Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 57 Beijing Film Academy Sample Meeting

The bell rang.

Chen Yan put down his phone, the casing making a dull thud as it hit the wooden table.

Zheng Jian picked up the manuscript paper.

The handwriting was messy, but every bank account and date was clearly visible.

"Shen Congzhou's safe on Wukang Road?"

Chen Yan stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit.

"That's Team Leader Zheng's business. I need to go back to Beijing Film Academy now."

"The case isn't closed; you can't leave it unattended."

Zheng Jian put on his peaked cap to block out the glaring incandescent light.

"Three o'clock in the afternoon, in the screening room. You can bring people."

Chen Yan pushed open the door and stepped out, the motion-sensor lights in the corridor flickering with the sound of his footsteps.

At the bottom of the steps of the laboratory building.

Yan Huaizhong held the red-headed notification slip in his hand, his hair disheveled by the dry northern wind.

"The letter of assistance has arrived. Zhou Qiwen signed it. It recommends halting the research project, and Director Liu is overseeing the return of the building keys."

Chen Yan looked past him at the sign on the rooftop, "I'm going to hold a sample video meeting."

"Holding meetings now is like sticking your neck into a noose. People from the ministry are here too, but they only look at the screen and don't care about personal relationships."

"Then let them see the footage."

Chen Yan stepped into the stairwell.

Side door of the screening room.

Su Wan held the Nokia phone, her trench coat collar turned up high.

The microphone was filled with harsh static.

"Vincent. The legal department must be online. No matter what time it is in Paris, without confirmation, three million dollars will be stuck in the account, and nobody can touch it. That's a breach of contract."

There was a five-second silence on the other end, then the call ended.

Su Wan put away her phone and looked at Chen Yan, who was walking over. "The French side was intimidated by Shen Congzhou's warning letter, but I insisted on the breach of contract clause. They will contact us."

Where is Lin Qingqiu?

Su Wan pointed to the back row.

In the shadows, Lin Qingqiu sank into the seat.

The oversized black down jacket covered the protective gear around her neck.

The steel support plate behind the waist presses against the chair back, making a slight metallic scraping sound.

Chen Yan walked over and asked, "Can you stand up straight?"

Lin Qingqiu braced herself against the handrail and slowly adjusted her center of gravity.

His movements were awkward and stiff, like a broken puppet.

She didn't look at Chen Yan, but stared at the snow-white screen.

"The newspapers say I'm finished."

Chen Yan handed over a bottle of water.

"I'm not saying anything."

Lin Qingqiu didn't take the water. "The film will speak for me."

2:30 PM.

A row of black cars was parked in front of the laboratory building.

The department head, senior professors, and middle-aged people from the ministry's project office sat scattered around.

Zheng Jian and his men sat in the back row, their notebooks constantly open.

The small window in the screening room was pushed open, revealing half of Zhang Yuan's face.

"Brother Yan, three clips. No background music, no color editing. Nine minutes in total."

Chen Yan nodded. "That's enough."

The sound of leather shoes striking the wooden floor suddenly broke into the screening room.

Zhou Hong, a man in a gray suit, carrying a briefcase, strode to the front row.

The folder was slammed on the table, its red stamp gleaming.

"I am Mr. Shen Congzhou's agent. Given that the film crew of 'Thunder' is involved in violent filming and financial investigations, the Shanghai Film Bureau has initiated procedures. Before the investigation is completed, any screening will be considered a violation."

Yan Huaizhong frowned. "This is a teaching experiment."

"This is a risk disclosure statement."

Zhou Hong surveyed the room. "There's no official seal, no approval number. It's a black market film."

Director Liu's expression wavered as he looked at the people in his department.

The middle-aged man from the project office closed the handbook and looked at Chen Yan. "Director Chen, if the paperwork isn't complete, the screening is indeed against the rules."

Zhou Hong took off his glasses, his gaze sharp as a knife. "The negatives may not be confiscated, but until the ban in Shanghai is lifted, they are just waste plastic."

Chen Yan jumped off the stage, ignoring the document.

He walked to the control panel and turned to look at Su Wan.

"Connection successful. Bottom left corner of the big screen."

Su Wan said.

The screen flickers.

Vincent and two French lawyers appeared in the small window.

Zhou Hong scoffed, "Hiring foreigners won't help."

Chen Yan pressed the switch, turned to face Zhou Hong, and said, "This is an academic exchange. If you want to watch, sit down. If you don't want to watch, get out."

"This is resisting the law. I can call the police to seal off this place."

Zheng Jian stood up from the back row, his voice flat, "I am a police officer. Administrative review does not constitute a judicial injunction. Your contract dispute has no bearing on Beijing Film Academy's projectors."

All the lights in the venue were turned off.

The projector's carbon rod lit up, and a white beam of light pierced through the floating dust.

On the silver screen.

Lin Qingqiu was wrapped in a coarse cotton-padded coat.

She walked through the muddy, broken snow, with the charcoal-black clock tower in the background.

The wind howled through the loudspeakers, drowning out the sound of the projector's gears.

The image was not color-corrected; lead gray and withered yellow blended together.

There was no background music, only the heavy sound of footsteps on the snow.

The camera cuts to the side of her face, her pupils contracting in extreme fear.

The second paragraph.

The stillness before the collapse.

Lin Qingqiu hung under the decaying beam, his fingernails filled with black mud.

The images are very close together.

The trembling sound of air entering and exiting the nasal cavity, the contraction of every pore.

That wasn't acting; it was a death instinct.

The professors in the audience held their breath.

Director Liu's pen fell to the ground and rolled into the shadows; no one picked it up.

The last paragraph.

A half-ton bronze bell crashed into the mud.

Sewage splashed onto the lens, blurring the light and shadow.

The mud and water slowly settled.

A hand, the hand that once graced the stage, is now covered in thick mud.

My fingernail broke.

The hands struggled and spasmed in the mud.

It reached out to grasp at the sky, its fingertips trembling.

Finally, it lay flat and limply on the surface of the mud.

Freeze.

The only sound in the hall was the hum of the cooling fans.

The middle-aged man from the project office stood up.

He walked to the front of the curtain and stared at the muddy hand.

"Is this the original footage?"

"Yes."

Chen Yan stood to the side of the beam of light.

The middle-aged man looked back at Zhou Hong.

The color drained from Zhou Hong's face, and the document with the red seal was distorted from his grip.

"You call this abuse?"

The middle-aged man pointed at the screen and said, "This is called art."

He looked at Zheng Jian and said, "No need to investigate. It would be a loss for Chinese cinema if this kind of film were to be blocked by a few pieces of paper."

Chen Yan took the remote control.

Play on a loop.

Lin Qingqiu's hand repeatedly reached towards the sky from the mud.

He walked up to Zhou Hong.

"Shen Congzhou was scared."

Zhou Hong staggered backward.

"He's afraid this hand will reach Venice. He's afraid that all the garbage he's built up through connections will be smashed by this camera."

Chen Yan snatched the folder and exerted force with both hands.

The sound of paper tearing was crisp and frequent.

White fragments landed on Zhou Hong's leather shoes.

Tell Shen Congzhou that when the bell tolls, he should find a hole to squat in.

Vincent clapped on the other side of the screen.

Yan Huaizhong stood up, followed by the photography professor.

The applause gradually grew into a continuous roar, drowning out the noise of the machines.

Lin Qingqiu remained seated, tears washing away the powder on her face and falling onto her black down jacket.

She straightened her back and remained motionless.

Chen Yan looked at the projection window, where Zhang Yuan was throwing a punch.

Zhou Hong pushed open the door, stumbled into the light of the corridor, and fled.

Chen Yan pressed the stop button.

The screen was completely black.

The image of that hand reaching for the sky is still imprinted on everyone's retinas.

He reached for his vibrating phone in his pocket, but didn't answer.

"The film has already been sent."

Chen Yan's voice wasn't loud, but everyone could hear it clearly: "I've reserved a seat for President Shen on the red carpet in Venice."