Ye Zhou received the senior’s reply a week later. The other party left his contact information in the email.
After officially getting in touch, they set a time and place to meet in person.
In order to better understand what the script was trying to express during the meeting, Ye Zhou searched online for some of the senior’s works after confirming the meetup.
The senior’s full name was Song Qifan, with the pen name Yuan Fan.
He didn’t have a lot of work, but it wasn’t few either. Most were works from his student years – essays and novels that had won many awards, as well as his graduation works.
But as a screenwriter, there was little useful information to be found.
Ye Zhou read through these works repeatedly for less than a morning. Though his works were few, his talent was still evident.
Ye Zhou took this meeting quite seriously and arrived 10 minutes earlier than scheduled.
He came early, but unexpectedly, Senior Song arrived even earlier. When Ye Zhou got to the cafe, he found that he had already been there for a while, burying his head and tapping away intensely on his laptop, not even noticing Ye Zhou’s arrival.
Ye Zhou didn’t disturb him and sat down across from him, waiting for him to finish.
About 10 minutes later, Senior Song finally noticed Ye Zhou. He was so shocked he almost threw his laptop away. Fortunately, Ye Zhou reacted quickly to catch it and prevent any damage.
“I’m so sorry, Director Ye, I was too absorbed and didn’t notice your arrival…” Song Qifan spoke in a flustered tone. His glasses were crooked from the sudden movement, but he was too panicked to fix them.
Hearing his anxiety, Ye Zhou shook his head while setting his laptop down properly and reassured him, “It’s fine, it’s fine. I saw how focused you were and didn’t want to disrupt your thoughts and inspiration, so I didn’t make a sound.”
Ye Zhou’s words clearly worked as Song Qifan’s nervousness lessened slightly, though he still seemed tense.
Somewhat embarrassed, Song Qifan gave a small, shy smile and explained softly, “I’m not very good at talking, so I wanted to organize my thoughts more before you arrived and not waste too much of your time.”
From his apprehension, Ye Zhou already guessed his assumptions were right – Senior Song’s screenwriting path had likely not been smooth, and he probably faced many rejections.
Ye Zhou sighed lightly and gently said, “Senior Song, there is no need to be so polite between us. Since you sought me out, it means you believe in me. And since I agreed to meet today, I’ll definitely give you enough time. Or do you have other appointments later?”
The last line was meant jokingly, but Song Qifan immediately stood up, waving his hands, and anxiously clarified, “No, no, I have lots of time!”
Seeing how tense he was, Ye Zhou didn’t dare joke further and got straight to business.
“Here’s the thing. I’m very interested in the story you mentioned in your email, so I came today hoping you could share the details.”
When it came to a script familiar to him, Senior Song instantly calmed down considerably. He gave a wry smile and shook his head. “Thank you for your interest in my story, but…”
Here, Song Qifan hesitated briefly as if conflicted but, after much deliberation, still continued.
“I don’t want to hide anything. My initial intention for the email was just to try my luck. I didn’t expect a reply.”
“This past year, I’ve already made many attempts for this script, using almost all my available connections, but no directors or investors were interested.”
He was very candid, so candid that his fingers were lightly trembling on the tabletop without him realizing.
Ye Zhou fell silent for a moment before suddenly smiling, “Anything else you’d like to add?”
Song was stunned briefly before actually seriously considering it. He added in a very direct yet cautious manner, “The current tragic film market in China is very bleak with almost zero profit potential, which means there’s an 80 to 90 percent chance this is a money-losing script.”
“Since you’re already aware of these downsides and understand market demand, why do you still want to write this story?” Before he could answer, Ye Zhou threw out another question. “And even if the script was finished, as the author and screenwriter, it wouldn’t be difficult for you to edit and revise it, right?”
“After a year of rejections, why do you still persist?”
After Ye Zhou finished with these questions, many emotions flashed quickly in Song’s eyes behind the thick lenses.
He was silent for a very long time before finally answering in a slightly firm tone, “Probably because this is a story I like.”
Hearing this, Ye Zhou smiled, “What a coincidence. I also like this story. So, shall we have a nice discussion?”
This was a story about redemption…about relentlessly chasing the light even when engulfed in pitch darkness at rock bottom without a shred of light in sight.
At first, Song Qifan’s voice was a little tight from nervousness. But as he delved into the story he created, he soon calmed down. His voice turned gentle and easily evoked a strong sense of immersion.
The main plot was simple and straightforward, without any twists and turns. But it was precisely due to this simplicity that made one find it hard to accept.
A small-time gangster who made a living by fighting picked up an abused boy covered in injuries after a domestic violence incident. The two relied on each other to survive. The gangster once asked what the boy wanted to do after growing up. The boy said he wanted to become a policeman.
That year, the gangster was 14, and the boy was 9.
Despite limited education, the gangster made lofty promises to support the boy through school. The boy was very gifted and did not disappoint him, maintaining top grades without ever letting him down.
Many years passed, and the boy was admitted into university as he wished, which made the gangster very happy. They spent the entire summer break of the boy’s final year together. The boy thought he could finally repay the gangster, not expecting this to become the last stretch of time they would have together.
The gangster disappeared without a trace, no matter how hard the boy tried to find him.
Their next encounter was during an arrest operation. In the chaos as his colleagues dropped like flies, the boy fired his gun, only to discover the man he shot was none other than the gangster he had desperately searched for all these years.
…
Their conversation lasted over two hours, from 2 pm all the way to nearly 5 pm.
The longer they talked, the brighter Song Qifan’s eyes looking at Ye Zhou became.
By the time they finally finished discussing the script, he was so excited he didn’t know how to react anymore, as if he was the horse who met Bole1遇到伯乐的千里马 – yùdào bó lè de qiān lǐ mǎ, which refers to the story of Bole, a horse expert in ancient China who recognized the outstanding qualities of a legendary horse that could travel 1,000 li a day. The idiom means to find someone who understands and supports your talent and potential., eagerly wishing to start collaborating with Ye Zhou immediately.
Whenever he brought up parts he felt were somewhat dry in writing, Ye Zhou would provide wonderfully apt suggestions. It was as if Ye Zhou could read his mind as every word struck a chord.
As the story’s author and screenwriter, no one understood better than him how rare it was to meet a director who could comprehend his thoughts and see through the foreshadowing he laid.
There was one thing he didn’t tell Ye Zhou earlier. In fact, he had not been idle all these years but worked hard and struggled endlessly to stay afloat in the industry.
In fact, over the years, he had quite a few works, both as a screenwriter and an author.
However, none of those works currently bore his name but others’. He didn’t even have the ability to mention those works externally, let alone take credit.
After university graduation, he was also full of hopes to make a name for himself in the industry. But only after completely leaving the ivory tower could he experience the cruelty and ruthlessness of reality.
As a newcomer without connections or background, he was battered and bloodied just entering the workplace.
“Director Ye, you’re really amazing. I…I really look forward to working with you!”
Ye Zhou extended his hand, “Likewise, I also look forward to it.”
To be blunt, a movie with this kind of theme would be unpopular whether in the novel world or the original world Ye Zhou came from.
While Ye Zhou did quite like the script, he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe a film others couldn’t profit from would be profitable with him directing.
His decision to take on this film really wasn’t for money. On the contrary, other than liking the script itself, the most important reason he chose it was deliberately aiming to lose money.
To put it this way, ever since A Farce became a hit, Ye Zhou had been receiving all kinds of directing offers daily, some from investors looking to hire him and some from screenwriters seeking collaboration.
All sorts of scripts and invitations nearly flooded his inbox, including many quality ones. But after much hesitation, Ye Zhou still didn’t dare make rash decisions.
His hesitation looked like an unwillingness to take on trashy films and ruin his hard-earned reputation.
But only Ye Zhou himself knew the real reason for his hesitation wasn’t protecting his reputation at all. He was terrified his next film would repeat A Farce’s path and earn money that made him want to cry.
He couldn’t earn any more! He really couldn’t earn any more!!
It may be unbelievable, but Ye Zhou only wanted to be a quiet salted fish – happily burning money when happy, burning money when upset, and burning money when bored.
Spending his own money to fulfill others’ dreams.
Mundane yet…extremely blissful!
Just as Ye Zhou was hesitating and even considering taking a break, he coincidentally came across Song Qifan’s script and was instantly astonished.
This ice-cold theme, cruel plot…
Adding up all these elements, it would defy heavenly principles if this film didn’t lose money!
In his past life, Ye Zhou shot his fair share of trashy films for money. Surely he wouldn’t shoot trashy films in this life just to spend money!
Losing money wasn’t difficult, but for Ye Zhou to happily and willingly lose money was the hardest part. There were countless terrible films in the industry, but as a director, he could hardly force himself to shoot movies he looked down on.
After multiple comparisons, this script was practically tailored for his current situation. It was simply perfect.
Thinking of this, Ye Zhou’s gaze toward Song Qifan was extraordinarily kind.
He patted Song Qifan’s shoulder and earnestly said, “You don’t need to worry about funding. Just focus on preparing the script.”
“Ah? R-Really?” Song was overjoyed.
“Of course. Also, if you have any casting recommendations, you can suggest them to me, and we can decide together.” Ye Zhou said.
Having hit walls for over a year and faced countless rejections and shut doors, seeing Ye Zhou’s complete trust, Song’s eyes reddened.
After trying to speak for a long time, all he could choke out was repeating “Thank you” over and over.
“I…I’ll go revise the script right away. I definitely won’t let you down!”
I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Please consider supporting the author directly.
You can also follow me on Ko-fi to get the latest updates on my translation progress and new projects. I appreciate your love and feedback.
