Knowing him well, Ye Zi gently pressed him back onto the sofa, coaxing him patiently: "But a movie's runtime always needs to be complete. This 'Rules Grocery Store' only has half the runtime. I discussed it with the company, and their suggestion is, could you fill in the other half?"
"Finish the other half?" Sheng Wenzhi murmured, repeating.
“What I mean is,” Shang Yechu wasn’t really sure either. Sheng Wenzhi was like a damp firework; no one knew when he would explode. “Do you know that kind of episodic movie format? Like ‘The Pilgrimage of Four’ or ‘The Five Elements.’ It presents each character’s story in segments, with almost no overlap between segments. You can understand it even without watching the previous segment.”
"The company wants to make this movie in this format, so they need you to finish another novel as soon as possible, make it into a sister film to 'The Rules Grocery Store,' and combine it into a movie."
Sheng Wenzhi's eyes widened.
It's over. Shang Yechu sighed inwardly.
Sheng Wenzhi stood up, looked down at Shang Yechu, his eyes filled with an indistinguishable mix of anger and shock: "You want to kick out another book? Do you think writing a novel is like making steamed buns, mixing flour with water, and steaming one or a whole pot as you please?"
The notorious minefields were everywhere, and Shang Yechu had already prepared a mine-avoidance guide: "This isn't mandatory..."
"Forced?" Sheng Wenzhi's face twisted in pain. "What right do you have to force me?"
Sheng Wenzhi's angry expression immediately reminded Shang Yechu of how he was teased and nicknamed by the boys in his class when he was in junior high. So many years have passed, and he seems to have made no progress at all; he's still that awkward boy.
Since he was determined to change Sheng Wenzhi's writings into something unrecognizable, Shang Yechu was much more patient with him at this moment: "No one is forcing you to write anything—okay? What's the rush? You've splashed water from your hair all over me. Sit down."
Sheng Wenzhi paused for a moment, then finally sat down. He lowered his eyes, his cheeks bulging from being bitten so hard. Based on Shang Yechu's understanding of him, this expression meant that his patience had reached its limit and he was ready to turn on her and leave at any moment.
Shang Yechu picked up the towel that Sheng Wenzhi had thrown away, stood behind him, and gently began to dry his hair.
One swipe, two swipes. Sheng Wenzhi's hair was in excellent condition, jet black and glossy, like a long piece of satin. Shang Yechu caught the scent of men's shampoo—the one endorsed by Shi Shan.
As he did this, Sheng Wenzhi's complexion gradually improved.
“It’s impossible to write another work of the same type in such a short time,” Sheng Wenzhi said firmly. “It’s not about the money; I just don’t want to write it.”
"Then this movie will most likely be canceled," Shang Yechu said slowly. "Who would go to the cinema to watch a movie that's only a few tens of minutes long?"
Sheng Wenzhi frowned deeply: "Can't we really slow down the filming even more?"
“Your script has a good pace,” Shang Yechu said calmly, “It’s especially important to smooth things over at times like this, lest we lose what we’ve already secured.” “Deliberately speeding it up or slowing it down will completely distort the script. Do you want to see that happen?”
Sheng Wenzhi pursed his lips and remained silent.
Shang Yechu desperately tried to recall the tone of Ji Juntao's voice when he used PUA tactics on her—a tone so seductive it could lull someone to sleep—in which Ji Juntao was a master. Why didn't this dead man do it himself? He forced Shang Yechu to learn on the spot.
After drying her hair, Shang Yechu asked, "Where's the comb?"
Sheng Wenzhi reached into his pajama pocket and pulled out an exquisitely carved wooden comb, which he then handed to Shang Yechu.
When Shang Yechu was in junior high school, she often helped Sheng Wenzhi comb her hair. Sheng Wenzhi didn't know how to style her hair and would come to school with her hair all over the place every day. The boys in her junior high class would often pull Sheng Wenzhi's hair, so Shang Yechu would use a plastic comb that she bought for five yuan at the supermarket to help her tie her hair into a small bun.
Shang Yechu helped Ji Ya take care of her younger sisters, and she was quite skilled at combing their hair.
Although Sheng Wenzhi always wore a sour face when her hair was combed, she never refused. However, one day, Sheng Wenzhi accidentally discovered that Shang Yechu would also use that plastic comb to comb her own hair. She immediately flew into a rage and refused to allow Shang Yechu to touch her hair anymore. —The order in which Shang Yechu bathed at home strictly followed the sequence of her father, Shang Hongxuan → fourth brother, Shang Jiayu → second and third sisters, Mengzhu and Lingqiu → mother, Ji Ya → eldest son, Shang Yechu. Often, by the time it was Shang Yechu's turn, it was already dark, and when her parents urged her to go to bed, she could only have a quick wash. Shang Yechu's hair was always greasy then. Sheng Wenzhi thought it was dirty.
Combing from head to toe...like a person's long life.
If only life could be as smooth as combing your hair.
Sheng Wenzhi kept his mouth shut and remained silent for a long time before speaking again: "Even if I wanted to write, the movie is about to start filming. How can I finish writing in such a short time?"
Shang Yechu carefully slid the comb from the top of her hair to the ends: "Really can't finish writing? Why not imitate the format or content of 'Rules General Store' and write 'Rules Bookstore', 'Rules Clothing Store', or 'Rules Snack Shop'?"
"No." Sheng Wenzhi refused decisively, though his tone wasn't as forceful.
Shang Yechu combed her hair a few more times, her movements gentle and practiced.
Time seemed to have briefly reversed.
After combing her hair, Shang Yechu asked, "Do you want it dried?"
"No need." Sheng Wenzhi closed his eyes, seemingly resting. "Ye Zi... I'm sorry."
It's almost done.
Shang Yechu sat back down next to Sheng Wenzhi and gazed at his profile: "It's a pity, the neighbors on Xingfu Commercial Street all really like your novels."
"Huh?" Sheng Wenzhi opened his eyes. "You mean the street you used to live on?"
“Yes. This filming location is here.” Shang Yechu put the comb back into Sheng Wenzhi’s pocket. “The neighbors all love your novels. They heard you might write another novel based on the shops on the street, and they’re all vying to have me send these over.”
"When did I say that my novel was based on the shops on the commercial street?" Sheng Wenzhi asked with a puzzled expression.
"The people on the street are mostly uncles and aunties. They don't understand those intricate details and always assume that filming on the street means the novel is based on their shop..."
Sheng Wenzhi exclaimed "Oh!" and looked curious: "What's been delivered?"
Shang Yechu opened the sealed kraft paper bag she had brought and poured it onto the coffee table. With a whoosh, all sorts of scraps of paper scattered across the coffee table.
“Look.” Shang Yechu casually pulled out a piece of paper. “They are extremely envious of ‘Rules General Store’. They have copied their own store rules and specialties, hoping that you will write another one.”
Sheng Wenzhi casually picked up a few pieces of paper and examined them closely. These papers varied in size and material, and the handwriting on them was also very different. Some of them were stained with chili oil or dirt, clearly indicating that they were written by different people.
Sheng Wenzhi paused, cleared his throat, and looked at Shang Yechu suspiciously: "Do elderly folks like horror novels?"
“Folk tales and supernatural stories are suitable for all ages.” Knowing Sheng Wenzhi’s intellectual character, Shang Yechu calmly added, “Besides, the uncles and aunties on the commercial street aren’t the ordinary small vendors you’re thinking of. Some are retired teachers, and the rest have at least a high school or college education.”
Although Shang Yechu did not believe that a diploma could evaluate a person's entire life, Sheng Wenzhi did not think so.
Sure enough, upon hearing this, most of the doubt on Sheng Wenzhi's face vanished. He flipped through the papers on the coffee table, a slight blush creeping onto his face: "So many?"
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