I returned to my hometown after winning the koi lottery.

As night falls, men, women, young and old gather in front of the snow-white movie screen, enjoying the funny Journey to the West. Nowadays, movies are all watched on digital projectors.

Some people don't like this movie, some really don't. But I love it. My roommate recommended it to me in my college dorm. The first time I saw it, I thought it was hilarious. The second time, I started laughing. Then, somewhere along the way, I burst into tears. The third time, I was speechless.

Whether the plot is actually good or not is another matter, as everyone has different opinions. Although I'm annoyed by those who say they dislike him or simply don't understand him, the story begins with the protagonist Sun Wukong conspiring with the Bull Demon King to kill his master, Tang Sanzang. To prevent the Monkey from endangering the people, Guanyin decides to execute him, but is stopped by Tang Sanzang, who ultimately reincarnates him.

The first time I saw this scene, it was full of laughs. Later, as I slowly understood it, I felt uncomfortable. Zhizunbao is not Sun Wukong...

Rewatching it now, I'm still so moved, tears welling up in my eyes. Someone next to me was mumbling, "There's no such monkey in heaven, it's all made up." Little Tao turned around and saw the screen behind her. It turned out the God of Wealth had also arrived, hehe. It looked like this wasn't his first time watching it. Little Tao wiped her tears and asked him, "God of Wealth, have you seen it too?"

Brother Caishen said embarrassedly that he had read it several times.

Whether there is this monkey or not, tell us what you think of Zhizunbao.

Brother Caishen is a straightforward person. This monkey doesn't qualify as a deity, but I like him. Really, us deities are pretty boring. Work takes up 80% of our lives, like a tooth attached to a machine. How could we have the leisure to indulge in romance? It's only since I've come down to earth to work that I've come to understand why the Seven Fairies couldn't let go of their Cowherd. I used to think she was just too love-obsessed, but now it seems there are things in the mortal world that deities can't experience. What's it called? Oh, right, happiness. That's it. Speaking of which, I have something else to do. See you later. He disappeared in an instant, leaving Xiao Tao alone to ponder his words. Xiao Yu needed to go to the bathroom and whispered to Xiao Tao to come with her. Xiao Tao then realized she needed to go too. Hee hee.

In the past, changing the film reel would take several minutes, a time for people to pause and discuss the plot and exchange their thoughts. Those sitting on the backrests could rub their buttocks and thighs, shift their sitting positions, and parents with children could put them down and relax, or use the time to go to the bathroom.

Overall, Xiao Tao thinks this "pee break" is a welcome addition. It prevents viewers from being overly tired physically and mentally, and allows them to digest the intense and complex plot. It's like school, with 40-minute classes and breaks between them. Later, while watching a movie in the city, I discovered that movies can be shown using two projectors, alternating between them, allowing for uninterrupted continuous playback. However, Xiao Tao was never quite accustomed to this advanced projection technology.

After a new reel of film was added, some garbled text would often appear for the first few seconds: "! & ? Side 3..." or something like that. My friend told me that the "Side 3" text meant the film had three reels. To this day, Xiao Tao is still unsure if this is true. Sometimes, a five-second countdown of 5321 would appear. When the countdown started, everyone would count down together. Does anyone here still remember this?

When we were young, we didn't fully understand movies; we mostly watched them for the sheer excitement. We often judged a film's quality not by its plot or acting, but by its engaging fighting scenes and intense gunplay. Unlike today, with rising literacy and artistic appreciation, people are placing greater emphasis on the film's expressive substance, raising their expectations across all facets. This has spawned a new term: "bad movie."

Back then, the projector used for open-air movies in rural areas was a small machine that folded up like a suitcase. After setting up the screen, the projectionist would borrow a table from a local, place the projector's suitcase on it, open it, connect the cables, and adjust the angle. Then, the projector's two legs would unfold, with the film projection reel mounted on the front and the take-up reel attached to the back. With the flick of a switch, the projector light came on, and the black film, like the belt on a tractor in our village, pulled the round projection reel, which began to churn with a "clacking sound." Then, through the bright light behind the lens, the vibrant image was projected onto the screen.

When I was a child, a classmate gave me a scrap of film reel. Every frame looked the same. Back then, I hadn't studied physics and didn't know about persistence of vision. I never understood how these vivid images in movies were produced. It wasn't until middle school that I realized persistence of vision is fundamental to the creation and dissemination of visual media like animation and film. The phenomenon of persistence of vision was first exploited by the Chinese, and the zoumadeng (revolving lantern) is the earliest documented example of this phenomenon. Zoumadeng, known as the "horse-riding lantern," existed during the Song Dynasty. Behind the projector lens was a mechanical "film claw" that hooked onto a small hole on the edge of the film, causing the film to pause briefly. This fixed frame, manipulated by visual disparity, created a continuous animation effect.

Over the years, I went to many open-air movies at my grandmother's house. It was common for us to walk as far as seven or eight miles to see a movie. I remember my first movie was one summer vacation when I was staying at my grandmother's house. One evening, there was a movie showing in the town next door. We finished dinner early, and my uncle and his family took me on a nearly hour-long walk to the theater. When we got there, it didn't start for a long time. The projectionist said the film hadn't arrived yet. We chose our seats, sat on the bench in front, and waited for the movie to start. I don't know if the film delivery person had an accident or was just drunk, but we waited and waited, waiting for an eternity, until everyone was getting impatient and cursing, but the film still didn't arrive.

None of us left at that time, because coming to the movies is so difficult. After waiting for who knows how long, the film finally arrived. But the audience was small, and most people left early because the film was late. I remember the movie that night was called "The Mysterious Buddha," starring Liu Xiaoqing. It was wonderful, but halfway through, I was so sleepy that I had to stay awake until the end. Later, when I got home and lay down, I heard a rooster crowing in the distance.

What impressed me most was that late at night, every time "Goodbye" or "Thank you" appeared on the screen, the adults and children in the audience would reluctantly prepare to leave, and then the shouts from the crowd would rise one after another: "Xiao Er," "Da Qiang," "San Mao," "Si Ya"... Despite the chaotic crowd, the dark night, the noisy voices, and the chaotic scene, people from the same village would magically gather in groups of three or two, and on the ridges of the fields and the small roads, small groups would return to their respective villages. The once lively scene would return to silence, with only the croaking of frogs.