Chapter 2: No One's Calling? Then I'll Shoot My Own!
"System, what exactly does a directing level of 92 mean?"
Rubbing his hands together with anticipation, Zhou Qing couldn't wait to ask.
[That level is equivalent to 92% of the skills of the best director on Earth.]
The system's response was straightforward.
Zhou Qing immediately got the picture.
So a perfect score equals the absolute best in the world—and at 92, that means he's already ahead of 90% of all directors on Earth.
That puts him firmly in the elite. Snagging an award at one of the European Big Three film festivals? Shouldn't be too hard, right?
Of course, that's just a rough estimate. Winning awards is a far more complex affair.
It's not just about being a skilled director.
You need a strong script, talented actors, and a whole host of other moving parts.
More importantly, Zhou Qing was still just a freshman in college. There was no way anyone was going to hand him a movie to direct.
After all, directing means convincing people to invest money. And if you don't have a killer resume, who's going to bet on you?
Breaking into directing is way harder than breaking into acting.
Zhang Guoshi didn't get his first shot at directing until he was 38. Feng Gangpao had to brown-nose Wang Su for years. Oscar-winner Li An? He spent eight years living off his wife.
No connections. No money. No background. If that's your situation, then you've got to grind it out from the very bottom—just like he did in his last life.
It was a brutal climb.
But that was then.
Now, Zhou Qing had a system backing him. No way he was going to suffer through all that again.
So without thinking for long, he made a bold decision:
If no one's going to hire him—
He'll shoot his own damn movie.
Once he has a film with some real buzz behind it, once his name gets out there, the doors will open.
And with his near-maxed-out directing level, he could pull it off.
But what kind of film should he make?
Naturally, something low-budget and award-friendly.
In his past life, Zhou Qing had worked as a director. He knew the industry inside out and had seen every kind of film there was. He had a list in his head already.
This could actually work.
"Let's do it," he said aloud.
Excited beyond belief, Zhou Qing slapped his thigh with a loud smack.
Bang bang bang!
The sound of someone knocking on the bathroom door dragged him back to reality.
Zhu Yawen's voice followed: "Qingzi, did you fall in? If you don't come out now, we're gonna be late!"
"I'm coming!"
Zhou Qing called back, turned on the tap, splashed some water on his face, and rinsed out his mouth. That perked him up a bit.
He'd somehow "slept" straight through to 2 p.m., skipped lunch, and now he was starving.
But with class about to start, hunger would have to wait.
Zhou Qing grabbed his textbooks and headed to the large lecture hall for acting class alongside his roommates Zhu Yawen and Luo Jin.
This "big class" was shared by multiple majors—not just acting students, but also directing majors.
After all, acting class was a required course for directors too. If you want to direct actors well, you need to understand acting first.
But for Zhou Qing, this kind of class? Piece of cake.
"Youth really is a beautiful thing."
Surrounded by bright, energetic faces, Zhou Qing couldn't help but feel in high spirits.
College life—undeniably the best time of one's life. Who hasn't dreamed of reliving their youth?
But how many actually get to do it?
Well… Zhou Qing did. Sort of. He hadn't just returned to college—he'd reincarnated into a whole new body.
Not that it dampened his excitement one bit.
After placing his textbook on the desk, he started discreetly scanning the students around him.
He remembered that the Class of '02 at Beijing Film Academy produced quite a few stars.
His two roommates, Zhu Yawen and Luo Jin, were among them. But there were others too—like the artistic muse Jiang Yiyan, the future "Saint Mother" Zhou Yang, and the lesser-known but still recognizable Lu Fangsheng.
And of course… the brightest among them all—Liu Tianxian.
At this stage, they'd all still be fresh-faced and full of youthful glow, right?
Just imagining it had Zhou Qing practically buzzing.
It's not every day you get to witness future A-listers during their awkward, early years.
"Jiang Yiyan looks so pure right now."
"And Zhou Yang's really beautiful, too."
Zhou Qing quickly locked onto his "targets," eyes lighting up.
This Jiang Yiyan hadn't yet turned into the green tea queen of the internet, and Zhou Yang hadn't gone down the path of bizarre surgery and overexposure. They were still untouched, idealized versions of themselves—it almost felt surreal.
There was just one small letdown: Zhou Qing scanned the room again but didn't spot Liu Tianxian.
Not that it surprised him.
Hadn't Jiang Yiyan once said in an interview that Liu often skipped class to shoot films?
Based on the current timeline, she was probably out filming Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils.
"What are you staring at, Qingzi? Got your eyes on someone already?"
Zhu Yawen elbowed Zhou Qing with a sly grin.
"Yeah, right. Like hell I do. I'm here to study! Love? Not even dogs should bother with that!"
Zhou Qing curled his lip in mock disgust.
His mind right now was consumed with ambition—he had no time for distractions.
"Alright, big shot. Didn't know you could lie with a straight face like that," Luo Jin scoffed from the side. No way he was buying that act.
"Alright, everyone, settle down. Let's begin."
"Today's class will continue our discussion on freeing your instincts."
"I've mentioned this before—this is the most critical skill you'll develop in your first year."
"It's the very foundation of acting. And if the foundation isn't solid, no matter how tall the tower, it'll collapse like a castle in the sky..."
The instructor stepped up to the podium and class officially started.
At this point in time, the learning atmosphere at Beijing Film Academy was still pretty serious. Most students paid close attention.
Zhu Yawen and Luo Jin, seated beside Zhou Qing, were no exception. They were fully focused, even jotting notes now and then.
As for Zhou Qing?
His body was in the seat, but his mind was already worlds away.
He wasn't listening to a word the teacher was saying—his thoughts were entirely on his first film project.
On the surface, he looked like a diligent student. But in truth, his imagination had taken flight.
He was thinking about a film titled "Buried."
When it comes to low-budget masterpieces, Buried is a classic. A textbook example of doing more with less.
Just how low was the budget?
The entire movie could be summed up in one sentence:
A man trapped in a coffin, making phone calls.
That's it. One coffin. One actor. And yet, it carried the entire film.
You can't get more minimal than that.
Some might scoff and wonder if a movie like that could even be good. Well, they'd be underestimating it.
On Douban, Buried scored a solid 7.9 and racked up numerous awards. Critically acclaimed.(1)
And what about the box office?
Just as impressive.
Made on a $3 million budget, it pulled in $20 million at the box office—a true underdog success story.
Note: (1) Douban: A Chinese social networking website, primarily known for its film, book, and music databases and community. It's often referred to as "China's IMDB".