noveldepot Chapter 27: Buyout Year
Chapter 27: Buyout Year
The Air France plane was bumping through the clouds.
The air in the cabin was stuffy, with the smell of heated airline food mixed with the smell of cheap perfume.
Chen Yan leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed.
What came to mind was the Cannes Film Festival broadcast on television when I was living a life of debauchery on the streets in my past life.
That Palme d'Or trophy was once an unattainable obsession for him.
Now, he sits on a flight to Nice, going there in person to reclaim what is rightfully his.
Beside her, Su Wan was curled up in the cramped economy class seat, her face pale.
She was clutching a French-Chinese quick dictionary in her hand, the edges of the pages already soaked with sweat.
The long flight and turbulence made her stomach churn, but she stubbornly kept quiet.
"The little money we brought was worth a huge amount when converted to francs."
Su Wan lowered her voice, which was hoarse, "I just glanced at an aviation magazine, and a bottle of mineral water there costs more than ten yuan. The public relations fees and media travel expenses here are all bottomless pits."
Chen Yan turned his head to the side, placed his hand on Su Wan's cold hand, and patted it gently twice.
"Don't worry about the money. Once the movie is over, people will line up to give us money."
Chen Yan reached out and pulled down the sunshade, blocking the glaring sunlight from the window.
He pulled a rusty film reel from his inner pocket.
The metal casing was slightly dented, and the rust on the edges felt rough and cold against my fingertips.
This was his destiny in his past life, and it's also the trump card he has to turn things around in this life.
In the back row, Lin Qingqiu sat upright.
Throughout the more than ten hours of flight, she maintained this posture, her whole body like a taut bowstring.
My old lower back injury flared up, and waves of dull pain climbed up my spine.
She reached her right hand inside her coat and pressed it hard against her lower back, using the pain to keep herself awake.
She knew this was her only chance to transcend social class.
An Airbus A340 landed at Nice-Côte d'Azur Airport.
The runway was flooded.
Stepping out of the cabin, a cold wind, a mixture of the smell of the sea and aviation kerosene, hit me in the face.
Zhang Yuan, carrying three heavy equipment bags, stumbled in the wind, muttering to himself.
"This place is even colder than the Tianjin port. And this airport isn't all that great either."
The exit was bustling with noise, a cacophony of various languages.
Reporters from several European tabloids were waiting at the exit, their cameras and microphones aimed at the VIP passage.
A row of black Mercedes-Benz S-Class sedans was parked in the most conspicuous position outside the terminal building.
Several French bodyguards in black suits lined up on either side and opened the car doors.
Lu Haiming walked at the very front.
Wearing a completely handmade Italian suit with clean lines and even the hem neatly gathered, he exudes an aura of wealth.
The flash went off, and he waved expertly at the camera, exuding the air of an international director, even though he only brought money, not his work.
Wang, the comprador, followed closely behind, carrying two Hermès suitcases, and was shouting at the receptionist in broken English.
"Be careful! This box contains the high-end cigars that President Lu uses at his banquets!"
The two groups of people collided head-on, separated by a safety barrier.
Lu Haiming stopped in his tracks.
He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over Chen Yan's faded old jacket, and then at the worn-out equipment bag Zhang Yuan was carrying.
He paused for half a second, then looked away and bent down to sit in the back seat of the Mercedes.
There was no mockery, no provocation.
The only option is to ignore it directly.
For Lu Haiming, stepping on an ant doesn't require prior notice.
Wang, the comprador, lagged behind and turned around, intending to utter a few harsh words, but instead met Chen Yan's expressionless face.
He moved his lips, but in the end said nothing and slunk into the passenger seat.
The convoy started.
The tires rolled over puddles on the road, splashing mud and water high into the air.
Zhang Yuan looked down at his soaked trouser legs, his anger rising.
"Damn! Are you blind?! Just because you have money doesn't mean you're superior!"
"Save your energy."
Chen Yan patted him on the shoulder, "Keep it for work. Film festivals don't look at car logos."
A white, secondhand van with peeling paint was parked on the side of the road.
The engine emitted an irregular wheezing sound, and black smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe.
Lin Shufen pushed open the passenger door and jumped out.
Her eyes were puffy and her makeup was a bit patchy, clearly indicating that she had been staying up late and running around a lot these past few days.
"Over here! Get in the car quickly! The traffic police are coming to issue a ticket!"
Su Wan dragged two heavy suitcases and struggled to stuff them into the trunk.
Chen Yan was about to reach out to help when she pushed him away.
"Don't move."
Su Wan was panting, her nose covered in fine beads of sweat. "You're the director, your hands are for holding the director's microphone, I'll do these rough jobs."
Su Wan stuffed the dictionary into her bag and looked up at him.
"My current role is that of a producer."
The carriage was filled with a strong smell of gasoline and mildew.
"We have limited resources, please bear with us."
As Lin Shufen started the car, she said, "Prices in Cannes have gone crazy. Five-star hotels were all booked up by the major Hollywood studios six months ago, and the remaining ones are ridiculously expensive. We can only stay in the old town."
She paused, then looked at Su Wan.
"Su Wan, the apartment is on the fifth floor, there's no elevator, and you have to cook for yourself. The producer's job is tough."
"As long as it's a place to live, it's fine."
Su Wan stuffed the dictionary into her bag and took out a small notebook to start making accounts.
Every little bit helps.
She looked up at the documents in Lin Shufen's hand.
"I checked the schedule, and we still need to rent a venue for tomorrow's media briefing. We can't cut corners on this."
The car drove onto Krovasette Boulevard.
Huge movie posters lined both sides of the road, obscuring the sky.
Glamorous celebrities, international journalists with their cameras and microphones, and luxury sports cars shuttling back and forth paint a picture of the most naked reality of the world of fame and fortune.
Lin Qingqiu stared through the car window at the close-up posters of those international film queens.
The arrogance and confidence on those women's faces stung her, but also ignited her passion.
"Director Chen."
She suddenly spoke, her voice a little strained, "Where will we show our movie?"
"Debussy Hall".
Chen Yan leaned back in his worn-out chair, his eyes closed. "On opening day, the world's most discerning film critics and buyers will be sitting there."
He paused.
"That was the real battlefield."
The car turned into the narrow and cramped alleyways of the old town.
The building's exterior walls were peeling, clotheslines stretched haphazardly overhead, and dripping bed sheets completely blocked out the sunlight.
The streets reeked of the sour smell of overnight garbage.
The apartment is on the fifth floor.
The wooden staircase was steep and narrow, making an uncomfortable creaking sound when stepped on.
Pushing open the door, a musty, dusty smell hit me.
The apartment has two bedrooms and a living room, but there isn't even a proper sofa.
Su Wan put down her luggage and rushed into the kitchen immediately.
The old-fashioned gas stove is covered in rust.
The baguette she bought from the supermarket was so hard it could kill someone, and there were also two pieces of cheap cheese that were about to expire.
"We'll have to make do with this meal tonight."
She placed the crookedly cut bread on the table, poured a few glasses of water, and spoke with a hint of apology.
"Tomorrow I'll go to the market to see if there are any cheap vegetables. We can't let everyone eat dry food every day."
Chen Yan picked up a piece of bread and took a bite.
Dry and hard, it's hard to chew.
"Good."
He swallowed his bread, turned to Zhang Yuan, and asked, "Has the equipment been damaged? Is the voltage stable here?"
"Don't worry, I'll protect you with my life."
Zhang Yuan patted his chest and said, "The voltage has been tested; 220 volts is fine."
"Although this room is dilapidated, it's not damp, so the film is absolutely safe."
Chen Yan stood up and walked to Lin Qingqiu.
She was sitting on a rickety little stool, staring blankly at an old poster that had been torn in half on the wall.
"Walk."
Chen Yan put on his jacket. "Let me show you around."
The two didn't call anyone else and walked downhill for two kilometers.
At dusk, the wind was strong in the square in front of the main gate of the cinema.
The red carpet was half laid out.
The wide steps appeared solemn and dignified in the dim light of the day.
All around were busy workers setting up broadcast rigs, with shouts and curses in various languages rising and falling.
Chen Yan stopped in his tracks.
"How does it feel?"
he asks.
Lin Qingqiu looked up at the long staircase.
"This is an altar."
Her words were soft, yet carried a ruthless edge: "A place where fame and fortune are exchanged for blood and flesh."
"You're right, this is the altar."
Chen Yan pointed to the unfinished red carpet and said, "Here, we don't care about your background, whether you have money or not, or which big boss you have behind you."
He looked at the broadcast rack in the distance.
"People like Lu Haiming can't buy respect here."
He turned his gaze back to Lin Qingqiu.
"We only recognize the works here."
"The lights dim, the screen lights up, and you are the king here."
The cold air rushed into her lungs, making Lin Qingqiu shiver all over.
"I want to walk up."
"You will get up there."
Chen Yan said.
"And you'll be walking right in the middle. All the cameras will be pointed at you."
By the time I got back to the apartment, it was completely dark.
Su Wan was hunched over under the dim desk lamp, checking the accounts, the calculator keys clicking loudly as she tapped them.
The table was piled high with contact forms and price lists from various media outlets.
She looked up when she heard the door open.
"Chen Yan, there's something in the mailbox."
She handed over an envelope, looking visibly uneasy. "It wasn't stamped; it was just slipped in."
Chen Yan took it.
The paper is cream-colored and heavyweight, with gold foil embossing on the edges; it has a very good texture.
Tearing open the seal revealed a dark blue invitation.
The invitation was titled "Hemingway Night," with the subtitle "A Crossover Rendezvous Between Film and Real Estate."
The time is 8 pm tomorrow night, and the location is the Artemis private yacht.
There is also a line of handwritten Chinese in the bottom right corner.
The handwriting is neat and powerful.
"Director Chen, I heard the bread in Nice isn't easy to digest. How about a glass of champagne?"
The signature is Lu Haiming.
Lin Shufen pushed open the door and came in, holding several copies of the program materials she had just collected.
Upon seeing the invitation, her brows furrowed.
"Lu Haiming chartered the Artemis."
Lin Shufen threw the documents on the table, poured herself a glass of cold water and drank it all in one gulp. "He made appointments with several of the biggest distributors and theater owners in Europe, and even arranged a so-called 'star party' on a yacht."
She looked at Chen Yan.
"This is going to block your path in advance, on your home turf. Are you going or not?"
Chen Yan remained silent.
He took the exquisite invitation and walked to the table.
On the table was that rusty film tube.
He placed the invitation neatly next to the film reel.
A glamorous facade, radiating the arrogance of capital.
A rusty, weathered place, bearing down the struggles of those at the bottom.
"He wasn't trying to block my way."
Chen Yan looked at the two items and said calmly, "He's afraid of what's in my pocket, afraid I'll overturn his table. He's testing my cards."
He turned around and looked at Su Wan and Zhang Yuan.
"Pass the word: no party tomorrow."
Su Wan hesitated for a moment.
"Where do we go?"
She looked up at Chen Yan.
"We can't just sit in our apartments waiting for the premiere, can we?"
Chen Yan picked up the remaining piece of hard bread on the table and chewed it slowly.
Outside the window, on the distant sea, the lights of luxury yachts shone brightly.
"Go to the Palais des Festivals. Find the projectionist in the Debussy Hall."
"Where are you going?"
Zhang Yuan scratched his head. "Hasn't the film already been submitted?"
"Color adjustment."
Chen Yan swallowed his bread. "The color scheme of 'The Night Watchman' must strictly follow the color chart I provided. Not a single parameter can be off."
He looked up and gazed out the window.
"I want to show those self-righteous Europeans what real Eastern film noir is."
He paused for a moment.
"Lu Haiming likes to rock on the boat, and I like to tell stories in a dark room."
Outside the window, a seagull swept across the night sky, letting out a piercing cry.
The next morning.
Chen Yan ignored the gold-embossed invitation from last night and, with Zhang Yuan in tow, carrying the heavy film canister, knocked on the back door of the De Biao West Hall at the Palais des Festivals.
Inside the projection room, the hum of the projector was so loud it made your ears ache.
The projection supervisor, Pierre, was an eccentric old Frenchman with gray hair and thick resin glasses perched on his nose. He was lashing out at several interns.
"From China?"
Pierre flipped through the organizing committee's schedule, muttering in French with obvious impatience.
"Your requirements are too complicated."
Why adjust the contrast of camera unit three separately?
"The projectors here are the best in all of Europe; they never go wrong."
"I don't have time to play house with a newbie."
Chen Yan didn't waste his breath explaining.
He stepped forward, pulled out the fragment of film he had brought from China from his bag, and placed it directly under the film light.
"Mr. Pierre, please look at this."
Chen Yan switched to fluent English, with standard and professional pronunciation, "42 minutes and 15 seconds, an empty shot in the rain."
"I don't need a perfect machine, I need accurate images."
"If we use your standard highlight settings, the raindrop at the corner of the female lead's eye will be completely blurred."
Pierre frowned and reluctantly moved closer.
"This raindrop is the emotional anchor of the entire film."
Chen Yan pointed to the tiny details on the film, "Eastern aesthetics emphasizes leaving blank space, not the crude filling of highlights."
Pierre stared at the film light for a full minute.
He pushed up his slipped glasses, and when he looked at Chen Yan again, the old man put away his previous contempt and began to scrutinize the young man in front of him.
"young people."
The old man muttered, "You're the first director who dared to come and teach me how to do things just for two frames."
"Your visual language is dangerous, and it's also captivating."
He turned around and yelled at his assistant.
"Go! Readjust the parameters of Unit 3. Do as he says. It must be finished by tonight!"
Chen Yan stood beside the machine, watching the gears mesh again.
The real show has only just begun.