“No, no, it’s okay!” Zhang Yuwen was afraid he would inundate him with mugs. “I have some at home too. Keep them for your girlfriend.”
“What have you been busy with lately?” asked the high-powered, domineering president, looking like a little rabbit.
“Nothing much. I’m writing a book.”
“Can I read it?”
“It’s really awful. I’m not even satisfied with it myself, but if it gets published, I’ll give you a copy.” He sat at the president’s desk and started rummaging through his stuff.
“I want an autographed copy! What are you looking for?”
“Where’s the script for your new movie?” asked Zhang Yuwen. He knew the guy was getting ready to shoot a new movie. Sure enough, the president pulled out a book.
“Here you go. Take it home and read it!”
“That’s okay.” Zhang Yuwen grabbed a pen and looked over the script for him. He was a little curious. It had been over a year since he last wrote a script, and on top of that, he was interested in this movie specifically. He mumbled to himself as he looked over the script. “Your last movie flopped at the box office, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I have a feeling this one will do better,” the young president said quickly.
“It’s fine.” Zhang Yuwen smiled. “You can still live off your past gains for a while. Just do your best filming. Audiences are fickle. Cater to them if you can, but don’t stress yourself out if you can’t.”
“Thank you, ge!” The president was touched. The times when Zhang Yuwen came to visit were the only moments he could truly relax.
Zhang Yuwen circled a few areas on the script and offered some suggestions, and the president turned on his laptop to note them down. “No one can be popular forever,” Zhang Yuwen said. “You have to get used to it. The creation of a work is a gradual process of ups and downs. The important thing is to have a clear conscience.”
“You’re right,” the president said.
“By the way, I have a good friend who studied photography and is currently looking for a job.”
The young president understood immediately. “Is he a junior from our school? I’ll call him once this movie starts shooting! He can be the cinematographer’s assistant!”
“I think he is, but I didn’t really probe. As for being the cinematographer’s assistant… He might not be up to the task. I was just wondering if you could give him a chance to tag along and learn if there are any promotional shoots or something.”a
“Got it.” The young president snapped his fingers. “I’ll arrange it now. Does he have a portfolio?”
Zhang Yuwen hesitated. “Just treat him as a newbie.”
“No problem. Give me his number. The production department will call him in the new year.”
Zhang Yuwen smiled. “Awesome! Just a heads-up: He doesn’t know what I do, so don’t mention anything about me. Just take it as a referral from a friend.” The president made an OK gesture and grinned knowingly. Zhang Yuwen knew he must have gotten the wrong idea, but he didn’t correct him. “It’d be a good idea to get a few more people to look over the script. Don’t keep losing your temper every time someone gives you feedback.”
“All right.”
The young president walked him out, carrying the gift for Zhang Yuwen—a huge, extravagant fruit basket with some cigarettes, alcohol, and other items. “Ge, your car’s always so cool,” he said as he helped him put the hamper in his trunk.
Then he opened the trunk and saw the gift from the other company.
“Ge!” The young president blurted. “Why did you go to their company first?!”
Oops, he’s jealous… Zhang Yuwen, who had completely forgotten about the other gift, was quick to placate him. “It was on the way. When I passed by their building, they just stuffed the hamper into my car. I won’t accept it next time. All right now, work hard and make more money next year! Love ya, bye!”
The young president still wanted to throw a little tantrum, but unfortunately, a lot of his employees were standing nearby to see Zhang Yuwen off. Once Zhang Yuwen left, he turned and coughed twice, putting his cool and indifferent expression back into place.
“What are you looking at?! Get back to work! You’re not on vacation yet!”
Next, Zhang Yuwen dragged the two hampers into the publishing house’s elevator and carried them into the deputy editor’s office.
“A…small token of appreciation for everyone,” Zhang Yuwen said with sincerity and humility.
“That’s so kind of you!” the deputy editor said.
“Not at all, not at all.” Zhang Yuwen straightened up, taking on the complete opposite role from the one he’d been playing an hour ago. “I should thank you for all your help. I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused.”
The deputy editor looked at the two extravagant hampers and shook his head in resignation. He sighed. “Then…let’s talk about your manuscript? The quality of the last one you submitted is worrying.”
“Let’s leave it for now. I won’t take up your time. But you’re right! I have a feeling the next one will be better.” Zhang Yuwen was getting a sense of déjà vu from this conversation.
The deputy editor gave him a meaningful look and pushed his glasses up, flashing a devious glint. In that moment, Zhang Yuwen became the junior listening attentively to a lecture.
“Just do your best and put your heart into it,” said the deputy editor. “Don’t stress yourself out.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll make you some coffee.” The deputy editor got up, went to the water dispenser for a cup, and brewed instant coffee for him. Zhang Yuwen smiled and accepted it with both hands.
“Then I won’t bother you any longer.”
“I’ll see you out.”
“It’s fine,” Zhang Yuwen said hurriedly. “It’s the end of the year. You must be very busy.”
“Yeah, man.”
Zhang Yuwen left the office under the watchful eyes of a group of editors.