Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 72 Shanghai Opens

The exhaust fan bearings rubbed together, sending the acidic smell of the developer solution up the steps.

Chen Yan closed the tin can "SH-91-007" and pressed down the peeling sealant with his fingertip.

Wei Cheng stood against the cement wall, his hands tucked into the cuffs of his leather jacket.

The two reporters had already turned off their equipment and were pointing their lenses at the ground.

"Isn't Teacher Wei taking this scroll with him?"

Chen Yan asked.

Wei Cheng shifted his feet, not looking at the iron can: "Chen Yan, always leave yourself an out."

Chen Yan pushed the tin can to the edge of the table.

The metal scraped against the stainless steel, leaving a white mark.

"When you cut Lin Qingqiu's past, you didn't leave any thread."

Chen Yan said.

Wei Cheng lowered his head and squeezed up the steps, using the space Wu Gang had made to move aside.

**

Zhang Qiming emerged from the shadows and brushed the dust off the hem of his Zhongshan suit.

**

"Director Chen, it's dawn."

Zhang Qiming said.

Chen Yan looked at the water tank; the last roll of film was sliding into the fixing box.

**

"Zhang Yuan, keep an eye on the temperature. Master Gu, get the film ready."

Gu Changhe put on pure cotton gloves and lifted the roller shaft.

When the film is passed through a lightbox, the color appears bluish.

Four elderly workers in blue coats, all from the night shift, were gathered in front of the stage.

The old man at the front pushed up his reading glasses and leaned closer to look.

**

In the scene, Lin Qingqiu's hand is outstretched into the air, with mud between her fingers.

"Was it washed with stabilizer from 1993?"

The old worker asked.

Gu Changhe pinched the edge of the film base with his thumb: "The drug is dead, but the feel is alive."

**

The experienced worker nodded and stepped aside to make room for the operator.

Zhang Qiming stared at the film in the dryer, then walked over and pulled Chen Yan aside, stopping them in the shadows by the sink.

"General Manager Shen will investigate the source of the drugs."

Zhang Qiming said.

**Chen Yan leaned against the iron cabinet: "Store the supplies in the air-raid shelter and transfer them to the factory headquarters."

**

You pushed me into the fire.

Zhang Qiming became anxious.

"Secretary Zhao destroyed four rolls of backup film in the darkroom, and I recorded it."

Chen Yan said.

Zhang Qiming rubbed the seam of his trousers with his palms and remained silent.

**

"Secretary Zhao mentioned that he was instructed by someone, but did not mention their name."

Chen Yan looked at him.

Zhang Qiming swallowed hard: "What do you want?"

"The factory provided technical assistance to support the ministry's project."

Chen Yan handed over the supplementary explanation that Su Wan had just written: "Shen Fang's personnel violated regulations; this was an individual act. The factory stopped it in time and cooperated with the printing process."

After reading it, Zhang Qiming's tense shoulders relaxed: "They've spared my life."

**

"The Shanghai Film Studio belongs to the state, not to Shen Congzhou."

Zhang Qiming pulled out his pen, signed his name at the end, capped it, and pointed to the can: "Sticker on the label and get out of here. Don't let Wei Cheng come back to the factory."

**

Gu Changhe applied paste to the red seal and patted it onto the side of the tin can.

Written in black ink: Venice submission, main section, numbers one through six.

Finally, roll it into the jar and close the lid.

Chen Yan picked up the film box and went up the steps.

**

Morning light shone into the drainage ditch, and the wind carried the fishy smell of the Huangpu River.

Three Santana cars were parked in the back alley, and several young men in old jackets were squatting by the stone steps smoking.

**

Zhang Yuan was leading the way when he was stopped by a young man.

"Director Chen Yan?"

The young man stubbed out his cigarette, clutching a few pages of paper.

Chen Yan stopped.

This man was about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, and his complexion was sallow.

**

"I am."

"My name is Lu Feng, I work at Shanghai Film Studio, and I have a script."

Lu Feng pushed the paper forward, saying, "I heard about the Beijing Film Academy incident. President Shen is controlling the quotas; if we don't revise it according to his plan, the script won't leave Shanghai."

Zhang Yuan glanced at his watch: "Director Chen, we need to catch the airport."

Chen Yan declined the script: "I don't accept scripts. Reading them privately won't do you any good, and it'll only cause me trouble."

Lu Feng's hand froze, and the paper crumpled.

"The Beijing Film Academy's experimental base will be open for public review this year."

Chen Yan continued, "The manuscript was sent to Yanjing. It's of high quality; no one can stop it."

Lu Feng looked up: "In Shanghai..."

"I've torn open the breach; whether you live or die is up to you."

**

Chen Yan opened the car door.

Lu Feng stood there, watching the three cars drive out of the back alley, his hands sweating as he gripped the script.

**

The Shen Family Mansion.

The study curtains were drawn, and only a desk lamp was on.

Shen Congzhou sat in a leather chair, with a broken Jianshui purple pottery cup at his feet.

Tea seeped into the Persian carpet.

"Secretary Zhao has been detained?"

Shen Congzhou asked.

Wei Cheng stood there, his hairspray melting from sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead: "Zhang Qiming signed the document, classifying it as the factory putting out a fire, and denying any violation."

**

Shen Congzhou picked up the last half of the porcelain shard and smashed it on the bookshelf.

**

"Dig up my roots."

He got up and went to open the safe.

Without touching the accounts, he opened the bottommost hidden compartment and took out an anonymous cell phone.

**

The call connected, but there was no response from the other end.

"Chairman Xu."

Shen Congzhou hunched over and said, "Chen Yan's negatives have been loaded onto the plane. He has connections in Venice."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Can't the photos I gave you be stored properly?"

"He obtained Wei Cheng's recording. Lin Qingqiu himself admitted to what happened back then. Public opinion was in an uproar."

There was a dry, harsh laugh from the other side.

**

"Shen Congzhou, you can't even win over a student. He opens doors in Shanghai, and you hand him the keys."

Shen Congzhou's shirt was soaked with sweat: "He's unorthodox. He dug up an old film jar from 1991 in the air-raid shelter, heading straight for the old account."

"1991".

Chairman Xu's tone remained unchanged. "Did he direct a film called 'The Sound of Rain in the Old City'?"

Shen Congzhou went through his mind: "No. My feature film debut was 'Thunder.' Before that, I only had a short film."

"Continue the investigation."

Chairman Xu hung up the phone.

Shen Congzhou slumped back into his chair, staring at the light filtering through the curtains, his hands stiff.

**

10,000 meters above the ground.

Chen Yan leaned against the porthole, watching the dark golden light at the edge of the clouds.

**

Su Wan handed over a stack of papers: "Vincent has confirmed that the Paris premiere will be on the Champs-Élysées."

Chen Yan glanced at the film schedule: "Lin Qingqiu's injury?"

"Old Yan has been admitted to the 301 Hospital. They won't release him until the scans are available at Venice Hospital."

Su Wan carefully put away the documents. "Why bring a 1991 canister into the air-raid shelter?"

**

Chen Yan closed his eyes: "That's not film. It's the death knell that Shen Congzhou and his gang dreaded hearing most."

He was holding a briefcase, inside which lay the truth about Lin Qingqiu's past and negatives leading to the Grand Palace in Venice.

The plane encountered cumulonimbus clouds, and the cabin lights flickered twice.

Chen Yan looked at the shadows under the wing.

Lu Haiming had been orchestrating this scheme for twenty years, and finally, the crack in the wall appeared.

**

The real table, in the Adriatic Sea.

Marco Polo Airport.

The Italian evening breeze carried the scent of the sea.

**

Outside the terminal, a man in a trench coat put away an Italian newspaper; a silver "MM" badge was pinned to his collar.

**

He dialed the phone and said in broken Chinese, "Mr. Marco, your friend from the East has landed. He's bringing something that will shake Shanghai."

Customs passage.

Chen Yan carried the film box out of the automatic door, and the dampness of the water city hit his face.

He looked up at the night sky outside the terminal.

The game in Shanghai is over. Starting tonight, it's time to let Europe hear the thunder.

**

***