Chapter 0121: Central Academy of Drama

It is said that Beijing has many officials; perhaps the old man taking a stroll in the park was a department-level leader in some ministry before retirement. Zhao Fusheng felt this deeply. In his view, the Beijing of ten years later was vastly different from the Beijing of now.

A TV drama once said: If you love someone, send them to New York, for it is heaven. If you hate someone, send them to New York, for it is hell.

Zhao Fusheng felt these words could also apply to Beijing.

This city carries the dreams of many. Countless people, like moths to a flame, desperately try to squeeze in and become part of it, but few truly manage to buy a house and a car and stay.

Most people, even those earning hundreds of thousands a year, still live in rented apartments or even basements in residential compounds. All they can do is earn as much as possible, send money back to their hometowns, and let their families live a little better.

Until one day, they are driven away by an official document.

Shaking his head, Zhao Fusheng smiled, letting some inexplicable emotions leave his mind. Now he was no longer that helpless drifter in Beijing; he never intended to repeat the mistakes of his past life.

If one day he needed to develop here, he would do it in a big way, not like in his previous life.

The human heart is not only about giving desires but also hitting the vital spot. Without a pounding heart, how can there be rockets and storms?

"Where do you live?" Zhao Fusheng turned and asked Mu Qingqing.

"My aunt should have a place to stay. I'll have her arrange a place for you," Mu Qingqing said, thinking for a moment, then took out her phone to call Mu Qingwan.

Helplessly sighing, Zhao Fusheng gently shook his head. This was the manner of a sheltered young lady. He guessed Mu Qingqing hadn't even told Mu Qingwan about coming to Beijing.

They were relatives; a surprise visit was fine. But as an outsider, Zhao Fusheng had no interest in reading someone else's expressions.

After thinking, he said, "Take me to the area near the Central Academy of Drama."

"Central Academy of Drama?" Mu Qingqing looked curious, clearly not understanding Zhao Fusheng's intention.

Zhao Fusheng didn't plan to explain Fan Baobao's existence to her. He waved his hand: "Nothing much. A relative is there; I'll go see them."

Seeing that he didn't intend to go with her, Mu Qingqing nodded and had to comply with Zhao Fusheng.

After all, she still had to see her aunt Mu Qingwan and tell her the purpose of this trip to Beijing.

The two parted in the city center. Zhao Fusheng hailed a taxi and headed straight for the Central Academy of Drama, while Mu Qingqing took a taxi to Mu Qingwan's residence.

Anyway, one had a phone and the other a pager, so communication was convenient.

But Mu Qingqing still didn't understand. Zhao Fusheng seemed to have been ready to come to Beijing for a long time, and he was clearly more familiar with many places than she was.

Of course Zhao Fusheng was familiar. Having drifted in Beijing for nearly ten years, he had walked almost every street and alley in the city. In his glory days, he left his footprints at the China World Tower and the Sky Club; in his low times, he slept under bridges on the streets.

Sitting in the taxi, looking at the not-so-bustling night scene of Beijing, Zhao Fusheng's mood was far more complicated than Mu Qingqing could imagine.

Melodies heard many times, long unsung, bring a distant melancholy. Paintings sketched for long, long buried, evoke a sigh as if from another life. What wears away in days and months is nothing but repetition. What revolves in mornings and evenings all becomes mundane.

"Young man, first time in Beijing?" Taxi drivers were a magical existence; they always found topics to chat with passengers, from imperial legends to common folk. Nothing happened in Beijing that these taxi drivers didn't know.

Zhao Fusheng's nostalgic look as he glanced around made him seem, to this driver, like a young outsider who had just arrived in Beijing.

Smiling lightly, Zhao Fusheng nodded: "Yeah, first time in this life."

The driver blinked, feeling something odd but couldn't pinpoint it. He chuckled and turned onto another road, saying, "To get to the Central Academy of Drama, this way is closer."

Zhao Fusheng laughed softly: "No need. To go to Mianhua Hutong, isn't it straight ahead?"

The driver was startled, realizing he had met an expert. He gave an embarrassed smile and didn't take any more detours.

Zhao Fusheng wasn't angry. After all, ripping off outsiders was a habit for taxis. Not just now; ten years later, during the Spring Festival, these taxi drivers would charge thirty or fifty for a ten-yuan ride, with a take-it-or-leave-it attitude.

The pitiable have their hateful aspects. Earning hard money in wind and snow was indeed heartbreaking, but from another perspective, who didn't have to work hard to earn money these days?

The taxi soon arrived at the Central Academy of Drama. After paying the fare, Zhao Fusheng stood at the gate with his suitcase, tilting his head to look for a while, but didn't find anything impressive.

The open gate, brown door frame, pillars on both sides with the academy's sign, and two stone lions at the entrance.

Seeing this, Zhao Fusheng felt as if he had come to some old Beijing mansion.

Fortunately, the students coming and going changed the atmosphere. After all, the Central Academy of Drama was different from other places. Those who could get in were either very good at acting or very good-looking.

At least, in the few minutes Zhao Fusheng stood at the gate, he saw more than ten familiar faces that would later appear on TV and movie screens, though he couldn't recall their names.

Not far away, a few boys walked past him. Zhao Fusheng frowned. If he remembered correctly, that was Deng Chao? Who was beside him? No impression.

There was no help for it. Time waits for no one. These handsome men and beautiful women in their youthful state were certainly eye-catching, but Zhao Fusheng had no idea who they were. He couldn't even find anyone to ask about Fan Baobao's dormitory, which was quite frustrating.

Fortunately, for a man over forty, asking for directions was never a loss of face. Zhao Fusheng walked toward a few girls in front of him, put on a smile, and said, "Hello, how do I get to the performance department girls' dormitory?"

"Huh?"

The girls looked at each other. Zhao Fusheng actually recognized the one in front. If he remembered correctly, her surname was Zeng, but he couldn't recall her given name. There was no help for it. Unless they were particularly famous stars, he could only remember the surname of an unknown person because she was very pretty.

"Who are you?" the girl stared at Zhao Fusheng and asked.

Looking travel-worn, not exactly handsome, and asking about the girls' dormitory right away—if Zhao Fusheng had been alone, they might have turned and run.

Zhao Fusheng thought to himself, I'm desperate too. Is it my fault I'm not handsome?