Every time Zhou You finished watching a documentary, it took him a long time to lift his spirits. He lamented the hardships of the world and pitied his own insignificance. Some choose to muddle through life, some choose to live with clarity and pain, and some choose to live with clarity and joy. Everyone’s choice is different, but they all live one life—there’s no hierarchy of high or low, just following one’s heart. Whether in his past life or this one, Zhou You loved watching documentaries. Before, it was clarity with pain; now, it’s clarity with more joy, helping him avoid indulging in pleasure and encouraging him to take joy in helping others. Amid the countless sufferings of the world, he can only assist those right in front of him.
At noon, Zhou You treated Chen Weijun to a meal at the Guesthouse, also inviting Wang Ping and Li Houliang—these were all people he considered his core team from now on.
“Director Chen, how’s that documentary running lately? Any projects needing support?” Zhou You hadn’t been paying much attention recently, though Zhao Yun occasionally called to give him a brief update.
“It’s going well. We have five people reviewing projects. For anything in the small online group, we just need more than three votes to approve. The projects vary in size—small ones are tens of thousands, big ones up to 200,000. That big one is Director Zheng’s, totaling less than a million,” Chen Weijun explained briefly. Seeing Zhou You listening intently, he continued.
“Director Zheng’s project started filming early and has been ongoing for a while. It’s also about education, and he plans to keep tracking it. If conditions allow, he’ll continue following it indefinitely.”
“That’s no easy feat. Shooting this kind of documentary takes a huge toll on time and energy. I’m interested in this project—maybe we can fully fund it,” Zhou You said, genuinely intrigued. He wondered if it was the same one he’d seen later, which had to stop halfway due to funding issues, leaving the final version with many flaws. Mostly, Zhou You just hadn’t gotten enough of it.
The group chatted casually, and Chen Weijun noticed that Zhou You had a wide range of interests. Whenever he found something suitable or aligned with his tastes, he’d invest in it—everyone at the table had benefited from that.
“Teacher Zhou, I’m really curious about you now. I’d love to make a documentary about you, to see what kind of person you are,” Chen Weijun said, his professional habit kicking in, unable to suppress his curiosity.
“Haha, even if you filmed it, you couldn’t release it. I’m already keeping such a low profile, and if you exposed me, how could I live a leisurely life? But maybe someday you can follow me around and film—I’ll keep it for myself to watch when I’m older.”
Wealthy people value their privacy, and many have questionable backgrounds. A man fears fame like a pig fears fattening—Zhou You felt the same. Life was good now, and he could record more personal footage for his future self to enjoy in old age.
Chen Weijun knew this was the expected outcome. He’d dealt with many rich people before, and most refused to be filmed. The fact that Zhou You was willing to go this far showed his genuine love for documentaries.
“Teacher Zhou, how about I set up a shot first and film you swimming and doing some sparring?” Chen Weijun patted the bag he always carried with him—people like him never went without it.
“Sure, but it absolutely can’t be shared outside. It can’t disrupt my current life. It’s only for me. From now on, I’ll cover all your documentary costs, Brother Chen!” Zhou You added another reminder, still uneasy.
Then Wang Ping and Li Houliang briefly outlined the basics of the venues.
Originally, Chen Weijun had planned to leave that afternoon, but with this opportunity, he decided to stay a few more days.
Over the following days, Chen Weijun gathered extensive material, filming plenty of footage of Li Houliang’s sparring and fighting. The new venue was much grander and more comfortable than the old one. Zhou You got so lost in training a few times that he forgot the camera was even there. Especially the post-training massage from the therapist—it was Zhou You’s favorite part, making him sigh that professionals really were worth the money.
At the swimming pool, Zhou You had Wang Fangfang swim with him, capturing a series of shots, including the massage routine Wang Fangfang did after each swim, all recorded.
As a child, Zhou You never had the chance to take photos. The earliest picture he remembered was from middle school, in the late 1990s—that was his oldest surviving image. When he grew up and saw that some kids from the 1980s already had photos, and some even had video recordings, he was deeply envious. What kind of families were those? He was a decade or two behind others. Now, having the chance to make a personal record for himself was a fun idea—as long as it didn’t get out.
He even brought the camera to class. The students were a bit curious at first, but they knew Teacher Zhou loved documentaries and had heard from older students that *A Bite of China* was funded by him. Now, many of them felt a subtle excitement.
Seeing the students’ enthusiasm, Zhou You smiled and said, “Haha, don’t get too excited—this won’t be on TV. I’m recording it for myself, to watch slowly when I’m old!”
Hearing that, the class got even more animated.
“Teacher, look at my fresh perm—give me a close-up today!”
“I’m wearing my new clothes, very handsome and photogenic.”
“Teacher, you should’ve told us earlier—we girls would’ve put on makeup!”
Some students immediately sat up straight, while a few who were dressed sloppily shrank back. All these reactions were captured by the camera.
Life—how beautiful, yet fleeting. Being able to record it was a blessing.
This class was indeed different from before; the students were all sitting up straight and proper. It made Zhou You realize that many documentaries couldn’t capture natural scenes without following subjects for a while, or they risked being inauthentic.
As class was about to end, Zhou You invited Chen Weijun up to the stage to introduce him:
“Director Chen works at Jiangcheng TV and is a documentary filmmaker. *Better to Live Than to Die* and *Please Vote for Me* are his works—very good. You all should check them out when you have time. Recently, he co-directed *Why Poverty* with directors from around the world. You can watch it online. Make sure to see it soon!” Zhou You added, still uneasy.
If they didn’t watch it now, they might never get the chance!
Seeing that the students only perked up slightly at the mention of working at TV station and showed little reaction afterward, it was clear none of them had seen the documentaries before. They were still at an age where all they thought about was having fun—who had the mind for documentaries? To them, every day was fresh and exciting, with so much fun around them, why bother with the outside world?
A few days later, Chen Weijun said his goodbyes and left, feeling satisfied. He’d expanded his subjects for recording, and even though it couldn’t be released, it had satisfied his curiosity. Documentary directors are naturally curious people, but they rarely have a good reason to intrude into others’ lives. Using the guise of filming a documentary, they could observe others more smoothly.
Human nature has a desire to pry—to see how others live, to understand their habits, to satisfy curiosity. In the name of recording.
Watch as much as you can now. If you don’t, you might never get the chance again.