Chapter 2: Plagiarizing Creativity

Xiao Ran’s advantages were unparalleled, and he knew that—everyone knew it. But as an adult, he was now thinking about how to turn all these advantages into true success.
It was June 14, 1985—meaning Hong Kong’s film rating system hadn’t yet been introduced. New Art City, which had shaped an entire era, had already been established. Cheng Long’s Weihe Company would go viral thanks to “Police Story.” The previous year, Xu Ke’s “Film Studio” had also been founded. The famous actress Weng Meiling had committed suicide by gas just a month earlier at the age of 26.
“The Heroic Spirit,” which would excite an entire generation, hadn’t been filmed yet. Wu Yusen, who had leftKia Heng for New Art City after running out of contracts, was sent to Taiwan to work as a producer under Zhang Aijia. Zhou Runfa remained TVB’s most popular leading man, continuing to star in artistic romance films, and he was still known as the “box office poison.” Zhang Guorong was just starting to achieve fame in the music industry.
Thinking about all this, Xiao Ran was well aware that he had plenty of opportunities now. For him, the Hong Kong film industry in the 1980s was full of opportunities. If he seized them well, he would surely become famous someday.
So, how to start? Xiao Ran first thought of signing up for TVB’s training classes. He knew very well that countless future stars and award-winning actors came from TVB. To put it exaggeratively, TVB could be seen as a gateway—crossing it offered a great chance to achieve one’s dreams.
Wait—Xiao Ran didn’t think his dream was just to become a big star; that was just a childhood dream. As an adult, he understood that actors and stars were actually two different concepts. Stars enjoyed unlimited glory—they could be singers, actors, or even just women in commercials.
But actors were different. Actors were those who truly dedicated themselves to acting. As the later wildly successful Zhou Xingchi said in “A Chinese Odyssey: Hero”: “I am an actor!” For Xiao Ran, actors were the ones with true charm and worth respecting, while stars were at best beautiful illusions created by entertainment companies.
Xiao Ran wanted to be an actor, so TVB was naturally his first choice. But he quickly dismissed this not-so-brilliant idea. He clearly understood that going to training classes now wouldn’t allow him to meet future superstars like Zhou Runfa and Liu Hua, who would become famous across Asia. It held no appeal for him.
He couldn’t help but wonder what his advantages were. Of course, the answer was clear. He became excited suddenly because he now had a great idea—a truly excellent one. He could start by working as a screenwriter, an advantage no one else could match.
Thinking of this, he shook his head. It would be best if he could go back to 1980. That way, he would have the chance to meet Mai Jia, Huang Baiming, and Shi Tian. He knew very well that it was these three who founded New Art City, which dominated Hong Kong’s film industry throughout the 1980s.

But it’s useless to overthink things now. One of Xiao Ran’s strengths is his ability to seize the benefits at hand. So he didn’t complain about it; instead, he was grateful that fate had given him this era to work alongside Hong Kong’s film legends.

When it came to choosing a script to write, Xiao Ran faced a difficult decision. His first thoughts were naturally “Infernal Affairs” and “Triad.” He understood that the success of “Infernal Affairs” was due to its own merits, but external factors in the overall environment also played a significant role. As for a classic like “Triad,” it naturally had to be reserved for him to work on.

Among countless movies, Xiao Ran quickly identified “A Hero’s Heart” as the perfect choice. This film was shot and released in 1986, unlike many films in the 21st century that remained in storage for a long time before being released. From this, Xiao Ran deduced that the script for this film hadn’t been written yet. Before starting, he recalled something and immediately broke into a sweat—if he remembered correctly, the screenwriter was Ng Yu-sum, which could lead to a conflict.

But after thinking further, he felt relieved. This film was planned by Xu Ke. Ng Yu-sum, at that time, was under contract with Cathay-Keris and had anonymously directed “The Comic Era” for New Art City as his debut work. Out of a sense of gratitude, Xu Ke invited Ng Yu-sum to direct this film. Thus, the problem disappeared. His script would surely be sent to Xu Ke first before Ng Yu-sum saw it. It was then he realized just how terrible his organization skills were—he couldn’t even find a pen and paper in his room.

Annoyed, Xiao Ran finally found 100 yuan in his pocket. He didn’t underestimate this amount, knowing it would allow him to watch movies in the cinema over ten times. After buying pen and paper, he wrote a few words before sighing. He wondered why there were no computers in this era, or why he hadn’t brought one with him—just for the convenience of typing.

Writing a script was different from writing a novel. Because of his love for movies, Xiao Ran had studied scriptwriting techniques and read some existing scripts. He knew that scripts, depending on the film’s length, were generally divided into nine sections. Each section lasted about ten to fifteen minutes, with a minor climax required in the first section. The following three or four sections could be more relaxed, but climaxes were still needed in the fifth and sixth sections. The final climax, of course, was in the ninth section—this was the basic structure.

Accustomed to using a computer, Xiao Ran found it extremely awkward to write by hand. After just a few hundred words, his hands started to ache. Fortunately, his motivation as an actor kept him going. Even so, with frequent pauses, he only managed to write about 3,000 words by dark.

As dusk fell, Xiao Shaohao and Liang Wenhui returned from work. No, it should be Xiao Ran’s parents now. Xiao Shaohao had just resigned and was running a small business, while Liang Wenhui was helping her husband out—this was why they still lived in a public housing complex. After returning home, Xiao Shaohao and Liang Wenhui talked for a while and rested. It was then that Liang Wenhui, concerned about her son, noticed that his door was open. This astonishing discovery shocked the couple greatly, and they hurried inside to find their son lying on the table, seemingly writing something. They felt dizzy at once. “Son, didn’t you have a fever today?” Liang Wenhui stepped forward and checked Xiao Ran’s forehead—there was no sign of fever. With a strange expression, she asked, “Haven’t you gone out at all today?” “Yes!” Xiao Ran, who had been plagiarizing, only then realized his mother had returned and quickly covered the manuscript. He turned to look at the middle-aged man standing by the door, who had a rather distinguished appearance. From his memory, he didn’t even need to guess—that was his “father,” Xiao Shaohao. Liang Wenhui and her husband exchanged a look, their eyes filled with deep confusion. Comparing it to their own past behavior of staying out all night, Xiao Ran immediately realized they suspected his unusual behavior. He quickly adopted a serious tone, as if addressing the nation, and said, “Dad and Mom, don’t worry. Starting today, I’ll give up my bad habits.” Though he said this, Xiao Ran was already planning to rent a place to live alone—otherwise, if his secret were revealed, things would get messy… “Dad and Mom, where are you?” A silver-like voice saved Xiao Ran from the awkward situation. A lively and delicate figure rushed in, and Xiao Ran couldn’t help but think to himself, What a cute little girl. Of course, for Xiao Ran, who was mentally 24, 15-year-old Liang Han was indeed very young—but also extremely cute. Of course, that was just Xiao Ran’s opinion. He soon realized how wildly wrong his judgment was. Liang Han glared at her brother disdainfully, her eyes showing surprise but mostly contempt. “How dare you come back! Where have you been? Mom and Dad were so worried!” This girl couldn’t be underestimated! That was Xiao Ran’s first impression of her. He immediately remembered that “himself” had spent some time with friends and hadn’t returned home for days. For the actions of the previous self, Xiao Ran didn’t think he needed to take the blame, even though he would still have to bear it—mentally, he felt no burden at all. So he just smiled lightly and said, “Ahan, that was in the past. From now on, my brother will be different!” “Hmph! I don’t believe a scoundrel can turn over a new leaf!” Liang Han sneered at him angrily. Seeing that Xiao Ran wasn’t angry at all, she was slightly surprised. Similarly, the couple watching nearby were also taken aback. Normally, Xiao Ran would have rushed to argue with this little sister.

Xiao Ran smiled carefreely and gestured, indicating that he had no choice but to accept it. During the meal, he ate openly, though Xiao Han’s cold gaze was quite piercing. He was somewhat confused about what he had done in the past to make Xiao Han so angry at him.

Don’t be surprised that Xiao Ran accepted such a strange situation so easily, even eating with people he had never met before. Without any explanation, he regarded his past life as a dream. In that dream, he left home and wandered around; if he didn’t have even this much adaptability, he would have died long ago.

Moreover, by entering this body, Xiao Ran had unconsciously accepted its memories. He also inherited the respect his previous owner had for his parents, so naturally, he began to consider this place his home gradually. Most importantly, Xiao Ran was far less sentimental than we might imagine.

After the meal, under Xiao Han’s disdainful gaze, Xiao Ran simply smiled and returned to his room to continue creating. I think it’s time to describe this family’s setup—there’s a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom, all present but quite small. Of course, there are bedrooms, but only two of them.

Needless to say, it’s easy to imagine that Xiao Ran and Xiao Han share the same room. Fortunately, Xiao Han is still a girl, and with a piece of cloth drawn between them, it’s somewhat tolerable.

The environment was already poor, and living together made Xiao Ran uncomfortable. The problem was that Hong Kong was very hot, and their home didn’t have air conditioning, which was annoying. This became one of the main reasons why Xiao Ran planned to rent a separate place.

Imagining the Hong Kong movies he had seen in his “dream,” Xiao Ran fanned himself while being glad that there were only four people in the family. If there had been more, he probably wouldn’t have been able to tolerate it. Thankfully, he had already suffered a lot while wandering in his “dream,” so he didn’t mind such trivial things.

At this thought, he shuddered. Could it be that his past self had tried, intended, or even succeeded in doing something to Xiao Han, which caused her to resent him so much?

It turned out he was scaring himself. In his memories, he remembered that his past self really liked his sister. Xiao Han also used to enjoy playing with her brother, but somehow things suddenly changed half a year ago.

After some random thoughts, he took out his draft paper and continued working on his non-original “original work.” Late at night, he turned the small desk lamp as dim as possible, with the sound of his pen scratching the paper filling the silence. Of course, he didn’t have the energy to notice the pair of bright eyes on the other bed, staring at the greatly enlarged projection on the cloth.