Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 75 Don't Let Reporters Smell Blood

The pale light shining from the side gate of the main palace fell on Chen Yan's shoulder.

He didn't look at the man in the gray trench coat below the steps, and without stopping, he smashed open the revolving door.

The sea fog dampened his hair, and water droplets trickled down his brow bone and into his eyes.

Wu Gang waited at the hotel elevator entrance, holding a walkie-talkie in his hand.

Chen Yan threw his soaked trench coat into Wu Gang's arms.

"Where is Su Wan?"

"On the terrace."

Wu Gang folded his trench coat neatly.

"Vincent arrived twenty minutes ago with three reporters, but was stopped outside by President Su."

Chen Yan stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.

"Among those three people, was anyone carrying a Leica camera?"

Wu Gang shook his head.

"They're all telephoto lenses; I didn't see any Leicas."

The elevator doors opened, and the sea breeze stirred the carpet in the corridor.

Su Wan, dressed in a dark gray business suit, stood blocking the entrance to the terrace, holding a stack of fax papers in her hand.

Vincent spread his hands, arguing softly with Su Wan, his forehead wrinkled with sweat.

"Su, this is Venice."

Vincent pointed behind him.

"The media needs explosive news. Lin Qingqiu's back injury, and those rumors from 1991, are a gold mine."

Su Wan slapped the fax paper onto Vincent's chest.

"That's garbage."

Her gaze was fixed on Vincent's bow tie.

"Article 12 of the contract concerns the distributor's responsibility to protect the reputation of the film and its creators."

"The fax clearly states that the film scheduling commitments from France, Germany, and Italy have taken effect."

"If you want to profit from copyright premiums, you have to listen to the production company."

Vincent exhaled a breath of air mixed with the smell of cigars and pointed to the notebook under the terrace.

"Those three newspapers have been waiting for an hour; they are Harvey's friends."

Su Wan stepped forward, blocking his view.

"Cut off all private interviews except for Cahiers du Cinéma and AFP."

"Lin Qingqiu only accepts group interviews and does not go into private rooms."

"I have handled the list of reporters, and even if they are Harvey's men, they'll be kicked out if they don't follow the rules."

Vincent looked at Chen Yan, who had just entered through the door.

"Chen, you need to talk to her. This kind of tough stance will ruin Lin Qingqiu's reputation in North America."

Chen Yan pulled out a chair and sat down, his fingers gripping the table.

"Reputation is earned through one's face on screen, not through medical records."

He looked at Vincent.

"Take your people away from this floor. I don't want to see any more reporters in Lin Qingqiu's sight before 3 p.m.."

Vincent grabbed the fax paper, pursed his lips, and turned to walk towards the stairwell.

Su Wan put away her notebook and walked to Chen Yan's side.

"He's testing our limits."

Chen Yan took the brass bookmark out of his pocket.

"Miramax is putting pressure on Vincent. That 'Mr. Rain' hasn't gone far; he's waiting for Lin Qingqiu to show weakness."

Su Wan glanced down at the French text on the bookmark.

"What does it say on this?"

"The past has never disappeared."

Chen Yan threw the bookmark into the trash can.

"Go and call Lin Qingqiu."

The curtains in the apartment's living room were drawn tightly shut.

Lin Qingqiu stood in front of the dressing mirror, her hand resting on the back of the sofa.

The dark purple cheongsam had been altered; the side waist seams had been raised and a curved shape had been created using stiff lining.

Chen Yan stood five steps away, holding a stopwatch in his hand.

"walk."

Lin Qingqiu released her grip and took a step forward with her left leg.

The bones in his waist bulged from the exertion, pulling the fabric and making a slight cracking sound.

She stood still, her brows furrowed.

"It's too stiff."

Chen Yan looked at her ankle.

"The red carpet is only sixty meters long; that's a battlefield."

"If a reporter asks you why you used such realistic near-death scenes in a movie, what would you say?"

Lin Qingqiu straightened her back.

"That was the director's requirement. In order to recreate the oppressive atmosphere of that era, I underwent three months of physical dehydration training."

Chen Yan shook his head.

"That's too official. You could say it's light and shadow cutting through the flesh. You are the vessel, not the victim."

He stepped forward and pressed down on Lin Qingqiu's left shoulder.

"Regarding the events of 1991, whenever someone mentions a single word, you immediately switch gears and start talking about color representation."

"Don't let them smell the blood. The more you explain the wound, the more they'll want to tear off the scab."

Lin Qingqiu looked down at herself in the mirror.

The dark color of the cheongsam suppressed her sickly appearance, but it could not hide the trembling that emanated from her very bones.

"I can't walk straight."

She fastened her hands to the buckles of the protective gear around her waist.

"There will be hundreds or thousands of flashes of light, and my bones will crack."

Chen Yan grabbed the back of her hand and pried her fingers apart one by one.

"The red carpet isn't a hospital corridor; you're the leading lady."

Even if you break your bones, you still have to walk those sixty meters like a pilgrimage.

"Remember this. In this circle, all the eccentricities of the strong are style, and all the scars of the weak are a joke."

Lin Qingqiu bit her lower lip and loosened her protective gear.

She took another step, her shoulders slumped.

The silk rubbed against the skin, outlining a twisted yet powerful line.

"One more time."

Chen Yan pressed the stopwatch.

At the end of the corridor, Zhang Yuan ran in carrying two aluminum alloy copy boxes.

He had a band-aid on his forehead and was breathing heavily.

"Director Chen, I've checked."

Zhang Yuan placed the box flat on the table and pointed to the lead seal on the box opening.

The aluminum seal has obvious serrations.

"The serial numbers match our list, and the film jars are all there."

"But this lead seal has two indentations. Someone cut it open with pliers and then put it back together."

Chen Yan squatted down, his line of sight level with the lead seal.

"Has it been disassembled?"

Zhang Yuan pulled out a Seagull camera from behind his back, adjusted the focus, and pressed the shutter twice on the sealed area.

"I didn't dare to move. The technical committee said that when the power went out in the lobby, the warehouse was unattended for five minutes."

Wu Gang walked to the box and placed his hand on the belt behind his waist.

"I'll go check the surveillance footage."

"No need to adjust."

Chen Yan stopped him.

"The surveillance cameras must be broken."

He took the camera and checked the film counter.

"Take these photos and make three copies."

"Su Wan keeps one copy, Wu Gang takes one copy, and I take one copy."

"Go to the technical committee and make a new copy of our screening list. Stick it on the inside of the box lid."

Zhang Yuan was stunned for a moment.

"Aren't you going to open it up and check if the film has been replaced?"

Chen Yan straightened up and looked at the sea shadow behind the curtains.

"The other party wouldn't dare change the film. That would be murder."

"They'll just add something to it. Or cut out a few key frames to cause the tape to break during screening."

He turned and walked into the inner room.

"Reseal it back as it was. They want to watch a play at eight o'clock tomorrow, so we'll put on a show for them."

Five o'clock in the afternoon.

Vincent knocked on the door again.

He handed Su Wan a newly printed newspaper.

The front page was a preview of the Venice Film Festival opening, and in the corner was a blurry black and white photo of Lin Qingqiu wearing an old training uniform.

The title is: [A Broken Dancer from the East, Who Disappeared on a Rainy Night in 1991?]

Su Wan didn't even glance at it; she simply folded the newspaper in half and stuffed it back into Vincent's pocket.

"I've said before, I don't want this kind of hype."

Vincent lowered his voice.

"This is Miramax's press release. Harvey wants you to understand that without his approval, Thunder won't earn a single penny in North America."

Su Wan sneered.

"Then let him go to his coffin clutching his US dollars."

She pulled a small voice recorder out of her pocket and waved it in front of Vincent.

"I've recorded our conversation."

"I can send the audio recording of the distributor threatening the production company to cooperate with false advertising to the organizing committee at any time."

Vincent's face turned ashen, and he took a step back.

"Su, you're too cruel."

"That's what Chen taught me."

Su Wan closed the door behind her.

The clock in the apartment pointed to one o'clock in the morning.

Chen Yan leaned back on the sofa with his eyes closed.

My mind was filled with images from that videotape.

In 2025, he lay in the mud, staring blankly at the surveillance camera.

If life is a pre-edited movie, then "Mr. Rain" is the ghost lurking behind the film with scissors in hand.

The walkie-talkie rang sharply again.

Wu Gang's voice carried a metallic chill.

"Chen Yan. I just received a call from the Omiya technical support team."

Chen Yan opened his eyes, his gaze as cold as the seawater outside the window.

"explain."

"The technical screening time for 'Thunder' has changed."

Wu Gang paused for a moment.

"It's been moved up to 8 a.m. tomorrow. The reason given is a scheduling conflict with the main competition unit's copying schedule."

Chen Yan stood up from the sofa and walked to the corner where Zhang Yuan kept the copy box.

The two boxes of negatives gleamed with a cold, aluminum light under the moonlight.

"It's ahead of schedule."

Chen Yan muttered to himself.

Early screenings meant he didn't have time to review the film again before the actual screening.

Those scenes that might have been cut or embellished will be revealed directly to the jury.

He walked to the landline and dialed Vincent's number.

"No need to wait until tomorrow."

Chen Yan's voice was calm and even, without any fluctuation.

"Tell Harvey to meet me in Room 3 at 8 a.m. tomorrow."

He put down the receiver.

"Zhang Yuan, bring all the backup splicing tape and scissors."

"Wu Gang, go to the dock and pick up Lin Qingqiu. Don't take the bus, find a private boat."

Chen Yan put on the black trench coat, zipping it all the way up to cover his chin.

He pushed open the balcony door and stood facing the surging waves.

The sea fog is thickest before dawn.

The St. Mark's Campanile in the distance appeared and disappeared in the mist, emitting a low, muffled sound.

That wasn't the sound of a bell.

That was the prelude to thunder.

Chen Yan's fingers traced the can of 35mm scrap film hidden in his sleeve.

"No one can cut off my future."

He stepped across the threshold, his leather shoes landing on the floor.

The crisp sound echoed throughout the empty living room.

The curtain of the movie is being forcibly pulled back by unseen hands.