Chapter 119: The Graduation Ceremony

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(Warm thanks to Brother Leesen for his repeated generosity and for urging me to update, and heartfelt gratitude to Brothers swsw and Long Shao for their continued support!)

Huang Xiaoming, dressed in the imperial robes of the Han dynasty, sat upright and solemn in the Hall of Unity of the Four Seas. The camera quickly shifted, revealing scenes of ancient warfare. The protagonist was Wei Qing, portrayed by Deng Tao, leading countless horsemen in a thunderous, silent charge. Opposite him stood the Chanyu, played by the esteemed Zhang Guangbei, clad in resplendent attire with a distinctive Tibetan influence, his brows furrowed and eyes cold.

A great battle erupted immediately, the roar like thunder and tidal waves, all from the cavalry charging like a fierce tempest.

In an instant, the screen went blank—everything past was gone—leaving only the boundless grasslands and the nomads singing as they tended their herds.

“Welcome to the beautiful Bayan Nur,” said Brother Xiaoming, now dressed entirely in modern clothing.

This was the Bayan Nur tourism promotional film directed by Hao Yi. Honestly, it was quite simple, blending clips from the TV series “The Emperor Wu of Han” with unique local scenery, featuring Brother Xiaoming as the spokesperson, evoking a sense of time slipping by.

The cinematography was exquisite, shot on film stock. Because it was a historical piece, Hao Yi used rich, weighty color tones, making the visuals naturally stunning.

As for the content, Vice Mayor Wang was very pleased. As for the audience, well, it left them itching with curiosity.

An advertisement, after all, must whet people’s appetites.

“I heard that Wu Xiang has made another big film. This time, no romance.”

“I heard that news long ago.”

“I saw the promo; it looks pretty good, with grand scenes.”

“Come on, domestic blockbusters aren’t interesting. Foreign films are still better.”

…The topic sparked lively discussion, especially online, where users were growing rapidly due to technological advances, faster internet speeds, lower fees, and cheaper computers.

Meanwhile, the “Penguin” instant messaging platform had grown tremendously, now dominating nearly 100% of the domestic market—actually, even saying ‘nearly’ is conservative, since only a few other apps remain alive, like MSN, whose user base has dwindled.

But distrust of domestic blockbusters remained the mainstream among film fans. Well, ‘mainstream’ might be a bit strong, but most people thought that way.

This was understandable, as Hollywood had indeed been unrivaled in recent years, with exquisite craftsmanship, superb techniques, and breathtaking visuals that domestic productions simply couldn’t match.

Yet Wu Xiang had no time to dwell on these opinions—not because he avoided the internet, but because he had to finish his graduation thesis.

Not just one, but two!

The directing department required a thesis as well, as promised—he would graduate with a double degree.

He had dark circles under his eyes from the exhaustion, and he regretted taking on two majors.

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Of course, this was just a momentary complaint. Wu Xiang was actually very grateful for the opportunity to learn so much at once. But first, he had to finish his papers!

After burning the midnight oil in the internet café for half a month, Wu Xiang finally completed both papers.

For the literature class, he wrote a rather professional paper titled “On the Synchronization of Dramatic Conflict and Character Construction.” Judging by the title, it sounded very scholarly. In reality, he was simply discussing how storytelling conveys character.

Yes, this was something taught in middle and high schools, but under this grand title, it sounded more impressive. He incorporated examples from his own acting experience, and the thesis immediately caught the attention of his advisor.

For the directing department, his paper was equally highbrow: “On the Opposition and Complementarity of Artistic Aesthetics and Popular Culture.”

Just the title felt profound. But if you thought about it carefully, it basically discussed the relationship between high art and popular culture—refined versus vulgar.

Wu Xiang’s papers were pure clickbait: he took ideas that had been said countless times before and restated them in his own style.

But the guy had a strong literary foundation, and his writing was so convoluted and ornate that the professors were genuinely impressed during the defense!

“You’re just bluffing!” said Professor Han Xiaolei, who knew Wu Xiang well. Honestly, at first, he thought the papers were classy, but on closer reading, they felt oddly familiar.

Still, bluffing was a skill. Wu Xiang had been busy shooting films and working on post-production, barely finding time to write. He couldn’t just plagiarize—it would ruin his own reputation.

Okay, maybe Wu Xiang had a high opinion of himself, but that was partly because others praised him.

On June 24, 2001, Yanjing Film Academy held the graduation ceremony for the Class of ’97 undergraduates in the school auditorium. The graduates wore their academic gowns and caps, looking the part—very scholarly.

Those in the know understood the outfits were rented for the occasion, mainly so everyone could take photos afterward.

Well, that’s university for you.

“Now, please welcome Wu Xiang, an outstanding graduate of the Film Academy Class of ’97, an excellent student leader of Yanjing City, a young writer, and a young director, to deliver the valedictory speech!”

Frankly, hearing all these titles read out, Wu Xiang’s face flushed slightly. Normally, with his thick skin, he wouldn’t blush, but today…

It was just a speech—he was a man, after all!

The applause was warm and enthusiastic. Indeed, among the Class of ’97, Wu Xiang was the natural choice for student representative. Many had achievements, but none matched his.

Standing on stage, Wu Xiang’s mind suddenly flooded with memories of the school—some bizarre, some touching, many deeply memorable.

In the blink of an eye, his campus life was ending. Professor Han had advised him to continue graduate studies, which wouldn’t interfere with his acting, just as they had done themselves. Han had originally hoped to take him as an apprentice, and his teaching style resembled graduate-level instruction, just without the formal degree.

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But Wu Xiang felt he should pursue further study elsewhere—that is, the university of society.

“What’s wrong?”

“Isn’t Wu Xiang quite the orator?”

Wu Xiang mulled over his thoughts on stage as the students below chattered.

With a snap, he finally acted. He had brought a script, but now he crumpled it and tossed it aside, declaring:

“I originally prepared a speech, but standing here, I feel reading from a script is too dull.”

His opening was truly unconventional.

“Standing here representing all of you, I feel a heavy responsibility. And likewise, I believe everyone sitting below holds a great responsibility too. Compared to that, the duty of delivering this speech is nothing. Our generation, born at this time, living through these days, is living through a great era of transformation. To put it plainly, we are lucky—we have caught a good time and are far more fortunate than our parents!”

Wu Xiang began with words not much related to graduation. This was an art school; he should speak of art.

But he did not. He spoke instead of responsibility:

“We are fortunate, but also unfortunate! Because we have witnessed too many gaps between us and foreign countries, between us and the world’s advanced levels. This has, to some extent, caused us to feel a lack of confidence. This is nothing to be ashamed of; it’s perfectly normal—everyone feels this way.”

Though he did not mention art, his words captured almost everyone’s attention. The auditorium was silent except for his voice.

“Lack of confidence is nothing. But I hope that once we see these gaps, we think about how to catch up and surpass them—not let this lack of confidence break our spirit and cause us to retreat! This is not the character of our Chinese people. Our trait is to be ashamed yet courageous, to face difficulties and advance! Only by rowing against the current can a hero show his true colors! In this era, our country and people have caught up and even surpassed many fields. But what about our film and cultural industries? We remain weak.”

Wu Xiang paused, letting his words linger.

“We don’t have Hollywood’s advanced technology, nor their vast funds, and we don’t even have a proper market. But does that mean we must fall behind? Does that mean we can’t hold our heads high? No! Absolutely not! Fellow students! We must not wait or rely on others. We must use our own wisdom and strength to erase these gaps completely. My ideal is that our generation will fully surpass Hollywood! I hope this becomes everyone’s ideal! Let us all strive together for this goal! Thank you!”

With that, Wu Xiang bowed deeply to the audience.

“Well said!”

“Brilliant!”

The applause was thunderous.

Yet no one knew that the script Wu Xiang had prepared contained not a single word.