Chapter 26 Part 2

The next day, Wei Shuyu brought her proposal to Professor Zhou’s office.

The office was a bit stuffy, with the windows closed. Even though it was already springtime, the heating was still on, filling the room with a sticky, humid atmosphere.

Wei Shuyu stood in front of Professor Zhou’s desk, her coat still on, her bangs sticking to her skin from the heat.

She had already handed her proposal to Professor Zhou. When she took the file, just the title alone made Professor Zhou’s brows furrow unconsciously.

Wei Shuyu took off her coat and draped it over her arm, fiddling with her hair. She knew the professor would not be satisfied with her proposal, but she had no intention of giving up.

The only thing that could contend with the family behind Jin Yizhu was renowned fame known to the world.

There was only one path to gaining that kind of fame.

Stand at the pinnacle of the entertainment industry, create commercial works that generated endless profits, become a true money-printing machine, and make capital revere her talent by three points.

Professor Zhou wore her reading glasses and first looked up to size her up.

Pretty and refined, like Little Jasmine dusted with dew—a face with no aggression, her figure slender and delicate, shrouded in a white dress like a wisp of mist.

Yet her spine was straight, tensed to the limit, revealing an unyielding determination.

She had a deep impression of this student.

Wei Shuyu had not enrolled through the regular channels; she was a visiting scholar recommended by an old friend, with a resume full of glamour. Whether her own works or the exhibitions she had planned, all had won awards and earned her great renown.

She had originally thought this person was here to gild the lily. Wasn’t that common? Once they had established a foothold in the art world, they suddenly found themselves lacking connections and resources, so they returned to school. It did not matter what they learned; the key was getting an entry ticket.

“I’ve been paying attention to you for a long time,” Professor Zhou, who had grown up abroad, spoke Chinese that was not entirely standard but clear enough. “Your school record is very impressive. You made achievements in both Shanghai and Hong Kong, saying you wanted to come to Tokyo to take a look…”

As she spoke, she flipped through Wei Shuyu’s proposal quickly, as if looking for flaws.

“You’ve also been outstanding in the research lab. Truly undeniable talent.”

Today, she wore a khaki corduroy jacket, with a crisp, neat shirt and ruby cufflinks, exuding the self-assured pride of someone well-bred.

As the director and producer who had created box office myths and found the perfect balance between commerce and art, she indeed had the right to be arrogant.

“So, you’re still choosing the film direction in the end?”

She snapped the proposal shut. Wei Shuyu did not even know if she had finished reading it, but Professor Zhou had already looked up and asked:

“Aren’t you from exhibition planning? You’ve made some achievements in the art world too. Why change? Are you abandoning everything you did before?”

A string of questions, but Wei Shuyu did not flinch at all and just nodded. “Yes, I’ve decided.”

“Why?” Professor Zhou leaned back in her chair, crossed her hands, and stared fixedly at her. “Have you thought about it? This kind of switch is almost like starting over. If you start making films now, you’re no different from the other students.”

Wei Shuyu met her gaze without dodging. “I want to become someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Professor Zhou raised an eyebrow and sat up straight in her chair, as if seeing Wei Shuyu properly for the first time.

“Yes,” Wei Shuyu’s voice was even, but one could hear the deliberate enunciation. “I want to become a great director and producer like you, who can find balance between commerce and art.”

Professor Zhou said nothing, just stared at her. Her lips twitched, as if she wanted to smile but held back.

“Little one, you sure know how to talk,” even someone as reserved as Professor Zhou could not hide her excitement. “Describing me, ‘great’ is still far from fitting.”

“Perhaps others don’t think so, but that’s truly how I feel.”

Wei Shuyu’s tone did not change as she answered calmly:

“Professor, you’re the first woman in Asia to achieve the Grand Slam and break the billion-yuan box office. Why can’t that be called great?”

“You want to be a second me?”

She picked up the proposal again, flipped back a few pages, and pinched the middle sheets.

“What you wrote is very bold. Though many parts are still immature.”

“I only want to be myself,” Wei Shuyu smiled faintly. “I won’t become a second anyone.”

Professor Zhou looked up again, sizing up the woman before her.

She could tell Wei Shuyu was very nervous—her fingertips were even trembling.

Everyone in the research lab had seen Wei Shuyu’s file, and she was no exception.

This was no newbie. That exhibition of hers in Hong Kong the year before had sold out tickets from day one to the end. While the organizers made a fortune, they also signed several agents in a row, clearly intent on squeezing every drop of her commercial value dry.

If Wei Shuyu had had a reliable elder by her side back then, she would not have fallen into the trap, ending up with a reputation for running out of talent, reduced to imitating herself.

She had accepted the recommendation and taken this student partly out of admiration and pity.

Professor Zhou sighed and glanced at her again. “You have great creativity, but it’s written too fancifully. Take the proposal back, revise it, and come again next week.”

Wei Shuyu drew in a soft breath, feeling like thorns pricking her back, but she knew it was not harsh criticism.

“There are many people who want to make films, and countless who want to become me or replace me,” Professor Zhou said leisurely. “If it’s you who wants to replace me, I’ll be watching with interest.”

Wei Shuyu finally smiled. “I’ll put your name in the acknowledgments.”

Professor Zhou did not respond. She picked up a pen, made a few marks on the edge of the proposal, flipped the page, and read it again.

After a few seconds, she spoke, but without looking at her, her tone as if speaking to herself. “This is a difficult path, but if you’ve truly decided, don’t turn back halfway.”

Wei Shuyu stood straight. “I never regret the paths I choose.”

This time, Professor Zhou truly laughed, a bit coldly. “You’d better not.”

There were countless students who said they liked films, wanted to make their own movies, wanted to achieve something.

Just this year, Professor Zhou had seen dozens. Now that spring semester had ended, their voices had gradually faded, leaving only the image of them standing before her, spouting bold words, lingering in her mind.

She did not want Wei Shuyu to become one of those people, wasting her efforts in vain.

Wei Shuyu took back her proposal, waved at her, and left a view of her back.

A bit more warmth entered Professor Zhou’s smile. Perhaps this child really would be different from the others.

Over the next week, Wei Shuyu holed up at home, focusing on revising her proposal.

Her ideas were not yet mature, but fortunately, her current status as a student gave her more room to experiment without being as constrained by commercial value as before.

At the end of this semester, the research lab would hold a small exhibition where works could be shown to the public to gather initial feedback.

She had about three months left. Wei Shuyu planned to produce a demo during that time and enter it in the semester-end exhibition.

Not only could she test if her ideas would be welcomed by the market, but she could also show Professor Zhou that she was serious.

“If I’d known you’d be so busy this time, I wouldn’t have come to bother you.”

Wei Qinglu had stayed for about a week, playing around the Tokyo area thoroughly. It was only on the day before her departure that Wei Shuyu found time to have dinner with her.

“Something came up suddenly. When you booked the itinerary before, I was still quite free,” Wei Shuyu said with slight guilt. “Next time you come, I’ll definitely take you around properly.”

“It’s fine. It was pretty fun alone too,” Wei Qinglu said with a grin. “With your guide, I didn’t run into any trouble at all.”

“There were so many places on that guide I haven’t even been to myself. I’d wanted to go together,” Wei Shuyu said. “Next time, maybe.”

“I’m not coming a second time,” Wei Qinglu said slyly. “You can go with Sister Yizhu.”

“…”

Wei Shuyu was at a loss for words for a moment, even pausing in her eating. After a while, she feigned annoyance.

“She’s not your Sister Yizhu…”

“Aiya, she will be someday! Is there anyone my sister can’t win over?!” Wei Qinglu looked cheerful, appearing not too bright. “I’ll wait for your good news!”

After dinner, Wei Qinglu went to pack her luggage, and Wei Shuyu returned to the study to type on the keyboard.

Around nine o’clock, Wei Shuyu snapped out of her work on the proposal and instinctively checked her phone.

Sure enough, Jin Yizhu had called.

This had become routine—sometimes video, sometimes voice, depending on Jin Yizhu’s mood.

“So punctual. You might as well install a camera at my place.”

Wei Shuyu muttered and connected the video. The instant she did, Jin Yizhu’s smile appeared on the screen, giving her a slight jolt.

“So beautiful…”

“Right?” Jin Yizhu’s smile deepened, her eyes and brows brimming with smugness. “If I installed a camera at home, I wouldn’t get to see such an interesting expression on you.”

She had dyed her chestnut long hair golden. At that moment, she twirled it around her slender white fingertips, playing with it idly. She seemed very satisfied with Wei Shuyu’s reaction. She leaned back a little into the wide sofa, lifted her chin at Wei Shuyu, her voice slightly husky, laced with an indescribable allure.

“Wei Shuyu, why are you dodging? Look at me.”

Wei Shuyu’s breathing nearly stopped.

She had always known Jin Yizhu was beautiful, but with golden hair, red lips, and exquisite makeup, Jin Yizhu was stunningly otherworldly.

Not to mention now, as Jin Yizhu wore a black evening gown. The silk fabric shimmered faintly, outlining her delicate collarbones, tracing down along her chest to her slim waist, her long legs faintly visible, like the finest sheep-fat jade.

She reached out, brushing the edge of the phone, as if to caress Wei Shuyu’s face through the network.

“Are you drunk?” Wei Shuyu, coerced by her tone, had no choice but to turn her face toward her so Jin Yizhu could see. “You sound so strange.”

She kept her head slightly lowered, eyes evasive, not daring to look straight at Jin Yizhu. Her porcelain-smooth, fair face was already flushed red, even her earlobes tinged pink.

“Strange? I don’t think so,” Jin Yizhu propped her chin, her tongue tip licking the corner of her lips, as if tasting the lipstick. “You’re blushing.”

The next second, Wei Shuyu hung up the video.

She pressed her hand to her heart, which was pounding uncontrollably. No matter how she tried to calm down, her mind was blank, filled only with Jin Yizhu’s expression from moments ago.

Jin Yizhu called again, with a message: Answer the video.

Concise and non-negotiable.

Wei Shuyu steeled herself and connected the video call once more.

Jin Yizhu looked at her with a half-smile. “Wei Shuyu, why the hang-up? Don’t want to see me?”

“It’s not…” Wei Shuyu’s voice was very soft. “You’re too beautiful today. Looking at you makes me shy.”

She had never been good at lying, and now with her mind a complete blank, she simply gave up thinking and spoke the truth.

“Am I that beautiful?” Jin Yizhu clearly perked up. “What a shame. If only I could let you see me directly.”

“I want to see you too. I didn’t get to last time.”

Jin Yizhu restrained that air of a superior and donned a gentle false facade. Instead, Wei Shuyu felt a bit displeased. If this was Jin Yizhu’s true nature, she would rather endure that intense, suffocating possessiveness than be treated with such falseness.

“Jin Yizhu, when are you coming to find me?”

“No time lately,” Jin Yizhu said, a bit surprised. “Do you miss me that much?”

They had known each other for so long, yet she had never heard Wei Shuyu make any requests of her, not even heard her take the initiative to say she wanted to do something.

Wei Shuyu followed her every whim—what to eat, where to go, what to do—all according to what she wanted. While it gave her endless security, it also made her feel empty.

“How much do you miss me? If you miss me a lot, a whole lot, I can take time off and come over.”

Amid her secret delight, a wicked thought wormed its way into her heart again. This little bit wasn’t enough; she wanted Wei Shuyu to say more, best if her heart and eyes were filled with nothing but her.

However, Wei Shuyu did not indulge her.

“I miss you a lot,” Wei Shuyu said. “But if you don’t have time, then forget it.”

Jin Yizhu froze for a moment and couldn’t help but focus more intently on those eyes.

Across the vast distance, she couldn’t see Wei Shuyu’s gaze clearly, but her shyness was real—the fingertips clutching her skirt hem trembled lightly. She didn’t know what kind of stormy waves churned in Wei Shuyu’s heart; she only felt—

So strange. Even her own heart seemed to itch.

Like being scratched by a kitten’s paw; she had to catch that little cat, pin it down fiercely, kiss its belly all over, and ruffle its fur into a total mess to satisfy the longing in her heart.

“Wei Shuyu,” she said, “come to Hong Kong. I’ll buy you a plane ticket.”

“No time,” Wei Shuyu replied. “Baby, I’m very busy too.”