Chapter Seventy-Four: Parched Throat

“Then I’d like to ask you, what value is there in what you do? What contribution does it make to society? Your works lack both literary and artistic merit—do they promote any progress in society at all? Would readers lose anything if they read, or didn’t read, your works?”

Chen Ming pressed relentlessly, firing off a series of sharp questions at Gu Zhi. The host, watching from the side, suddenly realized how quickly the situation had spiraled out of control, even though barely a few words had been exchanged.

Gu Zhi straightened his posture, facing Chen Ming directly. “You’re right; readers wouldn’t lose a thing. But let me ask you this: were novels and films created only for so-called literary and artistic value?”

“If that were truly the case, then why is the world’s most renowned film industry Hollywood, and the most famous films ‘Titanic’ and ‘Mission Impossible’? Those international festivals that champion art—how many people in our country, or even the world, are actually aware of them?”

“In recent years, the New Concept Essay movement has emerged, and most of the works there are written by students who, as you say, ‘lack real-world experience.’ Why are these so widely celebrated, and why have writers like Han Han and Guo Jingming become bestsellers?”

“By your logic, none of their works contribute to society, lack artistry, and aren’t literary enough—so how is it that these works have found a market? Are audiences fools? Do they lack taste? Unable to grasp the profound meaning in literary masterpieces, and only able to understand so-called trash literature and popcorn films?”

Gu Zhi spoke so rapidly and at such length that even the host couldn’t intervene. Chen Ming was still digesting his words, searching for a rebuttal.

Two cameras fixed their lenses on Gu Zhi and Chen Ming, determined not to miss a single moment.

Gu Zhi didn’t give Chen Ming any time to react, continuing his assault: “Why is that? Why do audiences choose entertainment? In fact, it’s precisely because audiences aren’t fools that they make these choices.”

“How do you mean?” The host finally seized a chance to speak, though the camera still didn’t turn to her.

“Because they know perfectly well that these entertainment products are fantasies, illusions—not reality.”

“What is reality? For students, it’s endless classes, tutoring, homework; it’s being praised by parents for good grades, scolded for bad ones, or abandoned for none at all; it’s joking with friends, playing at recess, not daring to speak to the girl they like; it’s placement exams, elementary school graduation, high school entrance, college entrance, language proficiency tests. Isn’t the reality students carry heavy enough?”

“And for adults? Reality is nine-to-five jobs, overtime, office politics, cliques; it’s spouses, children, parents, money and stocks, daily routines; it’s responsibility, burdens, pressure; it’s social injustice, disparities, the decline of values. Don’t they already have enough worries?”

“Aren’t these realities, drenched in hardship, more meaningful and artistic than so-called works rich in literary or artistic value?”

“It’s precisely because the world is real that we need another world of fantasy. In that world, there are villains, enemies, maniacs bent on destruction, but there are also heroes, hope, salvation, and the fulfillment of dreams we dare not pursue in real life.”

“Why seek out fantasy worlds? Because 99% of people are ordinary. Society is too harsh, too real—not everyone is born gifted, not everyone has the chance for education, not everyone will become a CEO, marry a wealthy beauty, or reach the pinnacle of life.”

“After years of study and reading, after earning six or seven hundred points, a student finally gets into a good university, only to discover that in some cities, the number of test-takers barely reaches a hundred thousand—and yet those universities admit more students from those cities than from provinces with nearly a million candidates.”

“After all the effort, striving, perseverance, the end point someone reaches in a lifetime is nothing more than a gift someone else received at age three.”

“Is that not real enough, not satirical enough, not critical enough?”

“The significance of the entertainment industry lies here: the real world will never belong to ordinary people, but in the world of fantasy, everyone is the protagonist.”

By now, Gu Zhi’s throat was dry, but on this show, not even a sip of water was offered.

“Truly a third-rate program. How can a show called ‘Dialogue’ not allow its guests to speak, or at least provide water? Not even a single bottle for the guests,” he thought, silently ridiculing the show once more.

Chen Ming finally had time to collect himself. He frowned, saying, “That’s just escapism. Which only proves these things lack real value. No matter how cruel reality is, the proper attitude is to face it, to find ways to overcome it, not to simply run away. If you just burrow into your so-called fantasy world, how are you any different from a turtle?”

“Escapism?”

“Mr. Chen Ming, I think you’ve misunderstood me—perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. I don’t deny the importance of reality, nor do I advocate living permanently in a fantasy world. Entertainment is a supplement to life; it won’t replace reality.”

“In everyday life, you must study when it’s time to study, work when it’s time to work, strive when it’s time to strive. Reality never stops. Even if unfairness and inequality persist, if a person doesn’t struggle, they’ll stay stuck, losing their path forward.”

“But no one can spend all twenty-four hours fighting. Everyone needs leisure and entertainment, both mentally and physically; everyone needs to rest. Entertainment fills that space, giving audiences a brief chance to forget reality and their troubles.”

“It’s like how no one spends every waking hour watching films, right?”

Chen Ming seemed to ponder, rubbing his chin, his gaze unfocused, lost in thought. Another guest, Cheng Yongming, nodded in agreement, clearly endorsing Gu Zhi’s viewpoint.

The host had faded into the background—everyone had forgotten she was there.

Gu Zhi took a moment to catch his breath, then recalled another point, continuing in a gentler tone: “The entertainment industry has another crucial function for society: taxation.”

“That’s right, when it comes to taxes, entertainment contributes plenty,” Cheng Yongming chimed in.

“As Teacher Cheng said, the entertainment industry’s tax revenue cannot be overlooked. It also drives employment—not to mention Hollywood, but in our own country, how many people work in related fields? Publishing, filming, costume design, prop making, cinemas, makeup, agents, background actors, writers, screenwriters—the entire chain creates countless jobs, involving innumerable workers. Those jobs are also part of its social significance.”

“Teacher Chen Ming, I don’t mean to disparage the literary, artistic, or academic fields, nor do I question your cultural standing. I hope you won’t view us entertainment professionals through a biased lens; isn’t that a bit unfair?”

Chen Ming finally took a deep breath, and almost imperceptibly nodded, saying quietly to Gu Zhi, “Every profession in society has its reason for existence. I hope you can set a good example for young people in the future.”

“That’s a heavy burden, such pressure! Are you trying to trap me…” Gu Zhi thought, but in reality, he smiled and shook Chen Ming’s hand.