Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 23: The Godfather of Cinema

In the first month of the lunar calendar in Yanjing, the wind carries a white, sweaty scald that stings the face.

Deep in Dashilan, the abandoned Third Printing and Washing Factory.

"Brother Yan, even ghosts don't come to this place. How could that Frenchman really sneak over here?"

Zhang Yuan put down the heavy projector, rubbed his knee which had just hit the curb, and gasped in pain.

The iron gate made a screeching sound, and the smell of sour medicine mixed with moldy ash hit the face, making people dizzy.

Chen Yan didn't answer. He walked to a broken window, took out some tape from his pocket, and with a ripping sound, neatly sealed the leaky window crack.

His movements were very steady, with no unnecessary tremors in his fingers.

"Five-star hotel cocktail parties are for business discussions."

Chen Yan pressed the tape end firmly, then glanced around the empty workshop.

"This is the kind of place where you can talk about movies."

At 8 p.m., a black sedan with consulate license plates silently glided into the alley.

Lin Shufen walked with difficulty on the uneven blue brick ground in her high heels.

She looked up and saw Chen Yan standing in front of the peeling iron gate, his figure blending into the shadows, leaving only an outline.

Pierre stepped out of the car. The Cannes Film Festival's selection committee chairman, at this moment, looked like an ordinary old French man who was afraid of the cold. He tightened his trench coat and examined the dilapidated building in front of him.

"Lin, the genius you're talking about, doing his creative work in a cemetery like this?"

His French was tinged with impatience.

Chen Yan turned around and replied in equally standard French: "Mr. Pierre, film is the resurrection of memory."

He stepped aside to make way for the iron gate.

"Welcome to my altar."

Pierre's eyes tightened behind his glasses, and without further ado, he followed him inside.

Inside the workshop, a few wooden chairs stood forlornly.

Su Wan stood in the corner, holding a thermos filled with hot water in her arms. The heat from the thermos penetrated through the thin fabric of her clothes and reached her chest, making her heart pound.

"sit."

Chen Yan gestured for Pierre to proceed, then turned his head slightly toward Zhang Yuan.

Zhang Yuan immediately turned the projector crank, and a mechanical clicking sound rang out. A beam of light cut through the darkness and was projected onto the mottled cement wall.

There is no opening sequence; the first shot is a downpour.

Raindrops pounded into the mud, splashing up muddy water that smelled fishy.

Pierre was initially leaning back in his chair, but as the camera zoomed in, revealing Su Wan's bloodshot, stubbornly defiant eye that filled the entire wall, he involuntarily leaned forward, gripping the wooden armrests with his knuckles clenched.

For twenty minutes, the only sound in the workshop was the monotonous whirring of the projector.

After the sample video finished playing, the beam of light disappeared, and everything returned to darkness.

The iron gate was violently slammed open from the outside, and with a loud bang, a gust of cold wind carrying snowflakes rushed in.

Lu Haiming's deputy, Wang, barged in with two reporters, his shiny leather shoes crunching over the broken tiles on the ground.

"Mr. Pierre!"

Wang's voice was excited and shrill.

"You've been deceived! This film contains serious abuse and coercion!"

He pointed directly at Su Wan in the corner, his chin raised, looking confident of victory.

"That girl is a victim! Her father owes a huge gambling debt, and Chen Yan used that to force her to film this kind of vulgar stuff!"

A blinding flash of light illuminated the room, turning it a stark white.

Pierre's brow furrowed into a knot.

Lin Shufen's palms were damp and cold with sweat.

Chen Yan didn't look at anyone who had barged in.

He walked to the projector and slowly tidied up the film canisters, pulling out a flat aluminum shell from the bottom.

"Manager Wang."

Chen Yan's voice rang out in the silence, each word clear and distinct.

"Didn't President Lu tell you I just returned from Tianjin that he sent you?"

Wang, the comprador, was taken aback, then let out a short, cold laugh.

"It's no use going anywhere! The IOU is genuine, and the evidence is overwhelming!"

He took a half-step forward and pointed at Chen Yan.

"Mr. Pierre values ​​human rights above all else; a director like you wouldn't even be fit to enter hell!"

Chen Yan turned his face and smiled.

He looked at Pierre and spoke slowly, but every French syllable was perfectly accurate.

"Mr. Chairman, Mr. Lu doesn't understand film. He thinks that the opposite of ethics is evil."

He paused.

"Actually, no, it's mediocrity."

Pierre did not respond.

Chen Yan weighed the aluminum casing in his hand.

"Speaking of which, that painting, 'Girl with Lace,' which went missing in Montpellier in 1944, was not burned."

Pierre's breath hitched for a second.

He suddenly stood up, the movement so large that the wooden chair behind him slid back half a meter.

He stared at Chen Yan, his voice tense: "What did you say?"

"In the early 1990s, it flowed to the East through certain special channels."

Chen Yan held the aluminum shell in his palm and twirled it around.

"Coincidentally, the parent company of the company that was responsible for evaluating that batch of exchange items was Mr. Lu Haiming's business."

Wang, the comprador, couldn't understand French, but seeing Pierre's agitated state, assumed his report had worked and quickly gave the translator beside him a meaningful look.

"Quick, tell Mr. Pierre, we have even more exciting news..."

"Get out!"

Pierre growled in English, the veins in his neck bulging.

"Get out of here with your despicable deals! You are disgracing art, you are disgracing Cannes!"

Wang, the comprador, had his expression frozen on his face.

"Sir, this..."

"roll!"

Pierre grabbed an empty water glass from the table and smashed it against the concrete pillar.

The cup shattered, and a shard of porcelain flew up and tore Wang's expensive trousers.

The group scrambled away as fast as they could.

The workshop fell silent again.

Pierre slumped down, his chest heaving violently.

He looked at Chen Yan with a scrutinizing and wary gaze.

"You are threatening me."

"It's a gift."

Chen Yan tossed the aluminum casing onto the table with a soft thud.

"I'll report back to you on the whereabouts of the painting when I'm on Crossette Avenue."

He raised his hand and pressed it against the edge of the table, his fingertips covered in a layer of old dust.

"As for this film, you are a master, able to distinguish between the fruits of suffering and cheap crimes."

Pierre's gaze shifted to Su Wan in the shadows.

Su Wan hurriedly hid her hands, which were red from being scalded by the thermos, behind her back.

Chen Yan walked over, took her hand, and held it out in front of Pierre.

"She is not a victim."

Chen Yan's voice was low.

"She is my producer, my leading lady, my soul."

Pierre stared at those hands, then recalled those indomitable eyes on the screen, and after a long while, let out a self-deprecating laugh.

"Lin, you've found a real madman."

He stood up and dusted off his trench coat.

"But in Cannes, we welcome madmen the most."

He glanced at Chen Yan one last time.

"The list will be announced next week."

He turned and walked toward the iron gate.

Don't let me down.

The car disappeared.

Lin Shufen leaned against the wall before she dared to breathe heavily.

"That painting...how did you know?"

"There are some interesting mortgage contracts in the old archives of the Tianjin Planning Bureau."

Chen Yan took out a cigarette from his pocket, and Zhang Yuan immediately lit it for him.

"Brother Yan, that's amazing!"

Zhang Yuan slapped his thigh, making a dull thud.

"That old man's eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets!"

"human nature."

Chen Yan exhaled a smoke ring.

Lu Haiming believed that money could solve everything.

The smoke dissipated in the cold wind as he looked at the dark alley outside the iron gate.

"But he doesn't understand that for some people, regret is the only luxury, more precious than money."

Su Wan walked to his side and gently tugged at the hem of his clothes.

"Are we... really going to Cannes?"

"go."

Chen Yan looked at the mess on the ground.

"And we need to drive a nail there that can't be pulled out."

He turned toward the shadows by the back door, where a straight, dark figure stood.

Lin Qingqiu emerged from the darkness, dressed in martial arts clothes, her figure upright.

"My back..."

"Su Wan will take you to register tomorrow."

Chen Yan tapped on the table.

"Yuan'er, dismantle the machine. Don't keep a single piece of film."

He looked up at the night outside the photo lab.

"Lu Haiming needs to send someone to clean up tonight."

As they walked out of the photo printing factory, the dim streetlights stretched their shadows long.

Chen Yan stopped, took out a piece of paper from his pocket, and stuck it on the creaking iron gate.

There was only one line of text on the paper.

Mr. Lu, I also have a copy of the soil assessment report for Haiming Garden. Be careful with the foundation.