thefictionvixens Chapter 7 If you don't understand, I'll teach you.
Chapter 7 If you don't understand, I'll teach you.
The door to the screening room closed behind him with a soft click, shutting out both the thunderous applause and Qi Feng's ashen face.
The corridor was dimly lit, and the air was filled with the dusty smell typical of old buildings.
As soon as Chen Yan stood up, several students who had been peeking through the crack in the door surrounded him, their faces filled with excitement and admiration.
"Senior brother! Awesome!"
A boy in a military green jacket was so excited that his face turned red, and he could barely speak.
"That shoulder-mounted shot, that blackout—it was brilliant, a stroke of genius!"
"Senior Brother Chen Yan, how did you set up the lighting in that film?"
"Even our teachers couldn't capture that dirty yet sacred feeling of convenience stores on film!"
"Senior brother, will you take me as a follower?"
"I'll even carry the equipment for your graduation project!"
The murmurs, compliments, and inquiries mingled together, completely silencing the previous whispers about unorthodox practices.
This is the Beijing Film Academy, a place where your work speaks for itself.
One second you're an outcast that everyone avoids, the next you're the light they want to chase.
Chen Yan didn't respond, but simply nodded.
He's so tired he doesn't want to say a single word.
Just then, the door to the screening room was pushed open again.
Qi Feng walked out looking dejected. His carefully styled hair was now a mess, plastered to his scalp, and his Zhongshan suit was loose and baggy.
He looked up and saw Chen Yan surrounded by a crowd.
The surrounding noise immediately subsided.
Everyone was watching the deputy director of the department who had just been publicly executed.
Qi Feng's lips trembled a few times. He wanted to go around, but the group of students made way for Chen Yan in the middle of the crowd, which blocked him in the corner.
"Unorthodox methods are ultimately not respectable..."
His words sounded like sleepwalking, his voice hoarse, and even he himself didn't believe them.
Chen Yan didn't even bother to look at him and walked straight past him.
As they brushed past each other, Qi Feng caught a faint, pungent chemical smell emanating from Chen Yan.
That smells like a photo printing factory.
It was a bitter and tiring smell that he had only smelled twenty years ago when he was an apprentice, a smell that belonged to the film era.
Qi Feng stood frozen in place.
He suddenly understood the true meaning of Yan Huaizhong's question, "Can you even film that?"
That sense of light wasn't achieved through theory; it was created by people soaking each frame in the washing solution and polishing it frame by frame on the editing table.
This opportunist in his eyes used the most foolish and arduous methods.
Qi Feng slumped against the wall, feeling as if the authority and dignity he had built up over the decades were peeling away piece by piece along the wall.
At the end of the corridor, Su Wan stood in the only window light.
She didn't dare come over; she just stood at a distance, nervously clutching the hem of her clothes.
Chen Yan walked through the long corridor toward her.
"So, what was the result?"
Su Wan's voice was so soft it was like a mosquito's buzz.
Chen Yan didn't say anything, but stuffed the cold videotape in his arms into her hand.
The strap was heavy, making her wrist feel heavy.
"Let's go home."
"Um!"
Su Wan nodded heavily, her eyes instantly reddening. She hugged the tape tightly, as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.
In 2000, the wind in Beijing was strong.
The two walked side by side on their way back to their rented apartment, the streetlights casting long shadows.
Chen Yan remained silent. The days of staying up late and his tense nerves had turned into overwhelming exhaustion after the victory.
His legs felt weak, and he involuntarily leaned towards Su Wan.
Su Wan immediately noticed and stretched out her arm, letting him lean most of his weight on her.
Chen Yan closed his eyes, his nostrils filled with the fresh scent of cheap shampoo from Su Wan's hair, which diluted the lingering medicinal smell on his body.
His thoughts involuntarily drifted back to that cold, late night thirty-six hours earlier.
"Director Chen, I'm risking getting myself killed to go crazy with you!"
On the dirt road in Yanjiao, in a dilapidated car, a man with a large pipe was driving and shivering.
"If Director Qi investigates, just say you bought it on the black market at a bargain price, don't implicate me!"
Chen Yan didn't say anything, but just clenched the envelope containing five thousand yuan in his pocket.
That was all the possessions he had left.
At the back gate of the photo printing factory, an old gatekeeper wrapped in a military overcoat had cloudy eyes, as if covered by cataracts.
The man with the big pipe handed over two Hongtashan cigarettes and chatted with a forced smile for a long time.
As you squeeze through that iron gate, a strong smell of vinegar instantly fills your nostrils, making your throat feel tight.
That was the taste he was most familiar with in his past life.
In the third drying room, by the dim light of the red safety light, he saw the metal film box lying on the drying rack, with the label he had personally affixed and half a muddy fingerprint still on it.
He hugged the box tightly to his chest, the coldness of the metal seeping through his clothes and touching his chest, which finally made him feel a little more at ease.
The man in the white coat, whom we call "Brother," emerged from the shadows, his face expressionless.
Without saying a word, Chen Yan pulled out a thick wad of cash from the envelope and stuffed it directly into the other person's pocket.
Thanks.
In this industry, saying even one extra word can cause trouble.
"Chen Yan, your hand..."
Su Wan's exclamation pulled Chen Yan back from his memories.
He opened his eyes, and Su Wan was holding his right hand, looking at the tiny cracks on his fingertips in the light of the street lamp.
That was left over from cutting the film with a blade.
Some of the wounds had already scabbed over with black blood, mixed with the medicine residue that had gotten off the editing table, making them look rather frightening.
"It's nothing, just a minor injury."
Chen Yan tried to pull her hand back.
Su Wan gripped his hand even tighter. She lowered her head, not saying a word, her tears falling one by one onto the back of Chen Yan's hand, hot as ice.
It was already late at night when I got back to my rented room.
Chen Yan sank into the sofa, feeling as if all the bones in his body had gone limp.
All he wants to do right now is sleep.
Su Wan didn't turn on the light. She went to the kitchen to pour him a cup of hot water, then brought the first-aid kit. She squatted down in front of him and carefully treated the wound on his fingertip with a cotton swab dipped in iodine.
The iodine stung the wound, causing a tingling sensation, but Chen Yan felt the fatigue gradually dissipating.
"Su Wan".
"Um?"
"Take your dad to the hospital tomorrow. The results are in, and I'll be there for you, good or bad."
Su Wan paused for a moment, then looked up, her eyes sparkling in the darkness.
"it is good."
Just then, a rapid telephone ring broke the silence in the room.
The old red landline on the table kept ringing, its sound particularly jarring in the dead of night.
Who could it be at this point in time?
The two exchanged a glance, and Su Wan put down the cotton swab, walked over, and answered the phone.
"Hello, who are you looking for?"
She heard something said on the other end of the phone, and Su Wan's expression changed instantly. She covered the receiver, turned her head, and her voice became distorted with nervousness.
"Chen Yan, he asked if it was director Chen Yan who made 'The Night Watchman'."
"Yes."
Chen Yan sat up straight.
Su Wan hummed into the microphone, then her eyes widened in disbelief.
She covered the microphone again, her lips trembling, and spoke to Chen Yan, word by word.
He said he was from Huayi Brothers.