Transverse flutes and vertical flutes were originally one and the same, gradually separating as different schools developed, but their essence remained the same.
It wasn’t until the mall was about to close that the two reluctantly left the practice room.
That evening, Zhou You didn’t drive; he hailed a taxi to take Sun Li home. Back in his own place, he lay in bed, letting his thoughts wander.
The next day, Zhou You went to practice the flute as usual. When he arrived at the shop, he saw Sun Li was there too. They exchanged normal looks and entered the practice room.
As soon as they stepped inside, Sun Li locked the door. Today, she was wearing high-heeled boots, making her nearly as tall as Zhou You. It startled him.
“Brother You, don’t feel burdened. Yesterday was my choice. You know my stance—I’ll never get married. Live for today, worry about tomorrow when it comes, enjoy the moment while it lasts. I just want to be with you now, and I won’t interfere with your other matters.”
Hearing this, Zhou You had no reason to hesitate. Life was full of different attitudes and ways of living. When faced with happiness, forcing yourself to suppress it and hurt others was something he couldn’t agree with. If fate brought them together, so be it; if not, they’d part ways.
“Alright, then let’s learn to play the flute now,” he said, gently pressing down on Sun Li’s head.
It had to be said, once their relationship grew closer, Zhou You’s flute skills improved faster and faster. Through mutual practice, Sun Li’s flute playing also made great strides, going from somewhat rusty to technically proficient.
It just goes to show—people with a foundation learn quickly.
As time passed, Zhou You’s understanding of the flute deepened. It wasn’t as simple as he’d initially thought, that all flutes were the same.
Bamboo flutes mainly included the qudi and bangdi. The qudi was thick and long, with a mellow, elegant, and rich tone—the primary instrument of the southern school. The bangdi was thin and short, with a high-pitched, piercing, and sharp sound—the main instrument of the northern school.
Then there were also long flutes and short flutes, varying by usage. The types of bamboo alone were dizzying, ranging from C key to D key, all the way to F key and G key.
As for Sun Li’s skill level, she was merely average among professionals. There were plenty of more accomplished masters, and the Shanghai Music Ensemble was brimming with talent.
As his studies deepened, Zhou You bought more and more flutes. He also topped up several tens of thousands in tuition fees at the shop.
In a way, he single-handedly kept that small shop afloat.
In the blink of an eye, it was November.
Zhou You received calls from Director Han and Wang Baoqiang, saying his movie was about to be released and asking him to check it out if he had time.
Zhou You took Sun Li to a mall to watch *Mr. Tree*. Regardless, as an investor, even though he’d seen the film before, he hadn’t watched it in a theater.
This movie clearly didn’t appeal to current audiences. To be honest, the country was in a period of rapid development. Everyone looked forward, full of hope, believing that effort would bring rewards and hard work would pay off.
It wasn’t until a few years later, after repeated setbacks from society and a clearer self-awareness, that people would grow to love *Mr. Tree* more and more.
Because watching *Mr. Tree* was like watching yourself—it brought a strong sense of identification and resonance.
The screening room had only a few scattered viewers. Ticket prices weren’t high then, just twenty or thirty yuan. The film’s promotion was unappealing. Its gray tones felt oppressive at first glance.
After the movie, some viewers also found it depressing. Especially the second half—many said they didn’t understand it.
Zhou You thought to himself, “It’s not just you who doesn’t get it; even the director later couldn’t understand it.” The work was interpreted more and more, drifting further from its original intent, like many literary works—from the moment of its creation, everyone could derive different meanings.
Still, its Douban rating wasn’t low.
People couldn’t believe it—was this Wang Baoqiang?
His performance was worlds apart from his earlier, simple-minded “Sha Gen” image. To be fair, his acting was truly excellent.
After watching, Zhou You felt this was the peak of Wang Baoqiang’s acting career. The “Mr. Tree” he created was authentic, classic, and unforgettable. He portrayed the lowly little man vividly and deeply, evoking both sorrow and lament, grief and pain.
The overall feel of the movie was oppressive. Many netizens later commented:
“When I first watched it years ago, I only saw Tree as a pitiful man, slowly going mad—sympathetic and sad.”
“But now, watching it again, I realize: back then, I didn’t understand Mr. Tree; now, I’m the one in tears.”
“At first, I didn’t grasp the meaning in the song; now, I’m the one living it.”
“Hello there, Brother Tree.”
It was a tease, a mockery, and a contempt.
Sun Li, sitting beside him, was dozing off, while Zhou You watched with great interest. It had to be said, different mindsets led to different insights from the same thing.
Later, Zhou You took Wang Fangfang to another mall to see the film. Afterward, Wang Fangfang said to him, “Brother You, there’s someone in our village just like him. The movie’s good, but it’s too depressing.”
In that era, making this film was, without a doubt, a tragedy. In those years and the ones to come, the most popular and highest-grossing films were still comedies.
Because people’s lives were too stressful. No one wanted to pay to suffer; they wanted to be happy in the theater, laugh, and release their pressure.
Seeing the low attendance, major cinemas quickly pulled the film from their schedules.
By the end of its run, it had only earned over 2 million yuan at the box office. It was a dismal failure.
Director Han even called to apologize: “Mr. Zhou, I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect the box office to be this bad.”
“It’s fine. I never expected this film to recoup its costs. It was always aimed at winning awards. What are your plans next?” Zhou You was prepared; he’d known the outcome the moment he invested, so it wasn’t a surprise.
Han Jie was surprised by Zhou You’s reassurance. He’d been worried about anger and backlash, since a director causing investors to lose everything could hurt his reputation.
“I’m planning to submit it to various film festivals and see how it goes,” Han Jie said, knowing his film was award-oriented from the start.
After that, Han Jie threw himself into touring major international film festivals, where the film achieved several successes.
2011: 14th Shanghai International Film Festival Golden Goblet Award – Jury Grand Prix 2011: 14th Shanghai International Film Festival Golden Goblet Award – Best Director 2011: 9th Vladivostok International Film Festival – Best Director 2011: 9th Vladivostok International Film Festival – Best Actor 2011: 5th Asia Pacific International Film Festival – Best Actor *Hello! Mr. Tree* was nominated for the Busan International Film Festival in South Korea.
Regardless, there were still gains. It had either acclaim or box office—at least one of the two. Unlike other coal bosses who got swindled down to their underwear.
This chapter was revised five times before being published.
So tough!