Chapter 405 This Is the Story of Shisanlang, and More Importantly, the Story of Each Shisanlang.

In each screening room, the audience's scalp suddenly became numb.

Some even blurted out exclamations.

That...is his father, right?

In the sound of piano music that tells the story of sorrow like gurgling water, the blind old man on the screen continues to ask: "Jiang Taishi Jiang Kongyin, have you written it clearly?"

"Who are you?" Thirteenth Lang looked carefully at the old man with gray hair and uneven eyes.

The old man replied: "I am his servant. Please write it, and Lin Fu will come and recommend it. Have you finished writing it, sir?"

Thirteenth Lang stared at him closely, "When did he die?"

Fulai slowly replied: "It was probably in 1958, during the Three Anti-Rebellion and Five Anti-Revolutionary Periods. My husband was liquidated, and they said he was a big landowner, and they wanted to take him back to his place of origin for trial. My husband would never admit that he was a landowner until his death. He rebelled against the enemy and eventually went on a hunger strike and committed suicide in prison. My husband had nothing to do with the world, and he was so old."

In the picture, scenes from that time appear one after another along with scenes of Thirteenthro scratching his father and playing chess with him.

Thirteenth Lang looked at the sky, as if his soul had been stripped away, and said slowly: "That's really an innocent soul."

The blind Fulai asked: "Sir, your voice sounds familiar. Where are you from?"

"South China Sea."

"No wonder, then you must have heard of Jiang Taishi Taishi Mansion."

Thirteenth Lang nodded slowly, the time spent with his parents at home came to mind, and the family sang and opera together happily, "I've heard of it."

Fulai smiled helplessly, "My husband has eaten all kinds of delicacies in his life, but he never thought that he would starve to death in the end."

Thirteenth Lang looked at him slowly, "Your eyes?"

"I was blinded with pepper. They said I was a dog slave who protected the big landowners." Fu smiled mockingly, "Sir, I will give you a little more money. Please ask them to read it to my master a few more times." through."

But he got no answer.

The camera zoomed out, and Thirteenth Lang was no longer visible in the Buddhist temple.

…

In each theater, the audience either burst into tears, or felt as dead and depressed as their hearts sank to the bottom of the rock.

Two young people sitting together chatted:

"Oh my God, this music is unbearable. Every second the sadness deepens and expands."

"My son wants to be taken care of, but I don't want to be kissed."

"My father died, and he didn't know it, and it was his servants who came to save him. Oh my God."

"No, I want to go home."

"It's going to end soon, just watch it."

…

The voice of the storyteller came from the speaker.

"In his later years, Nanhai Thirteenth Lang lived in mental hospitals twice and lived in a Buddhist temple for three years. The rest of the time he spent wandering on the streets."

In the storyteller's narration, time returns to the 1990s when the storyteller lived.

In the prison, a group of people gathered around to listen to the story, including prison guards, officers, and old listeners who had been captured.

The audience asked: "Is he really crazy or fake?"

Others expressed their conjectures.

The storyteller continued: "No matter what, he is a genius, but I tell you, never think that you are a genius."

"Why?"

"Because there are only two endings for a real genius. One is to die young, just like Tang Disheng. The other is to go crazy and end in tragedy. Because geniuses will never compromise with the world."

Seeing this, the reporters in the cinema went numb.

Especially the reporters who planned to go to the "Legend of Sword and Fairy" meeting tomorrow night sighed.

They thought that this time, reporters and the public were on the same front, and they could speak more sharply and ask Chen Xiao why the protagonist group was almost wiped out.

They wanted to be a little sharper.

But now, "Geniuses will never compromise with the world. They will either die early or go crazy and end in tragedy." How can they be so sharp when they say this?

After saying this, who dares to confront him?

Depend on! I thought journalists and the masses would be powerful if they united. As a result, they united for one night, and the team was instigated by him to rebel.

He is not preparing for defense, but is using counter-injury armor!

The reporters rubbed their foreheads and sighed.

After a while of helplessness, I had no choice but to put the problem behind me and continue reading.

The movie comes to an end.

The storyteller didn’t know when Thirteenth Lang died, because he hadn’t seen Thirteenth Lang for a long time.

At this time, a policeman stood up and said, "I have seen him, let me continue."

Following his memories, the timeline goes to more than ten years ago.

It was a night in 1984, and the cold wind was howling.

Police found a beggar frozen to death on the street.

Her hair was piled on top of her head like weeds, and the clothes on her body had lost their original color, with holes and stains all over her body. No shoes on feet.

The cold wind blew by, and the withered yellow leaves rolled around him.

The chief illuminated his face with a flashlight, "It turned out to be him."

The young policeman next to him asked: "Sir, have you seen him?"

"Well, he is a madman. I met him once, and that was more than twenty years ago. That time he called the police and said that his shoes were stolen."

The young police officers laughed all around, "Who would steal his shoes?"

The officer closed his eyes deeply, "He said, 'The one who stole my left shoe was the Yingguo people, and the one who stole my right shoe was the Japanese Ben people. All the Chinese people's shoes were stolen.' So he was desperate."

The young policemen became quiet and their faces became serious.

"What? Can't you laugh anymore?" The officer said to a young subordinate, "Find a pair of shoes and put them on for him."

The officer squatted down, put on his shoes, and took out the painting "White Phoenix on Snow Mountain" from his dirty backpack and covered his face.

The storyteller's voice sounded, "Is he really crazy, or is he pretending to be crazy? Or maybe he has never been crazy at all, only he knows. Maybe even he doesn't know."

"The voice of the heart is tearful, the girl is fragrant, where can the swallows find the remaining pond. Red silk crosses the cold river snow at night, and the fool is Shisanlang."

In the picture, Shisanlang's life flashed by. The life of the genius screenwriter came to an end.

But... the story of "Nanhai Shisanlang" is still going on.

Time goes back to the 1990s.

The storyteller was released on bail.

The old policeman who put shoes on Shisanlang asked: "Are you familiar with Shisanlang?"

The storyteller shook his head, "It's just a poor screenwriter telling the story of another poor screenwriter."

The storyteller left the police station and walked on the street.

The pictures flashed by.

He passed by beggars, clerks reciting lines, salesmen making phone calls... all kinds of people along the way.

Walking on the overpass and turning a corner, he accidentally bumped into a young man.

The storyteller apologized quickly: "I'm sorry, are you okay?"

The man covered his chest and raised his head, frowning, "Are you kidding me? I don't have eyes when I walk."

The moment he saw the man's face, the storyteller was stunned. This man looked exactly like Shisanlang.

In front of the screen.

The second to last row of the Dongchuan Cinema

The girl at the edge had tears in her eyes, "Fuck, my nose suddenly felt sore. Why?"

"This... Snow Mountain White Phoenix, Phoenix Nirvana. Ah, I understand, this is talking about inheritance, right?"

"Inheritance... No wonder we are here to watch it today. God, Director Chen is really thoughtful."

In the picture, the story continues.

This person is not a screenwriter, but a musician, a musician who can make his own instruments.

The storyteller looked at his back, recalled the scene when he and Shisanlang sat on the stairwell and admired the painting "White Phoenix on Snow Mountain" together when they were children, and couldn't help but follow him.

That was an upward road.

He, a screenwriter who was as down and out as Shisanlang, carried a backpack and resolutely walked forward quickly.

The sound of the piano became louder and louder.

In the sound of the passionate music, eight big words appeared in front of countless people -

Dedicated to all screenwriters

Encouragement

"My God. I understand. This is the story of Shisanlang, and it is also the story of each Shisanlang."

The female screenwriter raised her hand to cover her mouth, tears in her eyes.

Not moved, nor sad, but shocked.

Moved and shocked by the spirit of artists who go against the current and do not compromise with the secular world.

At the same time, applause broke out in theaters across the country that played this movie.

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