Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 91 The Reputation Built with One Foot

12:15 PM, Beijing TV's Midday Drama Studio.

Director Zhao pushed a cassette tape into the player, his gaze falling on the monitor screen.

"Won't releasing this kind of footage cause any problems?"

He pointed to the screen, where Chen Yan was holding a megaphone and yelling at Lin Qingqiu in the mud.

Su Wan stood behind Lao Zhao and placed a document stamped with a red seal on the control panel.

"This is Ms. Lin's signed voluntary waiver, along with our studio's art statement."

Her voice was flat, "There are no illegal scenes in the film, only a true record of the filming location."

Old Zhao wiped the sweat from his forehead and pressed the switch button.

"Okay, the GG seat is just sitting empty anyway."

At the same time, television screens in major shopping malls, office buildings, and residential homes in Beijing switched between different displays.

A series of deep drumbeats drowned out all other sounds.

The screen went completely black, then three white characters on a black background appeared: "[Final Scene]".

From an overhead view, Chen Yan, wearing a long black trench coat, stands amidst the ruins covered in torrential rain.

His wet hair clung to his forehead, his eyes were fixed on the monitor, and his right hand pressed down.

"Number three, prepare for demolition."

In one corner of the screen, Lin Qingqiu, dressed in a thin costume, stands barefoot in a pile of rubble.

A red mark left by binding on the ankle was glaringly obvious in the cold light.

Chen Yan didn't look at her; his gaze remained fixed on the stopwatch.

"Jump."

Lin Qingqiu fell into the sewage pool behind her.

The water splashed up two meters high, obscuring the view.

The scene cuts back to Chen Yan's cold profile.

He walked over with the towel, but instead of handing it to anyone, he pointed to the spot by the pool.

"The unwillingness in your eyes isn't enough, let's try again."

Lin Qingqiu climbed out of the water, her lips turning purple.

She leaned against the crumbling wall, her fingernails digging into the cracks in the bricks, drawing out mud and blood.

"Will it work?"

A voice-over asks.

"It can be done."

Lin Qingqiu's answer was soft, but without trembling.

She returned to her original position.

The video is only five minutes long and has no background music.

In the restaurant of the Guomao office building, several female employees carrying trays stopped in front of the television.

"Who's this director? He's quite good-looking, how can he be so ruthless?"

"Chen Yan, the one who won the Golden Lion Award."

"The way he looks at the actors isn't like he's looking at people, it's like he's examining a rough stone that needs all its flaws removed."

A female employee put down her coffee and picked up the newspaper on the table.

"The newspapers said he abused the actresses, but I saw light in this actress's eyes."

Beijing Jishuitan Hospital.

Lin Qingqiu sat on the waiting chair, a dark red solid wood cane lying horizontally in her hand.

His left knee was wrapped in a thick bandage.

Three reporters rushed out from around the corner, and the red light on the camera went off.

The short-haired woman at the head of the group was holding a microphone with a "Weekly" logo.

"Ms. Lin, is your leg injury related to Director Chen Yan's forced filming?"

"Is it true that Chen Yan exerted psychological control over you on set?"

The camera was pointed at the cane.

Lin Qingqiu looked up, her face pale, her pupils focused on the camera lens.

"Is this Director Chen's reply to you?"

She asked.

The reporter paused.

"We are representing the audience in seeking the truth. Did your career end because of 'Thunder'?"

The surrounding patients gathered around.

"Is this girl really disabled?"

"The newspapers said that the director is a madman."

Lin Qingqiu leaned on her cane and slowly stood up.

The movements were slow, and the bandage around the knee was taut.

The reporter handed over the microphone, expecting a complaint.

Lin Qingqiu stretched out her right hand and grasped the cane.

"The truth is here."

She let go, and the cane slammed onto the marble floor with a crisp "crack".

Lin Qingqiu took a step without stumbling.

She walked to a puddle of water leaking in from the window in the middle of the corridor, stopped, and touched the ground with her toes.

She took a deep breath and used her waist to push.

A high jump in place, followed by a 360-degree backflip.

The most difficult move in "Thunder".

The body stretched out in mid-air, the hem of the clothes billowing in the damp air.

My toes touched the ground, landing firmly on the wet, slippery floor.

The water splashed everywhere when he stepped on it, and water droplets hit the reporter's glasses.

Lin Qingqiu stood up straight, his breathing steady, and looked directly at the short-haired woman.

"This is art. If you don't understand, then shut up."

She bent down to pick up her cane and turned to leave.

The corridor was deathly silent.

A few seconds later, applause broke out.

"This doesn't look like someone who's disabled at all! It's amazing!"

"The newspaper made that up!"

Behind a fire hydrant in the distance, Wu Gang put away his DV camera and whispered into his headset, "Old Chen, Miss Lin's performance is over, and it went better than expected."

"Okay, forward it to major forums and local TV stations."

Chen Yan's voice was steady.

3 PM, Minghai Industrial Headquarters.

Lu Haiming sat in a leather swivel chair, with three monitors all playing the "final scene" on repeat.

"Snapped!"

He stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray, leaving a black spot on the mahogany table from the embers.

"What's going on with the TV station? Didn't they already give us permission?"

Wang, the comprador, was bent over.

"President Lu, Chen Yan didn't go through the central station; he went through the documentary application process. He has a foreign exchange contract as collateral, so the local station gave him the green light directly."

"Where is Zhou Man?"

"The article we published was overshadowed by the video of Lin Qingqiu dancing. Now the tide has turned; everyone's saying Chen Yan is a crazy director and Lin Qingqiu is an artistic saint. The pre-sale ticket hotline has been flooded with calls to Lin Shufen's distribution department."

Lu Haiming stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

"Is he trying to turn things around?"

He picked up the landline and dialed.

"Hello, is this Manager Zhang from Wanda? This is Lu Haiming."

His tone was amiable, but his other hand gripped the curtains tightly, his nails scratching out a harsh sound.

"I heard you're going to increase screenings for 'Thunder'? My 'Oriental Hollywood' Phase II project doesn't have many slots for theater chain equity investments. Since you've taken on Chen Yan's film, those slots will go to someone else."

He hung up the phone and slammed the microphone back onto its base.

"I'm issuing this notice to all distribution companies that have received investment from me: anyone who dares to let 'Thunder' appear in the Lunar New Year film season will be wiped out from the industry!"

The photography studio at Beijing Film Academy.

Chen Yan sat amidst a pile of black and white posters, Lin Qingqiu's profile on one of the posters divided by light and shadow.

Su Wan pushed open the door and came in, holding a list.

"Chen Yan, Lu Haiming has made his move. Three cinema chains have called, reducing the number of premiere screenings to 2%."

Without looking up, Chen Yan circled five independent art-house cinemas on the map with a red marker.

"He can only threaten the big theater chains."

He put down his pen and said, "Go contact the managers of these old cinemas. Tell them that I won't take a cut, and all the ticket revenue from the first week will go to the cinema."

Su Wan was stunned.

"They get everything? What about our guarantee agreement...?"

"The minimum guarantee is based on global box office revenue."

Chen Yan stood up. "What we want is not money, but the temperature of this fire."

He watched as Wu Gang downstairs carried the poster onto the car.

"Have Lin Shufen send a message: There will be a second screening at Peking University Lecture Hall tonight at 8 PM. No tickets are required; admission is by student ID only."

"About the school..."

"With Teacher Yan backing him up, the more Lu Haiming tries to suppress it, the more young people want to watch it."

Chen Yan put on a suit and straightened his tie.

"Lu Haiming thinks the screen belongs to his family. I want him to understand that in this era, people's hearts are the biggest screen."

The shouts pierced through the rain.

Chen Yan waved and walked into the lecture hall.

The room was full of people, and the corridors were also full of students.

Chen Yan closed his eyes.

In this battle, Lu Haiming lost half the battle.

Half an hour later, at Lu Haiming's villa.

He looked at the photos on his phone; the human wall looked like a black iron gate.

With a "crack," the wine glass in his hand shattered.

The purplish-red liquid flowed down his palm and dripped onto the snow-white carpet.

He stared at the pool of liquid, a hoarse, straining sound escaping his throat.

"Chen Yan..."

He picked up the phone and dialed a hidden number.

"Find someone to destroy that master tape. By any means necessary, I want it gone before sunrise tomorrow."

Inside the lecture hall, the film reached its climax.

Lin Qingqiu stood up from the ruins, her eyes sharp as knives.

Chen Yan suddenly opened his eyes.

The flow rate of dust particles changed within the projector's beam.

There was a slight airflow disturbance at the gap in the side door.

It's not the wind.

The body's memory is faster than that of the mind.

The instinct to avoid out-of-control props in a chaotic film set in a past life is awakened.

Without alerting anyone, he gripped his briefcase with his right hand and lowered his center of gravity.

His boots stomped silently on the carpet, and the darkness lengthened his shadow, casting it at the bottom of the screen.

There, Lin Qingqiu was unleashing the final blow from the movie.

In reality, Chen Yan's hand gripped the cold handle of the side door.

The explosion on the screen was deafening, drowning out the faint sound of the door lock turning.

Chen Yan suddenly flung open the door.

Rainwater backflow.

A cold face appeared in the rain, holding a pair of short black pliers.

Their eyes met through the narrow crack in the door.

Chen Yan hooked his index finger around the tie clip, his eyes showing no emotion.

Only that almost obsessive calm remained.