69novels Chapter 30 Thunderous Sound
Chapter 30 Thunderous Sound
The weather in Cannes in May was unusually hot and humid.
A draft of cold, damp air swept in from the end of the corridor.
The passageway behind the Debout Hall is extremely narrow.
The dark red old carpet absorbed sound, making no sound when stepped on, and the air was filled with the musty smell of years past.
Su Wan gripped the incubator in her arms tightly with both hands.
My fingernail was split in half during the tug, and beads of blood from my fingertip rubbed against the metal casing, leaving several dark red marks.
Ignoring the pain, she stared at Wang, the comprador, who was blocking her way, her throat dry.
Wang, the comprador, had a face heavily coated with hairspray that gleamed oily under the dim wall lamp.
Behind him were two burly men in black suits, their massive builds causing the fabric on Su Wan's shoulder to crumple up in their grab.
"Miss Su, why bother?"
Wang, the comprador, took out a clean white handkerchief, slowly wiped his hands, and glanced at Su Wan's arms. "Director Chen is an artist, he's aloof. What will you get by following him, besides that faded shirt? One hundred thousand US dollars, with this money, your father's medical expenses back home will be covered."
Su Wan didn't say anything, but hugged the incubator even tighter to her chest.
The sharp edges of the metal box hurt my chest.
"Get out of the way."
Su Wan uttered two words, her voice trembling, and she enunciated them very heavily.
Wang, the comprador, sneered and reached out to snatch the box.
"Crunch—"
The heavy, soundproof iron door on the left was pushed open.
Zhang Yuan stepped out of the shadows, carrying a heavy pipe wrench covered in black machine oil.
His work vest was mostly soaked, his hair was sticking messily to his skin, and he had half a uncooked red plum in his mouth.
"Boss Wang, if you stretch your reach too far, it'll break easily."
Zhang Yuan weighed the pipe wrench in his palm, the dull metallic clanging echoing in the corridor.
Wang, the comprador, changed his expression slightly, withdrew his hand, and straightened his suit collar: "Photographer Zhang, this has nothing to do with you. President Lu has spoken; whoever knows what's good for them will get their food."
"I don't like being a kept man."
Zhang Yuan took a step closer, the smell of engine oil instantly dispelling the cologne scent on Wang the comprador. "Let go of my hand, don't make me say it a second time."
The two burly men exchanged a glance, their feet remaining still, but their hands reaching for their lower backs.
Hurried footsteps came from the other end of the corridor.
Yan Huaizhong walked at the front, his face ashen.
Behind him were two men wearing navy blue suits with national emblem badges pinned to their chests.
"What's all the fuss about!"
As soon as Yan Huaizhong spoke, the authority of the vice president of Beijing Film Academy resonated in the narrow passageway.
Upon recognizing the visitor, Wang, the comprador, quickly put on a smiling face: "Principal Yan, it's a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding."
"Let's talk about it when we get back to the embassy, whether it's a misunderstanding or not."
The lead counselor didn't even glance at Wang, the comprador; his gaze fell directly on the box in Su Wan's arms. His tone was businesslike: "Ms. Su, Director Chen is already waiting inside. This is our official assistance; please hand over the master tape as soon as possible."
Su Wan nodded, avoided Wang the comprador, and quickly walked into the screening room.
The iron gate slammed shut behind us, completely shutting out the noise from outside.
Inside the screening room.
Pierre stood beside the huge Philips projector, holding a chamois cloth, wiping the film inlet again and again.
When he saw Su Wan come in, he stopped what he was doing and didn't say anything.
Chen Yan stood by the window, his back to everyone.
"It's been delivered."
Su Wan put the box on the worktable and let out a long sigh.
The excruciating pain in her fingertip finally surfaced, and when she looked down, half of her fingernail had been flipped up.
Chen Yan turned around, not looking at the master tape, and directly took Su Wan's hand.
He took out a small roll of band-aids from his pocket, tore open the packaging, and wrapped it around Su Wan's fingertips.
The movements were swift and efficient.
"Does it hurt?"
Chen Yan asked.
"I didn't have time."
Chen Yan didn't offer any more words of comfort, but turned to Pierre and said, "Let's begin."
Pierre opened the incubator.
The dark brown film gleamed faintly under the shadowless lamp.
His movements were extremely steady as he hung the film on the turntable and passed it through the gears.
"Chen, once that footage is released, there's no turning back."
Pierre reminded him in a low voice.
"What we want is never to turn back."
Chen Yan unbuttoned the first button of his collar.
It's exactly three o'clock.
The lights in the Debussy Hall gradually dimmed, eventually plunging into absolute darkness.
Lu Haiming sat in the middle of the fifth row of VIP seats, leaning back with his hands on the armrests and his index fingers unconsciously tapping the leather.
He was somewhat irritated after receiving news that Wang, the comprador, had failed.
The official letter is still in effect. Even if Chen Yan releases the master tape, he cannot escape the charge of violating regulations.
Lu Haiming sneered.
The screen lights up.
In the first frame, there is no rainy night, only an old hand drawing a circle on a dusty tabletop.
Immediately afterwards, a close-up of Su Wan was shown.
With top-of-the-line projection equipment and parameters personally adjusted by Pierre, the picture quality is extremely realistic.
The pores on Su Wan's face and her chapped lips were clearly visible.
The mixture of despair and resilience in her eyes pierced through the big screen and reached the audience.
The studio-generated "film noir" sound effects exploded.
The intensely compelling audiovisual language left the French film critics, who were used to mild-mannered art films, holding their breath.
Greek director Christophe in the back row involuntarily leaned forward.
In this short film, he captured the wildness of the golden age of cinema.
The plot is halfway through.
The character played by Lin Qingqiu makes his appearance.
There are no lines.
There was only a silhouette of someone sweeping away the ruins.
She turned around.
Cold, broken, ruthless.
Three distinct qualities achieved a strange balance in her bent-over work.
A suppressed gasp rippled through the screening room.
"Who is this actress?"
People were talking in hushed tones in French.
Lu Haiming's face darkened.
He noticed that the European film distributors who had initially been waiting to see him fail had now completely changed their attitude.
That's the reaction of a hunting dog to the smell of blood.
The movie is entering its final ten minutes.
The original storyline came to an abrupt end.
The footage is violently shaky and extremely grainy, a completely crude recording perspective.
This is footage that Chen Yan edited from old film reels in Tianjin.
In the black and white footage, a huge steel ball crashes down.
A French-style clock tower collapsed in the smoke and dust.
At the bottom of the screen, several well-dressed men are giving orders and pointing out the flaws in the situation.
A young Lu Haiming appears clearly in a close-up shot.
This is not fiction.
This is a real funeral.
Chen Yan added a French monologue outside the painting:
"Movies are lies at 24 frames per second, but sometimes, lies are closer to dignity than the truth."
The image freezes on the ruins, where an unnamed little yellow flower sways among the rubble.
From the speakers, the sound of thunder grew louder as it approached.
The final, heavy thud resounded as it crashed down.
The entire screen is pitch black.
The Debussy Hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; the only sound was the air conditioning vents blowing air.
Lu Haiming remained seated, breathing heavily.
This is not just a movie; it is evidence presented in court, a charge made public before filmmakers worldwide.
Wang, the comprador, sat in the back row, his handkerchief already soaked with sweat.
"Smack."
A crisp clap.
Pierre emerged from the side door, his eyes slightly red, and clapped his hands forcefully.
Christopher followed closely behind.
The applause was deafening, shaking the soundproofing panels on the ceiling.
There was no polite perfunctory response, only a frenzied outpouring.
Chen Yan led her team to the center of the stage.
Lin Qingqiu walked very slowly, her back injury flaring up after sitting for so long.
She gritted her teeth, but her steps were extremely steady.
Su Wan followed behind Chen Yan, watching his back as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Chen Yan stood in front of the microphone.
He ignored the enthusiastic reporters in the audience and the film distributors trying to get to the front.
His gaze lingered on the fifth row for a second.
Lu Haiming pushed back his chair and walked silently toward the side door.
As he passed the exit not far from Chen Yan, he stopped and looked back at Chen Yan.
Chen Yan bowed slightly to the audience, his voice amplified and carried throughout the hall.
"Thank you everyone. This film is dedicated to those who keep the light in the darkness."
After the press conference ended, Chen Yan slipped away from the group of reporters.
Lin Shufen waited at the entrance of the passage, clutching several constantly vibrating cell phones, unable to hide her excitement: "It's amazing! The deputy editors of Cahiers du Cinéma and Screen are both asking for your contact information. They say this is the biggest surprise at Cannes this year."
Chen Yan nodded, took the red plum blossom from Zhang Yuan's hand, and played with it between his fingertips: "It's not time yet."
That evening, in a five-story apartment in the old town.
There was no victory celebration banquet.
Lin Shufen went to the supermarket and bought two dozen of the cheapest Frankfurt beers, some smoked ham, and dry bread.
Su Wan sat at the swaying wooden table, changing Lin Qingqiu's dressing by the dim light.
"Bear with it."
Su Wan tore off the tape, revealing a large, shocking bruise on Lin Qingqiu's lower back.
Lin Qingqiu lay face down on the bed, her face buried in the pillow, her voice muffled: "It's much better than practicing backflips in the rehearsal hall."
Doorbell rang.
A rhythmic "knock-knock".
Zhang Yuan grabbed the empty wine bottle on the table.
Chen Yan gestured for the door to open.
Standing outside the door was a middle-aged man in a dark gray suit, bald, with a mustache, and a leather briefcase tucked under his arm.
Lin Shufen nearly dropped her beer can when she recognized the person: "Vincent? The film selection consultant for Wild Bunch?"
This is currently the largest independent publisher in Europe, with a keen eye and ruthless methods.
The man walked into the house, ignoring the cheap beer bottles scattered all over the floor.
He looked around, his gaze settling on Chen Yan, and said in broken Chinese, "Director Chen, excuse me."
He took a document out of his bag and spread it out on the table.
"We want all the overseas agents for 'The Night Watch.' This is a preliminary letter of intent."
Su Wan leaned over and took a look.
The number in the "Prepaid Agency Fee" column at the very bottom of the first page made her gasp.
Chen Yan leaned against the window, not even glancing at the letter of intent, and only asked, "You won't touch the domestic royalties, right?"
Vincent laughed: "Of course. We'll just handle getting your film screened in theaters in Paris, London, and New York."
"it is good."
Chen Yan pointed at Su Wan, "Talk to my producer."
The thunder in Nice stopped, and the waves gently lapped against the rocks.
Chen Yan took out the rusty film tube from his pocket.
He pried out the small, creased piece of paper from the bottom and struck a match.
The flames engulfed the paper.
Lu Haiming.
This is just the beginning.
The ashes fell on the windowsill and were scattered by the night wind.
Chen Yan extinguished the matchstick.
The first thing I need to do after returning to China is to find a suitable title for that feature film.
It will no longer be called "The Sound of Rain in the Old City".
This life will be called "Thunder".