Chapter 0302: A Mature Man

Long ago, Zhao Fusheng thought that men never engaged in verbal sparring; coming to blows over a disagreement was the true nature of men. Later, he realized that sometimes words are more effective than knocking someone down, and also more frustrating.

He had been prepared to dominate today, but unfortunately, fate was like a mudslide, silently burying everything.

Having lived two lives, Zhao Fusheng's experiences were similar to most ordinary people's, even surpassing the vast majority. Like polishing a rough jade stone, first you use a grinding wheel to remove the coarse outer layer, then it is carefully carved by hand. Now, Zhao Fusheng could be considered a decent semi-finished product.

"We did grow up together," Zhao Fusheng replied to Yuan Lu in his usual mature tone, believing that as long as the girl wasn't stupid, she would know what to do.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know..." Yuan Lu said softly.

She really hadn't expected Fan Baobao to bring Zhao Fusheng along. She had just been joking earlier, since Fan Baobao always insisted in the dorm that someone liked her.

Now it had backfired, and she felt genuinely awkward.

Of course, someone else was even more awkward than her.

That would be Fan Baobao.

Sitting there, watching Zhao Fusheng and Yuan Lu whisper to each other, she felt like a flame was burning inside her.

"What is this bastard doing here, picking up girls?" Fan Baobao nearly ground her teeth to dust, glaring fiercely at Zhao Fusheng, deciding that when she got home tonight, she would cook dinner herself.

Poison the bastard!

As if sensing Fan Baobao's gaze, Zhao Fusheng looked up and gave her a bright smile.

"This guy!"

At that moment, Fan Baobao was about to die of anger.

Zhao Fusheng hadn't intended to provoke her; he just thought teasing her would lift his spirits. And it did—seeing Fan Baobao about to explode, he couldn't suppress the smile on his lips.

He didn't have much to talk about with Yuan Lu, mainly just asking about Fan Baobao's time at school.

Just then, Zhao Fusheng's phone rang. Glancing at the number, he was a bit surprised. He gestured to those around him that he needed to take the call, stood up, and walked aside.

"Hello, Planner Zhao, I've arrived in Ninghai." Jiang Wen's voice came through the receiver.

Zhao Fusheng paused, then said in surprise, "You're here?"

"Yeah, just got off the plane. Zhonglei is with me. Where can we find you?" Clearly, Director Jiang was an impatient man.

In fact, Zhao Fusheng had heard some anecdotes about him—he was a pure literary middle-aged man.

That's right, a literary middle-aged man.

He liked to film things with sentiment, or more precisely, he liked to express what he wanted to express and hoped the audience would resonate with him.

But unfortunately, most of Jiang Wen's movies didn't do well at the box office. Although he won many awards, for the vast majority of viewers, his recognition was lower than Feng Xiaogang's. After all, Feng started with comedies, raked in the box office, and then began his sentimental turn.

As for Jiang Wen, a tough guy who dared to make banned films and send them to international film festivals, his consistent style was: I'll shoot whatever I want.

Zhao Fusheng was actually quite interested in meeting someone like him.

"How about this: take a taxi to the main gate of Ninghai Normal University, and I'll wait for you there." After thinking it over, Zhao Fusheng gave up the idea of meeting Jiang Wen outside.

After all, he was a celebrity, while he and Wang Zhonglei didn't matter. But if news got out that Jiang Wen was here, the media would surely take notice.

"Okay, got it." Jiang Wen hung up.

Zhao Fusheng put down the phone and walked back, smiling at Yuan Lu and the others. "Sorry, something's come up. I need to leave first."

Everyone exchanged glances. Fan Baobao stood up in surprise. "You're really leaving?"

Zhao Fusheng nodded. "The person I mentioned this morning has arrived. I need to go see him."

Fan Baobao blinked, recalling what Zhao Fusheng had said when they left the house. She had thought he was bragging, but now it seemed true?

"Let me see you out," Fan Baobao said with a smile to Zhao Fusheng.

Without waiting for his consent, she dragged him out.

"Tell me, what's going on between you and Yuan Lu?" As soon as they reached the door, Fan Baobao gritted her teeth and asked.

Directors and such didn't matter; what mattered now was clarifying the relationship between Zhao Fusheng and Yuan Lu.

Zhao Fusheng smiled. "Nothing. She came for an interview at Future Advertising once, and I happened to be there. That's all."

"Really?" Fan Baobao looked at him suspiciously, clearly not believing him. Yuan Lu's behavior just now suggested more than just knowing Zhao Fusheng.

Having been classmates with her for years, Fan Baobao knew Yuan Lu's personality and temper all too well.

If Yuan Lu had cursed her out, Fan Baobao wouldn't have found it strange at all. But today, because of Zhao Fusheng, Yuan Lu actually wanted to reconcile. No matter how she thought about it, Fan Baobao found it eerie.

Zhao Fusheng chuckled softly, reached out, and ruffled Fan Baobao's hair. "You, always overthinking. You're all young; nothing is insurmountable. She's your classmate. You don't want to become famous and have her say you were aloof and cold, do you? In life, be magnanimous. Who knows, someday you might need her help."

He spoke the truth. We often say to keep a distance from people, because today's friends might not be tomorrow's. But by the same token, it's better to end a feud than to keep it. Even if you're not friends, don't become enemies.

After all, the future is unpredictable.

"Fine, I get it. I'm not a child," Fan Baobao said impatiently, glaring at Zhao Fusheng and pushing his hand away. "Go on, you're annoying."

Zhao Fusheng watched her run back, shook his head, said nothing more, hailed a taxi, and headed home.

Calculating the time, given Jiang Wen's personality, he was probably already in a car heading toward the school. Zhao Fusheng wasn't the type to keep others waiting.