Chapter Fifteen: The Most Precious Thing of the Twenty-First Century

"Third Brother, when can we leave? There's still work to do at the shop." Just as Wang Lei and Zhang San finished their discussion, the door to Zhang San's humble office was pushed open. The group of part-time "actors" was growing impatient; most of them had taken leave from their other jobs to be here, and who could say if the theater would even survive after this?

"You bunch of slackers, get out of here! Wait for further notice. We’ll be rehearsing a new play soon."
Being interrupted left Zhang San a little annoyed, but his feelings at that moment were undeniably complex. On one hand, the theater could keep running, which brought him relief; on the other, what he’d built with his own hands was about to no longer belong to him, and that left a shadow over his heart.

"Really? The theater’s actually going to keep going? So, when will we get paid? It’s been months since we saw any wages."
"Next time, you’ll get paid next time."

Whenever money was brought up, Zhang San was at a loss for words. He started shoving his colleague out the door, afraid Wang Lei might overhear and change his mind.

Wang Lei, however, didn’t seem to care much. He still had a decent amount of funds at his disposal and was prepared to invest during the initial stages.

Three days later, Ma Dongmei left the capital for Eastern Zhejiang to join the national women's volleyball team. She kept glancing at Wang Lei, who was standing off to the side, reluctant to leave, but with her mother right by her side, she dared not act too boldly. Wang Lei, for his part, kept a low profile—after all, Li Weihong had yet to fully approve of their relationship.

Once Ma Dongmei had departed, Wang Lei turned his attention to the theater. He spent two days finalizing all the handover formalities with Zhang San, then transferred the first sum of 1.2 million yuan to cover venue rent and staff salaries. By late August, the Sanmeng Theater was ready to begin rehearsals for a new play.

"Lei, where are we getting our playwright and director from? Should we hire someone from the People’s Art Theatre or look elsewhere? Or I could ask a friend at the Writers’ Association if they can recommend someone?"

Zhang San’s own education was limited, which naturally left him with a deep respect and awe for those working in the arts. After so many ups and downs over the years, he also understood just how vital a good script and playwright were for a production.

"Don’t worry about that, I’ll handle it. Right now, what matters most is our actors—whether any are suitable for leading roles. We’ll figure out the rest later."
Wang Lei had been quietly adapting the script these past few days. Thanks to the fusion of two souls and the experience of two worlds, he found the task smooth—after all, the story was already a completed film; except for some changes to the setting, not much else needed to be altered.

"What? Lei, Third Brother’s telling you—scripts and directors are crucial, and you don’t have any experience…"

"Third Brother, I know your concerns. But with our current capital and reputation, there’s no way we can attract any big names, and those who’d be willing to come probably aren’t very capable. I know this story inside and out—let’s try it my way first. If you all think I’m not up to it, then we can look for a professional."

Unable to persuade Wang Lei, Zhang San had no choice but to let it go. The theater was now under Wang Lei’s control, but if things went awry, he’d be the one to step in.

The "Beijing drifters" who received their wages arrived at the theater in high spirits. The money wasn’t much, but it was income nonetheless. They weren’t full-time actors, and simply getting back pay was already more than fair. Truth be told, they stayed in the capital for their dream of acting, and any chance to perform was welcome.

As for the new owner, some were curious about his leg and height, but otherwise indifferent. The more resourceful among them did their homework and were shocked to discover he was a former star basketball player—a complete crossover.

With the freshly printed scripts in hand, Wang Lei began casting. He wasn’t fixated on conventional good looks; he wanted actors with distinctive features, and as for the main roles, he already had candidates in mind.

For the character Dachun, Li Yongxiu, with his tall frame and mildly foolish face, was a perfect fit.

As for the protagonist, Wang Lei wanted Zhang San to play Xia Luo. On one hand, Zhang San’s life experience would help him capture the character’s dreamer spirit; on the other, it would fulfill Zhang San’s own aspirations, and as this was a comedy, his unexpected image would add to the humor.

Apart from those two, the rest of the standout roles would be cast from the part-timers.

Back on Earth, Wang Lei had once heard a famous film character say, "The most valuable thing in the 21st century is talent." It was a line that perfectly captured the essence of modern society—talent is important everywhere, but Wang Lei believed that spotting talent was even more crucial.

Among this group of dreamers, living in basements or shared apartments in the capital, Wang Lei discovered individuals whose abilities rivaled those of professionals.

One was a woman in her early thirties who had sung folk duets in the Northeast and worked as a milk deliverywoman by day. She didn’t have striking looks, but Wang Lei saw something special in her—a wide range of facial expressions and confident body language. She was the very embodiment of Ma Dongmei.

"What’s your name?"
"My name is Tian Meili, boss. Do you have a part for me? As long as there are lines, I’m not picky."

Wang Lei didn’t know much about her background, but he sensed her resilience. This Northeastern woman left a deep impression on him.

"Go find Third Brother for your contract. From now on, we’ll work on a contract basis—one play, one contract. The rest of the time, you’re free to do as you please."

He didn’t say much more. With over thirty actors, the theater couldn’t afford to keep them all. The old system had to go; contracts would be given to the suitable ones, the rest could work as stagehands. He didn’t plan to abandon anyone—if they had stayed this long, it meant they truly loved the stage. Talent and ability were important, but passion was the foundation of any career.

Besides Ma Dongmei, Wang Lei also cast from among them for roles like Zhang Yang, the principal, and Teacher Wang—roles with lines and stage presence. For characters like Qiu Ya and Yuan Hua, who needed better looks, he hadn’t made a decision yet. Frankly, none of the current group fit the image; what they did have were distinctive personalities.