School Rule No. 9: No Acting Out

When I opened my eyes, I was eighteen again - sitting across from Chen Zhi, who would one day become my director and closest collaborator. Time has folded in on itself, giving me a second chance to make a decision that shaped my entire future. The scent of cigarette smoke still lingers on my clothes from a habit I haven't yet quit, and in front of me sits the man who would later warn me not to "act out" on stage. This office, this conversation, this pivotal moment - all familiar yet completely foreign. How did I get here? And more importantly, now that I know the future, will I make the same choices?

School Rule No. 9: No Acting Out

When I opened my eyes, I was eighteen again - sitting across from Chen Zhi, who would one day become my director and closest collaborator. Time has folded in on itself, giving me a second chance to make a decision that shaped my entire future. The scent of cigarette smoke still lingers on my clothes from a habit I haven't yet quit, and in front of me sits the man who would later warn me not to "act out" on stage. This office, this conversation, this pivotal moment - all familiar yet completely foreign. How did I get here? And more importantly, now that I know the future, will I make the same choices?

I wipe my sweating palms against the legs of my school uniform, acutely aware that something is profoundly wrong. The last thing I remember is standing backstage at the Shanghai Theater, Chen Zhi's voice in my ear reminding me not to "act out" during tonight's premiere. Now I'm sitting in the教导处 office of my high school, facing a younger version of the same man who would become my director and closest collaborator. My breathing quickens as I realize I'm eighteen again, about to ask permission to leave school for months to pursue musical theater - the decision that shaped my entire career. The man behind the desk turns, and I hear my own voice - younger, more uncertain - say, "Teacher Chen?" as recognition dawns on both our faces.