"It's good that they've all left. Tell the company staff to leave first and clear the site. No one should be left behind."
"While you were asking why, I think we could have already started the work. What, if it were President Ji who gave this order, would you also ask why?"
"Good to know. Don't let it happen again." Shang Yechu glanced at the wall clock. "Get it done before 2 PM, no problem, right?"
"good."
Shang Yechu hung up the phone, sat on the sofa, and let out a long sigh.
The stone soup is ready.
In that story of Tang Shi, Shang Yechu saw not only collective wisdom or group contributions, but more so, a process of gradual encroachment and annihilation.
If the person who made the soup with stones had initially presented a long list to the villagers, he would likely have only received brooms from the entire village. But a pot, a pot of water, a handful of salt… such a small price to pay is affordable for everyone. This makes it easier to lower people's guard.
By advancing and retreating at the same time, like boiling a frog in lukewarm water, we can achieve the desired effect.
From the very beginning, Shang Yechu never expected Sheng Wenzhi to rewrite a book. Even if Sheng Wenzhi wanted to, she wouldn't agree. Those so-called "adding romance" and "creating a sister book" were all smokescreens to cover up the real purpose—to get Sheng Wenzhi to write the scattered plots of other shops.
Gu Wenhua had already laid out the framework of the entire film according to the standard format of commercial films. "Rules Street" is essentially just old wine in a new bottle, using the old-fashioned formula of a commercial action film to tell a story related to rules. The script has a skeleton; what's lacking now is only the flesh, that is, the concrete plot.
This kind of meticulous, individual-level detail is precisely Gu Wenhua's creative weakness. He can't write it, and neither can Shang Yechu. The ghostwriters employed by Qingping Entertainment can write, but they never possess the same flair and fluency as Sheng Wenzhi. Their work feels out of place in the script, like a movie version of Pinduoduo (a Chinese online shopping platform).
Only when Sheng Wenzhi himself puts his pen to paper can that harmonious, seamless feeling be captured. But the question is, how can we get Sheng Wenzhi to write?
She barged into Sheng Wenzhi's house and said to him, "Write me a few short stories based on other shops! Gu Wenhua will edit them and weave them into the plot. Oh, you're asking why I suddenly need to write these things? Ah, don't ask that..."
Just thinking about that scene sent chills down Shang Yechu's spine; she always felt that blood would be splattered everywhere.
For this reason, Shang Yechu racked his brains for several days before coming up with this solution.
Asking Sheng Wenzhi to write some new jokes—this request was indeed demanding. But compared to serious matters like "the movie not having enough runtime to start filming," "adding romance scenes to a perfectly good script," or "rewriting a whole book," it seemed insignificant. Add to that the non-existent expectations of the pedestrian street readers, a writer's instinct to cook ingredients, and Shang Yechu's intentional or unintentional psychological suggestion and guidance, and Sheng Wenzhi, this big fish, was finally hooked, half-coaxed and half-tricked.
Is it despicable to exploit a writer's concern for readers and their natural creative desire for writing material to guide Sheng Wenzhi to do something he doesn't like at all?
Shang Yechu looked up at the wall clock opposite the sofa. The hands ticked away, never stopping for anyone.
I've heard that the story of Tang Shi is an ancient fable. Shang Yechu likes it very much; she likes stories that can be interpreted from various angles. She especially likes stories that can be used to her advantage.
Sheng Wenzhi changed his clothes and went downstairs. His fashion sense was different from that of normal men; he was wearing a flashy burgundy silk shirt, but it didn't look effeminate or out of place at all; instead, it suited his appearance perfectly.
As Sheng Wenzhi walked, he asked, "Is anyone on the commercial street right now? I just looked at the letters from the neighbors while I was changing clothes. There's an ice cream shop with some really interesting rules..."
"I'm not sure about that. My boss is in charge of this." Shang Yechu smiled flawlessly. "I heard that Qingping Entertainment gave the neighbors compensation for the business closure, so maybe everyone has left? Let's go and see."
Sheng Wenzhi seemed a little disappointed, but quickly cheered up again: "It's okay if we don't see each other, we'll meet again in the future. As long as the shop doesn't close."
"The shop won't close. The company has already paid the rent." Shang Yechu and Sheng Wenzhi walked out of the house side by side.
The bright summer sun shone on everything, and Shang Yechu squinted because of the bright light.
Sheng Wenzhi started humming a song. He was still tone-deaf, like a human-shaped noise.
Shang Yechu turned her head to look at Sheng Wenzhi's profile.
Sensing Shang Yechu's gaze, Sheng Wenzhi turned his head as well: "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that all of a sudden?"
"It's nothing," Shang Yechu smiled.
She used to hate Sheng Wenzhi for living in a glass dome, but now she suddenly felt sorry for Sheng Wenzhi's naivety.
If possible, she hoped that Sheng Wenzhi would remain naive forever, living in a vacuum, and never knowing the colossal lie she had told him today.
What a pity.
Shang Yechu wasn't sure how long this deception could last. Maybe after the movie's release, maybe tomorrow. Sooner or later, Sheng Wenzhi would discover this cruel and ugly truth, and find that all the colorful and beautiful dreams he had created had been thrown into the pot by Shang Yechu and Gu Wenhua, boiled into a pot of ubiquitous stone soup.
What will Sheng Wen's reaction be then?
Shang Yechu didn't want to know. She just hoped that day would come later, much later.
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