Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 113 Applause, Bloodshed, and the Golden Palm

The air was damp and chilly at the red carpet entrance to the Lumière Hall.

He Ping stood between two organizing committee officials, his face pale, like a piece of paper soaked in rain.

Two French police officers blocked his way, the metal buttons on their uniforms reflecting a cold light.

Chen Yan walked over, his leather shoes making no sound on the red carpet.

"Teacher He, the closing ceremony is about to begin."

He Ping raised his head, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word.

A police officer expressionlessly produced a French document.

"Mr. He Ping, according to Interpol's notification, you are involved in multiple economic crimes and embezzlement. Please cooperate with the investigation."

He Ping's body collapsed, and he looked pleadingly at the organizing committee official beside him.

The other person's gaze went past his shoulder and elsewhere.

Chen Yan stopped beside He Ping, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear him.

"The domestic task force is already waiting for you to investigate the accounts of those seven workers under the clock tower in Tianjin."

He Ping's pupils dilated, and he suddenly reached out to grab Chen Yan's collar.

His wrist was caught in mid-air.

"Click".

The sound of the handcuffs closing was crisp and clean.

The police pushed He Ping out through the side door and disappeared into the shadows.

Several reporters tried to rush over, but were blocked by Wu Gang's outstretched arms; his body was like an insurmountable wall.

Chen Yan walked into the hall and sat down in the first row of the main competition section.

Su Wan and Lin Qingqiu sat on either side of him.

Lin Qingqiu sat upright, her right hand unconsciously resting on the torn hem of her black dress.

In the dim light, the hideous surgical scar resembled a lurking centipede.

The lights went out.

At the center of the stage, jury president Isabelle Adjani walked onto the stage, holding a golden envelope in her hand.

"At this year's Cannes Film Festival, we witnessed a long-lost, chilling vitality."

Isabelle Adjani's voice, transmitted clearly through the translation equipment, entered everyone's headphones: "It doesn't belong to elegance; it belongs to those struggling in the ruins."

She opened the envelope and her gaze landed precisely on Lin Qingqiu.

"Best Actress Award - Lin Qingqiu for 'Thunder'".

A thunderous applause erupted.

Lin Qingqiu's body was stiff and motionless.

Chen Yan turned his head and said only one word: "Go."

Lin Qingqiu stood up, picked up the tattered black dress, and walked step by step onto the stage.

Under close-up shots on the big screen, the ugly scar on her leg was displayed to the world without reservation.

There are no stockings to cover up the truth, no jewelry to adorn it; only the most primal and raw reality.

She accepted the silver trophy and gripped it tightly.

"My name is Lin Qing-qiu. I broke my leg twice while filming this movie."

Her voice was hoarse, with a metallic quality.

"The director told me that if a bone is broken, it can be set and life can be restored."

"Today, my life has been saved."

She didn't bow; she simply raised the trophy to the glaring light.

All judges, please stand up.

Chen Yan looked at the stubborn figure on the stage with a calm expression.

Isabelle Adjani did not leave the stage; instead, she accepted a second, heavier box wrapped in black velvet.

"The following awards broke the seventy-year tradition of Cannes."

Her tone became solemn. "There's a film that, at two in the morning, was displayed on a hotel wall, that showed us what true artistic sovereignty really is."

"The organizing committee has decided to award the film the Jury Grand Prize."

"And..." She paused for a moment, looking at Chen Yan below the stage.

"The Golden Palm"

This time, the applause didn't erupt immediately.

The entire room fell into a silence, as if overwhelmed by a massive amount of information.

A few seconds later, thunderous applause lifted the roof off.

Chen Yan stood up, straightened his cuffs, and walked onto the stage.

He accepted the heavy, solid gold palm leaf trophy from Isabelle Adjani.

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

Chen Yan held the trophy, his gaze sweeping over every bewildered face in the audience.

"I'm here to tell everyone that there are some movies you can refuse to see in theaters, but you can't refuse to see them projected onto the wall."

"Rules are made by people."

He held up the gold palm and faced the camera.

"Now, I'll set the rules."

Backstage lounge.

Chen Yan locked the door and dialed an overseas number.

"Principal Yan."

"Chen Yan, congratulations!"

Yan Huaizhong's voice was brimming with barely suppressed excitement, "The country is in an uproar! Photos of He Ping being taken away are on every front page!"

Chen Yan walked to the window, looked at the distant sea, and asked in a calm voice, "Where is Lu Haiming?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

After a good ten seconds, Yan Huaizhong sighed and his voice became deep.

"Chen Yan, you need to be mentally prepared."

"Just an hour ago, after the news from the press conference reached China, Lu Haiming committed suicide in the detention center."

Chen Yan stopped moving.

"What should we use?"

"...A sharpened toothbrush handle pierced his carotid artery. He died instantly."

Chen Yan did not speak.

He simply stood there, the Palme d'Or trophy in his hand, the tip of the palm leaf symbolizing the highest honor in world cinema, deeply embedded in his palm.

He couldn't feel any pain.

Something colder than anger rose from his body.

With hatred spanning two lifetimes and over twenty years of scheming, he prepared the grandest trial for Lu Haiming, intending to make him live to witness every detail of his empire's collapse, and to make him kneel in the ruins in repentance.

But he actually died like that.

They escaped in the cheapest and most cowardly way.

The prey he raised himself was stolen by an unseen thief.

"I see."

Chen Yan hung up the phone, his voice eerily calm.

Su Wan pushed open the door and came in, her expression solemn.

"Director Chen, someone slipped a letter under the door."

The envelope was made of kraft paper, without a stamp, and only had the character "Chen" written on it in pen.

Chen Yan took the letter and opened it.

A musty smell of engine oil wafted over me.

The letter contained only two lines of writing, the characters crooked and forceful, penetrating the back of the paper.

First line: He doesn't deserve to die at your hands.

I've cleaned up your house.

Second line: But our accounts have only just begun.

Tianjin, I'm waiting for you.

The signature was a cross drawn in red ink.

The marks left at the scene of Liang Qinian's disappearance are exactly the same.

Chen Yan crumpled the letter into a ball, the thin paper hardening in his palm like a piece of iron.

"Su Wan, book the earliest flight back to China."

Su Wan looked at the golden palm in his hand: "Not attending the closing banquet?"

"It's just a trophy."

Chen Yan pushed open the door, and the night wind filled the corridor.

If you can get it the first time, you can get it the second time.

He strode toward the elevator, where Wu Gang was already waiting.

The elevator doors slowly closed.

The mirror reflected Chen Yan's face, and all the previous gentleness and elegance had vanished from his eyes.

All that remains is a frozen sea, beneath which lie undercurrents powerful enough to overturn everything.

The rain on Crosette Avenue has stopped.

The dilapidated truck was still parked on the side of the road.

Chen Yan casually tossed the heavy golden palm into the truck bed with a dull thud.

He got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

Wu Gang looked at him in the rearview mirror.

"Return?"

Chen Yan stepped on the gas.

"Return."

"Go collect that debt... that was stolen from me."

The truck roared, its tires tearing two black gashes in the wet road, and resolutely plunged into the Cannes night.

The flags atop the cinema palace fluttered in the wind.

That night, the whole of Cannes was talking about thunder.

Meanwhile, the one who created the thunder has already set off for the East with an even more violent thunderstorm.