To become a famous screenwriter, a great screenwriter, a household name with a huge following, and to leave one's mark on the history of light and shadow.
Jian Xiaojun is unrecognizable now. If she, a recent college graduate, stood in front of her now, she probably wouldn't even be recognized. But this distant dream has not been eroded at all; on the contrary, it has been polished brighter day by day, and no storm can break it.
She is the author of "The Mute Woman"!
Plywood doesn't provide good sound insulation, and the constant clatter of keyboards fills the air, which can even cause auditory hallucinations after a while. An eight-person dormitory can't possibly be quiet, and even basic sleep can't be guaranteed.
To this end, Jian Xiaojun bought a large box of cheap earplugs and kept them in her ears every day, hoping for a little peace and quiet. At these times, she would think of Guan Yue and secretly lament the cruel twist of fate.
The Mute Woman, The Mute Woman...
Prolonged use of earplugs can cause the ear canal to become stuffy and increase pressure. In addition, earplugs are cheap and unhygienic. After a few months, Jian Xiaojun developed otitis media.
Aside from communicating with her parents, she rarely spoke. Her otitis media kept recurring, and Jian Xiaojun's hearing deteriorated day by day.
She became a young mute woman.
The story that followed wasn't as exciting or clichéd as all stories of hardship followed by happiness.
Guanjun Century required screenwriters to hold a competition, with the best script winning. Jian Xiaojun stood out and won the competition. She thought this was the light at the end of the tunnel, but was told—
"You're a newcomer, giving you this opportunity is already a great privilege."
As for the signature?
Head screenwriter, lead screenwriter, assistant screenwriter, script editor, end credits… Jian Xiaojun flipped through the entire finished script, but couldn't find her own name. Yu Bei, leading a large group of apprentices and followers, casually occupied all the positions. Even the director, whom Jian Xiaojun had never met, was listed as a screenwriter.
The only trace that proves Jian Xiaojun ever existed is a dish that appears in the film. Jian Xiaojun's WeChat nickname was "Stir-fried Pork Belly with Sauerkraut," so this dish was included in the dialogue when writing the script.
Jian Xiaojun angrily went to confront the company, only to be met with a contract thrown in her face by Guanjun Century. The contract was neither legal nor reasonable, but what could Jian Xiaojun do?
This is a fact:
Jian Xiaojun is no longer a screenwriter, but a ghostwriter.
This is a cliché story, something that happens every day in this circle.
"Thank you, Ye Chu." Jian Xiaojun said with tears in her eyes at the end of the conversation.
Shang Yechu's face was already expressionless, looking quite frightening. Jian Xiaojun's eyes were blurry with tears as she felt her embrace her plump and unhealthy body, and heard her whisper in her ear, "You've worked hard."
After a long silence, Shang Yechu said again, "Actually, I didn't do anything for you."
“No, no.” Jian Xiaojun sniffled, sobbing. “You didn’t laugh at my ambition to become a great screenwriter, nor did you laugh at my stupidity for being repeatedly deceived. These are things even my parents couldn’t do. —Of all the people who know these things, you’re the only one who didn’t do them…”
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