Boring life

Author: Haiyan
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-08-01
Features: Haiyan claims, "Although I have worked in the police-themed genre before, with A Cop on the Beat nearly becoming a hit and Never Say Goodbye adding to its success, but the Jade Virgo I released two years ago has reached its peak. If I continue, it will inevitably be a dog's tail attached to a masterpiece." Thus, his new work Mundane Life rewrites the romantic tales of young lovers. Readers should be cautious of his plot traps and not let themselves be led by the nose by the life-and-death love stories in his writing. However, perhaps this could also be a great reading pleasure! (Preface/Haiyan In the beginning of this preface, I introduce myself first. I am a person who lives by writing. Since Wang Shuo, we people like this call ourselves "word processors." Although I cannot compare to Mr. Wang Shuo, I have written a few novels in recent years and gained a little fame. I have become familiar with several publishing houses. Many film and television producers have come to visit me to ask for scripts, wanting what sells well in the film market, such as historical dramas, especially the currently popular Qing court dramas or martial arts dramas; for example, police dramas are also very popular. Police dramas have dominated the screens for many years, and it is easy to sell them, whether good or bad. If they can be linked to anti-corruption or anti-crime themes, they will be even more powerful. Because once it is associated with the main theme, it can easily be sold to prime-time mainstream channels, making the income from advertisements several times higher. For example, comedy. If I can't write something as enduring as I Love My Home, writing something as lively as Ding Dong Hello is also fine, and it is currently in vogue. Television dramas are originally mass entertainment, cultural fast food, and commodities. Once it is associated with commodities, the rule that "consumers are gods" is universally applicable. These days, after work, people turn on the TV just to have some fun, so it is essential to have comedy. A senior television program investor taught me the above lessons, which opened my eyes. At the same time, I deeply felt that I was born at the wrong time—I have little knowledge of history, especially Qing history, and my personality is rigid and not good at ""; I don't know the martial arts sects of martial arts masters like Jin Yong and Gu Long, nor do I know their methods; although I have also worked on police-themed dramas before, with A Cop on the Beat nearly becoming a hit and Never Say Goodbye adding to its success, but the Jade Virgo I released two years ago has reached its peak. If I continue, it will inevitably be a dog's tail attached to a masterpiece. In recent years, police dramas have been wave after wave, with plots and characters exhausted by skilled hands. Following in their footsteps and surprising the audience will be an impossible task. Of course, the most difficult is comedy. To write comedy, if it doesn't become like Ding Dong Hello, and if it is praised both inside and outside the industry, such a realm is beyond our reach. I have always believed that writing comedy requires broader and deeper intellectual wisdom than writing serious or tragic works! But this television investor does not lack the unique persistence of merchants. He kept inspiring and giving advice to me. He encouraged my confidence with the success of one of my works many years ago, which was called A Love Story in the Rain. The famous sentiment master Zhao Bao Gang adapted it for the screen, making a newcomer named Xu Jinglei the top youth idol in the country at the time. The investor said, "You should write emotional dramas. You are very good at small emotions and private matters. It's best to write something like a documentary. Emotional documentaries are currently very popular." I know this. For many years, documentary literature about personal emotions and privacy has been enduring. Many strong media outlets have set up special columns for it. In the city where I live, Beijing, there are "Oral Records" in the Beijing Youth Daily and "Private Whispers" in the Evening Paper, both of which have very high reading rates and relatively stable readership groups. This type of literature has also made many "word processors" famous, such as An Dun. But I still had reservations. Since there were already famous figures in this field, if I followed suit and "emotionally" and "documentarily" wrote, it would likely lack originality and resemble imitating footsteps. But the investor did not agree. He said, "When A Love Story in the Rain was published, it was technically a novel, but in reality, it was a 'emotional documentary.' The earliest material and later format of that novel were indeed based on my interviews with a retired female police officer. From the time of its publication, I should be considered a pioneer in this genre. Those writers who became famous through this path might have even learned from me." This investor's words did not so much give me confidence as move me. I have always been somewhat self-effacing, so I always longed for praise and was willing to believe it. To not disappoint those who encouraged, admired, and valued me, after several days of thought, I finally asked a long-lost classmate, a reporter with the nickname "Man" from a newspaper, for dinner at "Tan Fish Head" one weekend night and seriously asked him about the methods of writing emotional documentaries. Asking for advice, in essence, meant asking him to recommend some leads. As reporters, they are exposed to all levels of society, from celebrities and celebrities to ordinary people. Indeed, that night, with the steaming hot "Tan Fish Head" in front of me, my old classmate gave me a bunch of lovesick and resentful men and women, most of whom came from the readership of the newspaper. They wrote to the editors about their love troubles and family misfortunes, and in turn, asked for advice. The next day, my old classmate also picked out a few such reader letters for me to reference. I found the names and addresses of those who longed to confide in me. Most of them were white-collar workers with high education levels and even successful careers, but their emotional lives were far from satisfactory, full of complaints and reflections; or they had suffered setbacks in the past and were still unable to extricate themselves, unable to look back on the past. Unfortunately, their confessions were too subjective, lacking in specific details. Although their comments and views were often insightful, the objective events were relatively weak; even if they were full of sorrow and bitterness at the time, looking back after the fact, it was just the heartbroken woman and the faithless man, the mistress and the second wife, or the faithless wife following wealth and leaving for a foreign land. After talking to four or five people, if I were to write it as a television drama, the amount of material would only be enough for two or three episodes, but the investor's requirement was very clear: twenty episodes! If a television drama does not have twenty episodes, no advertisers will follow up. With no choice, I had to ask my old classmate, "Man," if he had any better leads. After thinking for a moment, he hesitated and then mentioned another person, "You should find him." He wrote down a phone number and a name for me at the same time. After writing it down, he took the initiative to call the person and explained that I wanted to interview him. It seemed the other party was not very enthusiastic. In the phone call, my old classmate argued with the person for a long time, whispering some ambiguous words, before finally succeeding. He arranged for the person to meet me the next night at a bar called "Mundane Life." The time was nine o'clock in the evening, and we were to meet at the bar counter, each holding a copy of the Beijing Evening Paper as an identifier, just like spies meeting.
Background: Haiyan is a master at storytelling. The preface to his upcoming new long is a "conspiracy." He has woven a plot involving himself and many famous figures, including his friends who are reporters and even the Beijing Evening Paper, into a "fictional documentary." His subtle approach was so convincing that even the reporter was lost in the "fake documentary" where he appeared as a "paid actor" with his real name and surname. The hit A Cop on the Beat was Haiyan's breakthrough into literature. Without realizing it, he created a connection with bestsellers and youth-oriented dramas. From then on, he became known for police dramas, drug trafficking dramas, and emotional dramas. A Love Story in the Rain, Never Say Goodbye, Your Life Is So Passionate, Jade Virgo, and What Can I Offer You, My Love—six long novels in a row, none of which failed to spread like wildfire among readers and audiences, dominating bestseller lists and leading television ratings. Around August 20th, Haiyan's seventh novel, a haunting tale of legendary love, will be published by Huayi Publishing House, a company that also values brand and book print runs, with an initial print of 10,000 copies. Haiyan has always been a mystery. His name is not just associated with the halo of a writer but also with commercial titles such as Vice President of Jinjiang Group, President of Kunlun Hotel, and President of the China Hotel Association. When you learn that this typical writer, who is also the chairman of the company, is a hotel designer skilled at transforming steel and concrete into vivid and charming spaces, you realize that he is not just an extraordinary businessman but also a thinker and an actor. In fact, his success is not accidental. His professional achievements in business are as brilliant as his amateur success in literature. Please read the excerpt: If forced to name one unforgettable moment in her life, Youyou would say without hesitation, this day. In fact, like Youyou, many people's "this day" are still filled with the restlessness of adolescence. One of the most significant signs of adolescence is the awakening of sexuality. Whether you admit it or not, psychologists often use the statistic that most people will experience their most romantic and innocent adventure between the ages of 15 and 17, which is the first love that he himself, at the time and later, may not have fully realized. Youyou's "this time" happened when she was only 14. At the age of 14, her heart began to stir, which is not unusual for a city girl at the end of the 20th century. I don't know how psychology explains this, but from a biological perspective, early maturation is often less resistant to natural disasters and human misfortunes compared to late maturation, and it may even be difficult to bloom and bear fruit normally. That day, it rained as soon as she got off school, and she couldn't get home. She had forgotten her key at home and had to go to the sports school to get it. Her older sister worked at the boxing gym, responsible for cleaning up and tidying up. Youyou went to the sports school. This rainy evening became the beginning of the entire story. Long after that, Youyou learned that boxing in China was a sport with both low competitive level and low popularity, so she couldn't understand why in this not-so-large city, in this unremarkable sports school, in this dilapidated building that was almost like the dilapidated and about-to-be-demolished house in her own family, there was a boxing team that hid like a tiger in a hidden mountain, the only one in the entire province. Youyou walked into this building. She didn't notice whether the building had windows or where the light came from, but she saw a platform surrounded by rough ropes on one side of the building. The platform was not too high, not too low, square, with some broad backs gathered around, watching two people, an old and a young, boxing back and forth. The older one had white hair, wearing a blue sportswear, teaching the younger one how to defend and attack. The younger one was wearing a red shorts, a protective helmet, with two clear black and white eyes and a straight, upturned nose, but the entire upper body was exposed. What caught her eye were the sweatdrops on his skin. Youyou saw that the boy was very thin, and with the sweatdrops all over his body, he looked like someone who couldn't stand a punch. To the right of the boxing platform was a storage room, where Youyou's older sister worked. Youyou went around the platform and headed there. Before entering, the young boy on the platform was knocked down. Youyou pushed open the small door of the storage room, and her older sister was chatting with an aunt inside. The older sister said, "Youyou, why are you here?" The aunt said, "Oh, this is your younger sister, she's really pretty." The aunt was very ugly and fat, her eyes fixed on Youyou, asking, "Are you in high school yet?" The older sister said, "Just started junior high school. Later, I plan to let her go to a vocational school, it's better than high school." The fat aunt said, "Vocational school, what major do you want to study?" The older sister said, "For a girl, study accounting, be an accountant in the future." The fat aunt said, "Accountant, accountant is good, jobs are easy to find in the future." Youyou was a girl, but she was very annoyed by the endless chatter of women. She didn't answer politely and asked her older sister for the key, then came out of the storage room. She couldn't remember how long she was in there when she came out, but the boxing platform was already empty, and the area around it was also empty. The entire building seemed smaller because it was so empty. Someone was making a phone call in the corner, but she could only hear the sound and not see the person. Youyou lowered her head and walked towards the door, covering herself with a raincoat as she went. This raincoat was given to Youyou by her father's workplace, but it was just two transparent plastic film pieces, the front and back, which were folded when the weather was clear and easily fit into her schoolbag. Youyou had just taken the raincoat off her head when the noisy phone call suddenly stopped, and the changing room door opened and closed, with many people coming and going, unusually busy. But Youyou couldn't see anyone, as if the entire building was only her walking alone. It wasn't until much later that Youyou vaguely felt that the emptiness of that boxing gym before she left, along with the loud door noises, was a dream in her life. In this dream, she first heard the sound of winter rain beating outside, then she saw Zhou Yue sitting by the wall. The wall was lined with long benches, on which were piled some messy clothes—punching gloves, schoolbags, maybe all Zhou Yue's things. Youyou immediately recognized him, he was the boy who was sweating on the platform earlier, the boy who didn't look like an athlete at all. The boy was still half-naked, sitting in the middle of the long bench against the wall, his protective helmet already off, the sweat on his body still shining. Those messy, dangling hair made Youyou feel like it was covered with a lot of hair gel, like the style of pop stars in Japan and South Korea. Those Japanese and South Korean pop stars were also very thin, looking like ribs, and compared to them, this boy was still relatively strong. Maybe the slanting light obscured his thinness, outlining the contours of his two chest muscles. Youyou watched him as she walked, and the boy also looked at Youyou. His clear black and white eyes made her feel that he was truly very handsome. Maybe realizing Youyou's favor, the boy smiled at her, his teeth as white as snow. Youyou was flustered, wanting to smile back, but before her mouth could open, her head lowered first, stumbling out of the house and into the endless rain. This dream ended abruptly with the sound of raindrops splattering on the plastic raincoat. But the boy's clear black and white eyes, his white teeth, and his beautifully shaped chest, along with the shiny sweat on his chest, stubbornly remained in Youyou's heart. There was also his expression, his exhausted look, which was like a soul-stealer, making Youyou take a wrong turn on her way home. When she finally got home after taking a detour, the clothes in the raincoat were already half-wet. Wearing this plastic raincoat requires hunching your shoulders and tugging at the collar with your hands, but Youyou had forgotten all of that. Youyou's old alley and this building of unknown age might even be beyond her father's knowledge of their history. Youyou's family also had a very large wardrobe, an old antique that had been there long before Youyou was born. The mirror on the wardrobe door had all its mercury oozing out, like a scab that had spread from one side to the other. Maybe for this reason, Youyou never dared to admire herself at home. But today, she felt something strange—she had never stared at a mirror for so long, locking the door like a thief, examining herself carefully. After half a minute, she realized her clothes were still wet and stuck to her body. But as soon as she took off her clothes, her mood worsened even more, because the body she saw in the mirror was so pale and thin, her chest flat, her ribs visible, with no beauty at all. Her bad mood made her realize the purpose of her looking in the mirror—her face immediately flushed, she was clearly evaluating herself, wondering if she had enough charm to make those clear black and white eyes look at her with warmth.