Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 103 The Cannes Invitation: The End of Fame and Fortune

Kunlun Hotel, rooftop revolving restaurant.

There was no boisterous victory banquet, only a round table overlooking the entire night view of Beijing.

There were only four people sitting at the table.

Chen Yan, Lin Shufen, Zheyan from Shili Media, and Shao Wan from Shaw Brothers Studio.

Wu Gang and Bai Zhen stood behind their respective bosses, the air so quiet that the faint clinking of knives and forks could be heard.

Lin Shufen was wearing a dark purple cheongsam, with a slender cigarette between her fingers, the smoke obscuring her expression.

"Zhao Minghai signed it, one yuan."

She exhaled a puff of smoke, her voice devoid of emotion, "Chen Yan, this blow you delivered was more ruthless than I imagined."

In the center of the table, a document was pushed in front of Chen Yan.

"Agreement on the transfer of cinema assets under Minghai Film Industry".

Transferee: Yan Culture Media Co., Ltd.

Transfer amount: One yuan.

Chen Yan didn't look at the documents; he cut the steak on his plate, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

"His life is worth more than that. But his dignity is only worth one dollar."

Zheyan held his teacup, slowly blowing on it: "Young man, you can eat whatever you want, but you can't say whatever you want. The person behind Zhao Minghai hasn't fallen yet."

"That's why I invited you all here."

Chen Yan put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said, "After this meal, it's time for the Beijing film and television industry to change their seating arrangement."

Shao Wan stubbed out her cigarette, leaned forward, and her eyes gleamed in the lamplight.

"How would you like to change it?"

Chen Yan took out three documents from his briefcase and pushed them in front of the three men.

"Minghai has collapsed, and its cinema chains, distribution channels, and artist management are now all unclaimed."

"I want absolute control of three core cinemas, and 50 percent of all my future films' screenings."

Chen Yan leaned back in his chair and looked around at the three of them.

"You can divide the rest among yourselves. I only need these three items."

Lin Shufen picked up the document, quickly flipped through it, and her expression changed repeatedly.

This is no longer a collaboration; it's Chen Yan dividing up the pie for them.

He himself took the fattest piece.

"Chen Yan, your appetite is too big."

Shao Wan's voice turned cold. "On what grounds?"

"Based on this."

Chen Yan took something out of his inner pocket and placed it on the table.

An old ledger wrapped tightly in oiled paper.

It was the book that was taken from the mute corpse under the clock tower in Tianjin.

Zheyan's gaze froze, and his hand holding the teacup stopped in mid-air.

"This was Lu Haiming's death warrant, and now it's also your protective charm."

Chen Yan tapped his fingers lightly on the ledger. "The money Zhao Minghai laundered, whose account it went through, and whose pocket it ended up in, is all clearly recorded here."

"I've placed it here so that everyone can sit comfortably."

The restaurant fell into dead silence.

Outside the window, the lights of countless homes in Beijing shone brightly, but on the table, there was only a cold silence.

After a long while, Zheyan put down his teacup, making a soft sound.

"I agree."

Shao Wan looked at Chen Yan with a complicated expression, but finally nodded: "I have no objection."

Lin Shufen let out a long sigh, shook her head with a wry smile, and said, "I'm already on your boat, it's too late to get off now."

She picked up her glass: "It's been a pleasure working with you."

Chen Yan did not raise his glass; he stood up.

"I have other matters to attend to, so I'll be leaving now. The bill will be recorded in the Yan Culture account."

He walked to the door and glanced back.

"Oh, right."

"The celebration party for 'Thunder' will be cancelled; I don't have time."

After saying that, he opened the door and walked out without looking back.

Wu Gang followed closely behind.

Inside the restaurant, only three bigwigs remained, staring at each other in bewilderment, along with the ledger that had determined the fates of countless people.

"madman."

Shao Wan cursed under her breath, but then couldn't help laughing, "A complete madman."

……

A black Santana drove out of the hotel.

"Old Chen, shall we head back to the company?"

Wu Gang asked.

"No, go to the Beijing Film Studio."

The car drove through the night, and Chen Yan closed his eyes, but his mind was racing.

He only showed them the first ten pages of the account book on the table.

He left behind the deeper, darker secrets.

That's not a talisman; it's a sword hanging over everyone's heads.

Half an hour later, the car stopped outside an old projection room at the Beijing Film Studio.

Su Wan and Lin Qingqiu were waiting there.

"Director Chen."

Lin Qingqiu's eyes were bloodshot, and he was still wearing his training clothes.

"Has the copy from France arrived?"

Chen Yan asked.

Su Wan handed over a heavy metal case: "Just arrived, escorted 24 hours a day. I checked it, it's the highest-spec IMAX version."

"Unpack and inspect the film."

Inside the screening room, the giant screen lit up.

There was no official logo, no opening sequence; the first shot was of Lin Qingqiu's face crawling through the ruins.

Extreme pain, extreme resilience.

Lin Qingqiu stood in the darkness, looking at herself on the screen, her body trembling slightly.

She never imagined she would be photographed like this.

Chen Yan didn't look at the screen; his ears were focused on the sound of the projector turning and every detail coming from the speakers.

"At the thirteenth minute, the wind audio track was too heavy, suppressing her breathing. We readjusted it."

"At the 27th minute, the color tone of this empty shot is too warm; adjust it to a shade cooler."

"..."

He was like a highly precise instrument, scrutinizing every pixel and every frame.

An hour and a half later, the whole film was over.

The screening room was completely silent.

"You guys keep an eye on the rest and make the changes."

Chen Yan took off his coat and tossed it to Su Wan. "I need to see the new version by tomorrow morning."

He turned to leave, but Su Wan called him back.

"Chen Yan".

She took a plain white envelope from her bag and handed it over.

The envelope was thick and had a sturdy feel.

"It was delivered in person by someone from the French Embassy an hour ago."

Chen Yan took the envelope; it felt slightly heavy in his hand.

He tore open the seal with his fingers and pulled out a card.

It's not a letter.

It was a gold-embossed invitation.

At the very center of the card is a golden palm leaf pattern, intricate and elegant.

Below is a line of French handwriting.

Su Wan translated in a low voice: "Crossette Avenue is waiting for a true auteur director."

The invitation was signed by Gilles Jacob, the president of the Cannes Film Festival.

At the very bottom, there is a line of smaller text.

"Furthermore, the organizing committee cordially invites your work, 'Thunder,' to be shortlisted for the main competition."

Lin Qingqiu covered her mouth, and tears fell without warning.

Main competition section.

That is the ultimate dream of every director in the world.

Chen Yan stared at the golden palm leaf, his face expressionless.

He stuffed the invitation back into the envelope and handed it to Su Wan.

"Keep it safe."

He walked out of the screening room, and Wu Gang had already started the car.

"Old Chen, it's almost dawn, where are you going?"

Chen Yan got into the back seat and gave an address.

"Beijing Film Academy, staff quarters."

The car started and disappeared into the deepest darkness before dawn.

Chen Yan took the red folder out of his briefcase and placed it on his lap.

There was no evidence of wrongdoing or dirt on it.

There is only one list.

A list of all those involved in the investment, distribution, and promotion of "Thunder" from its inception, as well as their intricate networks of interests.

Among them are his allies and his enemies.

This is a power map of Beijing's film and television industry that he personally hand-drew.

As dawn broke, the Santana pulled up in front of an old faculty and staff building.

Vice Principal Yan Huaizhong, wearing an old overcoat, was standing at the entrance of the building smoking, with cigarette butts scattered all over the ground.

He saw Chen Yan get out of the car and stub out his cigarette on the wall.

"Have you thought it through?"

Yan Huaizhong's voice was somewhat hoarse.

Chen Yan didn't say anything, but walked straight up the steps and handed over the red folder.

Yan Huaizhong took it, opened it, glanced at it, and his fingers trembled slightly.

He looked up and stared intently into Chen Yan's eyes.

"Do you know what you've given me? This is a bomb that could blow half of the capital city to smithereens!"

"I know."

Chen Yan's voice was eerily calm. "So, I handed it over to the country."

Yan Huaizhong closed the folder, his chest heaving violently.

He got it.

Chen Yan didn't come to report anything; he came to "surrender."

He handed over all the dirt on everyone, including his own.

This is telling everyone that he's quitting this dirty game.

This is also forcing myself.

From this day forward, he has no more roots or way out in the country.

Why are you doing this to yourself?

Yan Huaizhong's voice carried a hint of heartache.

Chen Yan turned around and looked at the first glimmer of dawn appearing on the eastern horizon.

"Principal Yan, some people have been kneeling for too long."

"I want to stand up and go get that award back."