exile
The hands of time quietly turned back to half a year ago, Beijing.
The night was long and silent, and tranquility enveloped Xiang Yaozu's study.
This world is spacious and elegant, and every detail is engraved with the owner's taste and time.
The famous paintings hanging on the walls silently reveal the owner's temperament and status; on the bookshelf, in addition to the full collection of books, there are several trophies from different international film festivals, which reflect the sparkling light in the dim light, which are the testimony of his half-life of glory.
Xiang Yaozu sat behind a large desk, his fingertips operating rapidly on the keyboard. The light from the screen reflected his wrinkled face, and his eyes were focused and deep.
On the sofa, Fan Lingjuan was reading a newspaper with a calm look in her hands.
She is the most important companion in Xiang Yaozu's life and his irreplaceable partner in his career. The former movie star has now washed away all the makeup and has a touch of gentleness and tranquility between her brows.
In the newspaper, there was an eye-catching headline: "The famous director Yao Zu has a son who will inherit his legacy, the best-selling novel "Nezha" is to be made into a movie."
This year, Xiang Yang shocked the literary world with his book "Nezha". The novel is like a sharp knife, which not only cuts open the tender bonds in family relationships, but also shouts out a son's struggle and accusation against patriarchy.
It is a love novel and also a story about lovers breaking free from the shackles of their parents in the name of love, which resonated with countless readers.
At this moment, as soon as the news of the novel being adapted into a movie was announced, it swept the headlines of major media like a whirlwind and became the focus of heated discussion.
"Nezha", a synonym for "evil son" for thousands of years, is now openly named after the movie, as if the irreconcilable contradictions and entanglements between this famous father and son have added a meaningful footnote, and once again become a topic of conversation that the general public is confused about but always enjoys talking about.
Xiang Yaozu finally finished the email and clicked send. Then he picked up the phone on the table and dialed a number.
On the other end of the phone was Du Tianming, the film music master with whom he had worked for many years.
Du Tianming answered the phone, and at the same time, the email that Xiang Yaozu had just sent to him appeared in his inbox.
"Yangyang's novel is over 400,000 words long. You don't have time to savor it." Xiang Yaozu's voice came through the receiver, sonorous and unusually earnest. "I've compiled a 3,000-word summary. Take some time to read it. For this type of movie, music is the soul. Please help him."
He paused and added, "I've already sent it, please check it."
After hanging up the phone, Xiang Yaozu did not stop, his eyes were still fixed on the computer screen, his fingers skillfully sliding the mouse, searching for relevant information on the Internet.
Fan Lingjuan put down the newspaper in her hand and looked at him.
Seeing that the chrysanthemum tea in the transparent thermos in front of him was almost empty, she stood up, picked up the kettle on the corner of the table, walked over, and gently refilled it with hot water for him.
"Alas," Fan Lingjuan sighed softly, "When reporters pressed him on whether the novel was autobiographical, he just smiled and remained noncommittal... This kid, that hurdle in his heart, I wonder when he'll truly get over it?"
Xiang Yaozu turned his gaze from the screen to the dark night outside the window. His voice was filled with a rare sense of fatigue and guilt. "Life is fleeting, and things change so drastically. I consider myself to have acted uprightly throughout my life, but I truly owe it to him and his mother and son."
"Blood is thicker than water. There is no knot that cannot be untied. There is still a long way to go." Fan Lingjuan's voice was gentle and soothing.
Xiang Yaozu glanced at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You go ahead and do your work. I'll figure out where I can help more. It's his first movie, so I'll try to help him as much as I can."
Fan Lingjuan nodded, put down the kettle, turned and walked towards the door.
The moment the door closed gently, she quickly took out her cell phone from her pocket, slid her fingertips across the screen, and silently dialed Du Tianming's number.
"Tianming, it's me, Sister Fan." Her voice was low. "I just heard the guide talking to you on the phone... Let me warn you, Xiangyang, if he knew it was his father who asked you to help, he'd probably be furious again. Just say you heard it from me..."
A few days later, on an afternoon, the blazing autumn sun poured brightly into the offices of Naohai E-Commerce, tinting every inch of the space with a gentle golden hue. Beyond the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, the endless bustling city of Beijing stretched as far as the eye could see.
The atmosphere in the reception area of the office was lively and discussions were in full swing.
Music master Du Tianming, who came all the way from Taipei, is sitting upright with a faint light flickering on the laptop screen in front of him.
This was the first time he came in person, and he came in a serious manner to recommend the candidate for composing the music for Xiang Yang's new movie "Nezha".
Peng Qunshan, Xiangyang's childhood friend and right-hand man in his career, participated in the planning of a film project for the first time, and his face was filled with excitement and joy that was difficult to conceal.
He opened his laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard, concentrating on taking notes of the meeting.
Du Tianming smiled broadly, speaking in a soft Taiwanese accent as he explained, "I have three candidates ready to go. They've all been selected based on the reference styles you sent me earlier. Here are their demos... Take a listen..."
As he spoke, he skillfully retrieved audio files on his computer.
Xiang Yang's gaze fell intently and enthusiastically on Du Tianming. "Uncle...are you really just in Beijing?" His tone was calm, but he didn't hide his suspicion. "I remember, weren't you busy with the soundtrack for my dad's French film recently? Counting it up, that's already your fifth collaboration..."
Du Tianming had not yet formally started to introduce his favorite composer, but as he adjusted the volume on his computer, a wisp of intermittent music drifted out of the speakers like light smoke.
Du Tianming raised his head, met Xiangyang's scrutinizing gaze, and asked loudly, "What do you want to ask?"
Xiangyang lowered his voice a bit, "My dad...what did he say to you?"
Du Tianming understood immediately and, following Fan Lingjuan's instructions, deliberately raised his voice with a hint of exaggerated blame: "It was Aunt Fan who sent me this letter via carrier pigeon, okay? ... Wow, what era is this? Can't I afford a computer? Don't I have internet at home? Can't I read the news online myself? Or do you think you, Uncle Du, are old-fashioned and unqualified to offer yourself as the music coordinator for this masterpiece?"
Upon hearing this, the tense lines on Xiangyang's face instantly relaxed, and he couldn't help but resume his mischievous behavior. "How dare I? I only asked half a question, and you almost drowned me in saliva... 'Tolaku,' didn't you say that correctly? Uncle, what does 'walilie' mean? Can you teach me some more Hokkien..."
Seeing the atmosphere ease, Peng Qunshan interjected, explaining the process for selecting the theme music in a relaxed tone. "Just like the closed beta test before the official launch of our online game, the number of devoted readers of the novel 'Nezha' is staggering, practically overwhelming. Once these audio files are available, we'll hold an online poll. It can also serve as a marketing prep..."
Peng Qunshan was halfway through his words when a melody suddenly came from his computer...
It was a peculiar ensemble, the desolate Mongolian horse-head fiddle and the clear piano were like two souls having a dialogue, sometimes lingering and sometimes arguing fiercely.
The arrangement technique is unique, and the grandeur is accompanied by a lingering melancholy, like a tearful complaint, which strikes the heart directly.
Xiangyang's body shook violently, his eyes froze instantly, and all his attention was captured by the music.
He blurted out, "Forget BETA, this one is good." His eyes lit up and his tone was firm.
Upon hearing this, Du Tianming clapped his hands together, a delighted smile spreading across his face. "Great minds think alike!... I was immediately struck by this piece of music as well. This is a singer from Taipei who only came to Beijing to develop his career over the past two or three years. I have some of his other works."
As Du Tianming spoke, he took out one of the several loose-leaf folders he carried with him and handed it to Xiangyang.
Xiangyang took the binder and cast his gaze over the pages with intense curiosity. Inside were neatly arranged sheet music and several songs with lyrics already written.
"A Luo...?" Xiang Yang's eyes swept over the songwriter's pseudonym, and then landed on the title of one of the songs. "Exile?"
He couldn't help but whisper the words printed on the paper:
...looking at the wounded life
At the starting point
Try your best to bloom
Take off the wings of greedy freedom
For the first time, I gradually moved away from hesitation...
Every word and sentence was like a magical drumbeat, striking heavily on his heartstrings.
"Knock, knock, knock," it was a long-lost resonance, a tremor that touched the depths of the soul.
The bittersweet feeling of homesickness and the dizzying roar of the world spinning instantly overwhelmed all his senses.
Xiangyang only felt a strong electric current running through from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He was completely stunned and stood there frozen.
This was his first encounter with Jin Yu.
Separated by mountains and rivers, separated by strangers who have never met, because of a melody and a few lines of text, two lonely souls, at this moment, had their first invisible intersection.
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