A month after Luo Jiujiang's departure, Zheng Shu still hadn't been able to successfully revise this miraculous adventure into a first draft of the script.
As a third-rate director, he always couldn't help analyzing the details of his interactions with the alien, and then he was deeply immersed in his own narcissism about how natural and exquisite the plot handling was and how profound it was, so the script was shelved again and again.
For example, at this moment, he is recalling the first time they met.
Just like countless time-travel novels that begin with amnesia in order to obtain basic information for the next step, many classic films, TV shows, or popular novels about aliens must have the protagonist fall on the hood of someone's car.
This model certainly has its own logical approach: if the place where the alien falls is changed to the back of the car, the audience will easily complain about why the protagonist does not pretend to be blind and drives away with his foot on the accelerator; but if the place is changed to the front of the car, it will be a large-scale social program - to help or not.
Only if it fell on the hood of the car could it be considered a real "bumping into porcelain" act. Not only did it give this alien visitor a layer of mystery, but it also established a tenuous connection between the two strangers, that "the one who hits the other is responsible."
When Zheng Shu was just starting out, he thought this way of expression was vulgar. It was not until he encountered it himself that he was so excited that he burst into tears, clapped his hands in admiration, and expressed his gratitude to this mysterious master for his great power and saving his life.
——From this perspective, he was actually the one who committed the fraud.
At that time, Zheng Shu was having a conflict with someone else because of his ex-girlfriend's leaving the house. Logically, he was the one who made the first move to steal her girl, but judging from the other party's behavior of not saying a word, first finding a van to tie him up, stuffing him into the wilderness, this ex-boyfriend was not a good person either.
The other party was clearly still concerned about Zheng Shu's father and brother. Although they had ropes and sacks in the van, they hadn't prepared knives or cement. Zheng Shu listened to their conversation along the way and it seemed they were planning to beat him up first to vent their anger, then stuff a bag of dry food into him and throw him out into the wilderness, leaving him to walk back to nowhere.
For Zheng Shu, who had been frail and spoiled since childhood, doing this was almost like taking his life.
He didn't even want to take a single step, let alone endure a beating. However, he was now at the mercy of others, not only was he tied up like a silkworm chrysalis, but his mouth was also gagged and taped. He was truly helpless.
And it was at this moment that Luo Jiujiang suddenly appeared from the sky.
Literally a drop from the sky.
Before the driver could finish his cry of "Meteor...?", Luo Jiujiang had already slammed onto the hood of the silver van with lightning speed.
In an instant, the windshield shattered into countless irregular sharp pieces, and a large piece of the front metal plate was dented. The van stalled on the spot due to being hit by a heavy object, and the body of the van shook violently.
This moment seemed long, but in reality, everything happened in a split second. After a second of stunned silence, the two men in the passenger seat cried out in surprise.
“—Oh my God!”
"—my eyes!"
Zheng Shu half-curled up in the trunk, completely oblivious to what was happening ahead. He only heard the thud of cars crashing, the sound of glass shattering, and the jolt of his body violently jolting him.
Before Zheng Shu could rejoice that this was God's retribution, a mellow and hearty voice rang out in their ears: "Don't be afraid, I won't let these crystal fragments hurt anyone."
The exclamations gradually died down, replaced by some kind of choked gasping sound.
Zheng Shu couldn't see what was happening in front of him; he just cried out for help subconsciously. All the words he could form were choked by the paper ball stuffed in his mouth, but his cry of help was clearly expressed through his groaning.
As expected, the man immediately asked in surprise, "Is the friend behind injured?"
The person who spoke was obviously a classic character whose hands spoke faster than his mouth. Before the last question was finished, Zheng Shu felt his eyes brighten up - at the same time, he finally understood why the five people in the van suddenly fell silent.
Because Zheng Shu saw the white clouds and blue sky.
The roof of the van, which was made of metal and had been specially reinforced inside, was torn open like cotton wool. The roof rolled up, and a trembling shadow was swaying on Zheng Shu's face.
The instigator hadn't even touched the van with his fingertips. With nothing to stand on, he hovered effortlessly in the air, and the shattered windshields, like him, remained frozen in mid-air, defying gravity.
"So handsome." This was Zheng Shu's first impression of him.
This man was incredibly handsome. His face might not be described as meticulously sculpted, but the arrangement of his features and even the direction of his muscles were perfectly positioned. His aura carried a kind of warmth that made one want to smile.
His eyes were bright and sharp. Even if it was not intentional, people who were looked at by him would inevitably shudder, but they would not be too scared. It was just like drinking a sip of ice water on a morning in early summer, just to refresh themselves.
As a third-rate director with a bit of an artistic bent, Zheng Shu's mind raced with countless thoughts. He thought of the sun-kissed Apollo depicted in countless oil paintings. If he imagined dyeing that man's hair black, there would be no more fitting image than the one before him.
He also recalled many lines of poetry, and the martial arts novels he'd read as a teenager, accompanied by television dramas. This man looked like a figure straight out of a book or painting, the so-called "silver saddle illuminates the white horse, swift as a meteor"...
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