sovbooks Chapter 86 Not accepting the trophy, but the knife.
Chapter 86 Not accepting the trophy, but the knife.
Wu Gang pushed his luggage cart onto the granite floor of the arrival hall at Beijing Capital International Airport.
The wheel bearings are making a slight friction sound due to excessive load.
Chen Yan walked to the side.
Su Wan followed half a step behind him, her right hand pressing down on the shoulder strap of the black handbag that had slipped down her shoulder.
The automatic glass doors at the arrival gate slide open to both sides.
A dry, cold breeze, carrying the smell of gasoline, crept up my collar.
The flashes of light from the cameras exploded across the hall.
A dozen or so men wearing dark blue cotton coats pushed forward, holding cameras.
The clatter of the lens cap being removed mingled with the mechanical whirring of the film being wound.
"Director Chen! Rumors have circulated that you illegally obtained the negatives of veteran artists in Venice. How do you explain this?"
A short reporter shoved the microphone right in front of Chen Yan's nose.
The microphone's windscreen reeked of cheap tobacco.
Chen Yan did not stop.
He raised his hand and pressed it against the frame of his sunglasses, his pace remaining unchanged.
"Director Chen, I heard that you sold the copyrights overseas for a high price, but refused to participate in domestic industry forums. Does this mean you look down on the domestic film environment?"
Another man in a gray suit stood to the side, blocking the luggage cart.
He held a small notebook in his hand, the pen tip making rapid strokes on the paper.
Wu Gang used his wrist to push the luggage cart sideways and cut in.
The corner of the car hit the man's hip.
The man in the gray suit stumbled, dropping the notebook he was holding to the floor.
"Get out of the way."
Wu Gang's voice was very low.
His throat still had a nasal congestion from a cold.
"Chen Yan! You haven't answered the question yet! Cahiers du Cinéma says you're someone who's returned from twenty years in the future. Are you taking advantage of some kind of information asymmetry to speculate?"
The reporters were like a swarm of flies buzzing around rotting flesh, repeatedly pulling and tugging at the crowd.
Chen Yan turned his head to look at Su Wan.
Su Wan took a step forward and spread her arms to block Chen Yan.
She gripped the edge of the folder with her fingertips, her nails leaving three white marks on the hard cover.
"Please make way. Director Chen has been on a 12-hour flight and does not accept any form of unannounced interview."
Su Wan said.
"Are you feeling guilty? Why didn't Miss Lin Qingqiu come back with us? Was she sent back by the organizing committee because she fabricated her injury?"
The short reporter squeezed in again.
His camera lens was almost touching Chen Yan's profile.
Chen Yan stood still.
He turned his face and stared at the camera lens.
Sunglasses covered most of his face, revealing only a clear line along his jawline.
"What's your name?"
Chen Yan asked.
The short reporter paused for a moment, then straightened his back and pushed his press pass forward.
"Beijing Entertainment News, Zhao Jian."
Chen Yan glanced at the ID, then looked into the reporter's eyes.
"Reporter Zhao, the deportation you just mentioned requires evidence. If you can't produce the official circular from the organizing committee, I will have my lawyer obtain it from your newspaper."
Chen Yan said.
He speaks very fast and enunciates clearly.
Zhao Jian shrank back a little.
The camera flash went off again, illuminating the cold, hard texture of Chen Yan's skin.
"Director Chen, we are also acting in the best interests of our fans' right to know..."
"What moviegoers want to know is the quality of the film, not the medical report you're trying to fabricate."
Chen Yan interrupted him.
He gestured to Wu Gang.
Wu Gang pushed open the heavy glass door and pushed the luggage cart toward the white Jinbei bus parked by the roadside.
This car was arranged privately by Yan Huaizhong.
The car windows were covered with dark-colored explosion-proof film, making it impossible to see what was inside from the outside.
Chen Yan bent down and crawled into the carriage.
Su Wan followed closely behind.
Wu Gang threw his luggage into the trunk and slammed the hatch shut.
The sound of metal clashing kept the reporters who had followed them at least three meters away.
The wheels rolled over the snow and mud on the ground.
The bus turned on its taillights and merged into the expressway leading to and from the airport.
The carriage was very quiet.
Su Wan pulled a stack of newspapers from the back pocket of her seat.
Those were the Beijing Morning Post and various film and television weekly publications that had just come out this morning.
She spread one of the newspapers on her lap.
The front page headline was extremely eye-catching: "Chen Yan: Fragrance outside the wall, arrogance inside the wall."
The article occupied one-third of the page.
The image in the center is a profile picture of Chen Yan with his back to the camera at the Venice dock.
"Lu Haiming acted very quickly."
Su Wan handed the newspaper to Chen Yan.
She pointed to a paragraph in the article.
"They say you rejected collaboration offers from three major domestic film studios, determined to sell your work in Europe for a good price. They label you an 'artistic speculator' and a 'cultural comprador.'"
Chen Yan took the newspaper.
He quickly scanned the neatly arranged Song typeface characters.
The written description is extremely biased.
The author claims that all of Chen Yan's technical comparisons in Venice were staged to cover up the fact that the origin of the "Thunder" negative was unclear.
"This is just an appetizer."
Chen Yan rolled up the newspaper and casually tossed it on the floor.
"He wants to sever my public image in China. Before the movie is even released, he's already ruining my reputation. That way, even if I come back with the Golden Lion, theaters will have a reason to reduce the number of screenings."
He turned to look out the window.
The poplar trees lining both sides of the highway have lost all their leaves.
The gray branches swayed in the wind.
"Wu Gang, go to the Beijing Film Academy dormitory first."
Chen Yan gave the instructions.
"Aren't you going to a hotel? Aunt Lin booked a private room there, saying she wants to treat you to a welcome-back dinner."
Su Wan asked.
"This isn't a proper welcome feast. These days, the welcome drinks are full of sand."
Chen Yan said.
He took the Nokia phone out of his pocket and pressed a number on the screen.
The phone was answered after ringing twice.
"I am Yan Huaizhong."
The old man's voice, though slightly tired, came through the receiver.
"Teacher, I'm going back to Yenching."
Chen Yan gripped her phone tightly.
There was a silence of about three seconds on the other end of the phone.
Then came the sound of a lighter being pressed.
"I've heard about what happened at the airport. Lu Haiming has friends in the propaganda sector, and he's trying to crush you this time. That cup you're holding is a hot potato back home now."
Yan Huaizhong said.
"I don't bring a cup."
Chen Yan switched the phone to his left hand and gently tapped his fingertips on his knee.
"Teacher, what I brought back wasn't a prize, it was foreign exchange."
The breathing on the phone suddenly stopped.
"How many?"
Yan Huaizhong asked.
"A minimum guarantee of five million US dollars. This doesn't even include the subsequent European box office revenue sharing. Vincent's bank draft has already gone through the notarization process."
Chen Yan said.
Yan Huaizhong exhaled a large puff of smoke from the other end of the line.
The sound of the lighter cap closing came through the signal, crisp and clear.
"Five million... US dollars?"
Yan Huaizhong's voice rose half a tone.
In this era, a college student who hasn't even officially graduated can earn the equivalent of 40 million RMB in foreign exchange through a single film.
This is no longer just an artistic success.
"I know what to say to the higher-ups."
Yan Huaizhong's tone became calm.
"Stay at school and don't go anywhere. I'll have the security department clear out those tabloid reporters. As long as you have this money backing you up, Lu Haiming's propaganda war tactics are just asking for trouble."
"clear."
Chen Yan hung up the phone.
The Jinbei van turned into the north gate of Beijing Film Academy.
It's quieter here than at the main entrance.
Wu Gang got out of the car, pushed open the iron fence, and the car bumped as it drove into the campus.
The dormitory hallway was filled with the smell of steam from the hot water room and the smell of unwashed sneakers.
Chen Yan pushed open the dormitory door.
Zhang Yuan wasn't there; the dormitory room only contained a few empty beds covered in dust.
There was a Stephen Chow movie poster on the wall, the edges of which were curled up.
Chen Yan walked to the window and opened it a crack.
Several bread trucks bearing the newspaper's logo were circling around the outer wall of the campus.
He sat back on the edge of the bed, picked up the remote control on the table, and turned on the old 14-inch television.
The screen lights up.
A flurry of snowflakes flashed by.
The midday news on CCTV's financial channel.
Lu Haiming was wearing a dark brown cashmere coat and was sitting on a large leather sofa.
Behind him was a huge map of the outskirts of Beijing.
Several reporters surrounded him, each with their heads down taking notes.
"Mr. Lu, I heard you recently planned to invest 300 million yuan in the suburbs of Beijing to build an 'Oriental Hollywood' that belongs to the Chinese people?"
The female reporter handed over the microphone.
Lu Haiming nodded at the camera.
His expression was gentle yet resolute.
"Filmmaking is not a game played by a few geniuses in a laboratory. It is an industry, a healthy operation of capital."
Lu Haiming held up two fingers and drew a circle on the map.
"Some directors win a few awards abroad and think they've grasped the essence of cinema. That's a dangerous idea. What we need to do is build a stable, profitable production system, not pander to the tastes of those old Europeans."
He gave the camera a standard smile.
"The first step of my 'Oriental Hollywood' plan is to integrate the unregulated cinema chains in China. In the future, the market will provide the answer as to what kind of films can be shown in theaters and what kind of films can only end up in the trash."
Lu Haiming picked up the teacup and gently blew on the floating leaves on top.
Chen Yan looked at the smug face on the screen.
The camera then focused on a close-up of Lu Haiming.
His brows revealed an arrogant air of complete control.
Chen Yan stretched out his right hand and placed his thumb on the black knob below the television.
He twisted it to the left.
"Click."
The light spot on the screen instantly shrank, finally turning into a faint red dot and disappearing behind the dark glass.
The room fell into a cold silence.
Chen Yan released his grip, stood up, and hung his trench coat on the back of the chair.
He turned to look at the original storyboard sketch of "Thunder" standing in the corner.
"The Hollywood of the East?"
Chen Yan muttered to himself.
He picked up the enamel mug on the table and poured out the leftover tea from the previous day.
Water droplets splashed into the dry sink, making a soft, rustling sound.
A series of hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor as Wu Gang pushed open the door, carrying a lunchbox.
"Old Chen, there's no meat left in the cafeteria."
Wu Gang placed the aluminum lunchbox on the table.
A layer of oil seeped out from the edge of the lid.
"Any steamed buns will do."
Chen Yan picked up a cold white steamed bun and took a big bite.
He looked out the window at the newspaper vans still circling around, his cheeks bobbing up and down as he chewed.
"Lu Haiming likes building buildings."
Chen Yan stared at the black screen of the television.
"Then I'll wait until he builds the building to its tallest point and then remove the foundation."
He stuffed the remaining steamed bun into his mouth and picked up the clipping ruler on the table.
The silver ruler reflected a narrow, sharp white light in the sunlight.
The beam of light pierced through the cluttered table and landed precisely on the opposite wall.
Chen Yan gripped the steel ruler tightly, his fingertips brushing against the cold metal edge.
He is waiting.
When the first gunshot from Venice reached home.