For a typical documentary, dozens of hours of footage is the bare minimum, often reaching hundreds or thousands, making post-production editing a real headache. Unlike movies, documentaries lack a clear beginning, climax, and vivid plot. A character-driven documentary follows a person—their life or a segment of it—and there’s rarely that much excitement; it’s just day-to-day repetition. Yet, because each person, each industry, repeats different things daily, showing it to others in different fields brings interest. Those who live in that trade every day find it unremarkable.
Documentary editing usually involves cutting several versions. Zhou You’s request was far too simple for Chen Weijun. It was like Zhou Yu striking Huang Gai—one willing to strike, the other willing to be struck. Being able to fund documentary directors to shoot socially relevant films felt better to Zhou You than eating an ice pop during the dog days of summer.
"Director Chen, I’ve always been curious—how did you shoot that documentary *Better to Live Than to Die*? How did you get in? How did you have the courage to stay in that environment for so long?" Zhou You asked a question that had long piqued his curiosity.
After watching it back then, Zhou You had pondered for a long time, putting himself in Chen’s shoes. It was clear that shooting that documentary was no easy feat. Hearing this question, Chen Weijun was stunned for a while. Those buried memories resurfaced, churning in his mind—fear, boldness, ignorance, relief—all swirling together.
"To be honest, it was a bit of serendipity. I was still young back then, half a journalist by trade, and I was outraged and deeply moved by such things. When I got the news, I grabbed my camera and went alone, but the area was already sealed off. As an outsider, I couldn’t get in at all. Then I ran into some locals who asked what I wanted to do. I said I wanted to film this and document it. They were victims too—many people nearby, their relatives and friends, had contracted AIDS. Back then, the media wasn’t developed, and they were all holding in their anger. With their help, I entered the village posing as a visiting relative, and that’s how I met the main family."
Zhou You pressed on: "Weren’t you scared? Forget the lack of public awareness back then—even now, how many people could live long-term with AIDS patients?"
"Heh, you think I wasn’t scared? Before going in, I consulted many experts, asking about transmission routes, whether eating together could spread it, and what protective measures to take. Only then did I dare to go. But once I was in that environment, the fear faded. The people around me were too miserable. What does it feel like to wait for death? That’s when I understood—the most terrifying thing isn’t death itself, but the helplessness and despair of waiting for it."
Zhou You deeply understood this. Watching that film, even without sad background music, the quiet scenes and the characters’ simple narratives hit you with an intensity stronger than any movie. The stark contrast came from the children—they had no concept of death, no idea their mother was about to leave, no clue how tragic their future would be. As *The Shackles of Human Nature* puts it: "The only ones in this world who love them without expecting anything in return are gone."
Documentaries claim to record real life without changing people, but that’s false. Whether for good or ill, you inevitably bring change to those you document. This kind of realistic documentary is heavy; you can’t watch it often, but you can’t afford not to know. The world is complex, and life is complex. Some enjoy blessings, while others suffer. Some choose to live painfully but clearly. Others, unable to change reality, bury their heads in the sand like ostriches. There’s no right or wrong—just different choices for each person.
After grappling with humanity and death, Zhou You grew calmer. He could only say: live in the moment, don’t let yourself down.
…
How to ease worries? Only Xiaobai.
In an age of material abundance, happiness is humanity’s ultimate pursuit.
"Xiaobai, are you happy?"
"I’m pretty happy when I’m with you, but it always feels like this happiness is like a bubble—it could burst in an instant," Xiaobai said, looking at Zhou You, who was holding her tightly.
"What’s wrong with you? You seem a bit down."
"Nothing. When people get idle, they think; when they think, God laughs," Zhou You joked.
Life really needs balance—yin and yang.
"Xiaobai, do you have any dreams?"
"Yeah, I want to buy lots of good food and play lots of fun things. That’s why I wanted to be a tour guide in the first place."
"How about you start a travel company later? Once you’ve learned enough at this one, we’ll start one together."
"But I’ve realized running a company is tough—there’s so much to manage."
"It’s fine. If we can’t start big, we’ll start small. With me investing, what’s there to fear?" Zhou You planned to travel all over the country and the world later, and a travel company would be the simplest and most convenient.
Xiaobai was thrilled by Zhou You’s words, lying in bed grinning foolishly, probably already dreaming of being a boss and traveling everywhere.
A breeze rippled across the lake’s surface.
The world was treacherous, and someone was charging straight in.
…
The annual back-to-school season.
No one is forever eighteen,
but there are always eighteen-year-olds.
Zhou You had taught for a year and was no longer a new teacher. He didn’t need to compile new teaching materials. Considering his teaching experience, he was still assigned to teach freshmen, covering the basics of library science. This was also what Zhou You had requested from his advisor. Teachers got extra pay for different classes, but Zhou You didn’t care about the money—he just wanted an easier workload.
This year, their department started a welcome party.
Kids these days were truly impressive—everyone had talents. Some played the piano, some the guzheng, some the guitar; singing and dancing were a breeze. Watching them made Zhou You’s heart itch.
Back in his school days, whenever teachers asked for special skills, he always wrote "none." Seeing classmates with all kinds of talents, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t envious. But growing up in the countryside, what skills could he have? As a kid, Zhou You was awestruck by the scene in a TV drama where the East Heretic played the flute on his entrance—it looked so cool. Later in college, he saw a video of Dou Wei playing the flute at a concert online, and he thought it was absolutely stunning.
Watching them perform on stage, Zhou You’s mind wandered. He thought, now that he had money and time, why not learn the flute himself? It would satisfy his hobby and reduce his regrets.