Chapter Ten: A Vivid Sense of Imagery

In a warehouse along the Fourth Ring Road of the capital, Zhang San was sleeping heavily in a small room partitioned off with composite boards. This old warehouse was, in fact, a privately owned little theater. Zhang San was the manager of this so-called Three Dreams Theater.

As a self-styled artist, Zhang San’s birth name was actually Zhang Kaipeng, but he found it too common, so he changed it to Zhang San. Over the years, he had poured nearly all of his hard-earned money into this small theater, with the sole purpose of fulfilling his dream of becoming an actor.

Having succeeded as a small entrepreneur, Zhang San mingled with all sorts of “literati,” “opera masters,” and even “top celebrities” after coming to the capital, always hoping to find a way into their circles. He spent lavishly, drank heartily, and was not without a few beautiful, mercenary companions by his side.

Together with a group of like-minded “drifters in Beijing” who also dreamed of the stage, Zhang San weathered many ups and downs and finally managed to establish this little theater. Dreams were gradually being realized, and Zhang San and his “comrades” fantasized about performing all over the country. Yet reality was harsh: in three years, fewer than a thousand people had come to the theater, even though their ticket prices were pitifully low.

After all manner of trials, with funds running dry, Zhang San finally understood one thing: actors could be trained, directors could be found, but without a good script, even the best actors and directors were wasted.

With money dwindling, his health suffering from drink, and his romantic interests gone who knows where, Zhang San felt as if he could only hunker down in this dilapidated warehouse, waiting for the lease to expire and for his final despair to set in.

When he could no longer sleep, Zhang San lay on his bed, idly scrolling through his phone. Once buzzing with activity, his Xunbo account was now eerily quiet; many of his former “kindred spirits” had long since blocked him.

But just as Zhang San tossed his phone back on the nightstand out of boredom, a new message suddenly popped up on Xunbo.

“Third Brother, take a look at this story—what do you think? I think it’s great, really vivid.”

The message came from Li Yongxiu, one of the few “Beijing drifters” still loyal to the Three Dreams Theater. This Northeastern fellow, often paired with Zhang San as “Zhang San and Li Si,” looked a bit simple and goofy, but Zhang San knew him to be quietly capable. Much of the theater’s survival over the past three years was thanks to him.

Opening the link Li had sent, Zhang San found himself on a new Xunbo page, belonging to a verified influencer: Wang Lei, a basketball player.

Zhang San pondered for a moment—he actually did know who Wang Lei was. When Wang Lei’s family had their accident, it caused quite a stir; back then, Zhang San was still riding high. He had even lamented Wang Lei’s misfortune to his then-girlfriend.

Zhang San began to read the story Wang Lei had posted on Xunbo. Though the writing was not particularly polished, Zhang San was struck by the vivid imagery. The bizarre tale was filled with hilarious moments, but after the laughter, Zhang San felt the story’s depth and meaning. Indeed, just as Li Si had said, the imagery was strong; this was a rare, quality story.

Though Zhang San had never made a big name for himself, after so many years in the field, he could tell a good story when he saw one. In his view, Wang Lei’s post would be perfect for adaptation to the stage.

After reading, Zhang San called Li Yongxiu.

“Old Four, that’s a good story. So, do you have any ideas?”

“Yeah, Third Brother, I think we have to keep the theater going. This is one of the few chances we still have.”

“Honestly, Old Four—thanks for sticking with me this far. I’ll be straight with you: I’m out of money. I’m about to go bankrupt. When the lease is up in September, I’ll have to leave for good.”

“Third Brother, I still have some savings. Let’s see what we can do. What if we find someone to partner with? It took a lot to get the theater up and running—the paperwork and permits are really hard to come by now. We have to hold on. As long as we find a good script, I believe the theater can succeed.”

“You have a point, but where are we supposed to find a partner now? Frankly, anyone we can find now is likely to be a wolf, ready to eat us alive.”

“Third Brother, what about Wang Lei? If he can write such a story, he must be capable. And though he’s not doing well now, he used to be a rising star—he must still have some money. Why don’t we just swallow our pride and go talk to him? If he’s willing to share his story publicly, he might be open to adapting it for the stage. We have a legitimate platform, he has the story and the funds—it’s a win-win.”

Li Yongxiu’s idea gave Zhang San pause. He had to admit, his seemingly simple friend was remarkably insightful. It was a good plan. At this point, what pride did he have left to lose?

“It might work, but how do we find him? We don’t even know where he lives. And would it really be appropriate to just show up out of the blue?”

“Heh, that’s easy. I actually know where he is—he’s living with Ma Dongmei now. We just need to go to the Yangtze River Club and find Ma Dongmei.”

“Who? Ma Dongmei? Isn’t that the heroine in the story? What do you mean?”

“Heh, Third Brother, Wang Lei’s girlfriend is really called Ma Dongmei—she’s the main spiker for the Yangtze River women’s volleyball team. I’ve followed her on Xunbo before; that’s how I found out about Wang Lei. I looked into what happened two years ago—it was tragic. It’s not easy for him to have bounced back. Sure, it’s a bit forward for us to pay them a visit, but it shows our sincerity. Even if others want the story, they won’t value it as much as we do, right?”

“Heh, you rascal. I knew you were something special. So, should we go tomorrow?”

“Yeah, let’s go tomorrow. Bring all our theater’s paperwork and permits. We’ll be upfront about our situation. I don’t think Wang Lei is the arrogant type.”

“Alright, I’ll trust you on this. Let’s go all out one last time. If it works, we’ll have hope again. If not, I’ll just go back home. If I could build something once, I can do it again.”

Just as despair threatened to swallow him, Zhang San found a glimmer of hope, and his spirits revived.