Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 12 Undercurrents

The leaky engine of the long-distance bus vibrated incessantly beneath us, like an old shredder trying to shred the dozens of people in the carriage along with the stale air.

Chen Yan held the slightly hot Nokia 8210 in his hand. Yan Huaizhong's voice on the phone was intermittent, cut off by the roar of the bus shifting gears.

"The vice chairman of the jury has seen your film. They have a dispute about the long take of that rainy night. Pierre is speaking up for you. He said that the audiovisual language doesn't sound like a student's work."

Chen Yan shifted his position, moving his ears, which were numb from the vibrations of the car window, away a little.

He didn't rush to speak, but first glanced around.

The middle-aged man in the front seat was snoring with his head tilted to the side, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth onto the greasy cushion.

The atmosphere in this carriage is so overtly personal that it's hard to associate it with the Cannes red carpet.

"Teacher Yan, the signal is bad. I'll call you back after I get off the bus."

Chen Yan's voice was steady, even somewhat cold, "Tell Pierre that it's a combination of handheld shooting and telephoto zooming, designed to create a sense of psychological pressure. It's not a matter of whether they're students or not; it's a matter of whether they want this shot or not."

After hanging up the phone, Chen Yan put his phone in his pocket.

Unlike most young people who get excited and turn red in the face, he felt a slight soreness in the back of his neck.

Throughout the journey, his mind was not filled with the palm leaves of Cannes, but rather with his father's gray and white medical certificate.

Reality is just like this bus: swaying, slow, and the musty smell in the carriage never dissipates.

By the time we returned to Beijing, it was completely dark.

Outside the long-distance bus station, rows of red-headed taxis were lined up, and the drivers were loudly soliciting passengers in their Beijing accents.

Chen Yan couldn't bear to take a taxi. Carrying his backpack with its almost broken zipper, he squeezed onto the bus heading to the back street of the Central Academy of Drama.

Under the streetlights, a thin figure paced back and forth, still wearing the faded blue down jacket. It was Su Wan.

She kept shrinking her neck, and the hot breath she exhaled dissipated immediately in the cold wind.

"You're back?"

Upon seeing Chen Yan, Su Wan quickly walked over and naturally took the side pocket from his bag, wanting to help him share some of the weight.

"Um."

Chen Yan didn't let her take it; instead, he grabbed her hand, which was cold and stiff.

"It's so cold outside, can't you wait inside?"

"I was just thinking of going out to buy some noodles."

Su Wan smiled, trying to make her smile look less tired.

"My dad is doing alright today. He had a small bowl of millet porridge for lunch."

Chen Yan nodded, said nothing more, and simply put his arm around her shoulder and walked into the alley.

The 20,000 yuan in the bag was Chen Jianguo's hard-earned money, the first piece of flesh torn from Lu Haiming, that hyena.

He needed to come up with a reason so that the money wouldn't appear out of nowhere and wouldn't hurt Su Wan's pitiful self-esteem.

Upon entering the rented room, a faint smell of Lysol lingered in the air.

Su's father lay in the inner room, his breathing somewhat heavy.

Chen Yan took out a copy of the demolition agreement from his bag and placed it on the dilapidated eight-immortal table.

"Su Wan, come here."

Su Wan was adding water to the pot when she heard this. She wiped her hands and walked over, puzzled.

"What is this?"

"My dad has received the first installment of his demolition compensation."

Chen Yan pointed to the agreement and then took out a thick envelope from his bag and slammed it on the table.

"I took care of some troubles while I was back, and with the copyright deposits I made before and the money for Uncle Su's surgery, it's enough."

Su Wan looked at the agreement, then at the envelope, and didn't move for a long time.

With her personality, she never liked owing anyone, not even Chen Yan.

"Didn't you say you were going to use this money to buy a house for your dad?"

Her voice lowered, becoming as soft as a mosquito's hum.

"We'll talk about the house later."

Chen Yan grabbed her shoulder and made her sit down.

"The film's nomination has been finalized. Once the prize money arrives, we can buy a house with a yard in Yanjing."

"Right now, Uncle Su's life is the most important thing. Listen to me, understand?"

Su Wan's eyes welled up with tears. She bit her lip, but finally nodded and softly responded with an "Mmm."

Meanwhile, at the Yenching Film Academy.

The lights in the department office were still on, and the room was filled with smoke.

Qi Feng slammed an application form heavily on the table, making the enamel mug on it clang.

"This is outrageous! Professor Yan, Chen Yan's master tape of 'The Night Watchman' was sent abroad without formal approval from the department. That's a violation!"

"What if customs finds out, or if there are any political problems there? Who will be responsible?"

Yan Huaizhong sat in a chair, his head down, trimming a broken projector bulb.

He didn't even look up, holding the pliers very steadily in his hand.

"Teacher Qi, relax. Pierre took it away personally, through a special channel for cultural exchange."

"Besides, I've seen the film. Apart from the dark color tone and fragmented editing, there's nothing sensitive about it. This is the most promising student film from our school in recent years that has made it to Cannes. Isn't it a bit petty of you to keep harping on the paperwork?"

"This isn't about being generous or petty; it's about the rules!"

Qi Feng stood up and paced back and forth in the cramped office, his leather shoes creaking on the cracked cement floor.

"That film used two of the school's Aihelong cameras, as well as machines from the film processing plant. He's using public resources to gain personal fame!"

Qi Feng was burning with anger.

He had just received an art consultant fee from Lu Haiming a few days ago, and originally intended to shut down Chen Yan, this troublemaker, during his internship.

As a result, instead of suppressing Chen Yan, he ended up having Lu Haiming's project ruined at home by this kid.

Lu Haiming called him in the afternoon, his voice so cold it could freeze, and he only said one sentence: Chen Yan should no longer appear on the graduation list of Beijing Film Academy.

"Rules are rigid, but people are flexible."

Yan Huaizhong finally put the light bulb back in, turned on the switch, and the blinding white light shone on Qi Feng's somewhat distorted face.

"Qi Feng, don't think I don't know what you're thinking."

"Lu Haiming is the kind of person who eats meat without spitting out the bones. If you get involved with him, you'll get into trouble sooner or later."

"you……"

Qi Feng's face darkened, and then he let out a cold laugh.

"Alright, then see you at the school affairs meeting. He can't take this diploma without my signature!"

Qi Feng slammed the door and left.

Yan Huaizhong looked at the violently shaking gate and sighed.

He took out an unfiltered cigarette from his pocket and lit a match.

Amidst the billowing smoke, he recalled Chen Yan's frantic figure in the editing room, that kind of focus that a student in his early twenties could never possess.

It was a kind of sedimentation after experiencing life and death.

He picked up the phone on the table and dialed Chen Yan's number.

Inside the small house, Su Wan had already put the money away and was cooking noodles in the kitchen.

The steam rising from the pot brought a touch of warmth to this humble home.

As Chen Yan watched her retreating figure, a corner of his heart, which had been somewhat hardened, finally crumbled.

Just then, his Nokia rang.

It is Yan Huaizhong.

Chen Yan answered the phone, her tone relaxed.

"Teacher Yan, are you still up so late?"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone before Yan Huaizhong's voice, hoarse with the huskiness of tobacco, came through, heavy and deep.

"Chen Yan, don't be too happy yet."

"Someone is trying to prevent you from getting your diploma."