In later generations, the field of youth fiction was represented by Han Han and Guo Xiaosi.
In the film and television circles, however, it was Giddens's film from Taiwan, You Are the Apple of My Eye, that truly opened the curtain on youth cinema.
Later on, Boss Zhao transitioned to directing with So Young, which became a massive box office hit, and youth films swept through the Chinese-language film market.
However, in pursuit of dramatic twists, screenwriters often made their original or adapted stories feel completely out of touch with reality.
When did teenagers in Mainland China ever have so much studying abroad and getting abortions?
Nobody's youth was ever that tragic and melodramatic!
At first, audiences found it somewhat novel, but as more films of the same kind followed, viewers quickly abandoned them.
Instead, sweeter, more hazy and idealized youth dramas that felt closer to actual adolescent life became much more popular.
In his past life, when Liu Zhou worked as a screenwriter, he had taken on quite a few youth-oriented projects. To satisfy the demands of his financial backers, he had carefully studied mainstream market trends.
Consequently, he was no stranger to the youth films and television dramas of later generations.
In fact, for readers who had not yet been exposed to various cultural trends, the exaggerated, twisty, tragic, study-abroad-and-abortion style of novels from later generations would be immensely popular.
After all, in a couple of years, My Fair Princess would become unimaginably popular!
Wasn't that television drama also a youth series dressed in historical costumes?
Later on, as people saw more of it and information spread widely, the dialogue and plot of My Fair Princess went viral all over again.
Liu Zhou was not particularly fond of novels involving studying abroad and abortions; in essence, the core of such stories boiled down to one word: torment!
As long as you grasped that core, it would work.
Moreover, Liu Zhou did not need to restrict himself to the novels of later generations; some hit films and television shows from later years could also be adapted into novels, giving him a much wider range of choices.
Liu Zhou pondered for a moment. The story needed to be somewhat angsty, yet also maintain a pure romance vibe.
Suddenly, a work flashed into Liu Zhou's mind: Shining for One Thing, starring Zhang Jianing.
This low-budget television series had become a minor hit, and at the height of its popularity, the name Zhang Wansen had nearly become a symbol across the internet.
Most importantly, the romance between the protagonist and heroine was sufficiently convoluted and even incorporated light sci-fi elements, which he figured would be popular at the present time.
Having chosen his target, Liu Zhou carefully recalled the plot of the television series and took out pen and paper to write the novel's outline.
Before he knew it, two or three hours slipped by in a flash.
Liu Zhou only stopped when his dormmates woke up from their naps.
Seeing Liu Zhou writing away, Wang Qingshan couldn't help asking:
"Liu Zhou, are you doing your homework?"
"No, I've already finished the assignment. I'm writing something else."
They had chatted about it previously and knew that the assignment Liu Zhou had prepared was a micro-film script. Besides, anyone who managed to get accepted into this major had the habit of writing, so the others didn't press him further and tried to keep their movements quiet so as not to disturb Liu Zhou.
Liu Zhou was quite happy with this arrangement, as it allowed him to focus entirely on conceiving the novel.
At that moment, Liu Zhou suddenly felt an influx of inspiration and a remarkably clear train of thought. He kept writing until the lights went out in the evening, ignoring Liu Ye even when she came by in the late afternoon to invite him out to play.
Before going to bed, Liu Zhou organized what he had produced that afternoon and evening. The outline was over ten,000 words long, and he had also written nearly 10,000 words of the main text.
This was all handwritten; if he had a computer, Liu Zhou felt he could have written even more.
He hadn't felt much while writing, but the moment he stopped, his right hand felt extremely sore and his aching shoulder throbbed slightly.
He stretched, washed up briefly, and climbed into bed to sleep. Tomorrow was the first day of formal classes, and he certainly couldn't afford to be late.
The next day, everyone woke up early.
Having rested for a day, everyone looked refreshed.
The first class in the morning was taught by the head teacher himself. Instead of lecturing, however, he sternly emphasized school rules and discipline, while also incorporating some ideological and political education content.
This was his basic duty as a head teacher and part of the higher-ups' directives and spirit that he was required to convey.
Finally, he collected the assignments assigned before military training and left.
The Central Academy of Drama was quite strict with its academics, so the schedules for freshmen and sophomores were rather full—true for almost every major.
Monday was a full day of classes, and Liu Zhou once again experienced the life of listening and learning in lectures.
Liu Zhou rather enjoyed this leisurely and peaceful college student life.
He attended classes when there were lectures, brushing up on knowledge and occasionally gaining new insights.
After class, he would invite three or five classmates to play basketball or grab a bite at a local restaurant, which was thoroughly pleasant.
Although Liu Zhou was writing a novel, he didn't want to spend all his spare time on it, choosing instead to carve out a bit of time at night to write.
Living his life over again, Liu Zhou didn't want to make himself too busy. Even when working in his past life, he never overworked himself—he ate well and played when it was time to play.
Thus, after more than a week, Liu Zhou had only written a little over 40,000 words for this novel, and that was even with an outline in hand.
However, having written this much, Liu Zhou decided to round it up to 50,000 words and send it off to a publishing house or a magazine.
It was impossible for a novel of his genre to be published in literary journals like Harvest or Contemporary. Furthermore, there were no email submissions back then where electronic versions could be sent.
Submissions nowadays were almost entirely sent via physical mail to magazine offices or publishing houses.
For Liu Zhou, Mengya magazine was naturally the top choice; later on, a group of young writers including Han Han and Guo Xiaosi were all discovered by them.
Moreover, they did not look down upon or ignore youth-oriented fiction, and on top of that, their distribution channels were relatively broad with a large circulation.
Over the next few days, Liu Zhou proofread and neatly recopied the 50,000-word manuscript, then mailed it to Modu based on the address listed in the magazine.
Liu Zhou chose not to cast a wide net, submitting exclusively to Mengya magazine.
This was partly out of confidence in the quality of his novel and partly out of trust in the editors' discerning eye.
After mailing out the manuscript, Liu Zhou felt a small sense of relief.
He didn't feel the anxious uncertainty he had experienced with his very first submission; after all, Liu Zhou had been through such moments plenty of times in his past life.
Consequently, Liu Zhou's mindset was very calm. He went about his usual routine of attending classes, reading, exercising, and writing his novel.
This structured life was something Liu Zhou thoroughly enjoyed. No doubt that was why people, after entering society—especially midlife—so deeply reminisced about their college years.
Liu Zhou had also cherished fond memories in his past life, and now that he was given the chance to experience college life all over again, he was naturally going to make the most of it.
Perhaps the only thing playing on Liu Zhou's mind was the assignment he had handed in.
He had originally thought he could use that assignment to make the head teacher remember him and thus build a connection, but nearly two weeks had passed and there was still not a peep from the head teacher's end.
Could it be that Huang Weiruo had such high standards that he found his work mediocre?
That shouldn't be the case!
Liu Zhou's micro-film script was a proven, stellar piece of work!