Zu Cheng
It was a bright mid-November day—"a perfect day for an outing," as some old novel would have it, though the sentiment felt somewhat misplaced here.
With Mei beside me, I arrived at the 'Open Street' club at precisely nine, as planned.
Yu would be coming straight from work.
Ray and Liam were already there, along with Ms. Yua, Jarreth's girlfriend and, more notably, his only business partner, waiting for our arrival.
We entered together.
The orphanage was nothing like the usual depictions. It was well-maintained to a degree that felt intentional rather than charitable. Clean corridors, organized notice boards, and a routine that ran with quiet precision were proof of it. The children followed structured schedules, balancing study, skill development, and recreation under Mr. Jarreth's direct oversight. It was evident, even at a glance, that they were not treated as numbers to be managed but as individuals to be raised.
"Open Street" reflected the same philosophy. The main hall was fitted for dance and movement, with adjacent practice rooms, a modest music space, and a small reading area. Nothing was excessive, yet nothing was lacking. The children moved through it with ease, as comfortable and familiar as one would in a place that was less an institution and more something resembling a home.
We took our places without much discussion.
Mei presented her work.
As expected, the story lacked the trigger point we required for sudden virality. She hadn't found it, only reached an ending.
The story was simple:
A poor boy works relentlessly to enter a local dance competition. He wins purely on merit. Moved by his performance, a dance coach offers to guide him further, to teach him what lies beyond what he already knows.
It could have been an excellent piece within the slice-of-life genre.
However, it doesn't fulfill our condition; there is no meta pull, nothing that compels attention beyond quiet appreciation.
That's when Ms. Yua suggested, "Why don't we go for a 'student-teacher' theme?"
I got some ideas...
Mei glanced at me; judging by her expression, she understood I got an idea.
"What if we anchor it around one case… then contrast it with two variations? Same base, different outcomes?"
I elaborated further: "One without support. One with support but failure. One forced to adapt after injury?"
Everyone listened to my idea and agreed, except Mei.
She pointed out, "The ideas are too random. They are all far from each other's scenarios."
Ray finally spoke up. "We're running out of time…"
"Exactly." Mei turned her head. "That means we can't have a story written multiple times."
I asked, "Do you have a plan?"
"Hmm... Give me half an hour." She said as she sat down on the couch with her notebook in hand.
As for me, I, with Mr. Jarreth, asked the kids to perform a dance and an emotional act.
As expected, no outliers.
They were all serious about saving the club and gave their best.
Unfortunately, acting isn't something where you just give your best and it'll touch the audience's hearts.
In order to do so, you either have to be a genius or have years of burning passion.
By the time I was done with the kids, the room had quieted.
Mei was already waiting with the story. Aryn had arrived at some point and was speaking with Liam.
After reading the draft, I went through it once more slowly this time.
It wouldn't work without experienced execution. We needed three professionals.
The female dance coach, the old man, and the child.
The old man has two roles, younger self and older. Seeing her approach, it's clear she planned this role specifically, keeping Yu in mind.
But the kids can't act. We need a child actor.
As for the female coach, I wish we could have Xian Fei for the role.
Last night, I asked for her help, but she is in Paris for her current film.
As this is unpaid, we can't ask people we don't know either.
Wait…
Ms. Yua... Ms. Yua will work fine for this role.
She teaches the kids dance, and they listen to her. That's enough.
"Can you do something... without the kid?" I spoke without looking.
Mei went completely silent for a second.
Then—
"What exactly do you take writers for?"
I looked up.
"…You want a story without the main point?" She continued, lowering her voice. "If the story loses its symbol, then what exactly is left?"
"We don't have a child actor—"
"That's your problem." She shot back immediately. "Not mine."
I exhaled, "We don't have much budget..."
"You're the director." She leaned forward slightly. "If you can't manage casting with the existing budget, then what exactly are you even directing?"
I frowned.
"It's a fact we don't know a single child actor, Mei."
"Find one!" she said with a firm voice. "If you have time to rewrite my outline, use it to rethink your approach."
With a slight tilt of her head, she said, "Or, you can always look for another writer."
I paused.
"... Finish the script." I said as I headed towards the washroom.
"More dialogue or less?"
"… Less."
I turned on the sink.
What. Exactly. Was. I. Doing?
Out of all people, I… I was asking Mei to change her story for this?
I should know better than anyone how much she values her creative freedom.
Was I any different than those bastards just now?
Why am I always so focused on myself?
Back then, I didn't even notice how much she was struggling.
No… no. Maybe I did notice.
Yet, I never asked a simple question whether she was doing fine or not, even when she grew quieter and quieter.
No matter how I look back, she was a happy child, loved by both parents, and, importantly, she loved what she was doing… 'till she signed that contract.
They took that from her.
Even then, she never once mentioned that.
I understand. I was suffering too. But the fact she chose to prioritize my trouble over hers and I never knew until she died pisses me off.
I know I'm not in a position to say anything, but still…
I was almost doing the same thing, even if not forcefully, but close enough.
I should never do this.
Moreover, this time is different. I won't let her sign that contract.
If possible, I want to give her absolute freedom over creativity.
If nothing else, I would make sure she could choose.
I can't repeat the same mistake.
I can't hesitate when the moment comes.
For that, I need influence, or I can't protect anything once more.
…
"Not now."
I looked up at my reflection in the mirror as I murmured those words with my trembling hands on the sink.