Chapter 0508: The Dream Chaser

When Zhao Fusheng saw Jiang Wen, he was drinking. Gulping down large mouthfuls of alcohol, drinking recklessly and without restraint.

The usually spirited big director and star Jiang Wen now looked like a decadent middle-aged artist, unable to utter a complete sentence, mechanically grabbing the bottle and shoving it into his mouth.

Just a moment ago, when Zhao Fusheng called, it wasn't Jiang Wen who answered the phone, but the bald actor Ge You.

And now, the place where Zhao Fusheng stood was none other than Chen Dao's villa.

"What's going on?"

Frowning slightly, Zhao Fusheng asked Ge You.

"He's been drinking for three days straight. A few of us have been keeping him company." Ge You's face was flushed, clearly hungover. He said to Zhao Fusheng, "Chen Dao had something to do these past few days, dropped off the keys and left. The others either got drunk away by him or scolded away. In short, now it's just me left."

With that, he stood up, swayed a couple of times: "I'm going upstairs to sleep. You keep him company."

Then, the guy left without any sense of loyalty, leaving Zhao Fusheng standing there dumbfounded.

"Wait, you're just leaving him to me?"

Zhao Fusheng watched Ge You's figure disappear up the stairs with an incredulous look, then turned to the drunken Jiang Wen, speechless: "Old Jiang, what's up with you?"

He knew Jiang Wen had returned, but he never imagined that in just a few days, the man would have degenerated to such an extent.

Or to be more precise, Jiang Wen could no longer be described as 'degenerate'; he was practically broken.

In his current state, even if dragged onto the street, maybe only one or two out of ten people would recognize him as the top star who once captivated the nation.

"Mm, Fusheng, you're here." Hearing Zhao Fusheng's voice, Jiang Wen, who had been leaning against the sofa, stirred, lifted his head with effort, and upon seeing Zhao Fusheng, grinned a smile uglier than tears.

"Yeah, I called. Ge You said you were drinking here. What's going on?" Zhao Fusheng asked, puzzled.

He was genuinely curious. What could have hit Jiang Wen so hard? Had the guy gotten divorced?

But on second thought, even a divorce shouldn't cause this. Just a couple of days ago, when they talked on the phone, Jiang Wen was brimming with confidence, saying he planned to have a good talk with the folks at the Radio, Film and Television review department. In less than a week, he'd withered like this—it was baffling.

"Heh, nothing. Come on, drink with me..." Jiang Wen raised his beer again and gestured to Zhao Fusheng.

Zhao Fusheng rolled his eyes, thinking, 'You're already this wasted and still can't forget about drinking. You're something else.'

Waving his hand, he said irritably, "What are you drinking? Have you finished editing and submitting the film for review?"

"Film?"

Jiang Wen's voice faltered, then he laughed like a night owl: "Hahahaha... Film? What film? It's gone, all gone!"

What?

Zhao Fusheng froze. Though Jiang Wen's words were drunken ramblings, they revealed a shocking piece of news.

"What film is gone? Explain yourself, Old Jiang. What the hell happened?" Zhao Fusheng crouched down, grabbed Jiang Wen by the collar, and demanded loudly.

Jiang Wen didn't speak. He silently pushed Zhao Fusheng away and continued drinking.

Frowning, Zhao Fusheng walked aside, pulled out his phone, and dialed Wang Zhonglei's number.

"Hello, President Wang. This is Zhao Fusheng." Zhao Fusheng got straight to the point: "I'm with Old Jiang now. What's going on with the film?"

Whether because he was the screenwriter or because he was Jiang Wen's friend, Zhao Fusheng couldn't ignore this. Since Jiang Wen was already drunk out of his mind, the only one who could give him answers was Wang Zhonglei.

Wang Zhonglei's bitter voice came through the phone: "I knew you'd call."

Zhao Fusheng frowned: "What exactly happened?"

He really didn't understand. Everything had seemed fine before—how did it come to this?

Wang Zhonglei sighed helplessly and recounted the whole story.

Before Jiang Wen returned to Beijing, Huayi had already submitted the edited version of *Devils on the Doorstep* to the Radio, Film and Television department for review. A few days later, the review results came back, leaving everyone stunned.

According to the review board, the film had not strictly followed the script revisions required by the Film Bureau and had been shot without submitting the approved script. Additionally, numerous lines and scenes had been added without authorization. As a result, the film not only failed to depict the Chinese people's hatred and resistance against the aggressors during the Anti-Japanese War (the only character who dared to curse and resist the Japanese was a madman despised by the villagers), but instead highlighted and exaggerated their ignorance, numbness, and servility. On the other hand, it not only failed to fully expose the aggressive nature of Japanese militarism but instead emphasized the arrogant and domineering momentum of the Japanese invaders, leading to a serious deviation in the film's fundamental stance.

Furthermore, the film contained numerous vulgarities, repeated use of the racial slur 'Zhina pig' by Japanese soldiers, and scenes of female nudity. Overall, the tone was lowbrow and did not meet the standards of the *Film Censorship Regulations*.

There were also issues with the plot and other aspects. In short, the film was banned from domestic release and must be permanently sealed.

"That serious?" Zhao Fusheng gritted his teeth after listening to Wang Zhonglei: "What if we reshoot and make revisions?"

He knew how much Jiang Wen valued this film. In Zhao Fusheng's mind, if they wanted a mainstream theme, they could just add it to the movie.

"Don't even mention it. Word has it that some big shot said a film that glorifies peasant ignorance and backwardness should never see the light of day," Wang Zhonglei said bitterly.

Huayi was no pushover; the Wang brothers had connections in high places. But the problem was that Jiang Wen's trouble was too big this time. *Devils on the Doorstep* was essentially 'ideologically incorrect,' so no matter what they tried, the review board wouldn't budge.

Hanging up the phone, Zhao Fusheng's eyes were filled with sorrow. He turned to look at Jiang Wen and finally understood why the usually cheerful man had drunk himself into this state.

A year's worth of effort turned into a product that could never see the light of day. Anyone in his shoes would probably be devastated.

After all, for a director, a film or TV series is like their child. Now that his child had been taken away, how could Jiang Wen not be crushed?