The headquarters of Guihe Film and Television Company was on the opposite end of Liaohu city—north and south. Even by high-speed train, the journey took four hours. But Xia Xinghe didn’t hesitate at all. He booked a ticket and, early the next morning, set off on the long trip.
His train departed at 10 a.m., and by the time he arrived, it was already 2 p.m.
It was a late autumn afternoon, but the sun was still blazing. After hiding behind clouds for a while, it came back out without any obstruction, casting both light and heat onto the earth.
After four hours of travel, Xia Xinghe felt a bit drained as he finally got off the train. He stopped by the restroom at the station to tidy himself up in front of the mirror before hurriedly catching a cab to Guihe’s headquarters.
The cab driver, seeing how neatly dressed and serious he looked, asked, “Going for an interview, young man? You look pretty formal.”
“Something like that,” Xia Xinghe replied with a toothy grin, not minding much. “Just trying my luck.” But under his sleeves, his hand quietly tightened into a fist.
He knew—some things had to be fought for if you wanted to have them.
3:30 p.m.
Xia Xinghe finally stood in front of Guihe Film and Television’s headquarters.
The taxi driver had been pretty interesting—a bald uncle, but a nice guy. Sensing Xia Xinghe’s nerves, he joked, “No worries, kid. I’ve got some ‘top-notch’ luck. I’ll share some with you.”
Xia Xinghe couldn’t help but burst into laughter, and his nervousness really did ease a bit.
But now, standing beneath the towering, imposing building, the tension returned. He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and walked inside.
The receptionist at this large company was professional and polite. The receptionist, wearing a fitted business uniform, greeted him with a warm smile. After hearing his reason for coming, she quickly arranged for someone to assist him.
Xia Xinghe let out a small breath of relief. He had thought he might be wasting his time—might not even get to meet anyone in charge—but things were already going better than expected.
Hopefully, it’s a good beginning.
A bit of hope bloomed in Xia Xinghe’s heart as he followed the receptionist down the long corridor. When the heavy black wooden door opened, he met the person in charge of his project.
“Hello, hello,” said the slightly chubby but friendly man, rising from his leather executive chair and extending a hand to Xia Xinghe. “Author Bamboo, nice to meet you. I’m Tang Hongsheng. You can just call me Tang Ge.”
He had already learned of Xia Xinghe’s visit through an internal call from the front desk. Despite the unexpected nature of the visit, he showed neither surprise nor displeasure, maintaining polite and humble manners.
Since the other man was clearly his senior professionally, Xia Xinghe wouldn’t dare call him “Tang Ge.” He respectfully shook his hand, lowered his gaze, and greeted, “Hello, President Tang.” Then he added, “My real name is Xia Xinghe—‘Xia’ as in summer, and ‘Xinghe’ as in the starry river.”
Tang Hongsheng didn’t stand on ceremony. He warmly invited him to sit down and chat, casually switching his address from “Author Bamboo” to “Xiao Xia.”
The receptionist soon closed the door behind them, leaving the two alone in the office. Sitting upright in his chair, Xia Xinghe clearly explained his purpose. Tang Hongsheng reclined slightly in his seat, gently swirling his teacup.
Before Xia Xinghe could even finish, Tang Hongsheng smiled faintly.
“Since you came all this way in person, of course, we need to show a bit of sincerity, don’t you think?”
He sipped his tea and said in a calm tone, “To be honest, we are quite interested in your project. You already have a readership base, and there’s great potential for development.”
No one dislikes being praised—Xia Xinghe was no exception. His tense nerves eased a little as Tang Hongsheng went on, “But you might not be very familiar with the preferences of film and TV audiences. In your story, there’s not enough romance—it’s dull.”
Tang Hongsheng continued, “Audiences these days love dramatic, tangled love stories. The messier the better. Your story is interesting, but it’s too calm, lacking passion.”
“If we’re going to adapt it,” he said, “we’ll need to add a female lead and create a deeply entangled romance between her and the protagonist. Breakups and reunions, over and over again…”
He went on and on, his polite smile unwavering, his words floating above the gentle bobbing of tea leaves in his cup.
When politeness is taken to the extreme, it becomes arrogance. In just a few seemingly simple sentences, Tang Hongsheng had completely denied the essence of Xia Xinghe’s original story and tried to force an entirely new version on him—keeping only the name and skin while gutting the core.
After listening, Xia Xinghe asked in disbelief, “What about the dog?”
Tang Hongsheng waved his hand dismissively. “The dog isn’t important.”
Xia Xinghe frowned. “But this is a story with the dog as the main character?”
Tang Hongsheng stared at him for a few seconds, as if he had just heard the funniest joke. “You think the audience cares about the dog? They’re here for the people. Romance between trendy male and female stars is what sells—got it?”
Xia Xinghe lowered his eyes for a moment, then raised them again.
“…I don’t get it,” he said stiffly. “The protagonist of my story is a dog. It’s about a dog’s experiences in the human world. It’s not a romance.”
“Hey, young man, don’t be so rigid,” Tang Hongsheng said with a shift in tone, trying to comfort him. “Our company has a mature marketing system and we hire only the hottest young stars. It’s a guaranteed profit.”
He continued, “Since you made the effort to come all the way here, I’m willing to give you a chance. As long as you agree to let us change the story—not you, just sign the contract allowing us to adapt it—I can offer you this amount.”
He held up a hand, indicating a number.
Xia Xinghe remained silent, his expression cold.
Tang Hongsheng gritted his teeth and added two more fingers. “How about this number?”
He looked at Xia Xinghe, full of confidence, convinced he wouldn’t refuse. After all, what’s a little script change compared to easy money?
But he was wrong. Xia Xinghe suddenly stood up.
“I’m sorry. I can’t accept my work being distorted like that.”
Tang Hongsheng furrowed his brows and, still not giving up, raised another finger. “This much?”
The number had now doubled from the original offer.
“Sorry.”
Xia Xinghe still refused without hesitation.
“You’re being stubborn!” Tang Hongsheng finally lost his temper and dropped the polite façade. “With the way you wrote it, you think it can be turned into a TV show without changes?”
“You should know your place. Do you think any other company would want your script?”
“Just wait for it to rot in your drawer!”
Xia Xinghe stood firm, no longer wasting breath. He left one sentence behind: “Sorry to bother you,” and walked out of the office without looking back.
He didn’t take the easy money because he loved the story as it was and couldn’t accept having the protagonist’s life rewritten by someone else.
….
By the time he left the film company, it was already 6 p.m. Xia Xinghe hadn’t managed to buy a return ticket for the same day, so he booked a high-speed train for the next morning.
After a night to cool off, he was much calmer. He was no longer angry about Tang Hongsheng’s condescending attitude, though he couldn’t help feeling disappointed—no one enjoys being rejected, especially not by someone with industry influence.
After another four hours on the high-speed rail, he returned to Liaohe at midday.
He hadn’t eaten much over the past two days, but he still didn’t have much appetite. He bought a whole grain pancake from a street stall—his favorite combo of two eggs and crispy wafer—but after a couple of bites, he couldn’t eat anymore.
Back home, he casually tossed the remaining half of the pancake onto the coffee table, slumped onto the sofa, and stared into space. After a while, he remembered—he still had to go visit Bamboo.
Going to see Bamboo inevitably meant he might run into Bai Qingzhou. Even though their relationship had eased somewhat, Xia Xinghe still didn’t want to show his defeated side in front of Bai Qingzhou.
He quickly went back to his room to change his clothes, finished the remaining half of the pancake on the coffee table, and stood in front of the mirror for a while. He left the house with a smile on his face.
Maybe it was intuition, but sure enough—Bai Qingzhou was home.
Xia Xinghe walked into the yard with his bag on his back. Just as he called out “Bamboo,” the nearby door opened, and Bai Qingzhou came out after hearing the noise.
Xia Xinghe instinctively tugged at the hem of his shirt and smiled at him. “Good afternoon.”
“Mm,” Bai Qingzhou gave a slight nod and explained, “I took the day off today. I’ve already refilled Bamboo’s food and water.”
“Okay,” Xia Xinghe nodded and asked, “Then can I stay and play with Bamboo in the yard for a while?”
Bai Qingzhou didn’t answer, his calm gaze resting on Xia Xinghe. His light-colored eyes were like a clear pond—transparent and pure, but able to see straight through people.
Xia Xinghe awkwardly turned his head away and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Bai Qingzhou continued to look at him, then finally lowered his voice and said, “Nothing.”
Xia Xinghe was afraid Bai Qingzhou might really see through him, so he quickly turned to find Bamboo. Luckily, Bamboo was very attached to him and immediately came running, snorting and happily circling him, quickly distracting his attention.
“Come on, Bamboo, wanna play catch?”
“Go! Quick, fetch the frisbee!”
“Bamboo, you’re so good, come here, give me a kiss!”
He played with Bamboo for quite a while. As the sky gradually darkened, both Xia Xinghe and Bamboo were exhausted. Bamboo picked up the frisbee and went back to its little kennel to lie down, no longer willing to run.
Unknowingly, Xia Xinghe had broken into a sweat, and the gloomy feelings that had been weighing him down also lessened quite a bit.
He let out a sigh of relief and was packing up to leave when he turned around and found that Bai Qingzhou was still standing where he was, watching him.
He wasn’t sure if Bai Qingzhou had left and come back or had been standing there the whole time.
It was probably just a coincidence, Xia Xinghe thought as he pressed his lips together and smiled at him again. “I’ll head home now.”
“…Wait.” Bai Qingzhou, for once, didn’t just quietly let him go. He called out to him and quickly walked over.
His light-colored eyes were still fixed on Xia Xinghe, stirring ripples deep in his heart.
After a moment, Bai Qingzhou suddenly spoke: “You’re not happy.”
It was a firm statement, both in tone and certainty.
His expression was serious, and the deep voice almost made Xia Xinghe’s nose sting with sudden emotion.
…He almost told the truth.
But he really didn’t know how to explain it to Bai Qingzhou—how he was rejected by the film company and still refused to give up, how he went to see them in person only to turn them down himself, or how he couldn’t accept that his work was considered bland and uninteresting and didn’t want to accept the “advice” from industry professionals.
Their authority was undeniable, and no matter how he argued, it would always seem like an immature, stubborn joke.
So Xia Xinghe stayed silent for a long time before finally forcing a smile and saying to Bai Qingzhou, “No, I’m fine.”
Afraid Bai Qingzhou would keep pressing, he quickly lowered his gaze, threw out a hurried “I’ll go now,” and fled from his house without daring to look back. He didn’t notice that under the eaves behind him, Bai Qingzhou quietly stood there, watching him until he disappeared from sight.
Fifteen minutes later, Xia Xinghe boarded the subway.
Out of habit, he opened Weibo. There was a new private message.
[@nsxhss0905: How have you been lately?]