Chapter 0841: The Actor

Zhao Fusheng always had a habit of starting something and leaving it unfinished when it came to Jiang Wen. He would come up with an idea, but as for how things would develop afterward, that was Old Jiang's own problem.

He still had to go home and keep his girlfriend company; he didn't have time to stay here and waste words with an old man like Jiang Wen.

So, taking advantage of Jiang Wen not being too drunk, Zhao Fusheng simply finished his meal and dragged Jiang Wen away, claiming it was to let him think carefully about how to propose to Zhou Yun.

When he got home, Zhao Fusheng was helpless to see Fan Baobao earnestly reading a copy of *An Actor's Preparation*.

"Didn't I tell you? You don't need to read this kind of book anymore," Zhao Fusheng said helplessly, looking at Fan Baobao.

Fan Baobao shook her head and glared at Zhao Fusheng. "You don't understand. This is what I call learning from others' strengths to make up for my weaknesses."

Faced with his correct opinion being rejected, Zhao Fusheng expressed that he was also at a loss. In fact, he understood what Fan Baobao meant.

In performance, basic theory is precisely one of the ways for an actor to understand themselves.

In acting, there is the concept of 'seven abilities and four senses.'

A true actor must also possess the ability to observe life.

Ultimately, acting is derived from life and elevated above it.

Take Tony Leung Ka-fai, for example; he has enough life experience to provide nourishment and a basis for his performance.

Furthermore, one needs stable performance concentration, rich imagination, keen sensitivity, accurate judgment and thinking ability, strong and delicate adaptability, and vivid expression in speech and body. These are the seven abilities of performance.

In addition, there are the sense of reality, sense of image, sense of humor, and sense of rhythm. The artistic extension of performance cannot escape the scope of these seven abilities and four senses.

Performance theory is not a panacea, but it can fundamentally help actors understand the essence of performance.

But the problem is that what Fan Baobao needs now is not to understand the essence of performance, but how to apply the theories she has learned to practice.

But there was no helping it; since she wanted to read, let her be.

...

...

February 1, 2002.

Every morning, Zhao Fusheng would look at the calendar and then set out what he needed to do that day.

Neither Fan Baobao beside him nor anyone else understood the mood Zhao Fusheng was in when he looked at the calendar.

It was like a person leaping from ten thousand meters high—though the descent was slow, he knew he would eventually land. Whether he could land safely depended on whether he could open his parachute during the fall.

It was like a membership card that always had an expiration date; whether to renew or not ultimately depended on whether there was money in one's bank account.

Last time, Zhao Fusheng's pockets were empty, and the renewal failed.

This time, he didn't want to repeat the same mistake.

By now, winter break had long begun; students had all started returning to their homes, and the flow of people at the Central Academy of Drama had thinned considerably.

"Thinking that there are only a few months left until graduation, I suddenly feel a bit reluctant to let go,"

Fan Baobao said to Zhao Fusheng as she walked arm in arm with him across the campus of the Central Academy of Drama.

Zhao Fusheng smiled, raised his other hand, and touched her head: "It's not like I'm never coming back. What's there to be reluctant about?"

Fan Baobao glared at Zhao Fusheng and said coquettishly, "What do you know? Is it the same? Once you graduate, you're no longer a student. No matter how successful you become, you're just a famous alumnus, understand?"

Zhao Fusheng had nothing to say. He couldn't help it; with his psychological age, he really couldn't understand Fan Baobao's thinking.

"By the way, where are your roommates?" Zhao Fusheng suddenly thought that Fan Baobao seemed not to have returned to the dormitory for a long time, and asked curiously.

"They all went home," Fan Baobao said. "With the New Year approaching, they must have left early. Besides, everyone needs to discuss with their families about their plans after graduation."

This was a very realistic issue. After all, even graduating from the Central Academy of Drama didn't guarantee a long-term survival in this circle.

The film and television industry has always been a place with too many monks and too little gruel. Handsome men and beautiful women are as numerous as carp crossing the river. If one thinks they can become famous solely by appearance, that's undoubtedly a fool's dream. People with both talent and looks are all too common in the entertainment industry. With good luck, one might become a lead in three to five years and have a chance to skyrocket to fame.

With bad luck, there are plenty of people who spend more than a decade before making a name for themselves. In the time before Zhao Fusheng's rebirth, among the many middle-aged men, there were not a few such people.

The most famous, of course, are Wu Xiubo and Zhang Jiayi. Of course, that old cadre whose persona collapsed and couldn't even distinguish between the classics of Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism is also included.

Nowadays, they have all left their respective schools and become artists drifting in the performing arts circle.

Of course, they are the kind of N-list artists with little fame.

Come to think of it, Zhao Fusheng himself found it strange—he hadn't seemed to run into any of those uncles who would later become famous in the entertainment industry. Maybe it was just a matter of fate.

"So, how about we go home too?" Zhao Fusheng said after a moment of silence to Fan Baobao.

It's often said that one misses family more during festivals; the closer to the holiday, the more one longs for home. That's probably a common weakness in everyone.

"Sure, I miss Beibei and Mom too. Um, how about this: tomorrow we'll go shopping and bring them gifts, okay?" Fan Baobao was startled at first, then broke into a happy smile.

Actually, she had wanted to go back for a while, but she knew Zhao Fusheng had a lot to take care of in Beijing, so she hadn't brought it up.

Being considerate isn't exclusive to anyone; it's about understanding the people around you at the right moment.

"Okay, tomorrow let Zhang Qian and Yang Panpan come with us. We'll buy them some gifts to take back too," Zhao Fusheng said with a smile.

Anyway, he had made quite a bit of money lately from the cheats and ad campaigns, more than enough for the New Year.

Hmm, he felt like he was forgetting something.

Forget it, he wouldn't dwell on it. Let's just celebrate the New Year first.

…

…

The significance of the Spring Festival to the Chinese nation was still very important at this time. Whether it was Yang Panpan or Zhang Qian, they were in good spirits when they heard about buying New Year goods.

For the former, it meant going home happily; for the latter, it meant he could buy something for the younger kids at the welfare home. The Spring Festival came early this year, and the Lantern Festival also fell during the holiday, so he could stay home with them.

"So much?"

Despite being mentally prepared, Zhao Fusheng was still dumbfounded when he and Zhang Qian, waiting in the rest area, saw the two women emerge loaded with bags and packages.

There was no helping it—Fan Baobao and Yang Panpan were covered in all sorts of things. To be fair, if they weren't too heavy to carry, Zhao Fusheng wouldn't have put it past them to buy even more.

"This is a lot?" Fan Baobao shot Zhao Fusheng a dissatisfied glare and handed him her things. "Wait here. Panpan and I are going to look around some more."

"Huh?"

Zhao Fusheng's mouth fell open. Before he could say anything, Fan Baobao had already turned and dragged Yang Panpan away.

And as for Zhang Qian, Yang Panpan hadn't even given him a chance to speak from start to finish.

"Um, is this how women always shop?" After a long while, Zhang Qian looked up at Zhao Fusheng. He had no choice—in his mind, Zhao Fusheng was the smartest person he knew, and he had never seen him at a loss for anything.

Zhao Fusheng heard Zhang Qian's question, was silent for about ten seconds, then chuckled and blinked. "Trust me, there's nothing more terrifying than shopping with a woman."

Zhang Qian was stunned. He felt that when Zhao Fusheng said that, it was as if he had felt the pain firsthand.

As it turned out, Zhao Fusheng was right.

Two hours later, Zhang Qian resignedly followed Zhao Fusheng. The four of them, laden with bags and packages, got into the car heading home.

Even so, the two girls were still a bit dissatisfied, feeling they hadn't bought enough gifts.

Zhao Fusheng really couldn't understand how they could so enthusiastically pick out the most economical, practical, and presentable items from that huge pile of inexpensive goods.

But no matter what, as long as they were happy, that was what mattered. It was all about the atmosphere.

The plane tickets had been booked long ago. Although the price was a bit steep, Zhao Fusheng still had Zhang Qian buy four tickets. As for first class or anything like that, forget it—neither Zhao Fusheng nor Fan Baobao had the self-awareness of being rich. Flying home for the New Year was already a luxury in their eyes; if they bought first-class tickets, Fan Baobao would probably keep talking about it even in her sleep.

There are no shortcuts to success, unless you have a life like a cheat code.

Money that should be spent can't be saved a cent, but unnecessary expenses really aren't needed.

Zhao Fusheng had shared this view with Fan Baobao a long time ago, and she agreed. So when she bought gifts for Yang Panpan and Zhang Qian, she generously paid for everything. But for the plane tickets, she bought the cheapest discounted ones.

Even so, both Yang Panpan and Zhang Qian were very satisfied with Fan Baobao's approach.

Everyone was just ordinary people; there was no need to put on airs.

As the plane slowly ascended, Zhao Fusheng looked at Fan Baobao beside him and said with a smile, "Close your eyes and take a nap. When you wake up, we'll be home."

Fan Baobao nodded, rested her head on Zhao Fusheng's shoulder, and giggled. "Then I'll use your arm as a pillow."

Zhao Fusheng blinked. Although he wanted to refuse, seeing Fan Baobao being romantic for once, he had no choice but to nod. "Alright, whatever you say."

Then, an hour later, he was in trouble.

After all, no matter who you are, staying still in the same position for an hour will make your shoulder go numb. And Zhao Fusheng didn't dare move, afraid of waking the sleeping Fan Baobao.

At that moment, he finally understood the saying: showing off comes at a price.