Chapter One: Reborn and Facing an Exam

In February, Yanjing already carried a faint breath of spring, with a hint of green budding here and there, yet the biting wind and cold sky still imparted a sense of bleakness. Even so, a large crowd had gathered at the gates of Yanjing Film Academy—men and women, old and young alike. Yet, among these young people, regardless of gender, all could be called strikingly handsome or beautiful.

It was clear what was happening: the entrance examination for Yanjing Film Academy was underway, and this was the very last session. But at such a crucial moment, some seemed to be faltering.

“Son, wake up! Wake up!”
“Child, what’s wrong? What’s happened to you?”

A middle-aged couple circled anxiously around a young man. The exam was about to begin, and their son had suddenly fainted.

“Where am I?” Wu Xiang felt as if his head weighed a thousand pounds, almost as if it wasn’t his own. The light stabbed at his eyes, and he hurried to open them. “Wait, this doesn’t make sense! Wasn’t that a green light? Wasn’t I crossing the street? Why am I hearing voices…”

Suddenly, Wu Xiang froze, stunned by the impossible scene before him.

“Son, you’re awake?”
“How are you feeling?”

His mother and father? Yet they looked nothing like the aged faces he remembered.

He’d been mulling over a script just moments before, admittedly a bit distracted. But Wu Xiang distinctly recalled that he hadn’t broken any traffic rules. And now, in a blink, he was confronted by his youthful parents.

“Son, you scared me half to death! What happened? Are you under too much pressure from these exams? Should we find a place to rest?”

His mother’s concerned gaze filled Wu Xiang with a warmth he hadn’t felt in years.

“You really have a knack for causing trouble at the worst possible moment,” his father scolded. “The exam’s about to start, and if you leave now, all our efforts will have been for nothing…”

Unlike his mother, his father was never one for coddling.

“You old fool, the child’s like this and you’re still thinking about the exam? Xiang’s health has never been good. Do you want something to happen to him?” His mother’s indulgence was clear.

From all this, Wu Xiang realized—he had been given another chance at life, and now stood at the most pivotal moment: the college entrance exams.

From a young age, Wu Xiang had loved watching films, always fascinated by the world of cinema. His dream was to become, if not a great star, then a renowned director. So, as high school drew to a close, he decided to apply to an arts college and become an arts student.

If he remembered correctly, it was now February of 1997—the season of entrance exams for arts academies. Since this was his first time traveling far from home, both parents had accompanied him.

This also marked Wu Xiang as the classic only child, a “little emperor,” the sole focus of his parents’ love. This upbringing left him with the typical flaws—chief among them, a self-indulgence he believed he could control. Yet, one trait was more problematic: he was a picky eater, and as a result, his health was always frail and his body thin and weak.

One must be fit to achieve anything, but by the time Wu Xiang understood this, he had already made an irreparable mistake.

It was during this very exam—the one that would determine his entire future—that he fainted before the final test due to poor health. Though he managed to finish, he failed spectacularly. Crushed by this blow, he performed poorly on the national college entrance exam as well, and ended up at a second-rate university. After graduation, he became an online writer, then a scriptwriter, drifting into the world of hackneyed, much-maligned TV dramas.

In theory, Wu Xiang could have tried again—many times, even. But the weight of this failure broke him; he could no longer face the exam.

There was a reason for this. Despite being pampered, Wu Xiang had always been “the other people’s child” in the eyes of parents—never the top student in mathematics, but always excelling in the humanities. From primary school to high school, he’d never paid a cent in school selection fees, always entering key schools on his own merit. If not for his one weak subject, he would have been a shoo-in for valedictorian. So, though privileged, he had earned it.

But it was precisely this pride that made the failure unbearable, leading to his downward spiral.

Now, faced with the same crossroads, should he take the exam or not?

“I say, with the boy in this state, we should just try again next year,” his mother suggested.

“How can you spoil him like this?” his father retorted. “Quitting halfway leads nowhere—how will he ever achieve anything?”

Their argument drew the attention of other parents, as is common in crowds—everyone loves to watch and comment.

“Brother, what’s your son applying for?” someone asked.

“The Literature Department,” his father replied politely.

“Your son looks terribly frail, missus. Maybe you should go home and try again next year?” another onlooker suggested reasonably.

Wu Xiang’s mother looked somewhat embarrassed.

At that time, every family had only one child, and parents found it hard to discipline them harshly. Even stern words could tug at the heartstrings; it was a prevailing trait in society.

Wu Xiang had thought it all through. He despised his former self—the one who gave up so easily in the face of setbacks. He wanted to change everything. This was his chance, his one chance, and he had to seize it.

Wu Xiang stood and stretched. “Mom, Dad, I’m fine. I’ll take the exam.”

In that instant, his parents saw something new in him—a maturity, as if their child had finally grown up.

As the crowd filed into the examination hall, Wu Xiang combed through the remnants of memory in his mind. He wasn’t confident; he harbored too many grievances about this exam.

In truth, fainting was not the sole cause of his failure. There were other reasons, such as his answers in earlier tests being a bit too much.

To borrow a phrase from the future: too young, too simple, sometimes naïve.

Wu Xiang was young then, fearless yet immature, unable to see the bigger picture. That was his undoing.

He had wanted to apply for the directing program, but in 1997, Yanjing Film Academy did not offer undergraduate directing courses—they wouldn’t begin until the following year. So, he had no choice but to choose the Literature Department.

Another renowned arts college, the Central Academy of Drama, did offer undergraduate directing, but Wu Xiang had always been enamored with the Film Academy and didn’t apply elsewhere, missing a valuable opportunity. In hindsight, this was just the beginning of his mistakes.

The first round was nothing special—basic knowledge anyone of average intelligence could handle. But the second round, the retest, was where problems arose.

The Literature Department’s retest required film analysis and writing—Wu Xiang’s forte, as he had always loved this. It should have been a breeze.

Yet, when he saw the assigned film for the test, he couldn’t help but groan: it was “The Story of Qiu Ju.”