Huayu: I Have a Doraemon

Chapter 35 September Film and Television Industry

Seeing that there was nothing unusual in Lin An's eyes, Lin Cong felt gratified and also sighed.

She has seen too many talented young people in this industry who are dazzled by the glitz and glamour as soon as they emerge, thinking they are invincible and wishing that their first work would make them famous worldwide.

The results of it?

The writing is superficial and lacks any market potential; some of it can't even tell a basic story clearly.

This kid is quite composed.

"What are your plans for the future?" Lin Cong asked.

Lin An stuffed the paper bag containing the money into his backpack, zipped it all the way up, patted it to make sure it wouldn't slip out, and then looked up and said:

"Teaching classes, writing scripts, making money."

"That's all?"

That's all.

Lin Cong glanced at him, feeling that the kid was just going through the motions, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.

She was silent for a moment, carefully choosing her words before speaking:

"The sitcom market is still too small. If you really want to establish yourself in the screenwriting industry, you have to try more genres."

I've been waiting for you to say that... Lin An leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on his knees, his tone becoming more serious:

"Director Lin, have you heard of any new projects lately? Anything that's in the planning stages, approved, or currently filming, please."

Lin Cong paused for a moment, then burst into laughter:

"Is this what love is all about?"

Lin An said awkwardly:

"Since you brought it up, I'll just go along with it."

Lin Cong shook his head, not feeling offended at all.

That's how this industry is; opportunities don't just come to you, you have to reach out and grab them.

"As you know, there's been some unrest in the south of the country, so there hasn't been much activity in the film and television industry lately."

Lin Cong recalled, "The only urban dramas I know of that are currently in preparation are 'Internet Addict's Diary' and 'Understanding You'."

She said, "If we're talking about movies, it would be 'The Missing Gun'."

There's another movie called "Lan Yu," but Lin Cong felt it wasn't necessary to talk about it.

"Looking for a gun...that name sounds familiar?" Lin An asked curiously.

Who directed "The Missing Gun"?

Lin Congdao said, "Lu Chuan."

Lin An's expression twisted slightly, but he subtly changed the subject:

"What about outside of urban dramas?"

Lin Cong noticed the change in his expression just now and asked curiously:

"What? You know Director Lu?"

I don't know him, but his film "Bureau 749" left an indelible impression on me... Lin An coughed and said:

"I just feel that movies are too far removed from my life, and there's no need to be overly ambitious."

Lin Cong didn't say anything upon hearing this, and continued the conversation:

"Besides urban dramas, there are many more projects. Currently in production are 'The Smiling, Proud Wanderer,' 'The Grand Mansion Gate,' and 'The Eloquent Ji Xiaolan.' The 'Kangxi's Private Visits Series' is also in pre-production and should have results by the end of the year. Oh, by the way, TVB seems to be filming something called 'A Step into the Past,' which is something like a 'time-travel' story, but I don't really understand it."

Lin An's eyes widened suddenly, and his breathing became heavy involuntarily.

Zhang Hua, who had been silent until now, interjected:

"Xu Qingdong is preparing for 'Serious Crime Squad 6', and it seems he has already reached an agreement with Golden Shield Film and Television."

Lin Cong nodded, seemingly unconcerned.

Anti-Japanese war dramas and police dramas are produced every year, but these are not things that ordinary people can participate in.

"Actually, you don't need to be in such a hurry."

Lin Cong comforted him, saying, "You're still a student and young. You can gain experience in sitcoms first and solidify your basic skills. Once you have some work to show for yourself, people will naturally come looking for you."

Lin An didn't respond.

Old Zhao's debts and his mother's demands hung over his head like a guillotine, leaving him no time to dawdle.

"Director Lin."

He looked up, his tone more serious than before:

"I'm not very familiar with film and television companies. If I write a complete script, could you please recommend me?"

The office fell silent for a moment.

Lin Cong leaned back on the sofa, arms crossed, tilting her head to look at him. The playfulness in her eyes slowly faded, replaced by something indescribable.

"Okay, but I won't speak up for you."

"Thanks."

"Write me a few more good scripts, that would be the best way to thank you."

Lin An smiled and nodded: "I'll let you know as soon as I have a new idea."

Lin Cong said with satisfaction, "Then it's a deal."

……

……

I've received 8000, but I'm still 4.5 short of 3.7, with 92 days to go.

Leaving the Beijing Film Academy office building, Lin An had a new plan for the future.

You must keep abreast of film and television news.

He had no room to get involved in big-budget productions like "The Grand Mansion Gate" or series like "Ji Xiaolan," but commercially conceived dramas like "A Step into the Past" were practically tailor-made for him.

In 2000, mainland audiences were still unfamiliar with the concept of "time travel." Most people probably first encountered this concept by listening to storytelling on the radio.

If he could write a time-travel script that suits the tastes of mainland audiences before everyone else...

No, he doesn't need to limit himself to film and television at all.

Novels belong to the cultural and entertainment industry, and can also generate profits; in fact, they have lower barriers to entry and can be produced more quickly.

Lin An's heart pounded, but he quickly calmed down.

The reason is simple—I can't remember.

More than a decade has passed, and he only has a vague impression of the plots of those novels. He struggles to even dictate them to others, let alone write them down completely.

It seems the key to breaking the deadlock lies in the [Future Store].

You can go back and ask Doraemon if he has any items that can restore memories. I seem to recall something similar in the original work.

As Lin An walked, he pondered the matter of the "memory restoration item," and before he knew it, he had arrived at the Yifu Building.

Push the door open and enter.

The stairwell still had that familiar smell of turpentine mixed with paint, which grew stronger the higher you went.

The student artworks—oil paintings, watercolors, and sketches—still hung on the walls of the second-floor corridor, unchanged from when he last visited.

Lin An didn't linger and went straight to the third floor, arriving familiarly at the end of the corridor, the second to last room.

The door was open.

Lin An raised his hand and knocked on the door frame.

Knock knock knock.

"Come in."

An unfamiliar voice came from the studio, carrying a hint of nonchalance.

Lin An pushed open the door and entered.

The studio was still the same studio—about thirty square meters, with several rows of wooden easels against the wall, paint tubes, palettes, and rags stained with paint scattered on the floor, and two easels set up by the window.

But the person sitting behind the easel was not Tang Yu.

He was a middle-aged man with thin features, wearing black-rimmed glasses and a faded plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was holding a paintbrush and carefully painting something in front of an oil painting.

The canvas depicts a gray-blue sky with thick clouds and layers of color, showcasing the artist's skill.

Lin An paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping around the art studio.

There is no Tang Yu.

The chubby man with a round figure, a sharp tongue but a kind heart has disappeared.

"Who are you looking for?" The middle-aged man asked without looking up, his brush tip lightly tapping on the canvas.

"Tang Yu," Lin An said.

The middle-aged man paused for a second, then his face suddenly darkened.

He turned his head, looked at Lin An quietly, and then pointed to the door.

Lin An blinked, puzzled, and asked, "What do you mean?"

The middle-aged man said sternly:

"Get out!"