Chapter 54: Two Requests, Fulfilled At Once
“The Person Who Plants Stars” is a foreign movie about volunteer teaching. The male lead goes to the countryside to teach after setbacks in life, eventually falls in love with the place, and chooses to stay.
This is an international masterpiece from the end of the last century. It has been remade many times domestically, but none captured the unique style of the original.
Yu Wei looked at the script, realizing this time there was truly nothing to change.
Yesterday’s script just happened to match the famous scene in his memory, but obviously, he didn’t have that heaven-defying luck this time.
Life can’t be full of coincidences everywhere. Yu Wei hesitated for a long time before returning the script to Lin Yi.
“The plot is very complete, so I won’t embarrass myself.”
If Yu Wei remembered correctly, this should be that year’s Oscar Best International Feature. Forcing a change would just be gilding the lily.
“No problem. The lines in this scene weren’t changed in any of the three domestic remake versions, so it’s best not to change them.”
Chi Leying’s words followed immediately, seeming like pre-prepared talking points to smooth things over. Lin Yi smiled and nodded, showing recognition of her words.
You know, domestic adaptations—or rather, drastic changes—are very serious. Many good films, once touched by the director’s hand, easily become unrecognizable.
Those who like remakes are usually mid-tier directors or crossovers from other fields, prone to drastic changes and inserting personal biases. Yet, even in such cases, the ending scene of “The Person Who Plants Stars” was one no one dared to touch.
The main reason is that it’s too classic; any change would lose the essence.
“This scene really isn’t easy to change. No problem, you can still write it. You’ve probably heard ‘Scissors,’ right?”
Lin Yi had originally planned to have Yu Wei write her song; the script was a spur-of-the-moment idea. It’s normal for an international masterpiece not to be easy to change, and she wouldn’t use it to make things difficult for him.
Yu Wei really hadn’t heard it.
After arriving here, he rarely listened to music. When he did occasionally listen, it was only Chen Ping’s—that international superstar who seems to have changed the worldline, suspected to be a transmigrator senior.
Surname Chen, given name Ping; add an “An” and he’d be a perfect protagonist template. Unfortunately, just because he lacked that “An,” he left early…
But anyway, he hadn’t listened to old Mr. Chen’s songs before either, so clearly not an Earth compatriot.
Back to the point, Sister Yi’s “Scissors” compares time to scissors that cut away sections of life’s silk fabric, a metaphor for time’s mercilessness.
Using the audition as an excuse, Yu Wei listened to it three times nearby and finally understood why Chi Leying could be moved to tears.
This song echoes urban people’s “time anxiety,” like workplace pressure, life planning, and other real issues. Watching time pass helplessly can indeed make one cry under heavy pressure.
He subconsciously glanced at Chi Leying, who just smiled knowingly, seemingly unconcerned by this slightly inquiring gaze.
If it were Qi Luo An, she would definitely ask directly, “What are you looking at?” But the person in front of him wasn’t Qi Luo An, and Yu Wei didn’t know why he suddenly thought of an unrelated person.
Maybe this song is just a bit too lyrical.
“Who are you thinking about?”
Chi Leying was extremely perceptive. Yu Wei’s fleeting gaze clearly showed his mind had wandered.
“Thinking about what song to write to fight in the arena against this one.”
There are plenty of excellent songs about time; this topic is among the top in Chinese songs—almost any one pulled out is great.
As for specifically which one to choose, it depends on musical style, focusing targeted strike. “Scissors” contemplates what time specifically is, a rare subject.
Songs about time are mostly helpless reflections on its passage in old age, or focused on parent-child relationships, with the theme actually being that the child wants to support but the parent is gone.
Songs specifically focusing on the abstract proposition of what time really is are indeed few. Yu Wei thought for a long time and finally recalled “The Secret of the Time Thief.”
Similarly exploring the essence of time, this song compares time to a plunderer of life, using “god thief” as a metaphor for time’s ruthless stealing, emphasizing the transience of youth and memory.
This aligns perfectly with “Scissors,” and both are movie theme songs, comparable in storytelling capacity.
Compared to Lin Yi’s song, “The Secret of the Time Thief” has more wistful acceptance. The original is female vocals, but there are many male covers. As long as the emotion is sincere enough, the odds of winning are high.
After selecting the song, Yu Wei felt inspiration flowing like a spring. He simply found a corner and started writing on the spot on his mobile phone.
Chi Leying watched speechlessly from the side. Last time he at least closed the door to write secretly; now that he’s been discovered, he doesn’t even bother hiding it anymore, not even pretending.
She couldn’t just stand there foolishly waiting, so while Yu Wei was writing, she joined the audition for the “The Person Who Plants Stars” segment and actually got selected.
This scene is about the male lead’s girlfriend persuading him to go back, but he has already fallen in love with the simple folkways of the mountain village and the escape from worldly clamor.
More importantly, he doesn’t want to abandon these children, so he resolutely chooses to stay and teach, and the two break up.
Planting stars actually represents the male lead sowing hope in these children.
In the end, the female lead descends the mountain with a resolute face, but tears stream down upon hearing the male lead and children sing an Irish folk song for her. The scene of her holding back tears, forcing a smile, and looking toward the male lead on the mountaintop has great visual impact—truly a film and television classic.
Mainly, the lead actress’s acting is too good: from reluctance to struggle, release, and final respect, all conveyed perfectly through a single gaze.
Chi Leying didn’t act that well; it was mainly the comparison with peers. The other auditioning actresses struggled even to cry, and crying scenes are basic skills for actors.
“Writing when in good form is truly enjoyable.”
After posting the new chapter, Yu Wei felt completely refreshed. It would be perfect with a cup of happy water.
“Is the dog author finally targeting a veteran artist?”
“Sister Yi is my childhood goddess, and you have the heart to go after her, kid?”
“Fight is fight; childhood goddess.”
“This song is really hard to beat, right? It’s still in my playlist; I listen to it whenever I have nothing to do. It’s truly not comparable to ‘Scarlet’ and ‘Same Dust.'”
“Can you release the song soon? My ears are itching badly.”
“Time to dig out earwax, brother.”
The chapter reviews were as lively as ever, but Yu Wei had the vague feeling that the number of comments had dropped a lot.
He didn’t have time to think deeply. Coming to the variety show couldn’t just be for writing; he still needed to do something proper. The reason Yu Wei came to the “The Person Who Plants Stars” film crew was also to try out for a role.
Before the program started shooting, he had searched for the original films of all four plays, and the one he was most interested in was this one, especially the final Irish folk song farewell with children’s chorus, which was very moving.
Actually, the three domestic adaptations all fell short here. Actor lines and plot could be localized, but this final song couldn’t be adapted no matter what.
The first remake directly used the original score. The tune was great, but in a domestic rural setting, it felt mismatched. Having mountain village kids sing an Irish folk song—that director was a genius.
The later version got smarter and did Chinese lyric writing for the original tune. The style was normal, but the foreign music after lyric writing lost its essence. Many viewers said it was better to use the original.
The third version’s director spotted the issue and specially chose a domestic local folk song, replacing it entirely. It was localized enough, but the styles didn’t match at all, and he got scolded the worst.
The more they tried to improve the adaptation, the worse the scolding, showing why some directors choose to slack off…
The more Yu Wei thought, the itchier he felt. If he wrote this foreign folk song into the book and then created a similarly styled localized version, wouldn’t the program’s casting be solved effortlessly?
More importantly, he was about to write the next round of the competition. The opponent’s song was hard to find, and this one was perfect.
Traditional folk song, original singer unknown—no one offended.
Writing this song in for a targeted strike would also solve a historical problem for domestic directors—not only offending no one, but actually a great merit.
Who says I can’t change the script? I’ll change the score instead.
Coming to this set was the right move—solving the plots for two songs at once.
Thanks to Yi Yitian’s alliance leader, thank you very much. When starting this book, I never imagined there’d be an alliance leader—kneeling in gratitude!
