Chapter 53: Please Stop Dating, Mengmeng Part 2

Li Tingzhou propped one side of his cheek on his hand, listening intently.

A few more minutes passed before the title “Swirl” slowly appeared on the screen.

Watching a stream-of-consciousness film is just like attending an advanced math class:

You start off attentive, thinking everything is a hidden plot clue; by the middle, you’re completely lost; in the latter half, your energy wanes, so you can’t keep up with the director’s flamboyant technical flourishes, and may even feel like yawning. By the end, you’re left with a sudden sense of emptiness: What exactly did I watch for these two hours?

Prior to this, Cui Lin had no interest in such films.

If not for Mengmeng bringing it up in conversation, he wouldn’t even have remembered that Tong An had deigned to attend the S City International Film Festival for his niece’s sake.

But at this moment, in this non-standard-sized hall, listening to the sometimes light, sometimes eerie background music, the vague, lingering scent from Mengmeng wafting past his nose, Cui Lin had no mind to keep up with the movie’s progress. Uncontrollably, he turned his head inch by inch, until Mengmeng’s profile was fully captured in his vision.

In that instant, the explosion of fluttering feeling silently declared his complete surrender.

He didn’t know how long he’d been spacing out when he heard Mengmeng’s soft query.

“Are you sleepy?”

The voice was so low it was almost just breath. Because it was so hushed, it sounded deeper, more magnetically rich than usual. The moment Cui Lin came back to his senses, his cheeks and earlobes started rapidly heating up!

“No… I just… I just don’t quite understand it…”

Li Tingzhou softly said, “Oh.” Then added, “It’s alright, I don’t really understand it either.”

Cui Lin wanted to cry: Don’t be so adorable! Please!

For the rest of the ending, his mind refocused and he stopped daydreaming, but he genuinely couldn’t absorb a single thing. The only vivid impression left was the final scene: the male lead hiding beneath the water’s surface, like a mermaid awaiting human pity, or a fierce python lying in ambush for prey. Pink, white, blue, and yellow petals drifted and bobbed with the waves. The above-water and below-water perspectives crisscrossed twice. There was a “splash!” sound—something entered the water. Bubbles, glug-glug-glug, pushed past petals and floated to the surface, bursting upon meeting the light…

Li Tingzhou let out a brief, surprised gasp. “Ah!”

His brows furrowed slightly, his lashes fluttering twice. At the same time, his lips forgot to close, their slightly parted angle looking unusually stubborn and pitiful.

Cui Lin didn’t even know where to look, except definitely not at the big screen.

The eerie melody rose again, the sound of water dripping onto stone replacing the crisp drumbeat of the original. All the lights in the exhibition hall came back on. The movie was over. Some people trickled out of the hall, others remained seated, lost in afterthought. Li Tingzhou waited until the full credits had rolled before standing up to leave.

As soon as he moved, Cui Lin followed closely, matching his pace.

The two of them were like mischievous students who’d daydreamed through an entire lecture, not daring to make eye contact with the film critics and industry professionals who’d attended the same screening, even dodging anyone who looked like media, afraid of being cornered for a conversation or interview…

It wasn’t until they’d left the Multimedia Center that they exchanged a knowing smile.

“How did it end up like this? Feels like we were thieves.”

Li Tingzhou laughed too. “Honestly, I didn’t really get it. I was mainly watching the visuals, enjoying the atmosphere, and listening to the music inside. To truly understand a Tong An film, you have to rely on those film bloggers’ analyses and breakdowns. As if I have that level of appreciation.”

Cui Lin refused to let him belittle himself. “Tong An is just being deliberately obscure!”

“You sound just like Eldan. That’s what he says too.”

The smile on Cui Lin’s face, which he’d been enjoying just a second ago, almost froze. “Have you and Eldan really known each other for 7 years? I mean, it’s rare for people to so unswervingly follow a friend.”

Li Tingzhou nodded. “Good friends for seven years, known each other even longer.”

Cui Lin silently gritted his teeth, but his tone remained steadier than the hand-stitched waistline of a Rolls-Royce, perfectly feigning nonchalance. “I see.”

Wandering over to the self-service drinks area, Li Tingzhou got a cup of coffee. Cui Lin copied him.

They avoided the crowded spots and found a place to rest.

The chat session Cui Lin had been anticipating began—

“A film like ‘Swirl’—Tong An makes them knowing they won’t make money or win awards, but he still does it, all to promote his precious niece. Is ‘Swirl’ actually better than ‘Rewind’? Even a famous director can’t keep using the same old tricks time and time again. But if ‘Swirl’ were the product of a young female director in her early thirties, the promotional effect would be completely different. The exact points used to attack Tong An would instantly flip into highlights for Tong Zhe!”

Of course, Cui Lin swore up and down he wasn’t jealous or trying to put Tong Zhe down.

He simply wanted to be honest with Mengmeng: Inheritance in the film circle is just that simple and crude, to help this poor boy dispel his illusions about it.

Li Tingzhou’s thoughts were elsewhere, though.

He said, “If she can truly inherit Tong An’s style, even grasping 60 to 70 percent of it would be sufficient.”

Cui Lin slowly inhaled. “Your perspective actually makes sense too.”

Some people can’t even copy a decent imitation by tracing a model, while at least Tong Zhe manages to copy it with a fair resemblance. That said, beyond Tong Zhe, would Tong An ever teach his skills to an outsider?

“Director Tong An has a Studio he’s collaborated with many times, did you know?”

Cui Lin froze for a few seconds. Move, brain, think fast—

“Oh, yes, he does like using familiar people.”

Li Tingzhou paid no heed to his vague reply and continued, speaking to himself, “When I first graduated, I actually wanted to join that studio. I submitted my portfolio, but I was gently turned down.”

People are always drawn to the magnificent and grand. Li Tingzhou was no exception back then.

His top choice was precisely that studio specializing in film and television music, which also had a string of award nominations and honors. Unfortunately, they had a strict policy of barely ever taking in new blood, preferring to maintain a stable style. They accepted Li Tingzhou’s resume and portfolio, even proactively inviting him to fly over for a studio tour, but in the end, they rejected him citing style differences…

“It was like they invited me just to visit, fulfilling a little fan’s wish.”

Cui Lin tried picturing the scene in his mind and found Mengmeng utterly too adorable!

“Well, we didn’t exactly lose out.”

Li Tingzhou smiled. “We definitely didn’t lose…”

“Then how did you decide to come back to China and join Heartbreak?” Cui Lin was genuinely curious.

“…Actually, there were some coincidences.”

Li Tingzhou briefly told Cui Lin about his “first encounter” with Heartbreak during his time studying abroad: a music enthusiast who’d gotten into a prestigious school played Heartbreak’s songs at a party. That song was technically an unreleased live recording from the first generation of Heartbreak, but this person did a creative edit and reposted it on social media, gaining several thousand followers and racking up eight-digit view counts. It was while chatting with him that Li Tingzhou learned about this small domestic band, whose main creators were surprisingly generous enough to not care about Copyright at all…

“Too generous, to the point it was unheard of.”

No wonder Heartbreak had so little money in their own accounts; others were making all the money off of them.

Cui Lin was a bit shocked to hear this, too. “It’s a good thing you came.”

Mengmeng couldn’t let go of his band for historical reasons.

That bunch would probably have trouble walking on their own without Mengmeng…

As for Mao Maoyu and Eldan, they hadn’t initially come for Heartbreak’s sake either.

Mao Maoyu didn’t have much ambition and just wanted to follow a strong lead. Wherever Mengmeng went, he’d follow. Even if Mengmeng wanted to study for the civil service exam, he’d probably be willing to pay for a prep course himself. Eldan went without saying—a kindred spirit, a lifelong confidant. To meet an aesthetically aligned, directionally aligned partner in this life must have taken burning through three lifetimes’ worth of good karma.

“It’s tough enough, having to haul such a large family along. Things will get better in the future.”

Cui Lin couldn’t help but think of himself. Too many good days had indeed made a person complacent.

“Although the band is important, you can’t always put others first for everything. Next time you run into good resources, don’t immediately look for reasons to refuse. If you can take it, do it as much as possible. While the current trends are favorable, earning extra is never wrong…”

He hadn’t heard Mengmeng mention his family.

But Cui Lin thought, to send a child to such a good school abroad, for nearly a decade of study, Mengmeng’s family must have loved him very much. Not mentioning it was just his usual habit of keeping a low profile.

“I know. Thank you for your kind intentions. Dinner is my treat. What do you feel like eating?”

Hearing there was still a dinner to be had, Cui Lin’s heart instantly warmed!

“How could I accept that… Then let’s go to…”

Cui Lin suggested a restaurant with a bit more customer traffic, verbally claiming he wanted to try popular cuisine, while secretly reveling in his plan working smoothly: People willing to dine at internet-famous restaurants are 99% avid social media users, enthusiasts of sharing their lives. If these types ran into celebrities, they’d be only too thrilled to flood their feeds with three, four, five updates boasting about it. No way they could sit on it for even one night!

Li Tingzhou didn’t suspect a thing. “Alright, let’s do as you suggest.”

After all, Mao Maoyu, Eldan, and the others also liked following trends and checking out new spots.

He didn’t see anything wrong with his friends’ habit of joining the hype.

Cui Lin immediately went to make a reservation, leaving the info “Party of two, surname Li, surname Cui” with all the righteous confidence of a principal wife, his hands clasped together. There were still several hours until dinner; he needed to think about what else he could do with Mengmeng.

“Mengmeng, what plans do you have for tomorrow?”