Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 115 The Zhang Family, the Film Queen: Capital Lines Up

"Go collect that debt... that was stolen from me."

Chen Yan's voice lingered in the carriage, its last notes torn apart by the north wind that rushed in.

A black Passat left a straight line on the Beijing-Tianjin Expressway.

Chen Yan stepped on the brakes, and the wheels grazed the shoulder of the road.

"get off."

Su Wan looked towards the driver's seat.

"Lin Shufen is waiting to go to Beijing, and so are the investors."

Chen Yan gripped the steering wheel, his head remaining still.

Su Wan opened the car door and stood by the roadside, the wind blowing her hair against her face.

"Those contracts, are you going to sign them or not?"

"You are the producer."

Chen Yan shifted into first gear, and the car made a muffled thud.

"You are my shield; keep the flies out."

The car disappeared into the thick fog.

Wu Gang parked another minivan in front of Su Wan.

"Miss Su, please get in the car."

Beijing, Grand Hyatt Hotel.

The 302 conference room was full of people. The laptop cooling fans were humming, and the cool air from the air conditioner vents suppressed the smell of cigarette smoke under the table.

As Su Wan walked in, dozens of eyes fell on her.

Lin Shufen sat at the head of the long table, a thin, unlit cigarette between her fingers.

"Sorry to keep you all waiting."

Su Wan pulled out a chair and sat down.

A dozen or so file folders were pushed in front of her.

"A Cartier endorsement deal worth 30 million over two years."

"It was a man in a suit who said that."

"As for the sponsorship of this slimming product, we only ask Ms. Lin to mention it briefly in the interview."

Another person chimed in.

Su Wan reached out and flipped through the documents, pulled out the Cartier contract, and tossed it aside.

"Lin Qingqiu can't pull off this level of jewelry right now."

The man in the suit frowned.

"Ms. Su, this price is top-of-the-line in the industry."

Su Wan took out a poster of "Thunder" from her bag and slapped it on the table.

"She broke two ribs in the film. She played a low-level worker, an actress with steel nails stuck in her bones."

"You want her to wear an evening gown, a huge diamond ring, and fake a smile for the camera?"

Su Wan closed the folder, making a crisp sound.

"Before the audience even left the movie theater, what they saw was Lin Qingqiu with a broken leg."

"Selling jewelry now would kill the film industry and devalue your brand."

"Ms. Lin no longer accepts any luxury goods or mass-market consumer products."

Lin Shufen stubbed out her cigarette.

"Then what should we connect to?"

"Taking on public welfare projects and supporting domestic heavy industry."

Su Wan looked directly at Lin Shufen.

A murmur rippled through the conference room.

Lin Shufen stood up and pulled Su Wan to the end of the corridor.

"Su Wan, are you crazy?"

Lin Shufen lowered her voice and tapped the wall with her finger.

"Cartier, BMW, and those dairy giants, that's real money."

"With Chen Yan not here, would you dare make this kind of decision?"

"The trophy will get old, but the money won't."

Su Wan pushed Lin Shufen's hand away.

"Sister Lin, Lin Qingqiu is now selling jewelry, and the audience is definitely buying it."

"But three months later, she went from being someone who rose from the ruins to someone on the red carpet."

"What Chen Yan wants is a money tree that can grow for twenty years, not a piece of firewood that will burn out in three months."

Su Wan's voice was flat, without any inflection.

"We'll make the money."

"But not the kind of loose change you have to kneel down to get."

Lin Shufen stared at Su Wan, her gaze lingering on her face for a full half minute.

She noticed that Su Wan's collar was buttoned up to the top, and her eyes held a calmness that she knew all too well.

"You learn really fast."

Lin Shufen forced a smile.

"I'm not learning, I'm afraid."

Su Wan picked up her bag.

"I'm afraid of breaking the rules set by Chen Yan."

When Lin Qingqiu returned to her residence, the hallway was filled with flowers, red and white, some of which had already begun to wither, and business cards were stuffed into the cracks of the door.

She stepped over the pile of flowers and pushed open the door.

The lights in the room were off, only the neon lights from outside leaked in through the window, casting broken strips of light on the floor.

She took the black dress that had been torn in Cannes out of her suitcase; the hem still bore dried bloodstains and Mediterranean sea salt.

She found a wooden clothes hanger and hung the dress in the innermost part of the wardrobe.

Those were her military medals, and also her physical appearance.

Doorbell rang.

Lin Qingqiu peeked through the peephole and opened the door.

Chen Yan stood at the door, reeking of cigarette smoke and engine oil. His shirt collar was askew, and he wasn't wearing a tie.

"Director Chen."

Lin Qingqiu took a step back.

Chen Yan walked into the room, closed the door behind him, took out a thin booklet from his pocket, and threw it on the table.

Have you seen it?

"I read the text message Su Wan sent."

"You can't become famous recklessly right now. Becoming famous in the wrong way is more dangerous than not becoming famous at all."

Chen Yan walked to the window, his back to her.

"Those Google sellers are after your popularity, but I'm after your soul."

Don't turn yourself into a commodity.

Lin Qingqiu lowered her head.

"If I win the Best Actress award, will I be able to continue acting in your films?"

Chen Yan turned around.

The booklet on the table had four characters printed on it: "Mountains and Rivers Enter Dreams".

"There are only three pages for the character."

Lin Qingqiu picked up the booklet and flipped through it quickly.

"A rural teacher?"

"He played for twenty minutes, and then died in a flash flood."

"No pay, but I have to go to the Liangshan Mountains and stay there for half a year."

Lin Qingqiu pinched the paper with her fingers and looked up at Chen Yan.

"When will you turn it on?"

"Wait for me to come back from Tianjin."

Chen Yan walked to the door.

"Back then, you had to strip away the 'Best Actress' facade completely; I wanted the Lin Qingqiu who was rolling in the mud."

Chen Yan opened the door.

Don't let me down.

The security door was closed.

The sound of his leather shoes descending the stairs echoed in the stairwell, each sound separated by three steps.

Lin Qingqiu sat back on the sofa and opened the script, which only had a three-page outline. The paper felt a little rough to the touch.

It was handwritten by Chen Yan with a carbon pen on the plane back to China. The handwriting was vigorous, and some parts were crossed out, leaving a blot of black ink.

When she turned to the last page, her finger touched something hard.

A white envelope was glued to the back.

Lin Qingqiu opened the envelope, but there was no script excerpt inside, only a silhouette of a yellowed old newspaper.

It was a newspaper from twenty years ago, with a headline in bold black letters on the front page: "List of Survivors in the Tianjin Clock Tower Collapse Accident".

Lin Qingqiu's fingers traced over those names.

Below the first name, there was a deep mark drawn with a red pen.

Liang Qinian.

Next to the second name, a small name was written: He Ping.

At the very end of the list, there was a line of small print written in pen: Lu Haiming, whose body was not found.

Lin Qingqiu turned the silhouette over.

The back was painted with a huge cross in blood-red ink, the center of the cross piercing through the newspaper, leaving an irregular hole.

She recalled the look in Chen Yan's eyes when he left.

That doesn't look like a movie shoot.

That's like murder.

Tianjin, Old Factory Street.

The torrential rain washed the road surface into a dark gray color.

Chen Yan, holding a black umbrella, stopped in front of Gate 14. Most of the plaster on the courtyard wall had fallen off, revealing the bluish-purple bricks underneath.

The door lock is new.

He stood in the rain for five minutes.

The sound of a bicycle chain turning came from the alley entrance. A lame man, wearing a plastic tarp, pushed his bicycle over and stopped in front of Chen Yan.

He pulled down his rain hat, revealing a wrinkled face.

"Did you win the Palme d'Or?"

His voice sounded like it had been ground in sand.

"Got it."

"Would that save my life?"

The man rolled up his trouser legs.

That was Liang Qinian. His ankle was wrapped in thick gauze, and a grayish-white viscous liquid was seeping out of the gauze.

That was undried cement.

Liang Qinian pushed open the courtyard gate, and his bicycle made a dull thud as it hit the bluestone slabs.

"I was in the detention center when Lu Haiming died."

He sat down under the eaves and took off his soaking wet canvas shoes.

"He pierced my neck right in front of me."

"I'm using my toothbrush."

Chen Yan folded the umbrella, water dripping from the tip.

"He doesn't have the guts."

"He lacked courage, but someone helped him exert himself."

Liang Qinian took out a shriveled cigarette from his pocket but didn't light it.

He said one thing before he died.

Chen Yan looked at him.

He said he couldn't take the things from under the clock tower with him.

"He can't let you take it either."

Liang Qinian spat out a mouthful of saliva, which contained traces of blood.

"Chen Yan, Cannes is a grand spectacle, but the mud pits of this old factory street could drown a dragon."

Chen Yan walked into the room, and the floorboards creaked loudly.

In the dim light, he saw a tin box in the center of the main room, with a red seal on it, signed: Minghai Group, 2001.

"Lu Haiming also owns a duplex apartment in Tianjin."

Liang Qinian looked at the box.

"He swallowed the key the day before he died."

"I cut him out of his stomach."

Liang Qinian slammed a key with dark red rust on the table; a small cross was engraved on the key handle.

"That's the key to the morgue at St. Mary's Hospital."

Liang Qinian stared at Chen Yan.

"Are you going or not?"

Chen Yan picked up the key, the coldness of the metal seeping into his bones through his fingertips.

He thought of the rural teacher in the script, the character who was swept away in a flash flood and whose bones were never found.

"Walk."

Chen Yan gripped the key in his palm.

"I'll only start filming after I've collected this debt."

The two walked out of the courtyard gate.

The rain is getting heavier.

A white van glided silently past the alley entrance, its lights off, the red taillights casting two blood-like streaks in the puddles.