Sang Yu, “Is there… anything I can do to help?”
Seeing that Ye Zhou didn’t refuse, Sang Yu wiped her eyes, her voice full of apology.
“Given my uncle’s current condition, he can’t complete this film alone. Most of the burden will likely fall on you.”
Ye Zhou hesitated, “But Director Sang values this film so much. I’m not sure I can meet his standards.”
Sang Yu smiled, “He trusts and believes in you greatly. Have you heard his assessment of you?”
Ye Zhou was stunned.
“A bright future lies ahead, full of promise.”
Since we’re down to the less than 10 chapters before KMCF is completed, please help me decide what series to work on next. You can check the poll posted on my kofi page. It is open for everyone, and will be open until July 3.
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