Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 6 Editing Lone Wolf

The rain hadn't stopped, pounding heavily on the metal roof of the old bread cart, sounding like countless birds pecking at food.

Inside the carriage, the damp, musty smell mixed with the lingering aroma of ginger soup, making it hard to breathe.

Chen Yan held the Nokia 3210 in his hand, the blue light from the screen reflecting on his face, making his expression unreadable.

Qi Feng's laughter, laced with ice, came through the receiver, sounding particularly jarring.

"Teacher Qi, did you go to my dad's place to beg for alms in the middle of the night?"

Chen Yan's voice was remarkably steady.

He moved his phone a little further away, afraid of waking Su Wan, who was sleeping in the seat next to him.

"Begging for alms? Chen Yan, I'm doing this to protect the reputation of the Beijing Film Academy's Cinematography Department!"

Qi Feng raised his voice on the other end of the phone.

"Your dad is a kind-hearted man; it wasn't easy for him to save up that demolition compensation money. We can't let you use it to throw dirty water in a convenience store in Yanjiao!"

The phone was handed to another person.

"Xiao Yan," Chen Jianguo leaned closer to the microphone, his voice strained, "Director Qi said your script... didn't pass censorship? He said you're just wasting money, not making a proper film. So, about that 400,000, should we... wait a bit?"

Chen Yan rubbed his temples.

He knew his father all too well; he was honest and upright, and held the government and experts in a superstitious reverence.

"Dad, the money is in your hands, you're in charge."

Chen Yan didn't explain, his tone as indifferent as if he were talking about someone else's business.

"But we're just finishing up here, and there are more than a dozen people in the car, including some leading actors from the Central Academy of Drama. If you think your son is messing around outside, you can keep this money, and I'll disband the crew tomorrow."

There was a sudden silence on the other end of the phone.

Chen Jianguo was most afraid of his son's demeanor; his calmness was frightening, and it made him even more uneasy than if they had argued.

"Chen Yan, don't try to act with me!"

Qi Feng snatched the phone back.

"Bring your film to the department at nine o'clock tomorrow morning! If you can't produce something decent, forget 400,000 yuan, you'll also have to leave your degree with me! I'm telling you, Beijing Film Academy doesn't need craftsmen who can only shoot commercial garbage!"

beep.

The phone hangs up.

"Chen Yan, did Baldy Qi really go to your house to complain?"

Zhang Yuan, the cameraman next to them, leaned over and asked in a low voice.

"It's alright, a dog that bites doesn't bark."

Chen Yan patted Zhang Yuan on the shoulder.

"The louder he shouts, the more afraid he is that I'll actually get the stuff out. Go back and send the negatives to the developing plant, keep a close eye on them, and make sure they don't mix up the chemicals."

"And what about you?"

"I'm going to the editing room."

Three o'clock in the morning, in the row of bungalows behind the Beidian Printing Plant.

The editing room was bitterly cold, filled with the strange smell of acidic chemicals and cheap tobacco.

Chen Yan locked himself in the corner of the room, and instead of turning on the machine, he lit a crumpled red plum cigarette.

The cigarette butt's glow flickered in the darkness.

In his previous life, he would probably have squatted at Qi Feng's door, crying and begging for a chance.

But now, his mind is filled with the evolution of audiovisual language over the next twenty years, and those so-called rules seem like a joke to him.

He turned on the power to the editing table, and the monitor emitted a low hum.

When Su Wan pushed the door open and came in, Chen Yan was bent over, his eyes almost pressed against the viewfinder.

She was carrying two cold steamed buns.

"Chen Yan, what about Teacher Qi..." Su Wan's voice was soft and timid.

"Ignore him."

Chen Yan didn't even look up; the film reel slid rapidly between his fingers.

"Su Wan, write down the code. From 01:04 to 01:08, the shot of the wind chime turning. I want its shadow, not the actual object."

Su Wan was stunned: "If we don't film the wind chimes, how will the audience know someone has entered?"

"Hearing a sound and seeing a shadow flicker, that sense of unknown fear is more intense than simply showing you a piece of metal."

Chen Yan swiftly cut off a piece of film and tossed it into the basket.

"Qi Feng said I lacked poetic sensibility, so I'll show him what the rhythm of modern cinema really is!"

For the next six hours, Su Wan witnessed a madman.

Chen Yan doesn't play by the rules at all.

He used jump cuts like crazy, cutting off the character midway through a conversation and switching the scene to a buzzing old freezer or a cigarette that was about to burn out.

"This... the pace is too fast."

Su Wan felt a tightness in her chest as she watched the constantly flashing images on the monitor.

I feel a little dizzy.

"Being dizzy is just right!"

Chen Yan grabbed a steamed bun and stuffed it into his mouth. The cold, greasy filling made him frown, but he didn't stop what he was doing.

"That's exactly the kind of physical discomfort I want! The precursor to a Night's Watchman's mental breakdown—this is how he sees the world: chaotic, sharp, and piercing!"

At seven o'clock in the morning, the lights flickered on and off.

Suddenly, a muffled thud came from the main unit, followed by a burnt smell.

The screen went black instantly.

"broken!"

Su Wan was so frightened that she stood up.

"Was it burned? The film... is it alright?"

Chen Yan's movements froze in mid-air.

He stared at the lifeless iron box, his right fingers rapidly tapping on the table.

He didn't shout or yell, he just let out a long breath, got up and went around to the back of the main unit.

"scissors."

"It's in the script supervisor's bag."

Chen Yan took the scissors and roughly pried open the main unit's casing.

He rummaged through the pile of still-steaming parts, his fingertips burning red but he didn't react at all.

After a moment, he pulled out a charred ribbon cable, then ripped off a piece of old wire from a nearby abandoned machine, bit open the insulation with his teeth, and deftly twisted the copper wires together with his fingers.

Su Wan watched from the side, her heart pounding in her chest.

Pressing the power button again, the machine's fan struggled to spin a few times, and then it actually restarted.

"...It's open?"

"This thing, just like a person, needs to be disciplined."

Chen Yan sat down again, and the slight tremor in his fingertips betrayed his earlier tension.

Nine o'clock sharp, in the small screening room.

Qi Feng was already seated in the first row, his hair slicked back with oil and combed until it shone.

Chen Jianguo huddled two rows behind him, his palms sweaty, like a prisoner awaiting sentencing.

Chen Yan came in carrying a film case and a videotape. His eyes were bloodshot and his coat was stained with oil.

Did you bring the things?

Qi Feng glanced at him sideways.

"Chen Yan, don't say the teacher isn't giving you a chance. As long as there's even the slightest hint of exaggeration in this film, you can take your dad home and go back to doing business."

Chen Yan ignored him and directly put the videotape into the machine.

"Teacher Qi, turn off the lights."

Qi Feng snorted and slammed the switch on.

The room was plunged into darkness.

The monitor lights up.

There was no opening sequence, no music, only the bone-chilling low-frequency noise emanating from the freezer.

Deng Chuan's numb face instantly filled half the screen, its color a cold, bluish-purple hue.

The next three minutes were filled with intense shredding.

The convenience store lights flickered, and with each flicker, Deng Chuan's position shifted slightly, as if he were being pulled away from time and space.

Chen Jianguo, sitting in the back row, couldn't understand what was happening, but he felt a chill run down his spine.

Qi Feng, sitting in the first row, had his crossed legs put down at some point, and his body was unconsciously leaning forward.

As a seasoned pro, he immediately saw the trick.

This jump shot isn't a random cut; it's all timed perfectly to the rhythm of your breath!

The color contrast in every frame hits the viewer's aesthetic inertia with a heavy, precise, and unavoidable force!

The short film has ended.

Qi Feng didn't speak, gripping the handrail tightly.

He knew in his heart that this was no garbage at all; it was a cinematic language he had never seen before, one that was incredibly penetrating!

"Teacher Qi, this is where social concern comes in."

Chen Yan spoke in the darkness, his tone hard.

"It's not about filming a few old men repairing books to show concern. This is how the world looks through the eyes of an ordinary person who is on the verge of going crazy from repression."

Qi Feng stood up abruptly, his facial muscles twitching.

"Chen Yan! You're provoking our department's curriculum!"

He raised his voice, trying to mask the shock in his heart.

"Your editing style is pure sensationalism! There's no narrative, no logic, just a pile of shards of glass!"

"The glass shards can draw blood, that's enough."

Chen Yan stepped forward and looked directly at him.

"If you think it's failing, fine, I'll withdraw from the graduation project competition. But I'll send this tape directly to Cannes to see whose aesthetic sense is truly obsolete."

"you!"

Qi Feng's hand, which was pointing at him, began to tremble.

Just then, the back door opened, and the department head, Yan Huaizhong, walked in carrying an enamel mug.

"Director Qi, you're quite angry."

Yan Huaizhong glanced at the screen, then turned to Chen Yan.

"I watched those three minutes just now. Interesting, very interesting."

Qi Feng's expression changed instantly.

"Professor Yan, this student is too audacious; he doesn't play by the rules..."

"Rules are made by living people."

Yan Huaizhong waved his hand and looked at Chen Yan.

"Chen Yan, right? This film isn't finished yet, is it? What about the intruder's motive? What's with the redemption personality? It hasn't been edited out yet."

"It will take another two days."

Chen Yan toned down his sharp edge.

"Okay, I'll give you two days."

Yan Huaizhong turned to Qi Feng.

"Director Qi, I think this film could represent our department in the election. As for the 400,000... that's their family matter, we teachers shouldn't worry about it. Master Chen, what do you say?"

Chen Jianguo immediately understood and stood up, bowing and scraping, "Yes, yes, the expert is right!"

Qi Feng gritted his teeth. He knew that with Yan Huaizhong around, he could no longer openly obstruct Chen Yan.

As he passed Chen Yan, he lowered his voice: "Chen Yan, this isn't over. A well-edited film is useless; Cannes isn't your private property. You've caused trouble off-campus; don't expect the department to cover for you!"

After saying that, he slammed the door and left.

Yan Huaizhong ignored him and patted Chen Yan's film case: "It's good to be ambitious, but don't run too fast, or you'll fall. Your cameraman Zhang Yuan is focusing a bit too closely, remember to fix it in post-production."

Chen Yan's heart tightened; the old master had spotted the technical flaw at a glance.

"Thank you, Professor Yan."

2 PM, Yanjing Central Hospital.

The smell of disinfectant annoyed Chen Yan.

In his past life, he smelled this very scent and watched Su Wan cry herself unconscious at the entrance of the morgue.

He didn't want to see that scene again.

Su Jianjun, Su Wan's father, sat in front of the blood collection window, smiling awkwardly: "Xiao Yan, this is too expensive. I just have a chronic cough from smoking..."

"Uncle Su, listen to me."

Chen Yan put her hand on his shoulder.

"The money's been paid, and there's no refund. I just want peace of mind."

Su Wan stood to the side holding the form, her eyes red-rimmed.

She felt that Chen Yan had changed; he was no longer the student who dreamed, but like a mountain—cold, yet able to block out all wind and snow.

While waiting for the results, Chen Yan sat on a bench when his phone vibrated.

A text message from Zhang Yuan.

"Chen Yan, something's happened! The film processing plant said Qi Feng gave instructions to withhold the remaining negatives for review! We can't continue editing!"

Chen Yan stared at the line of words for a moment, then slowly stood up.

He glanced at Su Wan, who was talking to her father in the distance, and then at the hospital's pristine white walls.

You want to play these games with me?

He put away his phone, strode out of the hospital, didn't look for anyone, and hailed a yellow minivan.

"Yanjiao, Hongfa Studio."

In the evening, Chen Yan walked into a dilapidated videotape shop.

The boss was bald, nicknamed "Big Pipe," and specialized in dealing in banned overseas films and smuggling.

"Director Chen, what a rare guest!"

The man with the pipe in his mouth looked up from a pile of tapes.

"What would you like to order today?"

"I want that illegal workstation you have that can reproduce film."

Chen Yan slapped a stack of hundred-yuan bills on the counter, totaling five thousand yuan.

"Add your inside contact at the photo lab. Tonight, I'm going into the lab to retrieve my own things."

Big Pipe's eyelid twitched.

"Director Chen, are you trying to storm the execution ground?"

Chen Yan raised his head, his bloodshot eyes revealing no hint of a joke.

"It's not a prison break."

"It's about taking my life back."