Chapter Seventeen: First Meetings, First Collaborations

"Hello, who are you looking for?"

Ning Hao rubbed his eyes, his expression somewhat reserved, but his speech was brisk and direct.

People in the north are fond of using the formal "you," especially when speaking to elders or superiors—it’s a must. Southerners generally don’t have this habit; from childhood, it’s always been the informal "you." The formal version is rarely heard, usually reserved for sarcastic banter among friends or written language.

Having drifted north for years, Ning Hao was suddenly faced with a stranger of refined temperament. Though the visitor looked young, Ning Hao instinctively used the formal address.

But Gu Zhi, who had grown up in Shenjuan, wasn’t accustomed to this.

"Hello, I’m Gu Zhi. I’m here to find you for a film project."

Gu Zhi, likewise, disliked beating around the bush. He went straight to the point with Ning Hao, stating his purpose without preamble.

No sooner had he finished speaking than Ning Hao exclaimed,

"Ah! I know you! You're that...that young writer, the one who wrote 'The Legend of Wukong' and 'The Path Without Hardships'!"

Ning Hao, now fully awake from his drowsy haze, took a closer look and recognized Gu Zhi, blurting out his identity without even bothering with formalities.

He was half a fan of Gu Zhi’s works. "The Legend of Wukong" didn’t stir much in him, but he was utterly enamored with "The Path Without Hardships." Just a few days ago, he’d heard Gu Zhi would be at the academy for a signing event and had thought to get an autograph. But today he’d slept too deeply, entirely forgetting about it.

Never did he expect that this very writer would come knocking at his door.

"Wait...what did he just say? Here to find me for a film?"

A whirlwind of surprises left his mind spinning, as if in a dream—he genuinely suspected he’d misheard.

"Did you just say you want me to direct a film?"

Unconsciously, his tone became respectful again.

"Yes, you, Ning Hao," Gu Zhi nodded, affirming with certainty.

"Shall we talk inside?"

"Yes, yes, please come in," Ning Hao hurriedly stepped aside, and once Gu Zhi entered, he closed the dormitory door tightly, as if afraid some secret might leak out.

The dorm was rather messy, reflecting his casual lifestyle. Luckily, the space was large enough; Ning Hao quickly tidied up, clearing two seats amidst a sea of discarded papers.

Gu Zhi seemed unfazed. Once they were seated, he took the initiative.

"Brother, there’s no need for formalities between us—just use the informal 'you.' By age, I’m younger; I should be calling you 'brother.'"

"Alright."

After a brief exchange, the two drew a bit closer and went straight to the heart of the matter.

"I’ve written a script and want to bring it to life. Honestly, I can’t get those big-name directors, and I don’t know anyone in the film industry. I came to the Capital Film Academy to find a capable student director who could handle the job. Your department head told me you’ve directed a TV series as executive director, so I came to find you."

Gu Zhi’s words were half-truth, half-fiction—nothing to betray his real intentions.

He couldn't very well tell Ning Hao, “I’ve already seen your future works, know you’ll be a big deal, and came specifically to find you today.”

But Ning Hao’s attitude shifted swiftly, and now he seemed hesitant.

"I’ve only just entered the industry. You suddenly ask me to direct a film—I’m afraid I can’t manage it."

This was, in effect, a direct refusal.

In truth, there was another reason Ning Hao didn’t voice. He didn’t want to embarrass Gu Zhi face-to-face.

Fully awake now, he thought it over and grew increasingly skeptical about the whole affair. Gu Zhi’s novels were undeniably excellent, dominating sales charts and proving his literary prowess. But a novel is a novel; a screenplay is something else entirely—two worlds apart.

Ning Hao had never heard of a novelist crossing over to scriptwriting and entering the film industry. Even if a novel is adapted, it needs a professional screenwriter to rework it, and the result often bears little resemblance to the original, diverging greatly.

This alone showed how different novels and screenplays were.

Furthermore, making a film is no simple matter. A script and a director are only the basics; one also needs investment, production, publicity, distribution, release—a whole chain of complex operations.

Ning Hao guessed this newly famous, underage writer probably had no idea about any of this, thinking that making a movie was just about finding a director.

Inspired by the moment, he writes a so-called script and brings it to Ning Hao, expecting him to jump in. If Ning Hao rashly accepted, he’d become a laughing stock in the industry.

He yearned to direct a film with his own name, but he wouldn’t settle for scraps or work with an amateur, risking his reputation.

Gu Zhi sensed Ning Hao’s refusal in his words. He frowned slightly, then calmly took a printed script from his backpack, placed it on the table, and slid it to Ning Hao.

"Brother, don’t be too quick to say no. Why not read the script first, then decide?"

Ning Hao glanced at the cover, which read "Butterfly Effect," and his curiosity was piqued—his director’s instincts couldn’t help but wonder about its contents.

But in the end, he didn’t move, only gave Gu Zhi a wry smile and shook his head.

Seeing Ning Hao unmoved, Gu Zhi explained further:

"I didn’t just write something on a whim and bring it to you. I understand the process of making a film—it’s not simple. Precisely because I lack industry connections and can’t solve those problems, I came to the Capital Film Academy to find a director. Think about it, am I, an author of two top-selling books, the sort of person who acts impulsively without considering things?"

After he finished speaking, Ning Hao remained silent.

He could clearly feel Gu Zhi’s genuine emotion and the seriousness in his dedication.

At this point, to refuse would be to disregard someone’s sincerity.

Ning Hao spoke no more, nodded gently, and picked up the "Butterfly Effect" script to read.

Before opening it, he had mentally prepared himself—it couldn’t be worse than some terrible works he’d seen in recent years.

But after only a few minutes, he was conquered by the ingenious ideas within.

"How does the protagonist encounter such bizarre things in childhood..."

"Damn! Reading a diary to travel through time, changing the past and affecting the future—this is incredible!"

"So his father had the same ability, ruined the family, no wonder he tried to kill him..."

...

Ning Hao was utterly absorbed, reading for a full hour.

"This script is fantastic!"

He looked up at Gu Zhi, eyes shining with excitement.

Gu Zhi grinned broadly, delighted.

He had truly found the right person in Ning Hao.

The two shared goofy smiles for a while. Suddenly, Ning Hao stood, slapped the script onto the table with a resounding bang.

"Damn it, let’s do it!"