Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 168 Two Wolves Cleavage, Fires a Bombardment on Hollywood

Inside the container, only the faint hum of the tungsten filament lamp and the sound of Zhao Xiao rummaging through his lunchbox remained.

Lin Qingqiu stood in front of the table, her hands hanging at her sides, her back straight.

She looked at Zhao Xiao, who was eating, and spoke calmly without any emotion, as if she were reporting today's vegetable prices.

"Mr. Zhao. Well No. 3 is flooding, burying eight people underneath. The rescue team has checked, and there's no hope of saving them."

Zhao Xiao picked up a piece of cold pork, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed it a couple of times, and swallowed it.

He picked up the plastic water bottle on the table and took a sip of water.

"Have you notified the family?"

Zhao Xiao didn't even look up, continuing to pick through the green pepper strips in the lunchbox with his chopsticks.

"Not yet. We're waiting for your instructions."

Lin Qingqiu answered.

"First, send people to seal the well opening. Set up a warning line."

Zhao Xiao took a bite of rice and said, "Go to the finance department and withdraw 400,000 yuan in cash. Find a few unfamiliar faces and go to the villages to sound them out. If their families are poor and easy to talk to, give them 50,000 yuan. If they cry a lot or have relatives working in the county, give them an extra 20,000 yuan. Have them sign a letter of understanding."

Lin Qingqiu nodded, took out a black-covered notebook from his suit pocket, pulled out a pen, and quickly took notes.

"What if someone causes trouble and refuses to sign?"

After Lin Qingqiu finished writing, he closed the notebook, looked up, and asked.

Zhao Xiao put down his chopsticks.

He raised his head, his cloudy eyes staring at Lin Qingqiu.

The temperature inside the container seemed to have dropped a few degrees.

"make trouble?"

Zhao Xiao tapped the edge of the lunchbox with his chopsticks, making a tapping sound.

"Tell Wang Mazi to take a few brothers to the house of the troublemakers. No need to do anything, just smoke in front of their house. When the kids come home from school, follow them for a bit. They'll sign the papers."

Lin Qingqiu put the notebook back in her pocket and turned to leave.

"etc."

Zhao Xiao called out to her.

Lin Qingqiu stopped and turned around.

"Keep the accounts clean. This 400,000 should be accounted for as equipment depreciation."

Zhao Xiao lowered his head, finished the last bite of his meal, and said, "Go."

林清

Qiu pushed open the iron door of the container and walked out.

"Card."

Chen Yan took off his headphones.

Zhang Yuan, behind the monitor, let out a long breath. His chest ached, and he realized that he had forgotten to breathe.

He watched the replay, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

reality.

That's so true.

There's no performance, no skill, just two cold-blooded animals conducting an everyday transaction.

The way Zhao Xiao eats the cold boxed lunch and Lin Qingqiu's writing about human lives vividly portray the evil of capitalism that treats human life as worthless.

Chen Yan watched the replay and pressed the save button.

He didn't say anything, but turned around, pulled a formal performance contract from the file bag, and threw it next to Zhao Xiao's empty lunchbox.

"Tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM, bring your change of clothes and report to Yanying Culture. The crew will provide meals."

Zhao Xiao glanced at the contract, didn't take it, stood up, and limped out of the container.

3 a.m., Yanying Culture Editing Studio.

Chen Yan and Zhang Yuan sat in front of the computer, performing simple color grading and noise reduction on the five-minute sample video they had just shot.

There was no background music; only the background noise from the live recording, chewing sounds, the sound of high heels stepping on metal, and the two people's bland conversation were preserved.

"Boss, will sending this film out be a good idea?"

Zhang Yuan rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "There wasn't even a major conflict. How could those European judges understand it?"

Chen Yan burned the exported video file onto a CD.

"True fear is not screaming, it's deathly silence."

Chen Yan pulled out the disc and put it into a plastic box. "Harvey's 'The Abyss' uses Hollywood's industrial explosions to stimulate the eyes. We'll use these five minutes of reality to pierce their nerves."

Chen Yan picked up the red secure phone on the table and dialed Su Wan's number.

It was 2 PM in Venice, Italy.

Lido Island, the headquarters building of the Venice Film Festival organizing committee.

Su Wan, dressed in a black business suit, sat at the end of the long table in the large conference room.

There was a laptop in front of her.

On either side of the long table sat three veteran European filmmakers, and at the head of the table sat Marco Müller, the president of the Venice Film Festival.

The atmosphere in the meeting room was very oppressive.

"Ms. Su, your deadline has passed."

French producer Jean-Claude, seated on the left, tapped the table arrogantly. "A crew that even lost its lead actor, a project that only exists on paper. What makes you think you deserve a spot in the main competition? Miramax's 'The Abyss' has already sent in a full trailer; that's the benchmark for the film industry."

The other two producers nodded in agreement.

Marco Müller rubbed his temples and looked at Su Wan: "Su, I admire Director Chen Yan's performance in Cannes. But rules are rules. Without substantial progress, I have no choice but to withdraw the invitation."

Su Wan did not refute. She glanced at her watch, inserted a USB drive into the computer, and connected it to the projector in the conference room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a sample of the male lead's costume fitting, which was shot by director Chen Yan in Beijing three hours ago."

Su Wan pressed play. "Please watch it all before you make a decision."

The lights in the conference room were dimmed.

An image appeared on the projection screen.

The image quality is poor, the lighting is dim, and an old man covered in grease is eating a cold boxed lunch.

Jean-Claude scoffed, "This is your protagonist? A ragpicker?"

Before he could finish speaking, the conversation on screen began.

When Zhao Xiao said "50,000 each" in the most casual tone, the atmosphere in the conference room began to change.

The three veteran producers unconsciously changed their posture; they abandoned their disdain, leaned forward slightly, and fixed their gazes on the screen.

When Zhao Xiao ordered his men to threaten the miners' families and children, Jean-Claude broke out in a cold sweat.

He has overseen the production of countless crime films and has met numerous actors who have portrayed gangster bosses.

But the man on the screen didn't seem to be acting; it felt like a real crime video.

The five-minute sample video is over.

The screen went black.

The meeting room was completely silent.

After a full half minute, Marco Müller broke the silence.

He stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window of the conference room, and looked out at the shimmering waters of Venice.

"Pure evil."

Marc Muller turned around, his eyes gleaming with the fervor of someone who had discovered a treasure. "No Hollywood filters, no moralizing. Chen Yan has found an uncut black diamond."

He returned to his seat, picked up the pen on the table, and signed his name on an official invitation bearing the golden lion emblem of Venice.

"Jean-Claude, you can go and tell Harvey."

Marco Müller pushed the invitation in front of the Suzhou Evening News, saying, "Venice doesn't reject Hollywood's industrial bombs, but Venice needs this kind of truth that can pierce the soul even more. Chen Yan's 'Thunder' is on reserve."

Su Wan put away the invitation, stood up, bowed slightly to the group, and turned to leave the conference room.

Beijing time, 9:00 AM.

Abandoned coal mine site in the suburbs of Beijing.

The crew of "Thunder" held an extremely low-key opening ceremony.

There was no media, no red carpet, only the core members of the production crew.

Chen Yan, wearing a black windbreaker, stood in front of the offering table.

Zhao Xiao changed into a baggy suit that was often worn by nouveau riche in the 1990s, and stood next to Chen Yan with a cold look in his eyes.

Lin Qingqiu stood on the other side, holding a script in her hand.

Chen Yan lit three incense sticks and placed them in the incense burner.

"Power on."

At the same time, Yanying Culture's overseas publicity department, through Pierre's channels, simultaneously sent the first concept poster of "Thunder" to major mainstream film and television media in Europe.

The poster background is an extremely oppressive pure black.

In the center of the image is a rough, angular, jet-black coal.

At the top of the coal, a scalpel gleamed coldly.

A single, glaringly dark red drop of blood slid down the edge of the blade.

At the bottom of the poster, there is only one line of small white French text:

"Capital devours people without spitting out the bones. — Chen Yan's work 'Thunder'"

This poster quickly caused a sensation in the European independent film scene.

Cahiers du Cinéma featured the poster on its front page with a highly provocative headline: "Venice Preview: Can Eastern Surgery Dissect Hollywood's Heavy Armor?"

Beverly Hills, Los Angeles, USA.

Miramax headquarters building, top floor president's office.

Harvey Weinstein slammed the cigar in his hand onto the Persian carpet in front of him.

Sparks flew everywhere.

On the desk were scattered faxes of the poster for "Thunder" and copies of the official invitation letter signed by Marc Muller to Chen Yan.

"Useless! A bunch of useless trash!"

Harvey yelled at his assistant standing in front of the desk, "Are those three idiots, Jean-Claude, just sitting around doing nothing? They couldn't even stop a Chinese film crew!"

The assistant, head bowed nervously, said, "Mr. Harvey, Marc Muller personally protected Chen Yan's project. They said... Chen Yan found an actor even more terrifying than Zhou Zhengming."

Harvey loosened his tie and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Chen Yan cost him $20 million at Cannes and made him a laughing stock in the European independent film scene.

He absolutely will not allow the same mistake to be repeated in Venice this time.

He turned around, picked up the phone on his desk, and dialed a number.

"Martin."

Harvey's voice was cold. "It's me. The script for 'The Abyss' needs revision. Cut all your artsy psychological descriptions. I want explosions, car chases, top-notch visual effects. Add another twenty million dollars to the budget."

Director Martin Scorsese protested a few words on the other end of the phone.

Harvey rudely interrupted him: "Listen, Martin! I'm not spending $120 million for you to win some art award! I want you to use Hollywood's top-tier heavy industry in Water City to completely crush that Chinese kid named Chen Yan, along with his lousy movie, into dust! Got it?!"

Harvey hung up the phone, glanced at the poster on the table that depicted a scalpel and coal, and a ruthless glint flashed in his eyes.

Just as he was about to vent his anger, his assistant hurriedly knocked on the door and came in, handing him a new fax.

"Sir...we just found out that the male lead, Zhao Xiao, is not an actor. He's a criminal and has actually been to prison."

Harvey's anger suddenly subsided.

He looked at the documents on the fax, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

"Contact our best lawyers and PR team in Italy. I want to turn the Venice Film Festival into a public trial of 'Chinese directors who condone criminals'."