novellhall Chapter 74, Hall 3, last row
Chapter 74, Hall 3, last row
The electrical noise in the walkie-talkie stopped, leaving only a long hum.
Chen Yansong turned off the receiver, which hit the wall and bounced back.
He walked to the television, bent down to pick up the broken batteries, opened the back cover, and put them back in.
"Bring out the videotape."
Chen Yan said.
Zhang Yuan reached out and pressed the button; the tape got stuck in the hatch, making a dry, scraping sound.
"The tape got damp, and the magnetic powder is falling off."
Zhang Yuan pinched the edge of the box and pulled it outwards with force.
The translucent magnetic tape hung down like a broken black thread.
Chen Yan pulled a supermarket plastic bag from under the coffee table and swept the cassette tape, remote control, and all the plastic fragments that had been shaken off the floor into it.
He tied the bag tightly and handed it to Wu Gang, who was guarding the door.
"Find a place to store it."
Chen Yan instructed, "No one is allowed to touch it except you. Including me."
Wu Gang took the bag, his fingers wedging the metal ring.
"clear."
Wu Gang answered.
Zhang Yuan stood in front of the screen, his hand still frozen in mid-air.
"Director Chen, what's with the signature?"
Zhang Yuan turned around and said, "In 'The Sound of Rain in the Old City,' the lampposts and street signs in that scene are definitely from the demolition area of Yanjing last year. But weren't you preparing your graduation project at the Beijing Film Academy last year?"
Chen Yan didn't look at him and walked to the balcony.
The wooden sliding door was ajar, letting in the salty sea breeze that blew the deep purple curtains to the wall.
"Protect 'Thunder' first."
Chen Yan turned around and spoke very quickly, "They're trying to disrupt my rhythm. As long as I don't show weakness on Lido Island, this tape is just a pile of useless plastic."
Su Wan walked to the table and picked up the empty box.
She examined the label on the side of the box under the light; it had no production batch number or purchase location.
"This is not as simple as intimidation."
Su Wan said.
She threw the box on the table and tapped her nails on the surface.
"The sender not only knows your creative habits, but also possesses certain... information about you that has never been made public before."
Su Wan looked at Chen Yan, "The lighting and shadow in that scene are your usual low-contrast style. The other party is using your knife to stab you in the heart."
Chen Yan pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Su Wan, remember three things."
He reached out and pressed his hand on the table.
"First, Zhang Yuan will take some men to the Technical Committee tomorrow to guard the copies. No one, except the colorist, is allowed to put their hands on the negatives brought from the film processing plant."
Zhang Yuan nodded: "I'll sleep in the storage room tonight."
"second."
Chen Yan looked into the inner room and said, "Lock up all of Lin Qingqiu's interview scripts. Any questions about her past injuries or her time at the Shanghai Film Studio should be deflected with 'the role requires it.' If Miramax asks about the copyright, tell them to wait until they've seen the whole film before we talk."
Su Wan took out her notebook and wrote with a scribbling sound.
"Third, and most importantly."
Chen Yan paused, pressing his knuckles against his chin.
"Channel 3, the last row, left-hand seat. Wu Gang, tomorrow morning, two hours before the preview screening, you take some men in. You can even remove that chair; I need to know who sat there, or what was shown."
Wu Gang nodded, turned and walked out of the room, the dull sound of his leather shoes on the stone slabs disappearing.
The room fell silent.
The water dispenser made a gurgling sound, and bubbles surged.
Lin Qingqiu stood leaning against the door frame. She had changed out of her cheongsam and put on the oversized hoodie again.
Her face was pale, and her hands were on the buckles of the protective gear around her waist.
"Zhang Yuan, go help Su Wan organize the sample photos."
Chen Yan said.
Zhang Yuan tactfully put away his notebook and followed Su Wan into the inner room.
Only Chen Yan and Lin Qingqiu remained in the living room.
Lin Qingqiu stepped across the threshold very lightly, her leather shoes making no sound on the wooden floor.
She walked up to Chen Yan and stopped.
"Director Chen."
Lin Qingqiu spoke in a low voice, "Was that you in the videotape?"
Chen Yan looked up at her but didn't say anything.
"That disheveled look, that posture as he walked in the rain."
Lin Qingqiu stared into his eyes, "You shouldn't be like that."
Chen Yan stood up and walked to the window.
"That won't happen."
Chen Yan said to the sea, "Training will proceed as usual tomorrow. Don't let the red carpet swallow your ankles."
Lin Qingqiu did not move.
"You're not afraid of Shen Congzhou."
She slowed her speech, emphasizing each word, "When the video camera turned on, your hand trembled. That was the first time in your life you lost control in front of me."
Chen Yan turned around and placed his hand on the windowsill.
"That was an accident."
"I see."
Lin Qingqiu nodded.
She didn't ask any more questions and turned to walk into the room.
The heavy protective gear made a faint metallic scraping sound as you walked, like the ticking of an old clock.
Three o'clock in the morning.
The lights from the direction of Marco Polo Airport cast long shadows on the sea.
Chen Yan was not asleep. He sat on the wicker chair on the balcony, clutching a safety pin in his hand.
With a sharp touch, the safety pin pierced the fingertip, drawing a bead of blood.
The pain felt very real.
This is definitely not a dream for 2025.
But the footage on that videotape was indeed of him being ruined and dying drunk on the street in his previous life.
He never even saw those surveillance cameras in person during his lifetime.
Someone, spanning twenty-five years, precisely located his tombstone and scattered his ashes on the dining table now.
The walkie-talkie rang again.
Those were three rapid knocks, Wu Gang's signal.
Chen Yan strode over and grabbed the receiver.
"The front desk found it."
Wu Gang's voice sounded broken in the wind, "The delivery person spoke English, and sunglasses covered most of his face. The name he left was 'Mr. Rain'."
Chen Yan gripped the receiver tightly, and the plastic casing made a squeaking sound.
"Mr. Rain."
Chen Yan repeated.
"The receptionist said he was wearing gloves and didn't leave any fingerprints."
Wu Gang lowered his voice, "But when he left, I got a screenshot of the surveillance footage from the alley behind the apartment building."
"Bring it up."
Five minutes later, the door opened.
Wu Gang held a sheet of black and white thermal paper that had just been pulled from the printer.
The image is very blurry.
In the alley late at night, a man wearing a long trench coat was getting into a black sedan.
The man's collar was turned up, and half of his face was covered in shadow.
However, a mole behind his right ear was magnified into a noticeable black dot under the streetlights.
Su Wan ran out in her bathrobe and snatched the paper.
She stared at the image, her brows furrowed.
"This face..." Su Wan's voice carried a hint of uncertainty.
She turned around, ran back to her room, and pulled a stack of documents from her briefcase.
That's the list of companies invited to the Venice Film Festival, along with a photo of Miramax delegation members provided by AFP.
Su Wan pressed the thermal paper into the pile of photos, running her fingers over each profile picture.
"stop."
Chen Yan pointed to one of them.
That was one of Harvey Weinstein's deputies, a technician responsible for copyright assessments in the Asian region.
"It's him."
Su Wan's finger stopped at the edge of the photo. "This afternoon at the dock, he was following Vincent the whole time, wearing this gray trench coat."
Chen Yan took the thermal paper, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into the ashtray.
Miramax.
Chen Yan sneered.
He picked up a lighter, and the flame engulfed the thermal paper, with black ash swirling upwards.
"They not only want the copyright to 'Thunder,' they also want to weigh me as a person."
Chen Yan walked to the mirror and looked at his twenty-two-year-old self.
Young skin, yet it concealed eyes as dry as a deep well.
"Su Wan, send a fax to Vincent."
Chen Yan straightened his collar in front of the mirror, his voice icy.
"Tell him that the internal screening in Theater 3 is canceled. If he wants to see the film, Harvey himself must come."
"That would completely offend them."
Su Wan reminded.
Chen Yan turned his head to the side, his lips flat.
"They hold my future self in their hands, and they're already offending me."
He turned to look at Wu Gang.
"Get ready. I need to be seated in the last row of Hall 3 at 9:00 AM tomorrow."
The waves crashed against the seawall, producing a dull roar.
A bluish-gray crack appeared on the horizon; dawn had broken in Venice.
Chen Yan picked up the black trench coat and draped it over his shoulders.
"Let's go see that 'Mr. Rain'."
Eight o'clock in the morning.
Grand Palace on Lido Island.
The square paved with bluestone bricks was slippery with dew.
Chen Yan climbed the steps, his heavy rubber-soled shoes striking the stone surface with a crisp echo.
The side door to Hall 3 was ajar.
Several Italian cleaners in blue overalls were pushing carts out of the corridor.
Zhang Yuan, carrying two silver copy boxes on his back, followed behind, panting heavily.
"Director Chen, the technical support team has checked."
Zhang Yuan said in a low voice, "The copying is fine. But the circuit in Hall 3 just tripped the circuit breaker, and it's being reset right now."
Ignoring the technical details, Chen Yan pushed open the heavy soundproof door of the screening room.
The hall was pitch black.
Only the red indicator lights for the emergency exits cast an eerie red glow at the base of the wall.
Chen Yan walked up the stairs, one step at a time.
The sound of leather shoes stepping on the dark red carpet was swallowed by the fibers.
He walked to the last row.
The seat on the left.
It was an ordinary flip-up chair, made of red velvet, with badly worn edges.
Chen Yan reached out and traced the lines on the back of the chair with his fingertips.
The seats are cold.
He suddenly lifted the cushion.
A black electronic component is attached to the spring support at the bottom of the seat cushion with transparent tape.
It was an extremely tiny sensor, and the red indicator light was flashing in sync with his movements.
Chen Yan didn't touch the original piece; instead, he felt along the edge of the cushion.
The fingernail got caught on a hard metal object.
He pulled hard.
An old-fashioned brass bookmark fell out, with a line of French engraved on the front and only two words on the back.
Chinese characters, in Song typeface.
[Looking back].
Chen Yan gripped the bookmark tightly, the metal edges digging into his palm.
"Chen Yan, someone has come in."
Wu Gang called out softly from the doorway.
The sound of leather shoes hitting the floor echoed down the corridor.
A man in a gray trench coat was slowly walking through the red light of the indicator lights.
The man stopped in the first row.
He took off his sunglasses, revealing a typical Anglo-Saxon face.
Good morning, Director Chen.
The man, speaking broken Chinese, pointed to the screen.
"This white cloth is very large. Large enough to cover Shen Congzhou's account books, and also to cover the mess that will happen 25 years later."
Chen Yan stood in the shadows of the last row, looking down.
He slowly released his grip.
The bookmark slipped through my fingers and landed precisely in the crevices of the carpet.
I won't look back.
Chen Yan said.
His voice echoed in the empty screening room.
"I like to keep moving forward, even if it's all mud ahead."
He raised his hand and pointed to the screen.
"Play the movie."
The hum of gears turning came from the projection room.
A blinding white beam of light pierced the darkness and struck the giant screen.
Snowflakes danced.
The first shot jumps out.
That was Lin Qingqiu's hand reaching towards the sky.
The man in the gray trench coat looked at the screen, his hands in his pockets.
"Harvey wants to talk to you."
"Once I get the lion, he'll have to talk on his knees."
Chen Yan walked down the steps.
With each step he took, his shadow was stretched longer by the projector lights, eventually completely covering the head of the man in the gray trench coat.
The soundproof door closed again.
At that moment, the bells of Lido Island pierced through the sea fog.
When the first chime of the bell entered the hall, Chen Yan was already standing in the light at the exit.
He didn't turn around.
Behind me, the projector was frantically devouring the film, emitting a thunderous roar.
That was his era.
No one can stop it.