Chapter 71: A Waning Interest

So familiar!

That was Su Chen’s first impression of the young man. It wasn’t déjà vu. Nor was it the vague recollection of a memory fragment. It was more like a field of magnetism—a subtle, unspoken sense of kinship.

“It’s nothing. We’re just here to have a look around,” Su Chen replied with a smile.

The young man frowned. “Tourists?”

Su Chen nodded slightly.

“Best get moving! This is a private area, not a place for visitors,” said the young man, though his tone had softened considerably despite his still rather unwelcoming expression.

“What is this place?” Su Chen pointed at the house, his voice tinged with curiosity.

The young man, for once, answered. “This used to be my family’s old house. No one lives here now, so it’s been preserved.”

“You’d better leave quickly!”

Su Chen nodded, a sudden disinterest washing over him. Ever since he’d seen the old photograph and thought about his father’s final wishes, he’d been full of speculation. Now, piecing everything together, he’d reached a basic conclusion.

Yet at this moment, his urge to dig deeper faded away. He’d merged the memories of his former self, and their emotions had become one. But after more than twenty years, the old self had never had much concept of family. Whatever the relationship between his father and this place, whatever reasons had driven him to leave, decades had passed without any contact. Surely, something was amiss.

The guidance his father gave him before dying—perhaps it was fear that he’d be left alone, hoping he’d find someone to rely on? But Su Chen no longer needed such support.

And judging by the young man’s demeanor, it was easy to imagine how many strangers would invade his life if he pressed forward.

At that thought, he lost all desire to take another step. Remaining as he was seemed best: living his own life, alone.

“Let’s go!” Su Chen waved his hand. Dai Anxin hurried after him.

After a few steps, Su Chen glanced back. The young man was still standing where they’d left him, frowning in thought.

Su Chen smiled and asked, “Forgive me for asking, is your surname Su?”

The young man was momentarily taken aback. “How did you know?”

His expression suddenly turned stern. “Who are you? What are you really here for?”

Su Chen’s question had made him realize that Su Chen was not merely a tourist.

Su Chen waved his hand and laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s just a random question. We’re leaving now!”

With that, he led Dai Anxin away. The young man didn’t follow, but stood there, watching them disappear, frowning. After a long while, he muttered under his breath, “Lunatic!” Then he pushed aside the barricade and entered the old house.

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“Hey, Su Chen, is that your family home?” Dai Anxin asked quietly beside him.

She’d overheard their conversation, especially when Su Chen asked if the young man’s surname was Su. With Su Chen’s own surname and the old photograph, she couldn’t help but speculate.

“No,” Su Chen shook his head, offering nothing more.

Seeing his attitude, Dai Anxin refrained from pressing further. It was simply curiosity; since Su Chen didn’t wish to elaborate, she wouldn’t dig.

“Do you have some time? Can you show me around?” Su Chen asked with a smile.

“I’d love to!” Dai Anxin replied with a gentle smile.

The two spent several hours exploring the area. Dai Anxin wasn’t exaggerating—she knew the place intimately. At every spot, she related its history and shared anecdotes and tales, far surpassing any aimless wandering.

At noon, Su Chen treated her to lunch. Though there was some dispute over the bill, Su Chen insisted on paying, leaving Dai Anxin a little annoyed.

“You’ll be heading back to Jiangcheng soon, right?” Dai Anxin asked, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

“Mm, I still have a few things to wrap up today. Once they’re done, I’ll leave in the next couple of days.”

But Dai Anxin was nothing if not easygoing.

“All right! Just contact me on WeChat when you get back!” She fixed Su Chen with a half-joking gaze. “Don’t you dare delete me once you’re home!”

Su Chen shook his head and played along. “How could I? Having a beauty and straight-A student in my friends list is my honor!”

Finally, Dai Anxin smiled in satisfaction.

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Today was September 12th. That evening, Su Chen attended the premiere of the short film “My Father” at the Capital Normal University.

To call it a premiere was generous—it was simply screened once in the school auditorium. Some school officials were invited, and a few formalities were observed.

The film was not commercial in nature. It was released as a charitable work, free to watch on Penguin Video. Since it wasn’t for profit and didn’t involve any entertainment company, everything was kept simple.

Su Chen had made it clear beforehand he wouldn’t appear publicly. Throughout the event, he only interacted with the university’s project manager for the film. He then sat quietly in a corner assigned by the school, watching the film in silence.

Though the filming techniques were somewhat raw and the props basic, the director’s grasp of emotion and script was impressive. It was hard to believe this was the work of a recent graduate.

“Teacher Tang, we’ve really neglected you this time!” said Deng Wenxing, the university’s project manager—a refined, middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses. Su Chen had declined the school’s offer to book his ticket and hotel, which left Deng Wenxing feeling apologetic.

“It’s quite all right. I had other reasons to visit the capital anyway,” Su Chen replied.

At Deng Wenxing’s request, Su Chen met the film’s director before leaving—a young man named Rong Fei.

A man! This surprised Su Chen. He’d assumed that the nuanced portrayal of the father-daughter bond, gripping the audience’s emotions so tightly, must have been crafted by a woman with personal experience. The reality was unexpected.

Rong Fei explained with a smile, “Teacher Tang, I originally wrote a story about a father and son. But later I felt a daughter would resonate more with viewers, so I changed the protagonist to a girl. As I wrote, I became fully immersed—the direction changed entirely.”

Su Chen was even more astonished.

“You wrote the script yourself?”

“Yes, though I still feel it’s lacking,” Rong Fei admitted.

Su Chen shook his head. “No, your script is excellent.”

He meant it. The script was a crucial reason for the film’s success.

Rong Fei was quietly thrilled to receive Su Chen’s approval. Both he and Deng Wenxing had been following Tang Guo online. The recent uproar over the newcomer king of the composition world was well known to them. They’d listened to every song Su Chen had written—he was undeniably a genius.

To be recognized by such talent was an honor.

Su Chen and Rong Fei spoke for a long time—about their understanding of film, their approach to scriptwriting, filming techniques, and acting insights. Rong Fei was surprised that Su Chen, a composer, knew as much as someone trained in film—and, in some respects, even more deeply.

For a moment, it felt like discovering a kindred spirit.