I am not Ximen Qing.

Just across the street from Taikoo Li, Sohu is a huge landmark in Sanlitun, both fashionable and magnificent. Perhaps to preserve Sanlitun's unique cultural atmosphere, the magnificent subway was never built. Beijing's extensive underground subway system is both comfortable and full of international influence, a symbol unique to the great city of Beijing. Moscow still has its old-fashioned subway, as does New York.

We are proud to preserve and protect Kyoto's ancient architecture, yet we lament the loss of these ancient buildings in this thousand-year-old capital. There was no other way but to change the Qing Dynasty's policy of keeping the people ignorant. A new capital, a new atmosphere, and a new, great history have begun. The modernization of the subway, a cycle of renewal and change, has witnessed the high-speed rail traversing the vast land of China. Amidst the world's skepticism, Beijing shines with the grand aura of a world capital.

Workers' Stadium is a captivating mecca. On match days, you'll always find fans wearing their team jerseys, blowing horns, waving glow sticks, and chanting victory slogans. At night, it transforms into a haven for nightlife enthusiasts and urbanites. The British love the nights here, sometimes getting a little tipsy like British football hooligans. They don't cause trouble, but rather revel in their slightly intoxicated state. They don't need to worry about the violence of football hooligans because the stadium is incredibly friendly to foreigners. China, at its core, is a nation united under heaven, a community of international friends and internationalist fighters. There is no racial discrimination here. The nearby Pushkin Restaurant offers the chance to enjoy delicious Russian cuisine while sipping vodka and conversing with the soul of the great poet.

The Chinese goddess, surrounded by foreigners, became a radiant figure, listening to a wildly enthusiastic DJ while rubbing shoulders, waving, and swaying with a large group of foreigners. They even exchanged polite cheek kisses—don't misunderstand, it was just a relaxed greeting, a part of human warmth, a release of primal human instincts. Song Yu's feat at the Dallas wrestling ring, for the beautiful women, began with drumming and gongs amidst a group of bearded men. The strippers certainly left a deep impression on him.

"Women who haven't fully evolved"

"Who said she's much better than Chinese girls?"

"What are you looking at?"

"They're so enthusiastic, they'll let you look around and even sit in your lap, but don't cross the line,"

"They're sitting in each other's laps and they're still not crossing the line,"

"Don't try anything inappropriate. That's their job. Have you read the stories about single women in France?"

"There are millions of single women in China,"

"I mean male gynecologists, and the work of male gynecologists,"

"Where are you? Are you a male gynecologist there?"

"That's just a metaphor. Even though they're strippers, you don't feel any passion or vulgarity with them. You're like God, and they're just doing their job. It would be even better if you could sneak in some intimate moments."

Song Yu stood beside the waterfall fountain in the semi-submerged ground floor garden of the Sohu Building. The escalator allowed her to admire the waterfall shimmering in the sunlight, a scene reminiscent of Lawrence's "Rainbow," a poem about men and women's anxieties about the future and the meaning of love. Her old friend Yang Yulei, ever generous, provided her with a studio. Song Yu's friends were planning a film-themed meeting there. Zhang Sheng, a fan of Wang Xiaobo, was meeting Yang Yulei for the second time. They chatted as they entered the Sohu Building, taking the elevator to their luxurious studio.

"Hello, Mr. Yang," Yang Yulei said, sitting in his office reading The Three-Body Problem. His focus had shifted from music projects to cultural and creative businesses.

"Don't scare Mr. Yang,"

"No, no, that's actually quite nice,"

"This is still quite good. Mr. Yang, please don't let him be frightened."

"Mr. Yang, please don't misunderstand my letter of recommendation."

"It's practically a vicious curse," Song Yu said sarcastically to Zhang Sheng.

"Look at The Three-Body Problem, I could write a book like that too,"

At that moment, Yang Yulei and Song Yu were completely at a loss. Perhaps this gentleman didn't even know what the Three-Body Problem was. On a clear, cloudless day, thunder suddenly roared. Who wouldn't be afraid of such an extraordinary phenomenon? The sun was still high in the sky, without a single cloud, not even a single white cloud in sight, and yet there was thunder and rain. Wasn't that an extraordinary phenomenon? That's probably what they imagined. The old man, living on the edge of a dream, hadn't even entered the dream yet.

"Before the dream even started, she's already exhibiting mental abnormalities,"

"I am creating a great work,"

"I haven't even seen a shadow of him yet."

"In my heart."

"What's the difference between this and not saying anything at all?"

"Alright, let's go to the conference room for a meeting now. I also want to inform the staff that there will be a film studio here in the future."

Having not been in touch with Jinghua for a long time, Song Yu, facing a career bottleneck, was advised by Zhang Sheng to reconnect with Jinghua. Song Yu was almost incoherent, lamenting the vast difference in development between people over the past few years. He mentioned that Jinghua's company was a large financial group, and that the best relationship between friends was one based on money. Indeed, Song Yu approached Jinghua with his venture capital project, investing in the film and cultural creative industry. Jinghua immediately invested 20 yuan in Song Yu's film and cultural creative project. Song Yu was very efficient; he needed to plan ahead and pave the way for the future. From Song Yu's description, it seemed that Jinghua's financial group was very large, and Wei Hua and Jiang Tao's companies could only look up to Jinghua's financial group.

After securing investment, Song Yu immediately began planning his next move in the film industry. President Yang was very supportive of Song Yu's new film project. The conference room was impressive, comparable to those of large corporations, and reflected Yang Yulei's past glories.

"Oh! Secretary Li, he'll have many projects to do in the office from now on. Please make the necessary arrangements."

"Mr. Yang made all the arrangements long ago. There's also a recording studio, but it's only for recording."

"Thank you, Mr. Yang. That's enough, that's enough."

"You all know each other, right?"

"Of course, of course!"

"How should I put it? He's just been chasing girls too much, wasting too many resources."

Although Yang Yulei and Song Yu were old friends, Yang Yulei was blunt in criticizing Song Yu's philandering ways, genuinely believing him to be a modern-day version of Ximen Qing! However, Song Yu did inspire Yang Yulei with a lot of ideas about "I am not Ximen Qing," and a different level of understanding of Ximen Qing. Who would have thought that Ximen Qing, who had been criticized for centuries, would be so easily refuted? Ximen Qing has been redeemed; there will be no more Ximen Qing. Ximen Qing's love and affection for women were genuine and not hypocritical.

"That's right, no one can become Ximen Qing, no one is qualified. Ximen Qing is an insurmountable symbol of modern men. Ximen Qing's literary achievements far surpass those of a hundred Oscar Wildes and a hundred Gabriel García Márquez. Ximen Qing represents the pinnacle of aesthetic art!"

"Mr. Yang,"

"what's up?"

"I just saw the gorilla hanging on the wall,"

You're swearing.

No?

"All gorillas,"

"I was just talking about the stars in the sky, the stars in constellations. Aren't celebrities all constellations in the sky? Otherwise, how could celebrities have such influence?"

"More like a Celestial Master,"

"What I mean is that celebrities have energy, like black holes that can attract money."

"Of those portraits, could you help me see who has the most potential?"

"Of course. I've hosted them before,"

"Did you receive or host someone you shared a bed with?"

"It's not Ouyang."

"Does he really think he's a Taoist master? Ouyang's wife is a screenwriter."

"Yes, she wrote the script for your goddess. Too bad she hasn't caught up with you yet, so don't waste my efforts."

"I've met Ms. Yang, she's a goddess. Her long, white legs are like a giant butterfly. She even took a photo with me here."

"I deleted it a long time ago; she only did it because of me."

"I will write a script for her one day and make her famous."

"You're just spouting nonsense, why don't you at least let some rain fall?"

"Okay, okay. I believe it just rained, it soaked me to the bone, and there was even lightning that almost killed me."

"Mr. Yang, you are the only one who truly understands me."

"See? He doesn't understand what you're saying at all,"

"President Yang, President Yang, I will always believe in you, my great CEO."

"Alright, alright, I'm flattered. Let's take a look at the artists under my management."

"The descendants of the dragon will surely shine,"

"is it?"

"of course."

"He really did run into a dead rat,"

"Anyway, Ouyang definitely has no hope."

"Fine, you can use your position to settle personal scores then."

"I need to go out again to meet with investors."

After exchanging a few words with Yang Yulei, Song Yu and Zhang Sheng went down to the street to greet Song Yu, the new screenwriter and cinematographer.

"See Taikooya? It's full of stunningly beautiful women,"

"She's thinking about the good things from the past again; be careful she doesn't come back."

"Don't scare me, she'd better find a bearded man in America."

"Liszt, Liszt, it's been so long!"

Lister got out of the taxi and took out his eighteen kinds of weapons from the trunk.

"Just you? What about Mr. Lister's two?" "They've already left."

"Go help Lister move the camera equipment,"

"Director Li, Director Li, why do you look so haggard? You're as dark as a crow. Don't push yourself too hard. Buy some sunscreen and put it on. Don't let her laugh at you. It seems that a man without a woman is truly miserable."

Liszt then spent some time in Europe, photographing various European scenes in Amsterdam.

"How are things in the Netherlands, Lister?"

"It's just work; every day is spent either taking photos or writing scripts,"

"I didn't go to check out the red-light district in the Netherlands,"

"No, Chinese men shouldn't go there. The sirens there are like demons; they eat people."

"It's similar to stirring up the Atlantic Ocean with a stick,"

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it yourself; in their eyes, you're nothing but a hair."

Liszt was still wearing his gold-rimmed glasses, but aside from being incredibly dark-skinned, how come he resembled the dreamer from the film studio? Without a woman's touch, Liszt was like a withered tree; without the nourishment of the earth's rain, even a man would turn into a withered old tree. Liszt had lost his former vigor and spirit, replaced by a颓废 (颓废 is a difficult word to translate directly, but it implies a state of listlessness, dejection, and apathy) dejected air. We had just unloaded Liszt's large white aluminum alloy trunk...

"Have you seen that car yet?"

Which car?

"It's that little girl who got off the bus."

"I see, she's your type,"

The girl parked her car on the side of the road. Song Yu was drawn to a certain spirit in the girl; she was melancholic, ethereal, and seemingly frail, dressed in a purple dress, slender and thin, yet upon closer inspection, she still exuded a captivating charm. Her pale face and dry lips, unadorned, revealed the natural beauty of her youth. Liszt didn't mince words; he hadn't interacted with a girl in a long time. The girl seemed frightened by the wild aura emanating from him; her face paled.

"Why did you drive here? What a waste!"

"It's convenient to go to Wukesong to purchase equipment, but it's inconvenient to get a taxi,"

"Hey beautiful, can you give me a ride later?"

"Liszt, no, no,"

"It's alright, manager."

"Come on, let's go to the coffee shop downstairs, have some coffee, and talk about the script we're working on. By the way, you'll be collaborating with Liszt in the future; his films are quite famous in China."

"How does it compare to Da Lei?"

"You know Da Lei too?"

"The manager told me,"

Da Lei had been harassing Song Yu for quite some time now, a lingering effect from when he was making a movie for his goddess. Da Lei kept increasing the budget, which reminded Song Yu of her past with that third-rate Taiwanese director. Finally, she gritted her teeth and added another 1 yuan to the budget.