Chapter Thirty-Five: The Screenplay of a Future Sci-Fi Master?

With the addition of Chen Zhixi, the entire project's preparation was clearly kicked into high gear.

The audition dates for the actors were soon set, and the few actors Chen Ling had in mind were all contacted. Each of them, upon hearing it was an invitation to audition for Chen Ling's new film, was so excited they could barely contain themselves, pounding their chests over the phone and promising to attend the audition on time.

This was the new film from a director whose last work had grossed 300 million, and the audition invitations had come directly from the director himself.

The script was outstanding, the investment substantial—thirty million at this stage was already a high budget for a comedy—and with the involvement of the three major companies from China Film, Wanda, and Enlight, the project was irresistibly alluring.

Moreover, talents like Shen Teng were still minor players at this point, worlds apart from Chen Ling. Now that someone from the “heavens” had extended an olive branch, they could hardly wait to accept with endless gratitude, knowing that missing this chance would mean missing out for good.

Taking advantage of some free time, Chen Ling sought out his teachers to further his knowledge. In just a few days, he would be scouting the filming route; for a road movie, the route was crucial.

This time, his teacher would not be there as assistant director, guiding him hand-in-hand.

Every detail, big or small, would fall on his shoulders. It was a challenge for Chen Ling—not that he feared failure, but that he dreaded wasting such a promising film.

If a film that had once won both at the box office and with critics ended up ruined in his hands, it would be an utter disgrace.

Even if no one else knew of this embarrassment, Chen Ling still wanted to make a good film; some movies could be squandered, but this one, he truly did not want to waste.

That day, Chen Ling was discussing with Professor Lin how to control pacing during the shoot.

Out in the world, Chen Ling was a director enjoying boundless glory, but in front of his homeroom teacher, he was merely a struggling student who had failed his final exams.

Indeed, he had flunked his finals at the end of his freshman year and would have to take make-up exams when school resumed—utterly humiliating.

Naturally, their discussion didn’t take place in a classroom, but in Professor Lin’s office. The summer break had started, and there were no students in the classrooms except for the occasional visit from someone like Chen Ling, who didn’t go home for the holidays. Professor Lin’s home was in Beijing, and with nowhere else to be, he often stayed at the university as well, occasionally giving extra lessons to students like Chen Ling.

Now, Chen Ling’s abilities far outstripped those of his classmates. What was taught in the classroom no longer offered him any challenge.

By the start of his sophomore year, he was already a director with a 300-million box office to his name.

For an outstanding student like Chen Ling, Professor Lin was generous with his guidance, though he made sure to “strongly condemn” Chen Ling’s habit of making him work overtime during summer break.

The two were deep in earnest discussion in the office when a knock at the door interrupted them.

“Come in,” Professor Lin called out.

Upon hearing Professor Lin’s voice, the door opened.

Chen Ling had grown used to students who stayed back during the break occasionally coming by to seek Professor Lin’s advice.

The visitor was a young man wearing glasses, a black tank top, and a buzz cut that lent him an air of maturity, making it hard for Chen Ling to guess his age just by looking.

“Professor Lin, after considering your suggestions last time, I made some revisions to my script and hoped you could take a look,” the young man said, handing Professor Lin a file folder.

He also glanced curiously at Chen Ling, feeling that he looked familiar but unable to recall where he’d seen him.

Meeting the other’s gaze, Chen Ling also sized him up. The young man, too, seemed familiar—a face he couldn't quite place. Lately, so many people at school had greeted him; even future stars would nod and bow, all calling him Director Chen. It was gratifying, but with so many faces, how could he remember them all?

“Professor Lin, you take your time. I’ll come back when you’re free,” the buzz-cut youth said politely, thinking Professor Lin was entertaining a guest.

“No need, you can stay. I’ll give you feedback while my thoughts are fresh.” Professor Lin took the file, pulled out the script, and began reading, motioning for the youth to take a seat.

Obediently, the young man sat down.

After a couple pages, Professor Lin glanced at Chen Ling, then at the young man, and with a proud smile, pointed at Chen Ling.

“Guo, let me introduce you—this is my student, you’ve probably heard his name: Chen Ling.”

“Oh, I was just wondering why you looked so familiar—it’s Director Chen! I’ve heard so much about you!” the buzz-cut youth exclaimed, smacking his thigh. It was clear he’d realized who Chen Ling was: the commercial director from the Beijing Film Academy who’d become a celebrated alumnus immediately after graduation—how could he not have heard of him?

“I’m no great director, just an ordinary student under Professor Lin,” Chen Ling replied modestly.

“Director Chen, let me introduce myself: I’m Guo Fan, a graduate student.” The young man ignored Chen Ling’s humility, extending his hand with a constant smile, his posture markedly deferential.

“So you’re a senior—nice to meet you,” Chen Ling said, shaking his hand, noting the other’s excitedly firm grip.

Guo Fan? A graduate student? Tilting his head, Chen Ling studied the buzz-cut youth before him and finally realized why he seemed so familiar.

Wasn't this the future renowned director of "The Wandering Earth," the man who would singlehandedly open the doors for Chinese sci-fi cinema?

Of course, in his past life, Chen Ling had only seen him on his phone screen, and the Guo Fan before him was clearly much younger, which was why he hadn’t recognized him at first.

The entertainment industry truly was a small world; sometimes, you could run into people without even trying. Chen Ling couldn’t help but think that choosing the Beijing Film Academy had been the right decision.

Guo Fan was quite the talent, too—knowing how hard it was to get into the academy, he took a different approach and got in by applying to the management program as a graduate student.

It was a strategy reminiscent of Huang Bo sneaking into the academy via the voice acting program.

Who would have thought Huang Bo and Crystal Liu were classmates, even in the same year?

That only became common knowledge when a photo of Huang Bo and Liu Yifei together at the academy’s anniversary celebration went viral online.

“My senior here got into the academy from another university. Knowing his looks wouldn’t get him through the art exams, he had to find another way—in the end, he slogged through and got into the management program last year. Not as impressive as you, Director Chen, getting in straight away,” Guo Fan said with a smile tinged with flattery—there was nothing else for it, given the vast difference in their status.

“Just luck,” Chen Ling replied, waving his hand. He had to admit, luck had played a big part in his making it into the directing program.

“Management students are seniors too. I really admire your determination,” Chen Ling added, appreciating Guo Fan’s candor. Who doesn’t like dealing with honest people? And with Guo Fan’s dedication and passion for film, Chen Ling was truly impressed.

“To be honest, I’ve been interested in film directing since I was a child; otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble to get in.”

“But as a management student, learning directing is really tough. Even if I sneak into classes every day, there’s no one to teach me properly. Thankfully, Professor Lin is willing to guide me.” Clearly, Guo Fan had been holding this in for a while and was eager to share now that he’d found a kindred spirit.

Of course, there was also an ulterior motive—building a connection with Director Chen, who had already proven himself, could only be beneficial for someone like him, still just a small fry.

“Take it slow. I used to sneak into classes all the time—not just in my own year, but in the upper classes, too.”

“So, Senior, you wrote a script and plan to direct it yourself?”