Chapter 72: Conversation

The invitation that Gu Zhi received wasn’t for some variety show, but for the CCTV program “Dialogue.”

“Dialogue” is a studio talk show launched by the CCTV Finance Channel after its complete revamp in July 2000. It is a rigorous and high-end program, one of utmost seriousness. Although it airs on the Finance Channel, the topics covered by “Dialogue” are diverse, ranging across an array of subjects.

The show mainly focuses on current events, popular personalities, trending topics, or notable economic phenomena. Through in-depth conversations and exchanges between the host, guests, and the live audience, it seeks to uncover the real thoughts and experiences behind hot topics. To put it plainly, it’s a “you ask, I answer” format—sharp, direct questions aimed at drawing out the true thoughts of the interviewee.

“Dialogue” is nothing like those entertainment programs that merely chat idly, with pre-prepared scripts and a general direction for casual conversation.

For Gu Zhi, there was little to be gained from attending such a program. He had no interest in going. The audience for these shows is mostly over thirty, and since it airs on the CCAV2 Finance Channel at 9:52 p.m. every Sunday, it’s not exactly prime time for young viewers. Who among the youth would tune in to the Finance Channel, let alone at such a late hour?

Gu Zhi’s current fanbase is predominantly young people, especially students. There is little to no overlap between his audience and the typical viewers of “Dialogue.” Going on this show wouldn’t promote his film at all—that was wishful thinking. More likely, he’d be critiqued by a group of old-fashioned experts, and if he misspoke in the slightest, he’d be sure to get scolded. He might even be saddled with labels like “rebellious youth,” “poor education,” or “attention seeker.”

When Han Sanping broke the news to him, Gu Zhi’s first reaction was, without a doubt, to refuse. But Han Sanping was quicker; before Gu Zhi could speak, he said bluntly, “You have to go. No discussion.”

Well then, with the old man himself speaking, and likely leveraging some connections at CCTV, it seemed Gu Zhi had no choice. Whether he wanted to or not, he’d have to go.

Gu Zhi steeled himself. Fine, if he had to go, he’d go. At worst, he’d end up in a heated debate with the program—it’s not like he was going head-to-head with CCTV itself.

On the morning of December 21, Gu Zhi took a cab to the CCTV headquarters. At that time, the iconic CCTV “big pants” building hadn’t been constructed yet; the headquarters was still located in an ordinary building.

Before arriving, Gu Zhi had made a point to get a fresh, clean haircut.

As for donning a sharp suit?

That was out of the question. A set of light-colored casual clothes would suffice. He was there for a conversation, maybe even a heated one, not to put on airs. A fancy suit was unnecessary.

The host of “Dialogue” was Wang Yan—a name Gu Zhi had never heard before, clearly not a famous presenter. In his previous life, he’d watched the program twice, when Chen Weihong was the host. It seemed Wang Yan had taken over after Chen left CCTV, since the network rarely changed hosts for a show otherwise.

Without further ado, Gu Zhi and the host exchanged a few polite words backstage, and the recording of “Dialogue” officially began.

It wasn’t yet Gu Zhi’s turn; he had to wait until after the host had spoken with the other two guests before appearing on stage.

For such a program, the hottest personality wasn’t even brought out first—no wonder hardly anyone watched.

Amidst a round of applause from the live audience, “Dialogue” began.

“Good evening, everyone. Welcome to ‘Dialogue.’ Join us as we engage in conversation.

“Perhaps you’ve already noticed: I am holding three books, each with sales exceeding three hundred thousand copies. Their titles are ‘Wukong’s Chronicle,’ ‘The Path of No Hardship,’ and ‘Those Years.’ For several months, these three books have firmly occupied the top three spots on bestseller lists across the country, including in Hong Kong and Taiwan.”

“What’s even more remarkable is the author behind these works—a seventeen-year-old high school dropout.”

“Gu Zhi!”

At this point, someone in the audience couldn’t help but call out his name, and Gu Zhi, waiting backstage, heard it all.

Host Wang Yan smiled slightly and continued, “That’s right. I’m sure everyone has guessed who this author is—Gu Zhi. His fans prefer to call him by a more familiar nickname: Student Gu.”

“Gu Zhi doesn’t just write books; he also writes screenplays and makes films. His first movie, ‘Butterfly Effect,’ I believe many here have seen in theaters. It is hailed as the country’s first science fiction film. Since its release at the end of September, box office earnings have approached eighty million yuan, currently at over seventy-eight million, surpassing two other major films released at the same time.”

“His second movie has already been filmed, and just last week, he wrote a new song for it, ‘I Believe.’ Now, you can hear this song everywhere, every day. To be honest, I hear it on my way to work every morning, and I can sing it myself now.”

“Books, films, songwriting—in the past year, we have seen Gu Zhi’s name everywhere, both online and in the newspapers. Let’s take a closer look at Gu Zhi today.”

“Joining us for this conversation are Mr. Chen Ming, doctoral advisor at the Institute of Literature, Huaguo Academy of Social Sciences—”

Another round of applause.

“And Mr. Cheng Yongming, from Capital University, who specializes in educational research.”

The two academic heavyweights appeared, while Gu Zhi remained backstage, waiting his turn.

“Welcome to both of you. I’d like to begin by learning a bit more about Gu Zhi through the big screen.”

A short feature about Gu Zhi began to play on the screen behind them—essentially a video recap of what the host had just said.

Once the feature ended, the focus returned to the studio, and the host finally began the discussion.

“Gentlemen, surely you’ve heard of Gu Zhi?”

“I have,” Professor Chen Ming replied with a smile.

“What’s your impression?”

“Very, very surprised. It’s hard to believe that a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old high school student could achieve so much in just a year. It’s simply incredible.”

After Chen Ming spoke, the other guest, Cheng Yongming, added, “When I first read his novels, I actually suspected he had a ghostwriter. How could a child produce so much work in such a short time, and have each book become a bestseller? Even most adults couldn’t manage such achievements, let alone someone who never finished high school.”

“Do you still hold that view?” the host asked.

Cheng Yongming gave a self-deprecating laugh and shook his head. “No, not anymore. Too many impossible things have happened with him—perhaps he really is a miracle. Every so often, he pulls off something major; I’ve grown numb to it.”

Chen Ming added, “Gu Zhi’s emergence as a phenomenon is thanks to the times we live in. Our era is undergoing tremendous change. If we went back ten years, without such a developed market economy, without the freedom in various industries, without the media’s vast influence on society, it would have been much harder for Gu Zhi to achieve what he has today.”

“So, you mean that heroes are made by their times? That the most essential factor in Gu Zhi’s success is this era, not Gu Zhi himself?”