Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 106 The So-Called "Dignity of Elders"

Chen Yan stepped onto the wet, gravelly ground at the entrance of the printing factory.

Three police cars were parked across the iron gate, their blue and red lights casting flickering light on his trench coat.

An officer in uniform stepped forward, holding a document in his hand.

"Director Chen, we've received a report that the content being copied here is suspected of being illegal. The production line must be shut down for inspection."

Chen Yan didn't stop walking; the soles of his shoes crunched over the gravel, making a sound.

He raised his hand, and the gold-embossed Cannes invitation shone brightly under the light.

"Make sure you read the signature carefully."

He handed the invitation to the secretary, his voice drowning out the sound of the truck engine behind him.

"The main competition unit, a project affiliated with the Ministry of Foreign Trade."

"Incomplete paperwork? Or content violations?"

The officer's outstretched hand froze in mid-air, his gaze shifting from the golden palm leaf to Wu Gang behind Chen Yan.

Wu Gang turned to the side and waved his hand, and two hundred men in old work clothes stepped forward.

The muffled thud of two hundred pairs of cloth shoes on the ground made the air feel heavy.

"These are the orders from above; we are simply executing them."

The officer took a half step back, his gaze sweeping over the silent, burly men.

"Go back and tell the person who gave the order."

Chen Yan took back the invitation and pointed to the printing press unit that was turning behind him.

"These machines won't stop for a single second tonight."

"Whoever wants to seal it off, let him come in person with the official document to sign the order."

After saying that, he turned and stepped into the factory area.

Nine o'clock the next morning.

Beijing Hotel, third-floor conference room.

The solid wood door was tightly closed, and several young people wearing work badges stood in the corridor.

A banner reading "Symposium on the Healthy Development of Chinese-Language Films" was hung above the stage.

Below the stage, He Ping sat in the center, holding an unlit cigarette in his hand.

Liang Huai sat to his left, his face ashen.

"Old He, if we lose this move, we'll have nowhere to hide our faces."

He Ping put down his cigarette and tapped his fingertips on the table.

"Rules are rules. Young people who want to overturn the table just because they won a foreign award have no manners."

He looked at the several cameras set up behind him; those were the industry media he had invited.

"Today, we must set this trend straight. The promotional methods used for 'Thunder' have disrupted market order, and we must give an explanation."

The moment the words were spoken, the conference room door was pushed open.

The door slammed against the wall with a dull thud.

Chen Yan walked in wearing a black woolen overcoat, his back ramrod straight, and the dark circles under his eyes indicated that he hadn't slept all night.

Su Wan carried a black briefcase and followed behind him.

All the directors and professors in the room turned their heads and focused their attention on the doorway.

"Chen Yan? You weren't invited here."

Director Zhou stood up and pointed at him, his wrist still trembling.

Chen Yan ignored him and walked straight to the podium, pulling out an empty chair and sitting down.

"What's the point of this meeting if it doesn't include a director like me who was nominated for the main competition in the development of Chinese-language cinema?"

He leaned back in his chair, took a form from Su Wan, and tossed it onto the table.

The table glided and stopped in front of He Ping.

"The pre-sale figures for the overseas rights to 'Thunder' have just been released via fax."

He Ping glanced down at the numbers, and his eyelids twitched.

Three million US dollars.

This is just the guaranteed issuance amount in three regions of Europe.

"Fake. Fake data you're using to phish."

He Ping sneered and pushed the form away.

"Chen Yan, let's not talk about money, let's talk about art. I've seen your film. That three-minute long take is a superfluous spectacle of violence that disrupts the narrative rhythm and deviates from our established audiovisual aesthetics."

Chen Yan changed his posture, folding his hands together.

"When Director He mentioned aesthetics, was he referring to 'Spring Returns,' which you just finished filming?"

He looked directly at He Ping, his tone flat.

"I've seen your rough cut outline. At the fifth minute, the transition from a long shot to a close-up creates a break in the lighting logic, using stage lighting from the 1980s. At the twelfth minute, the camera movement when the female lead crosses the threshold is too deliberate. Your so-called audiovisual logic is that you've been stuck in the same place for twenty years, and you still expect the audience to pay for outdated nostalgia."

He Ping stood up, and the sudden movement knocked over the teacup.

"What do you know about film analysis? You dare say there's something wrong with my lens?"

Chen Yan took a USB flash drive out of his pocket and threw it on the table.

"Here are the first three scenes from your film. I re-edited a version using your original footage. I corrected the perspective by switching between telephoto and wide-angle lenses. Director He, art relies on technique and perception, not age."

The room was deathly silent.

Only the sound of reporters' camera shutters could be heard.

"Chen Yan, this is an insult to our seniors!"

Liang Huai slammed his hand on the table and stood up.

Chen Yan turned his head to the side, his eyes cold.

Seniors are respected because they lead the way, not because they stand in the middle of the road.

He stood up and buttoned up his trench coat.

"Since this is a discussion, I'd also like to offer a suggestion. Starting today, all theaters under Yan Cinema should permanently remove any production company's works that publicly defame 'Thunder' or interfere with normal production."

"Su Wan, the list."

Su Wan handed a list to everyone present.

"Yan Cinema Circuit is just starting out, and its three core cinemas account for 15% of the high-end box office in Beijing. If you want to maintain your dignity, you can try to see if you can live comfortably without that 15%."

After Chen Yan finished speaking, he pushed back his chair and walked out.

"Chen Yan! You're cutting yourself off from the industry!"

Director Zhou called from behind.

Chen Yan walked to the door, stopped, and did not turn around.

"It's not that I'm isolating myself from you, it's that the times are eliminating you. Don't wait until the Cannes closing ceremony to find that you don't even have a ticket."

He opened the door, and sunlight streamed into the dimly lit conference room.

Inside the elevator.

Su Wan breathed a sigh of relief.

"Director Chen, what about that overseas pre-sale quota... in case they go to verify it..."

Chen Yan looked at himself in the mirror and straightened his collar.

"They can't verify it. There's a one-week quiet period for overseas contracts, which is enough time for us to distribute copies all over the country. He Ping will contact Cannes; that's what I need."

The elevator doors opened.

Wu Gang stood guard at the door, looking hurried.

"Old Chen, there's news from Tianjin."

"explain."

"We dug up an iron box under the old clock tower, but it didn't contain account books."

Wu Gang leaned closer and lowered his voice, "It's a list, and an old-fashioned cassette tape. The name in it... is He Ping."

Chen Yan stopped in his tracks.

He took a rusty metal cylinder from Wu Gang; it felt cold to the touch.

"Back to the printing press."

His voice was cold. "Convert the tape to digital format. I want to hear how this pillar of Chinese-language cinema divided profits on construction sites in Tianjin back then."

It was 10 p.m. that night.

Yan Culture Media, Editing Room.

On the computer screen, the audio track waveform flickers.

A static hum came from the speaker, followed by a man's shrill voice.

"This land...cannot be filled in anymore, there are seven people underneath!"

Another gentle and refined voice rang out.

"Director He, your crew needs this sponsorship money; it's enough for you to go to Berlin and win an award. Set up the camera; that's called artistic dedication."

Chen Yan pressed the stop button.

Su Wan stood in the shadows, her face pale.

"That's He Ping's voice."

Chen Yan walked to the window, and the neon lights of the building across the street reflected on his face.

"A sacrifice twenty years ago earned him a Silver Bear Award. His so-called dignity as an elder was built on bones."

He picked up the red landline on the table and dialed Yan Huaizhong's private number.

"Principal Yan, I have some sound effects material from an old movie here, and I would like you to take a look."

After Chen Yan finished speaking, he pointed the microphone at the speaker and pressed the play button again.

On the other end of the phone, Yan Huaizhong's breathing became heavy.

at the same time.

In He Ping's home, the living room lights were off.

He sat on the sofa, the television in front of him flickering with static.

He was waiting for an international call.

The phone rang suddenly.

He Ping reached for the microphone, knocking over a wine glass on the table.

The dark red liquid seeped onto the carpet.

"Hello, Jill?"

There was no sound on the other end of the phone.

There was only a piercing electronic noise and a conversation from twenty years ago.

"...Setting up the camera, that's called artistic dedication."

The microphone slipped from He Ping's hand and fell to the ground.

He stared at the television screen in the darkness, and amidst the static, a young man's face flashed by.

It's Chen Yan.

He Ping opened his mouth, but couldn't make a sound.

A bolt of lightning flashed past the window.

A deep rumble of thunder rolled across the sky above the capital.

Chen Yan stood by the office window, holding the cassette tape in his hand.

With a forceful pull, the plastic casing shattered, and the black magnetic strip scattered all over the ground.

He turned and walked towards the door.

Outside the door, Wu Gang started the car.

The beams of light from the headlights pierced the darkness, pointing straight ahead.

At that moment, Chen Yan's shadow stretched out long, piercing through the night of this old era.