Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 107 Lin Qingqiu's Last Special Training

The iron gate of the printing plant closed behind Chen Yan.

Wu Gang, along with two hundred silent men, formed a wall, blocking out the flashing lights outside and the pale-faced uniformed officer.

Inside the factory, the machines roared.

Green film canisters flowed along the conveyor belt, making a rhythmic clanging sound.

Chen Yan didn't say anything, but simply walked around the production line, his fingers tracing the cold metal casing.

After confirming that everything was working properly, he turned and left.

The car drove out of the industrial zone, and the city of Beijing was deserted at three in the morning.

Instead of going home, he drove his car to the building downstairs of Yan Culture Media.

Third floor, practice room.

In front of the huge floor-length mirror, Lin Qingqiu, barefoot, repeatedly mimicked the motion of dragging her body through the ruins.

Sweat soaked through her vest, outlining her prominent shoulder blades and several bruises that had not yet faded.

The door was pushed open.

Lin Qingqiu stopped moving, pushed herself up from the floor, and subconsciously tried to straighten her back.

Due to an old injury, her body was slightly unbalanced.

"Director Chen."

She lowered her head, her voice filled with weariness.

Chen Yan placed a black cardboard box on the wooden stool in the center of the room.

"The list of people going to Cannes is finalized. It includes you, me, and Su Wan."

Lin Qingqiu's shoulders slumped, her gaze falling on her calloused toes.

"I...I can't wear high heels."

She whispered, "Those reports have already written it. I have no class and I'll embarrass you."

"A certain aura is given by the camera, not by the newspaper."

Chen Yan's tone was flat. "Open it."

Lin Qingqiu walked over and opened the box.

Inside was a pure black silk dress, without any embellishment, with a clean cut and a dark, somber sheen under the light.

"Put it on."

After Chen Yan finished speaking, he stepped outside the door and leaned against the wall of the corridor.

Fifteen minutes later, the door opened.

Lin Qingqiu came out.

The long dress enveloped her, revealing only her pale neck and shoulders that looked strong from long-term training.

She was barefoot and didn't know where to put her hands.

"Director Chen, I don't feel the right look in this."

Chen Yan walked around her once and stopped on her right.

He reached out and grabbed a very subtle slit seam on the hem of the skirt.

stab-

The sound of fabric being torn was particularly jarring in the quiet corridor.

The split extends from the ankle all the way down to the thigh.

Lin Qingqiu's body stiffened.

"You don't need to learn how to smile on the red carpet like others do."

Chen Yan pointed to her bare right leg, where there was a hideous scar that stretched from her knee to the side of her leg.

"This is what Cannes wants to see."

He stepped back a few paces, making a frame with his thumbs and forefingers, and aimed it at her.

"Lower your gaze, don't look at the camera."

"Imagine people pointing at your scars and saying your life is over."

"Your value isn't in your looks, it's in your resentment."

Lin Qingqiu closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the inferiority and fawning in her eyes had disappeared.

All that remained was a dry, ruthless ferocity born of being driven to the brink of despair.

She strode forward, barefoot, onto the floor with large, predatory strides.

The torn hem of her skirt fluttered with her movements, and the scar flashed under the light.

"stop."

Chen Yan lowered his hand. "When you get to the Lumière Hall, just walk like this. You go first."

Lin Qingqiu looked at the unfamiliar self in the mirror, so unfamiliar that it made her panic.

"Director Chen, is this... a way to win?"

"You didn't win with clothes, you won with your bones."

After Chen Yan finished speaking, he walked towards the elevator.

Su Wan was already waiting in the shadows, dressed in a gray suit, her hair neatly styled.

"Airline ticket and passport."

She handed over two envelopes.

"About the company?"

Chen Yan took it without looking at her.

"Wang Jianguo has completed the acquisition of Zhao Minghai's three cinemas, with 50% of the screening rights written into the contract. He Ping's audio recording backup has been sent to Principal Yan through encrypted channels."

Su reported on her work in a steady, measured pace.

She paused for a moment, then handed over a document that had just been faxed over.

"The French side has confirmed the screening schedule."

Su Wan's finger landed on a line of French text.

Chen Yan's gaze fell over there.

List of judges for the main competition.

At the end of a long list of foreign names, he saw two Chinese characters: He Ping.

Chen Yan held an unlit cigarette in his hand. He didn't say anything, but simply crushed the cigarette into pieces with his fingertips, and the tobacco fell onto the clean floor.

"He received the notification last night and has already flown to Paris."

Su Wan's voice was low, "He's a judge, he has the right to score. This is very disadvantageous for us."

Chen Yan stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the basement.

"It's not a bad thing for him to be a judge."

As the elevator doors closed, Chen Yan's voice rang out clearly in the cramped space.

"If he doesn't get involved himself, how will the world know how rotten this 'backbone' of the Chinese film industry has become?"

"Tell Wu Gang to bring the original money laundering ledgers from Tianjin. We're going to Cannes together."

Su Wan looked up, somewhat puzzled: "That's a domestic case."

"There are more journalists than judges at Cannes."

Chen Yan looked at his own silhouette reflected in the elevator doors. "Before the awards ceremony, I want the whole world to see what this highly respected director has sacrificed for his art."

The elevator doors opened.

Chen Yan walked towards the black Santana.

"To the airport now?"

Su Wan followed.

"No, go to the Copyright Bureau's staff quarters."

Chen Yan got into the driver's seat. "Liang Huai is still waiting for He Ping's news. Before I leave, I want him to swallow his 'physiological discomfort' suggestion to cut back."

The engine started, and white mist spewed out of the exhaust pipe.

The wheels screeched as the black Santana sped off in the underground parking garage.

In the early hours of the morning, a plane is flying over the city, its route heading towards Europe.

Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of an old-style residential building.

The lights were still on in the windows on the third floor.

Chen Yan got off the car carrying a metal tube containing fragments of a cassette tape.

"He will."

He said something to Su Wan in the car and walked into the dark stairwell.

The motion-sensor lights turned on and off in sequence with his steps.

He stood in front of the security door on the third floor, but instead of ringing the doorbell, he raised his fist and slammed it heavily against the iron door.

thump.

thump.

thump.

Each sound felt like a blow to the heart.

After a long while, an aged voice came from behind the door: "Who is it?"

"Beijing Film Academy, Chen Yan."

Chen Yan's voice pierced through the iron gate, "I need to find Teacher Liang and borrow a cassette tape from twenty years ago."

There was a deathly silence behind the door.

Thirty seconds later, the lock cylinder turned, and the door opened a crack.

Liang Huai's sallow face appeared behind the door. He was wearing pajamas and his eyes were cloudy.

"You're crazy."

Chen Yan shoved the door open with his shoulder and walked straight into the living room.

He turned off the awards ceremony that was being replayed on the TV and placed the metal cylinder on the coffee table.

"He Ping went to Cannes to be a judge."

Liang Huai sat down on the sofa, supporting himself on the chair. "I know. He has veto power; you won't get the award."

"I'm not there to win an award."

Chen Yan pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. "I'm going to see him off on his way."

He pointed to the metal cylinder: "Twenty years ago, at the clock tower in Tianjin, seven lives were lost. One of them was named Liang Xiaoman. Your younger brother."

Liang Huai stopped breathing.

Chen Yan pulled out a photocopy and threw it in front of him.

It was the last page of that profit-sharing list, which read: "Compensation balance, Liang Huai, 50,000 yuan."

"He Ping traded seven lives for the Silver Bear Award, and you traded your brother's bones for a position at the Beijing Film Studio."

"Teacher Liang, you've taught audiovisual language your whole life. Don't you hear the sounds from the foundation when you're awake at night?"

Liang Huai clutched his chest, slid off the sofa to the floor, and made a hoarse sound like a broken bellows coming from his throat.

Chen Yan stood up and threw a printed copy of the "Appeal to Withdraw the Deletion Proposal" and a box of red inkpad at his feet.

"If He Ping wants to try me in Cannes, I will release this recording to the public in the Lumière Hall."

"I've signed it. I can consider handing the original over to the police after the closing ceremony."

Liang Huai dipped his trembling fingers in the red ink and pressed them heavily onto the paper.

That fingerprint was like a drop of congealed blood.

Chen Yan put away the documents and turned to leave.

Morning light shines into the hallway.

He got back into the car and started it.

Just as the car merged into the main road, Su Wan's phone rang.

She answered the phone, listened for a few seconds, and her expression completely changed.

"Director Chen."

She gripped her phone tightly. "Urgent call from France. The Cannes Film Festival website has changed its screening schedule."

Chen Yan looked at the road ahead without saying a word.

"The premiere of 'Thunder' was moved to 2 a.m. the day before the closing ceremony. It was a 'ghost screening'."

Su Wan swiped her phone screen, her voice tense.

"Also... the official statement has been updated with supplementary information regarding the judging panel."

"In addition to being a judge, He Ping has also been added as... the vice chairman of the Arbitration Committee for Judging Rules of this year's main competition."

Chen Yan floored the accelerator.

The speedometer needle crossed the red line.

"very good."

The wind whistled through the car window, but his voice remained unusually calm.

"Only in the ghost field can you hear the thunder clearly."