I am not Ximen Qing.

I remember advising the assistant director to be patient and take a few years to polish a good film. Don't rush things, as if the assistant director has made a big movie that has nothing to do with him. This is not only a comedy of cinema, but also the absurd ending of a gray artist's life.

Perhaps the assistant director's intelligence was consumed by art; that's the only explanation. Why make a movie that has nothing to do with him? This is the entertainment of the metropolis, and the metropolis itself, the metropolis, the metropolis's magical realism. The irrational prosperity of the metropolis is what creates enormous profits for capital. Remember, there are invisible eyes watching—the monster of capital, the unicorn of capital, the gluttonous monster of capital. Meng Liang bears responsibility for the assistant director's downfall. He seems to have watched helplessly as the assistant director fell into the trap without offering any warning. Is that what it means to be friends? It seems Meng Liang enjoys seeing the assistant director mortgage his house to an institution, using the money supposedly for the production of a grand, artistic film. In reality, the assistant director ruined himself. It can also be understood as being influenced by what he saw and heard. The film industry has a long tradition of mortgaging property to contribute to great art. The assistant director was also too optimistic about the film's box office, probably immediately imagining a gold mine like the Egyptian pyramids. He couldn't miss such a great opportunity. After the assistant director's gambler's nature erupted, he completely lost his rationality. And they also carefully considered the various contracts for the film. And regarding the question of who actually owns the film's copyright, Song Yu remained absolutely rational. She refused to lend money, and privately, like Meng Liang, they both wondered why this damn thing was burning through so much money. They reasoned that mortgaging the house would provide enough for 20 years of living in Beijing, and that people sometimes just get sick, their brains are all messed up.

"The Death of an Artist" is a good title, but why doesn't anyone make a film about "The Death of an Actor"? "The Death of an Actor" certainly evokes a sense of artistic inspiration, but can it truly be called "The Death of an Artist"? "Death of a Salesman" is a famous film. The great salesman Willy dies unknowingly under various forms of exploitation, with no room for maneuver. He dies in humiliating adultery; only in this way can humanity be revealed. Willy's story seems somewhat representative, representing that many people's fate isn't due to a lack of effort, but rather an inevitability to avoid tragedy. Yes, death is unavoidable in life; in fact, life itself is a tragedy. The assistant director is also a rather malicious person, so the retribution for a malicious person is also the retribution for a malicious person, isn't it? In any case, the assistant director's film is still a rejection of Hollywood films. Isn't it? However, the film is a huge copy, but it's a sophisticated copy, a copy with a sense of boundless freedom and ease. This kind of manipulation might, perhaps, perhaps is the creation completely detached from the original work's scope and time frame. Is this, is this creation? Some confusion arises. Is art copying, creation, or plagiarism? Regardless, the assistant director's ambition was realized: he made a film completely unrelated to himself, a film that belonged to nothing about him. The film exists quietly on the internet, without any views. It seems the film bears no trace of the assistant director's soul, not even a tiny bit. It truly is a film that has nothing to do with him. Song Yu is particularly afraid of art. Because Song Yu often cites Van Gogh biting or cutting off his own ear as an example, saying that only an artist's madness can create sunflowers, Song Yu often uses Van Gogh as an example. He says that one should not be learned, but must learn from Shakespeare. For artistic creation, it is serious. One must create a perfect work, meticulously crafted, drawing inspiration from the Muses. Every day, one drinks the world's finest wines: Porto, French white wine, red wine, and Cognac. Of course, no wine has the soul of Mexico City's Longzhilan. Spanish wine also has a soul. The Spanish people have the same great imagination and spirit of exploration regarding love and romance as Don Quixote and Shangqiu. They have the great and unceasing artistic spirit of fighting against windmills, demons, and everything. In fact, one should not learn from anyone else when it comes to playing art. Just learn from the abstract art of Picasso. Without the company of beautiful women, one cannot create great paintings. This is the soul and source of Picasso's creation. One must be with a goddess to create great works of art. After drinking the world's most magical wine, the soul of Dionysus is injected into one's body, and thoughts are naturally activated, giving spiritual creation. To find a source of spiritual inspiration, one must visit places like Lishi Hutong, Beihai Park, Jingshan Park, Hongluo Temple, the Summer Palace, Yuanmingyuan, Weiming Lake, the Lotus Pond, the Olympic Park, Xiangshan, the long corridor under Guomao Tianjie, Chongwenmen, the bar street of Houhai in the Forbidden City, the ruins of Yuan Dadu, the incense burner pavilion on Xianglu Peak, and of course, Taoranting Park and Fayuan Temple. The summer heat couldn't quell Song Yu's restless heart; it seemed they met less and less, only once every few months. Song Yu's enthusiasm for her old friend's film script had waned; it was no longer as intense as it had been at the beginning. She was filled with the spirit of Michelangelo, the artistic pursuit of Leonardo da Vinci, the spirit of Beethoven, the joy of Mozart, and had fallen in love with beautiful piano sonatas.

Song Yu lives entirely in the realistic world of Web 3.00 and internet finance. He seems to have once admired the pure spiritual world of ancient Greece, but he's forgetful; it seems he's forgotten art and creative pursuits. Time flies. In winter, we parted ways at a bookstore on Fifth Avenue and went to the Xinhua Bookstore. Among the classics of foreign literature, Iliad, Odyssey, Faust, Don Juan, Carmen—I was searching for Balzac, but couldn't find the complete works. It seems there's some unspoken rule in bookstores regarding Balzac's *The Human Comedy*; they don't like to put the complete works on the shelves because few young people like to read Balzac's complete works. However, there's the eternal *Les Misérables*, the eternal *Notre-Dame de Paris*—these two works by Hugo are always present, along with *War and Peace*. There are also Tolstoy's works, *Anna Karenina*, and finally, I flipped through Mu's *The Stranger*.

Are you crazy?

"I certainly do, I'm sure I'm a bit crazy, yet without a whiff of wind, I'd rather be a madman, a true madman for art."

"Don't buy it! Don't buy it! These are all Waist products!"

No, I like it.

"Escape the illusions of books and quickly join the grand world of internet finance—the world of Web 3.0 is all about money. For a better future, quickly join the great money world of internet finance, Web 3.0!"

Slipping up the escalator from the first to the third floor, I came down to the same old Bank of Communications ATM, an antique that's never been replaced. A girl was soliciting customers at the massage parlor on the second floor, offering free foot massages! This world is so decadent, so competitive, so disrespectful of human labor. When will foot massages be free? If they were free, I wouldn't dare go. Don't be greedy for cheap things; that's a poverty mentality. The more you try to save money, the more you end up paying. A free massage? I'd have to buy a gym membership costing thousands. I still prefer the old-fashioned massage parlors, real massage and wellness, real traditional Chinese medicine massage techniques. Jumping into the bathhouse, running into the sauna, gulping down ice water on my face while drinking beer, eating crab, steak, and then a few bites of delicious tuna—that's the wonderful buffet life. Who wouldn't love a bathhouse like that? In the past, bathhouses like these were everywhere, but they're becoming increasingly rare. I wonder why. Is it because people have moved from home to bathhouses, thus losing the original charm of the bathhouse?

"Just wait and see, my work will eventually be on the bookshelf."

"Artist, you're awesome!"

"Isn't this normal? Ten novels, ten screenplays—that's my goal for life."

Still in the theater square of the Olympic Park in winter, the heartfelt lineup, coupled with the superhuman level, their eyes staring like the copper bells of the Bull Demon King, Song Yu's eyes, the same age as the Bull Demon King, were like lion's eyes, yet also like the Bull Demon King's eyes—large eyes, revealing a fierce light. It seemed like this scene was always repeating itself, only in a different setting. I don't know why they were so confident, as if we were all born with the shadows of Don Quixote and Shangqiu. Perhaps it was still a lack of confidence. Finally, they clapped their hands like stars to cheer on their goal.

"Now is the perfect opportunity, yet you're wasting your youth, your time, and your money—everything!"

"It's not a waste of time or money, but a process of accumulating experience for future growth. I will not give up my ideals, my dreams, or my pursuits. Let's go to Haidilao for hot pot with your girlfriend, it's on me!"

Like a cycle of reincarnation, I recalled Shangguan Xifeng riding a bicycle, pulling Song Yu along. Perhaps it was Don Quixote, with Shangqiu following behind the bicycle wheels, Shangguan Xifeng, or perhaps it was the scene of the goddess Dulcinea, Hua Di. This was the story of Song Yu and Shangguan Xifeng. Their love story took place in the Olympic Forest Park. Now, Song Yu has a new girlfriend, and Shangguan Xifeng is long gone from his life. Love between men and women, love and more love, is so heartless. What's the point of the assistant director making movies or writing scripts? The stories of Song Yu and his two girlfriends are far more quiet than that online movie he made, which didn't cause any ripples or waves. The assistant director had to pay a price for making this online movie, even mortgaging his small apartment. However, both spiritually and materially, the assistant director gained immense enjoyment. While making the movie, he also secretly slept with a sixth-tier internet celebrity actress. That was all the assistant director wanted. The assistant director was unaware of his losses. What he lost was his entire future in Beijing. Perhaps the assistant director would find it ridiculous when clicking on his "big movie" online, wondering what his team had actually made. While Song Yu and the girl were deeply in love, Shangguan Xifeng's WeChat appeared like the shadow of a witch. He decided to go all in and completely block the shameless Shangguan Xifeng. Unable to bear the harassment any longer, he now recalled his story and didn't want to be defeated again, heartbroken, losing his confidence and soul because of a woman. Shangguan Xifeng finally experienced the thrill of being cuckolded by Song Yu, finally regaining her unprecedented queenly spirit and soul from Song Yu's torment. She emerged from the cuckoldry of her ex-girlfriend's scumbag boyfriend, often sacrificing a lover. That lover was Song Yu. He remembered that night like a stormy night, when lightning struck the tree beneath his rented apartment in Shijingshan—lightning, flashes, sparks from the tree. The collateral was broken, shattered, and the cursed witch inflicted immense harm on Song Yu. After a day and a night of drinking many bottles of imported German dark beer, and listening to a girl sing together at night, he angrily left. The consequence was a one-night stand with Xiao Ji, a girl from Beijing. They met up, met up again. Xiao Ji, lacking love—the name seemed familiar; many people were named Xiao Ji. There were girls and boys, and he remembered the Xiao Ji from Zhejiang in the kiln. The Beijing girl was hopelessly addicted to love and romance, working at a franchise company, responsible for recruiting franchisees. Love was burning fiercely, like dry tinder. In the heat of passion, seeking pleasure and falling into depravity, Xiao Ji wanted a child. Song Yu refused, and instead gave her a box of quick-acting contraceptives. What does this mean? It only shows that men and women in big cities are simply solving each other's physical needs. It's too brutal, too cruel. Urban men and women are all like this, like dry tinder burning brightly, secretly searching for each other's love and romance. In the end, they'll all become each other's dream of love, cherishing this beautiful love and romance. Life is made up of one dream after another, endless dreams. The process of life... all these good things just happened yesterday, and every day brings many new things. Song Yu has secured new funding and is working feverishly on the film script. A huge table of dishes has been ordered at Haidilao, the hot pot steaming hot. The first time I met her, the girl was still immersed in the flames of love, in the romantic symphony of love. Youth is full of vitality; everything is beautiful in youth.

"Waiter, let's pack this up and eat it at home."

The girl is now showing signs of becoming a leading lady, which means that this time they are seriously going to have a serious marriage.

When are you getting married?

"Why rush into marriage? Let's wait until the right time."

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; they've reached a point of perfect understanding in every way.

"I forgot to tell you, he really is a poet. Why don't we ask him to recite a couple of poems?"

"If you have no inspiration at all, you have to travel and enjoy nature before you can write poetry. Once you have inspiration, it will flow naturally in the quiet of the night. This is the creativity and imagination of art, and the process of the birth of art and the birth of beauty."

"She studied art, specifically painting."

"Really? Of course! The painting is quite good."

"You guys chat, I'm going back now."

"Bye-Bye"

The girl carried the packed vegetables and meat back to the apartment.

How did you manage to win over such a pretty girl?

"We were just chatting on WeChat, buddy, and wouldn't you say it's a coincidence? We'd met once before. The girl works in media. The moment we met that very night, everything was perfect. It's such a coincidence, like we were meant to be together in a past life!"

"That's outrageous!"

“Purity of angelPurity of love I’m such a girl”

"You've found love and romance, you're so happy."

"Do we need each other? Both men and women in love need each other; we've been eating at fancy hotels these past few days."

Think about how life should be—happy, filled with love and joy. These are truly golden days of happiness. Friends in this city of desire, perhaps you should calm your minds and recite the Diamond Sutra, the Heart Sutra, the Avatamsaka Sutra, and Xuanzang's words: "Form is not different from emptiness, not different from form; form is emptiness, emptiness is form." And to those caught up in the world of desire... don't misunderstand. For men and women living in the universe, on Earth in the solar system, this all seems like nonsense. Humanity hasn't changed much since emerging from God's garden. The reason evolutionary theory has been refuted is that, at least in the near-evolutionary process of human development, unlike fossilized dinosaurs, living fossils, Indonesian lizards, and African crocodiles, previous evolutionary products haven't changed much, at least not in their ferocious killing of herbivores. There's not much change in mammals. The entire spacetime is composed of daydreams and nightdreams. During the day, the city is lifeless. For the elderly and adorable children, the city's daytime is especially weekend-like. Saturdays were absolutely wonderful days, wonderful days, wonderful days. This wasn't just about singing; it was about the most urban, truly primal bands that captured the city's raw essence. Only the Beatles, the Beatles, truly deserved that title. The British have contributed much more than just the Industrial Revolution; they've also been veterans in the history of music. That's why they're a bit arrogant, especially Londoners, who have always looked down on the nouveau riche, the country bumpkins, and the Puritan accents of Brooklyn, New York. "Hey, Judy Imagine," the cry of the Beat Generation—at least the Beat Generation had a pretty high standard for understanding music.