Chapter Seventeen: A Change of Plans

Cheng Dieyi once said, "Without madness, there is no life." Simply put, this means that an artist must possess a touch of lunacy; if you’re in the art world and live healthily, positively, with all the virtues of a model citizen, lacking even the slightest trace of eccentricity, you’d be embarrassed to greet your peers.

Wu Xiang, who alternated between laughter and tears, was a bit unhinged himself. But was he an artist yet? That remained ambiguous. Yet, upon returning to Room 307, this young man immediately did something quintessentially artistic.

"All of you, go find somewhere else to stay. I want Room 307 to myself for a few days. No one is to disturb me!"

With that single line, he chased everyone out and slammed shut the battered wooden door of the dorm.

"Hey, what’s with you? That’s too domineering..." Huang Huibo protested, but once the door was closed, there was nothing he could do.

"Let it go, let it go. Just humor him—he’s the youngest, after all," someone quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

"It’s fine, it’s fine. We’re on holiday now, so the dormitory’s pretty empty. We can sleep anywhere."

Truth be told, the residents of 307 were remarkably understanding, and since it was indeed the holiday, there really weren’t many people around.

Five days. For five whole days, Wu Xiang locked himself inside the room; except for bathroom breaks, he didn’t step out once. Meals were delivered by his friends.

"It’s done! It’s done! Hahaha..."

On the sixth day, Wu Xiang emerged wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, holding a messy bundle of papers that looked more like toilet tissue, grinning wildly like a madman. At that moment, Wu Xiang truly embodied the spirit of an artist.

"What’s done?" everyone asked.

"The script!" Wu Xiang replied with firm conviction.

"Wasn’t the script already settled?"

---

Faced with their skepticism, Wu Xiang explained.

At present, the great calamity was the flood relief efforts; the deluge was so fierce it threatened the nation’s stability. Wu Xiang claimed he wanted to contribute to flood relief through a film, and declared he would donate all box office profits, after costs, leaving not a single cent for himself. Of course, if the film lost money, there was nothing to donate.

He shrewdly avoided mentioning his agreement with Zhang Ziyi—he wasn’t stupid. If he brought that up now, his friends would seize upon it mercilessly.

After his explanation, the 307 crew exchanged wide-eyed glances; Wu Xiang’s transformation was startling.

"You’ve got to be kidding! You’re pulling our leg? The film’s halfway done and now you say you’re not making it? Are you messing with us?"

"Yeah, yeah, do you even want to stay in this circle?"

His friends were displeased; how could Wu Xiang be so unreliable?

"Let’s look at the script first!" Wu Xiang understood their complaints—anyone would react this way. But all was for the sake of crafting a better film, to perfect the image of Light Dance.

No matter the objections, he was determined. His skin was thick enough.

"The protagonist is a young officer named Zhang Shangwu. In peacetime, rapid economic development makes him wish to return to civilian life, but his father, Zhang Daming, a divisional commander, forbids it, causing fierce conflict. Then the flood strikes, devastating the lower Yangtze, and both must set aside their differences to join the relief efforts. During this, Zhang Shangwu’s mindset changes; he reevaluates the mission of soldiers in peacetime. Later, upon learning that his friend Liu Xiangqun has died during the rescue, the protagonist leads his unit to seal a critical breach in the dam..."

This was the gist of Wu Xiang’s new script, titled "The Great Flood."

To have produced such a script in so short a time, Wu Xiang had resorted to imitation—he based it on a film he’d seen before, "Surging Waves." It wasn’t because of the famous lead actor Li Youbin, nor because it was a commercial film with a thematic focus. The real reason was that Huang Huibo had appeared in it, playing an old soldier; seeing him reminded Wu Xiang of the movie.

It was effortless, truly effortless. Though the original film was from 2003, Wu Xiang would let its story see the light sooner.

"So we’re shooting this? What about the drawings I made?" Hao Yi, who handled art direction and sketched every storyboard, had the biggest objection to switching films. Now, he’d have to start over.

---

"Keep them for later. I never said we wouldn’t shoot 'The First Time,'" Wu Xiang answered swiftly.

"Are you really going to donate all the box office profits?" Lin Jidong couldn’t help but ask.

"I am! The whole point of making this film is to raise donations. If it doesn’t make money, I’ll consider it a tribute to the disaster victims," Wu Xiang replied with determination.

"You’ve got some real sense of duty," someone remarked, surprised.

For Wu Xiang, this film was a chance to achieve several goals at once. As for profit, he reckoned that if a non-documentary film about flood relief were released at this moment, it would surely succeed. He wanted to experiment with commercial techniques, applying them to a thematic film.

The original "Surging Waves" depicted numerous heroic figures, which was correct—this disaster had indeed produced many stirring stories. But too many heroes could distract audiences; when everything was packed together, who should they focus on? "Surging" alone featured four families, making it overwhelming.

Moreover, Wu Xiang’s focus wasn’t on the higher echelons of flood relief. He had no intention or ability to depict many top officials. He wanted to tell the story from an ordinary person’s perspective—he even considered making the protagonist a simple soldier without a commander father, but feared it would dilute the conflict.

All these decisions were meant to make the film relatable to ordinary people, grounded in everyday life, so it would truly resonate.

In fact, this was the technique of commercial cinema, the Hollywood approach: depicting major events not from the event itself, but through the lens of a small character, extracting human themes from their experiences. This was Hollywood’s hallmark—just like the current blockbuster "Titanic." Though the ship’s collision was central, the protagonists weren’t the captain or the officers, but a handsome youth whose name didn’t even appear on the passenger list.

This was Wu Xiang’s experiment. In hindsight, it was perfectly reasonable, but in 1998, no one had tried it yet.

"I don’t think this film will be easy," Huang Huibo voiced his disagreement, and others began to echo him.

Just then, the door creaked open, and someone entered Room 307.

"Brother Kun, you’re back!" Wu Xiang looked up—it was Chen Kun.