Huayu: I Have a Doraemon

Chapter 18 Beijing Film Academy Library

early morning.

Lin An was awakened by the urge to urinate.

He groggily opened his eyes. The sun was high in the sky outside the window, and the clock on the wall was pointing to 8 o'clock.

On the other side of the bed, Doraemon lay sprawled out, drool dripping from his mouth, muttering:

"Dorayaki...one more box, please..."

"It's so pure, it's enviable."

Lin An muttered something, got out of bed, and dragged his slippers toward the bathroom.

Turn on the tap, and cold water gushed out.

Lin An bent down, scooped up a handful of water with both hands, and slapped it hard on his face.

The cool touch dispelled most of the lingering sleepiness.

He took another handful, rubbed his face, looked up, and stared at his wet face in the mirror for two seconds.

The young man in the mirror looked pale, with a faint bluish-black tinge under his eyes.

Last night, I tested the "ability cartridge" with Doraemon until after 1 a.m. After lying down, I tossed and turned thinking about renting a place for a long time. I probably didn't fall asleep until 2:30 a.m.

Lin An took a deep breath, shook the water droplets off his hands, and grabbed a towel to wipe them haphazardly.

Stepping out of the bathroom, the living room was already filled with the aroma of porridge.

Lin's mother, wearing an apron, stood in front of the stove, stirring the white porridge in the pot with a spoon, and choked without turning her head:

"I thought you were fast asleep in your room!"

Lin An ignored those words, yawned, pulled out a chair and sat down, glancing around the dining table.

A dish of pickled vegetables, six meat buns, four boiled eggs, and half a sausage cut into sections.

Lin Meng sat in her seat, already in battle mode, munching on her steamed buns.

Lin Yi sat opposite him, drinking his porridge with a blank expression.

"Do you need me to help you find a place to live?"

Having finished eating, Mr. Lin flipped through the Beijing Morning Post and said in a relaxed tone:

"I just took a look. Jimenli and Huangtingzi are both good choices. Peony Garden is also nice, but it's a bit far."

In the kitchen, Lin's mother didn't turn around, but her ears were clearly perked up.

"I'll go see for myself."

Lin An took a hard-boiled egg and peeled it as he said:

"So that after you've chosen, I'm not satisfied and we have to choose again."

Lin's father glanced at him, but did not insist:

"Don't pay too much rent, make sure you know how the utilities (water, electricity, gas) are calculated, a one-month deposit is enough, and check the basic facilities when you view the apartment."

After saying that, he added:

"Be very careful of scammers. Although they rarely target locals, they can still set traps in the contract... The surrounding environment of the house also needs to be considered; safety is not an issue to be ignored... Thieves are rampant now, and some specifically target students, so never flaunt your wealth... Hygiene is also important; be wary of cockroaches, rats, and various mites..."

Lin An felt a chill run down his spine and coughed, saying:

"You should help me find it; I don't think I can handle this."

Professional matters should be handled by professionals.

If we have to rely on ourselves for everything, why do humans need to form families, build societies, and nations?

Lin's father's lips curled up slightly.

At this moment, Lin's mother came over carrying a bowl of porridge. As she passed Lin An, she paused for a moment and said casually:

"Are you really moving?"

Lin An looked up at her and nodded:

"It's only a matter of time."

Lin's mother's eyes dimmed, and without saying anything more, she turned and went back into the kitchen.

……

……

After breakfast, Lin An went back to his room to catch up on sleep.

I slept until the afternoon.

When he opened his eyes, he found that no one was home. He put on his backpack, took the [Ability Cassette] from the drawer, went downstairs and took the bus to the Beijing Film Academy.

An hour later.

On the tree-lined path of the Beijing Film Academy library.

Lin An held the class schedule he had just received from the academic affairs office in his hand, reading it aloud as he walked:

"Introduction to Literature, Screenwriting, History of Chinese and Foreign Cinema, Audiovisual Language..."

The course schedule isn't too full.

From Monday to Friday, there are two or three classes each day. The core lectures are mostly scheduled in the morning, while the afternoons are for lectures, discussions, and film analysis. Weekends are for rest.

Compared to the hellish "6 am to 10 pm, 6.5 days a week" schedule of senior year in high school, this is practically a vacation.

"I just don't know if it will work."

Lin An muttered something to himself, folded the timetable twice, and stuffed it into his pocket.

The advanced training program is a non-academic training program. It does not require military training or fancy orientation. After a short break, classes begin immediately.

As a complete novice, Lin An was somewhat intimidated by such a high-intensity, fast-paced teaching method.

In both his past and present lives, he has never been involved in screenwriting.

The only foundation I have is the theory I learned last night by staying up until 2 a.m. with Doraemon and me, cramming it into the "Scriptwriting" cartridge.

What about "three-act structure", "cat rescue rhythm chart", "character arc", "foreshadowing and echoing"...?

Lin An had memorized a lot of terms, but when it came to understanding how many he actually knew, he had no idea.

Now, coming to the library is purely a last-minute cramming session; I hope to learn as much as I can.

While he was pondering, he had already arrived downstairs at the library.

This is a small, gray-white building, hidden behind two rows of ginkgo trees, with the large characters on the lintel already somewhat mottled.

Pushing open the glass door, a smell mixed with the scents of paper, ink, and wood wafted out.

To the left of the entrance is the main service desk, with a dark brown wooden frame and several stacks of kraft paper library cards on it.

The female administrator behind the counter was around forty years old, wearing arm sleeves, and was writing something in a booklet with a dip pen.

A wooden notice board hung on the wall behind her, written in chalk:

"New arrivals: Film Art, Honor, Contemporary Cinema, and World Cinema."

The right-hand side is the periodical reading area.

Several heavy, long wooden tables, paired with table lamps with dark green lampshades.

Magazines such as "Popular Cinema," "Movie View," and "Drama and Film" were spread out on the table.

"Are you a freshman?"

A voice came from the direction of the service desk.

Lin An turned his head and saw that the female administrator had put down her dip pen and was looking at him.

"Yes." Lin An nodded.

"A performing arts major?" the female administrator asked curiously.

"...Literature Department Continuing Education Program." Lin An was speechless for a moment.

Does being handsome mean you have to become an actor?

Pah! How vulgar!

The female administrator looked him up and down for a moment, then gestured with her chin to her right:

"Literary books are on the second floor, east side; scripts are on the third floor; foreign language periodicals require registration before they can be borrowed."

Lin An nodded politely and walked towards the stairs.

Before he had taken two steps, the female administrator's voice came from behind him again:

"etc."

Lin An turned around.

The female administrator peeked out from behind the service counter, tilted her head to look at him, and asked curiously:

"Are you the one who beat up the doctor at the school gate yesterday?"

"No, I didn't! Don't talk nonsense!" Lin An's expression began to twist slightly.

Is Nortel a sieve? How can news spread so fast?

Lin An said stiffly:

"You've mistaken me for someone else; it's not me."

The female administrator chuckled and waved her hand, indicating that he could leave.

Lin An's lips twitched slightly as he quickened his pace and disappeared at the top of the stairs.

Behind her, the female administrator sat back down in her chair, picked up her dip pen, shook her head, and muttered to herself:

"This year's students are really interesting."

"Tsk, they didn't even check student IDs just now."

"Never mind, he must be the one who hit someone. Yeah, he is quite handsome..."