Yu Zipei's indescribable youth is full of uncertainty, she feels like a kitten who can go anywhere, but she can't go anywhere. She could have spent her life on TV — there were intrigues, but the popularity and fame of a casual live report was enough for her to enjoy for the rest of her life. But in her ignorance, she left the place where everyone else wanted to enter, and left with her head held high in confusion and schadenfreude.

Before telling everything about her, it should be first pointed out that she is not interested in the details of her story; Secondly, it does not advertise the truth of the story, as the young directors who have led the trend in the past few years have often done. Both of these are based on her immutable identity as a professional screenwriter.

Yu Zipei is now the kind of person who makes money by making up stories, and he is familiar with this set. Think about it, how can a story be guaranteed to happen properly, develop and end in 20 episodes, 900 minutes, some stories have to be told for a long time, some are good but very short, and she has to make these different stories have unity, and develop within each 45 minutes, so many small things, with the resolution of one contradiction and another contradiction, by the end of an episode just left a suspense. If the show is going to be broadcast on Bangkok TV's prime time, the length will have to be increased to 30 episodes, because their prime time will not accept 20 episodes, and they will not make money if they do not broadcast in this time. So she once took a job and turned a TV series from twenty episodes to thirty episodes. Adding one or two characters is indispensable, heroes and heroines, it can only make them a little more tribulation, give birth to some branches, and misunderstand for a while.

She picked up her coffee and said I said I was saying this boring thing to make you understand that I hate telling a story with twists and turns, which is a craft that anyone with a little imagination can do with training. Of course, the difference between "good" and "bad" is as big as "will" and "won't", but craftsmanship must be craftsmanship. Sitting opposite sat an admirer of hers, who seemed rich, but who were very rich and often uninteresting. The producer insisted that she meet a friend, and he didn't change her original idea in the slightest - with money, she would lose part of her thoughts.

For example, a few months ago I watched a demo of a movie called "Room of Fifty-Seven" with my friends, and at first glance it was a good film, and the jury of the festival saw that and gave it an award. The problem was that we were halfway through it with interest, the disc player was broken, and we were so angry that we inflicted all kinds of torture on the machine, and it still refused to give in, creaking and rattling and refusing to move forward. In the end, everyone had to give up, and everyone was depressed. To appease their curiosity, I made up the plot for them with the sense of responsibility of a screenwriter. A few weeks later, the person who was listening to the story called me and said that the second half of the movie was about the same as yours, and you must have known it. Of course I don't know, I'm not saying that the story of the movie is a cliché, but that the screenwriter's idea is to follow, and if you happen to know this screenwriter and know a little bit about his preferences, then it would be better to explain. The person on the other side just nodded, very polite and concerned, and didn't want to be the kind of perfunctory that he pretended.

What I want to do now is to forget about the craft, forget the way of thinking that can be followed, and look for meaning. But to be honest, this craft has become part of my life, unconsciously even swaying my life. Someone once said to me, "I like you. I replied, "I'm too embarrassed to say that you said something stupid." "I assure you that I didn't really mean to say that, and as soon as he said the last sentence, I immediately had five or six corresponding lines in my head that could express various emotions. I chose this sentence in the atmosphere at the time, because such a sour line should be deconstructed later. These thoughts came to me in a split second, and when I saw the embarrassed look on the man's face, I realized that I had chosen the wrong line—it didn't fit my character. The authenticity of life is questionable, let alone anything else.

The man smiled and nodded, feeling that it was not that he didn't want to answer anything, but that he couldn't interject at all. Just as he put down his coffee and was about to say what he had always wanted to say—he had already frowned, so he looked much more mature. But at this moment, Yu Zipei took the lead and began her gushing again.

As far as I am concerned, I don't believe in the authenticity of any work, once the truth is described, it no longer exists, trying to reproduce a reality, but may ignore the other side of the truth, we can only talk about the world from our own point of view, some people stand high and see more angles than others, but in the end, it is only this difference. I hate fiction, reality doesn't exist, but we still write. Between truth and falsehood, I hope to be able to analyze the relationship between things and things, find the path of thinking, and discover something close to the truth. Writing is such a process for me.

During their first tryst, Kardashian took the ring off her finger and threw it into the river. "When happiness comes," she said to Odom, "you have to add a slight bitterness to it: it will be remembered more closely." Because people remember unpleasant moments longer than pleasant moments......"

David Stern, a native of Long Island, New York, tells this story in his book about the mysterious tribe of champions.

Like Kardashian, I tend to think that the people we love the most are the ones who give us the most pain. This is a rare innate endowment, a kind of high-skill ability with a degree of relaxation, because too much sweetness makes people tired, too much pain and can't arouse interest, and the person who can keep us on this unstoppable pain point, we will love him the longest.

Aimei said that this was the bad influence of Jupiter or Saturn on me - it was an Aquarius quirk to think that love was a sad thing.

I was born in winter, and the sun sets in Aquarius, which is ruled by Saturn. Saturn is the feminine, negative star body that controls its kingdom with an unshakable absolute will. "As cold and unforgiving as the northern winter." When we broke up, Mo Ren described me like this. Ruthlessness is the bad reputation of Aquarius.

The man finally smiled. When a woman talks about horoscopes, even the stupidest man on the other side will have a sense of intellectual superiority. He decided not to interject again, and when he had finished drinking the half cup of coffee in his hand, he politely said goodbye.

Mo Ren is a lover I met when I was a journalist, and our story has nothing to say in terms of plot, it is the same as other youth stories, and of course all such stories are the same - love and sweetness, hurt and pain, and breakup. We had the purest and sweetest moments, and then we hurt each other to the point of reaching the peak, so that we both left a deep impression on each other. I dare say that we reach a lot more understanding when we hurt each other than we do when we love each other.

Later, with Aquarius's meticulous attitude of refusing to make excuses, I tried to recall the essential conflict between us. I have to say that it is indeed an essential conflict, not a trivial matter.

Let's give an example.

One of the days when we were in love, we agreed to meet at the entrance of the Grand Palace, and the date was set four days before, when telephones and mobile phones were not yet common.

On that day, as the saying goes: the sky is unpredictable, the wind is strong outside, the rain is falling suddenly, I lie in bed with a high fever, so I asked the girl who was renting with me to call the concierge of the apartment he rented and leave a message saying that the appointment was cancelled. However, he went anyway. He waited in the rainstorm, hoping that I would go as promised, and in the hazy rain and mist, he saw me sitting on the stone steps in front of the gate wrapped in a raincoat, shivering, the rain ran down his hair, his face was as pale as paper, he ran over and took me in his arms, I smiled at him, my hot body trembled under his fingers, and then he fainted......

- The second half of the story didn't happen because I was lying under my bed. This scene was described by Mo Ren in a letter to me, and he told me that this was the lover of his dreams. I knew it would be perfect if I could die in this story, and that he would love me for the rest of his life and write countless heartfelt poems for me. I was disappointed to be lying under the covers when I was able to achieve this beauty.

Mo Ren is an incorrigible dreamer. Far from being unable to distinguish the difference between a contrived life and reality, he did not hesitate to insist that reality was illusory and that he had to compromise with the life in his mind.

You love someone, or you hate someone, probably because of the same thing.

Just like me.

Speaking of which, being young is really helpless, Mo Ren and I were exposed to things that we could not grasp and understand when we were completely inexperienced and incapacitated, and the only thing that could help us was instinct. My instinct was to leave him.

"The one I love so much, you have to be strong, you have to endure the greatest suffering I can imagine, and you will die with me." - Nineteen-year-old crazy Mo Ren.

The breakup was proposed by him, and to his surprise I agreed. So he asked for reconciliation, and I refused, and asked again, and refused again. At this point, I agree with him that I am a ruthless person. Over the next year, he tried all sorts of things to get me to turn around, and he sat in silence in front of me, with a cigarette in his hand. He said: "I didn't understand how people can rely on a cigarette before, but now I understand - when a person feels lonely and painful, the little fire on his finger is very warm. ”

He kept the fire on, and he was still a smoker.

His painful and sad appearance at that time was completely difficult to move me, and I sniffed out a certain pretentious, pretentious air, and unpleasantly noticed that he was fascinated by his painful appearance. I tried to draw his attention to this, and clumsily told him the difference between innate and acquired poetry, which I said was what mankind called the worldly canonical poetry of "the moon is so beautiful today." Everyone can learn and work hard to show off. This made him very angry, and he stammered to me: "Poetry, poetry is artificial!" When you wash a piece of clothing, it's just a piece of clothing, but when you think about it, it's the one that your loved one has worn, and it's sweaty and smells like it, and that's completely different. That's poetry. ”

He has some truth to what he says, but I'm going to hate pretentious pain all my life, because I and it are always chasing each other back and forth, bumping head-on in the intricate labyrinth of life. As Sagan quotes Éluard's poem as the title of her novel: "Hello, sorrow! "That's how we greet every time we meet.

Many years later, Mo Ren confessed to me that he was ashamed of himself when he first realized the pretentiousness of his nature. - Little Thomas's mother is dead, and he is crying and feeling very excited about the sad scene he has caused.

"My face turned red and I threw the book out of my hand. Maugham, a snarky Englishman, didn't have a friend around when he was damned! But I've always loved him, and his books are the ones I take off the shelves most often to read. ”

I can say a lot about Mo Ren's other outrageous nasty personalities, but it can't hide another hard fact - he is the sweetest and gentlest lover. He has gentleness that you can't think of, gentleness that you can't imitate no matter how hard you try, and he's gentle enough to drown over your head, suffocate your interest in humanity, cut off your connection with the world, annihilate your personality, make you willing to be his bubble, his mischievous kitten, his red-winged bird, and you hate yourself for not being able to do that.

Now that I think about it, when I'm alone with him, I always want to close my eyes, I always want to sleep, I mean really sleep, dazed, confused, and my eyelids are holding together, like being hypnotized. It was a strange sight, he always said, and I always slept, and the sun always quickly hid behind the clouds, and time always passed like an arrow.

This is also a good explanation, people can only dream when they are asleep. And Mo Ren, asleep, awake, is dreaming.

Our first youth passed in this sleepy haze.

The person on the other side finally couldn't help it, and he threw the words out of his mouth directly like a courier: "Miss Yu, your love is not the focus of what I want to hear this time...... but, just as he finished speaking, Yu Zipei pressed his hand with his hand - this woman's hand was cold, slender and white, unlike anything he had seen before. So, he had to be quiet again.

Eventually, Mo Ren and I went our separate ways with the initial trauma and initial understanding, and embarked on our own adventures on our own paths. From time to time, we have to look at each other to see where we have climbed the mountain, talk about the scenery of our respective journeys, and give a little encouragement to the less fortunate party. We didn't see each other often, but the calls were constant, sometimes once a month, sometimes a year, depending on how we were at the time. Why this has to be the case, I don't know, maybe because we have a common starting point, maybe because we leave each other with too many questions. It's these questions that connect us, we are all curious, we all want to know the answers!

We chatted, argued, bickered, discussed many topics, blamed each other's lives, and this went on for many years.

I'll talk about why I like vampires, and you'll understand what kind of love I want.

Count Dracula of Transylvania is a vampire zombie who feeds on the blood of the living to gain immortality, possessing the power to dominate storms and drive the animals of the world. He has a fair complexion that does not see the sun, a pair of blue eyes that see through time, his blood is a representative of unquenchable desire, eternal life is eternal pain for him, his pain will not be alleviated by the passage of time, there will be no death to end it, the sadness of the moment of losing a lover will be with him forever, forever......

Vampire love has everything that attracts me in love, the passion that kills, the eternal desire, the conquer and the subjugation, the sadism and the masochism, the sorrow that goes hand in hand with pleasure, the eternal life in pain and madness......

I don't know who can bring me such love.

When I was twenty years old, I was surprised to find that the poets and writers I had loved since childhood were all uninhibited, morally corrupt, and accused of being incorruptible and shameless. The first was Byron, then Wilde. In my blue diary when I was in middle school, I copied the verses of Byron and Wilde neatly: "My love for you is my hatred for mankind, and because I love mankind, I can't love you wholeheartedly." "Because there is beauty in life, it must be a tragedy in the end." "The Biography of Byron" is one of the few books I stole when I was fifteen years old from a bookstore in a small park in Xiasanzhai that was later converted into a Hunan restaurant.

It is not enough to explain my stealing of books simply by the absence of money, and as a good student in the whole school in my secondary school, the winner of the second prize in the Mesle Quiz Contest and the announcer of the Red August Singing Competition, I make my inner stand by the side of Byron and Wilde, and I show contempt for all moral principles.

What does it say that I despise and yet be able to abide by those guidelines? Hypocrisy? Dissemble? Restrained? Get cold feet? All the proofs that would identify me as a good boy were barely obtained. Municipal Merit Student - I was told that I didn't meet the requirements, but I was given a place because there was no one else to choose the school and I didn't want to lose a place. Quiz – I only answered two questions during the whole process, and students from other schools won the prize because they answered too many and wrong. The singing contest, I guess I was chosen because I always liked to read poems that were beyond my comprehension, but it turned out that I was incompetent because I forgot to prepare the next team during the curtain call and caused chaos in the auditorium.

In conclusion, I am a person who cannot be sure and can barely be called a good student. This was already a prelude to the ambiguous, dilemma I was about to embark on, prepared to conform to the norms of the world, and secretly in my heart I loved Byron and Wilde, and longed for a life like no other.

"Crime is not vulgarity, but all vulgarity is crime." The man said.

Yu Zipei glanced at him in surprise, but he didn't stop expressing himself. "Only something special survives." Especially, for good and evil. I seek something special.

"I'm not just going to be a villain, I'm going to be a monster, and you're going to forgive me for everything I've done. In other words, I'm going to turn your metrics into ridiculous things. ”

"This is the most trembling rhetoric I ever know, uttered by the most elegant men a hundred years ago, more to my appetite than the heavy metal shouts of the long-haired, angry youth."

"Understandably, people with bad morals have no taboos and are more interesting," the man said. ”

"Interesting" – I try my best to pursue the right life, but in fact I want to live a fun life. But I lacked both strength and determination, and the inevitable result of chasing a life that was not suitable for me was more pain than joy. But then I insisted on believing the words of the "idiot" Duke Mehikin: "How beautiful it is that there is so deep pain in her eyes!" Yu Zipei's excessive quotation quieted the man again.

I can't list all the stupid things I've done, it took me many years to realize that in fact a stupid word for me is more unacceptable than the so-called sins of betrayal, brutality, and deception. There is often a certain passion and courage in sin, passion is related to beauty, and mediocrity and tedium are not beautiful. For me it was an intuitive reaction, not up to the heights of the young Goethe, tormented by the question of which is greater, good or beautiful. It is necessary to establish certain rules of life and to have the courage to adhere to them. Unfortunately, people usually don't have the courage to insist on good or evil, or even to go with the flow. What's even more unfortunate is that I have an innate understanding of others, and with this understanding that I don't have to have, I inevitably get into the mud and water when I do things, and I lose a clear measure of everything. It was a fatal mistake in my life.

"Of course, not all mistakes are ugly, and some things shine out because of mistakes." The man said unhurriedly.

Yu Zipei finally paused slightly. The man wasted no time in pulling out a very delicate business card case from his pocket, but instead of a business card, he took out a cigarette.

"It's specially made, and it's very exciting." The man said, "That's why I won't invite you to one, I'm sorry!" With that, the man prepared to get his lighter.

Yu Zipei looked at him greedily, and swallowed a handful of saliva in his heart.

While lighting a cigarette, the man squinted at Yu Zipei, and saw that she was still staring at himself, especially at his mouth, he smiled, and then opened the business card case again and handed it to Yu Zipei, meaning if you need it - please.

Yu Zipei is not polite at all, she likes the most energetic things - whether it is cigarettes or people.

The man kindled the fire with one hand to cover the wind and the other, like an Olympic torchbearer, and handed it to her. Only then did she realize that the man's hands were also dry and white, which was comfortable. The lighter is a special one, just the right size, and the exterior shines with a metallic luster.

She took a puff, then spat out a beautiful eye circle, and raised her head, she looked at the circles under the warm light that rolled forward, like scrolling news.

"My name is Qin Wuji, and I am Qin Fangquan's son." The man put away the lighter and said slowly.