Chapter 0872: Overthinking

Some say women are a higher form of life than men, for the simple reason that men can only see what is visible, while women can see what is invisible.

The reason for this is simple: women are more delicate in their thoughts.

Of course, this refers to most women.

Fan Baobao was also a very delicate person, but it depended on the matter. In her eyes, Zhao Fusheng was more mature and sensible than herself, and he was now building his own career. Her focus should not be on his work, but on him as a person.

Fan Baobao's current thinking was very clear: she would do what made her happy, because that would make Zhao Fusheng happy too.

Early the next morning, Fan Baobao went to the company. No matter what, she was an artist of Huayi, and that was indisputable.

Zhao Fusheng didn't mind either; he stayed home and wrote his script.

That's right, since he had promised Dong Chenxi, he had to produce a script for her.

A real man keeps his word.

Well, Zhao Fusheng wouldn't admit that it was because Dong Chenxi had promised him a script fee of fifty thousand yuan.

His principle had always been to rather make fun of people than to quarrel with money. Because people can talk, but money cannot. Since it cannot talk, it cannot complain, so making money sad would be truly unjustifiable.

Yes, that's right.

Zhao Fusheng thought to himself as he typed on the computer.

But the script problem really troubled him. After all, writing a good script at this time was not easy. Movie box office receipts were too low; even Zhao Fusheng couldn't guarantee that what he wrote would suit the market.

Still, Zhao Fusheng was confident he could strike a balance. After all, he was no longer the reckless young man who knew nothing.

The process of maturing is actually the process of learning to get along with oneself. This process inevitably goes from bustle to quiet, from panic to calm, from confusion to self-awareness, from having company to being at ease alone.

In fact, this is growth.

"What to write..." Zhao Fusheng sat there thinking for a long time but didn't start.

That's how people are: the more they care, the more they worry about gains and losses. If they don't care, then it doesn't matter.

As a result, Zhao Fusheng sat there the whole day and wrote nothing.

"What are you doing?"

Fan Baobao came back in the evening and saw Zhao Fusheng staring blankly at the computer with an empty document open. She asked curiously.

"Writing a script." Hearing her question, Zhao Fusheng smiled bitterly and explained the situation. Finally, he said helplessly, "That's how it is. I can't write, or rather, I dare not write casually."

Fan Baobao looked at Zhao Fusheng, bewildered: "Huh, what's so hard about that? Just write what you want. If the investors aren't satisfied, they'll change it. If the director isn't satisfied, he'll change it. Why worry?"

Zhao Fusheng was taken aback, then laughed, his expression quite odd.

He had to admit that Fan Baobao was absolutely right. After all this fuss, he had been overthinking.

Previously, he had always held himself to strict standards, thinking that if he was writing a script, he had to write the best one. But he forgot that domestic screenwriters were different from those abroad.

In other words, screenwriters in Hong Kong and the mainland did not hold as much power as those in Japan, South Korea, Europe, or America.

To put it plainly, barring exceptions, even ten years later, screenwriters would still have the lowest status in the domestic film and television production process.

The most obvious sign was that anyone could change the script.

If the director didn't like it, the director changed it.

If the actor didn't like it, the actor changed it.

If the investors didn't like it, the investors changed it.

Even the cameraman and prop master would demand changes if they felt the script didn't match their abilities.

In short, after all those changes, the script basically had nothing to do with the screenwriter anymore.

And Zhao Fusheng was far from being the kind of person whose script no one dared to change.

"You're right. I was overthinking."

Zhao Fusheng was silent for a moment, then shook his head and smiled at Fan Baobao: "I'll just write. As for what happens later, what do I care?"

He wasn't the type of screenwriter who regarded his work as his own child and wouldn't allow anyone to change a word. Nor did he have grand ambitions to make a name in the screenwriting world. It was just a promise he had made. He would write the script, and what Dong Chenxi did with it later was her business.

With that thought, Zhao Fusheng suddenly felt confident. Wasn't it just a script? He could dash one off easily. Did they really think he had watched all those movies for nothing?

Seeing Zhao Fusheng immersed in work, Fan Baobao pursed her lips and smiled. Without another word, she quietly went to the kitchen, washed some fruit, and brought it into the bedroom.

Writing a script was a tedious task, requiring research and careful wording. Even though Zhao Fusheng had seen so many movies, writing a script was like recalling memories, equally tedious. He had to remember the specific content, dialogue, facial expressions, and such from the movies he had watched.

So this work couldn't be finished in one night.

Therefore, Zhao Fusheng saved the document around eleven o'clock at night, stood up, and prepared to rest.

"Not writing more?"

Fan Baobao was lying in bed. Seeing Zhao Fusheng's movement, she put down the magazine in her hand and asked.

"No. Rome wasn't built in a day. Dong Chenxi isn't rushing me, so I can take my time." Zhao Fusheng smiled and said to Fan Baobao.

"Good that you know. Health comes first." Fan Baobao was especially gentle and virtuous at this moment. She blinked and looked at Zhao Fusheng: "By the way, what are you writing this time?"

That was what she really cared about!

How could Zhao Fusheng not notice her little scheme? He smiled slightly and looked at his girlfriend: "Say, Fan Baobao, why are you suddenly so interested in my script?"

Fan Baobao blinked, trying to make her expression look sincere, and smiled at Zhao Fusheng: "Of course I care about you. After all, this is a task the company gave you. Besides, you agreed to help Sister Chenxi for my sake, didn't you?"

"Heh heh..." Zhao Fusheng laughed and gave Fan Baobao a look that said, 'You figure it out yourself.'

Fan Baobao pretended not to see his mocking smile. She leaned in on her own, looking at him pitifully: "What, do you have to keep secrets from me?"

Zhao Fusheng was about to refuse, but as he looked down the open collar of her pajamas, a hint of white was faintly visible. His body suddenly stiffened.

"She must be doing this on purpose!" The thought crossed Zhao Fusheng's mind.

Then, well, then it was a match of equals, a contest of wits!