Chapter Nine: Director Qiu Chen Seeks Wanhua as a Writing Partner
- Qiu Chen’s Opportunity
It was after two in the morning, and the city streets had already fallen quiet.
Yet a black sedan swerved from side to side on the wet road like a wild animal gone out of control.
The strong smell of alcohol filled the car, and several empty liquor bottles were scattered across the passenger seat.
Zhou Ding gripped the steering wheel, his eyes glazed.
“A few... a few drinks... What’s the big deal?”
He muttered to himself, then pressed down hard on the accelerator again.
The next second, a red light suddenly appeared at the intersection ahead.
Zhou Ding slammed on the brakes.
“Screech—!”
The tires dragged across the slippery asphalt with a piercing sound, but the car had already lost control and suddenly veered toward the roadside.
“Bang—!”
A tremendous crash tore through the night.
The front of the car slammed into the guardrail, and the airbags instantly deployed.
Zhou Ding’s entire body struck the steering wheel, and he passed out on the spot.
The siren of an ambulance soon sounded in the distance.
No one could have imagined that this late-night car accident would end up changing another person’s fate.
The following afternoon, the atmosphere in the production studio’s conference room was unusually tense.
Around the long table sat producer Wang Gang, director Pei Lingxian, fight choreographer Xing Zheng, stunt specialist Li Mingli, lighting technician Tony, and other key members of the crew.
A hospital notice that had just arrived lay on the table.
Wang Gang rubbed his brow.
“How is Zhou Ding doing?”
“He’s still in the hospital,” Tony replied. “The doctor said his injuries aren’t minor. He won’t be able to work for at least some time.”
Wang Gang was silent for a moment.
“Our new movie starts filming next week. Now we’re suddenly down a deputy director. What do we do?”
The conference room fell silent.
A deputy director was not a position that could simply be filled by someone at the last minute.
The person had to be familiar with the script, able to coordinate different departments and arrange work on set, and, more importantly, have the courage to make decisions when unexpected situations arose.
Director Pei Lingxian frowned.
“Finding someone from outside will probably take too long.”
“Then let’s choose someone from within the crew,” Xing Zheng suggested.
Wang Gang looked around at everyone.
“Who’s a suitable candidate?”
No one spoke.
Suddenly, Xing Zheng raised his head.
“I have someone in mind.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Qiu Chen.”
A slight stir immediately went through the conference room.
Tony’s eyes lit up.
“I think he can do it too.”
Li Mingli immediately added,
“I recommend him as well.”
Pei Lingxian, however, frowned slightly.
“Qiu Chen? Hasn’t he been doing odd jobs this whole time?”
Xing Zheng gave a cold laugh.
“What’s wrong with doing odd jobs?”
He leaned back in his chair.
“Don’t forget, he graduated from a film school in California and studied film production. Although he’s been doing the lowest-level work on set during this time, he’s worked with every department.”
Li Mingli nodded.
“And that kid is willing to work hard. Set construction, lighting, fight choreography, cinematography—there isn’t a department he hasn’t worked with.”
Xing Zheng added,
“Most importantly, he knows how the set operates.”
Tony also said,
“I’ve worked with him. He thinks fast and reacts fast. During those accidents before, if he hadn’t handled himself properly, the consequences could have been much worse.”
Wang Gang thought for a moment.
“Director Pei, what do you think?”
Pei Lingxian did not answer immediately.
He picked up his teacup and slowly took a sip.
After quite some time, he put the cup down.
“If everyone thinks he can do it, then let’s give him a try.”
Wang Gang nodded.
“Okay.”
He picked up the pen on the table and drew a heavy line across the document.
“Then it’s decided. Qiu Chen will serve as acting deputy director.”
Meanwhile, in the hospital room.
Qiu Chen had just finished lunch and was leaning against the headboard, reading a book on film theory.
Although his chest still ached faintly, he was already feeling much better than he had a few days earlier.
The hospital room door suddenly opened.
“Qiu Chen!”
Tony walked in with a huge smile on his face.
Qiu Chen looked up.
“Tony? What are you doing here?”
“To take you home.”
“That fast?”
“It’s not me who says it’s fast. The doctor says you can go home and recover.”
Tony tossed the clothes in his hand onto the bed.
“Go ahead and change.”
Qiu Chen smiled.
“Why the rush?”
Tony deliberately kept him in suspense.
“Because I have some huge news.”
“What good news?”
“Guess.”
Qiu Chen looked at him.
“I’m guessing you came here to make fun of me again.”
“Not this time.”
Tony leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“The crew held a meeting and decided to have you take over as deputy director.”
Qiu Chen froze.
“What?”
“Deputy director.”
Tony said each word clearly.
“Officially.”
For a moment, Qiu Chen could not speak.
He looked down at the hospital clothes he was wearing, then looked back up at Tony.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Tony patted him on the shoulder.
“Master Xing and Master Li both recommended you, and Producer Wang made the final decision himself.”
Qiu Chen fell silent for several seconds.
Scenes from this period suddenly flashed through his mind—
Being ordered around.
Moving equipment.
Working as a stand-in.
Being yelled at.
Getting injured.
Even nearly falling to his death.
Those days that had once made him feel humiliated suddenly became the most valuable training he had ever received.
He took a deep breath.
“I won’t let them down.”
Tony smiled.
“I knew you’d say that.”
That afternoon, Tony drove Qiu Chen back to the production studio.
As soon as Qiu Chen got out of the car, he immediately changed into his work clothes, picked up the script, and walked into the office.
A new costume comedy was about to begin filming.
The table was piled high with scripts, storyboards, character profiles, and shooting plans.
Qiu Chen sat down and read through the script page by page.
At first, his expression was fairly calm.
When he reached somewhere in the thirties, his brow furrowed.
The farther he read, the deeper the furrow became.
When he reached the final page, he finally closed the script.
“What’s wrong?” Tony asked.
Qiu Chen gave a bitter smile.
“You’re actually planning to shoot this script?”
“Is there something wrong with the script?”
“It’s not that there’s something wrong with it.”
Qiu Chen spread the script open.
“It’s that I can’t find the selling point.”
Tony froze.
“No selling point?”
“What’s the most important thing in a costume comedy?”
“The jokes?”
“Exactly.”
Qiu Chen pointed to one section.
“Here, a character falls down.”
He turned to the next page.
“Here, a misunderstanding.”
He turned another page.
“Here, a man disguises himself as a woman.”
He looked up.
“People were making these scenes twenty years ago.”
Tony gave a bitter smile.
“Then what do you think we should do?”
Qiu Chen did not answer.
A familiar figure suddenly appeared in his mind.
A messy room.
A girl hunched over her computer, writing.
And those bright, shining eyes whenever she talked about scripts again and again.
Lin Wanhua.
“There’s someone,” Qiu Chen suddenly said.
Tony looked at him.
“Who?”
“Lin Wanhua.”
Tony froze.
“My scriptwriting girl?”
“Yes.”
Qiu Chen’s expression became serious.
“She’s very talented.”
“But...” Tony hesitated. “Haven’t you two always...”
Qiu Chen did not respond to him.
Instead, he picked up the script.
“If this script were handed to her for a complete reworking, the result would definitely be different.”
Qiu Chen took the script and went to Wang Gang’s office.
Wang Gang was drinking tea.
When he saw Qiu Chen enter, he looked up and asked,
“You’ve found a problem already?”
Qiu Chen placed the script on the desk.
“Boss Wang, I want to discuss something with you.”
“Go ahead.”
“I think this script needs to be completely revised.”
Wang Gang raised an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“The story structure is basically fine, but the jokes are too clichéd.”
Qiu Chen opened the script.
“If we shoot the current version, it probably won’t be bad, but it will also be difficult for the audience to truly remember it.”
Wang Gang said nothing.
Qiu Chen paused.
“I have someone in mind.”
“Who?”
“Lin Wanhua.”
Wang Gang leaned back in his chair.
“Her?”
“Her writing has a strong sense of everyday life, and she understands character dialogue. I’ve read the costume dramas she’s written. She knows how to make ordinary characters say things that surprise people.”
Wang Gang picked up the script and flipped through several pages.
“Are you confident?”
Qiu Chen nodded. “I am.”
“What if you ruin it?”
“I’ll take responsibility.”
The office fell silent for a few seconds. Wang Gang suddenly laughed.
“Qiu Chen, this is your first day taking over as deputy director, and you already dare to find a screenwriter for the crew?”
Qiu Chen smiled too. “I just hope we can make a movie that is truly worth watching.”
Wang Gang looked at him for a while. Finally, he put the script down on the desk.
“Fine.”
Qiu Chen looked up. “Really?”
“Go find her.” Wang Gang held up one finger. “But there’s one condition.”
“Go ahead.”
“Show me the results.”
Qiu Chen nodded solemnly. “No problem.”
When he walked out of the office, his steps were much lighter than when he had walked in.
He looked down at the script in his hands, and Lin Wanhua’s image once again appeared in his mind. This time, he did not just want to ask her for help. He suddenly really wanted to know—would that stubborn, intelligent girl who refused to spend her life making wedding dresses for others be willing to take on this costume movie? And once the thought arose, it lingered in his mind for a long time.
34. Qiu Chen Persuades Wanhua to Take Over the Screenplay
The Single Society was much quieter than usual that evening.
The setting sun slanted through the window at the end of the hallway, bathing the old wooden floor in a pale golden glow. Outside, the occasional roar of a motorcycle could be heard speeding past, while inside, the only sound was the hum of the fan blades as they turned.
Qiu Chen walked hurriedly into The Single Society, a thick screenplay tucked under his arm.
“Where’s Wanhua?”
Sun Qing, who was sorting things in the living room, looked up. “In her room.”
She glanced at the screenplay in Qiu Chen’s hand, then at his excited expression.
“You’re going to ask her to write?”
“That’s right.” Qiu Chen nodded with a smile. “And this time, it has to be her.”
Sun Qing gave him a meaningful look. “Then you’d better be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“Wanhua isn’t the same person she used to be—the Lin Wanhua who would light up at the sight of a screenplay.”
Qiu Chen paused slightly. “I know.”
With that, he hugged the screenplay tighter and walked toward Wanhua’s room.
He knocked twice, but there was no response.
“Wanhua, it’s me, Qiu Chen.”
Still no answer. Qiu Chen knocked again.
“Can I come in?”
After a long while, a weak voice finally came from inside.
“The door’s unlocked.”
Qiu Chen pushed the door open. The sight before him made him pause.
The curtains were only half drawn, allowing just a dim yellow light from the setting sun to filter through the gap. The laptop on the desk, which should have kept Wanhua company through countless late nights of writing, lay there silently, its screen black. There was even a thin layer of dust on its surface. Several screenplays were piled messily in the corner of the desk, with a cup of unfinished tea from the night before sitting beside them.
Lin Wanhua was leaning against the headboard, staring blankly out the window. She did not even turn around.
“How long... has it been since you turned on your computer?” Qiu Chen walked over to the desk and gently wiped the surface of the laptop with his hand.
His fingertip immediately picked up a layer of dust.
Wanhua said flatly, “I don’t remember.”
“A week?”
Wanhua was silent for a moment. “About that.”
Qiu Chen turned around. “You used to feel miserable if you went even one day without writing.”
Wanhua gave a bitter smile. “That was then.”
Qiu Chen said nothing more.
Wanhua lowered her head, clasping her hands over her knees. After sitting silently for a moment, she finally seemed unable to hold in the words she had kept buried inside for so long.
“I quit.”
“What?”
“My job at the television station.”
Qiu Chen froze. “You really quit?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Wanhua raised her head. Her eyes showed exhaustion, along with a trace of disappointment from having been deceived.
“Because I’ve had enough.” She stood up, walked to the desk, and pointed at the dust-covered laptop.
“Every day, I stayed up all night writing. I wrote until dawn, until I could barely keep my eyes open. But what happened in the end?” She gave a cold laugh.
“The work had someone else’s name on it. The applause went to someone else. And the credit went to someone else, too.”
Qiu Chen fell silent.
“I thought Chai Xin really wanted to cultivate me.” Wanhua’s voice gradually grew quieter. “But in the end, I was nothing more than a pen hiding behind her, writing for her.”
She turned around and sat back down on the edge of the bed.
“If that’s how it is, why should I keep writing?”
Qiu Chen looked at her without answering immediately. After a moment, he held out the screenplay in his hand.
“Take a look at this first.”
Wanhua did not take it.
“What is it?”
“A movie screenplay.”
“You wrote it?”
“No.”
“Then why did you bring it to me?”
“Because I need a screenwriter now.”
Wanhua finally looked up. Qiu Chen placed the screenplay in front of her.
“After Deputy Director Zhou Ding got into trouble, the crew was short a deputy director, so the boss had me take over.”
Wanhua looked at him. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Qiu Chen sat down in the chair beside her. “We’re about to start shooting a costume comedy.”
“So?”
“So I want to ask you for help.”
Wanhua picked up the screenplay and casually flipped through several pages. Her brow furrowed more and more.
“What is this?”
“A movie screenplay.”
“I know it’s a movie screenplay.” She flipped through several more pages.
“This joke...” She looked up at Qiu Chen. “Are you serious?”
Qiu Chen gave an embarrassed cough. “I think there are some problems with it, too.”
Wanhua continued flipping through the pages.
“This kind of scene was written more than ten years ago. It’s outdated.”
“Yeah.”
“The characters are flat, too.”
“Yeah.”
“The dialogue is contrived, but it isn’t funny.”
“Yeah.”
Wanhua snapped the screenplay shut.
“Why did you bring this to me?”
“I want you to rewrite it.”
Wanhua froze for a moment. The next second, she simply tossed the screenplay aside.
Bang!
The screenplay hit the corner of the wall and fell to the floor.
“I’m not writing it.”
Qiu Chen gave a bitter smile. “That was quick.”
“Just looking at a screenplay gives me a headache now.”
“But—”
“Qiu Chen.” Wanhua interrupted him. “I don’t want to write this kind of garbage.”
She stood up, and her emotions finally erupted.
“And of course, I don’t want to keep making wedding dresses for other people!”
“This time, you’re not doing it for someone else.”
“What’s the difference?”
“It’s different.” Qiu Chen’s voice suddenly became serious.
Wanhua looked at him.
Qiu Chen bent down, picked up the screenplay from the floor, and brushed the dust off its cover.
“This time, I went to talk to the boss myself.”
Wanhua froze. “What do you mean?”
“After I finished reading the screenplay, you were the first person I thought of.” He paused. “I told the boss this screenplay wouldn’t work. We needed to find someone who truly understood comedy to rewrite it.”
Wanhua said nothing.
“The boss asked me if I had anyone suitable in mind.” Qiu Chen looked at her. “I said yes.”
“Who?”
“Lin Wanhua.”
The room suddenly fell silent.
Wanhua stared at him, her eyes wavering slightly.
“Why... why did you do that?”
Qiu Chen smiled. “Because I’ve read what you’ve written.”
“So what?”
“I know you have the ability.”
“But I don’t want to write right now.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you come?”
“Because I still wanted to come.”
Wanhua turned her face away. “You’re really stubborn.”
“Likewise.”
The corners of Wanhua’s mouth moved slightly, but she quickly returned to her calm expression.
Qiu Chen simply sat down across from her.
“And besides, I’ve already told the boss.”
“Told him what?”
“If this movie doesn’t have a screenplay written by you, I won’t take the deputy director position.”
Wanhua suddenly looked up. “Are you crazy?”
“A little.”
“Qiu Chen, you finally managed to become a deputy director. Don’t joke about your future.”
“That’s why I came to find you.”
“Are you trying to force me?”
“No.” Qiu Chen shook his head.
“I’m begging you.” He deliberately put on a pitiful expression.
“It took me so much effort to finally get the chance to stand behind the camera. You can’t just stand there and watch me get killed by a lousy screenplay on my very first movie, can you?”
Wanhua could not help smiling. “Oh, stop it.”
“Seriously.” Qiu Chen put his palms together. “Please, you great writer.”
Seeing his almost shamelessly pleading expression, Wanhua finally burst out laughing.
“How can a deputy director have so little pride?”
“For the sake of a good screenplay, I don’t mind having no pride.”
“And besides...” Qiu Chen deliberately sighed. “I’ve already boasted to the boss.”
“Not this again.”
“If you don’t agree, I’ll probably have to quit.”
“Stop bluffing me.”
“Really.”
“You dare!”
“Then help me.”
Wanhua glared at him. The two of them were silent for a few seconds.
Wanhua took the screenplay and patted its cover. “Let me make one thing clear first.”
Qiu Chen’s eyes lit up. “You’re agreeing?”
“I’m only agreeing to take a look at the screenplay first.”
“Taking a look means there’s hope.”
“Don’t get excited too soon.” Wanhua sat back down at the desk and spread the screenplay open.
“If you really want me to write it, I have one condition.”
“Go ahead.”
“I have the final say in how the screenplay is revised.”
Qiu Chen answered without hesitation. “Deal.”
“And one more thing.” Wanhua looked up at him. “I won’t accept anyone making random changes to my work.”
“Deal.”
“If the movie doesn’t do well at the box office, I won’t take any responsibility.”
“As long as you’re willing to write it, I’ll take responsibility.”
Wanhua looked at him and suddenly felt that somewhere inside her, a place that had been extinguished for a long time seemed to have a tiny flame glowing again. She reached out and opened her laptop. The moment the screen lit up, it seemed to add a ray of light to the dim room.
Qiu Chen stood behind her. Seeing her sit back down in her familiar place, he quietly smiled.
“That’s more like it.”
Wanhua did not turn around. “Aren’t you leaving?”
“I’m leaving.” Qiu Chen turned and walked to the door, then stopped.
“Oh, right.”
“What?”
“I’ll come pick you up at nine next Monday morning.”
Wanhua frowned. “Pick me up where?”
“The production studio.”
“That soon?”
“The boss is waiting to see how you’re going to save this screenplay.”
Wanhua rolled her eyes at him. “You’re really good at putting pressure on people.”
Qiu Chen smiled and closed the door.
The moment the door shut, Wanhua turned her attention back to the screen. The blank document page quietly blinked with the cursor.
She reached out and placed her hands on the keyboard. She paused for a few seconds.
Then the first word appeared.
Tap.
The second word.
Tap.
The third word.
Night slowly descended.
And inside the room that had been silent for days, the long-missed sound of the keyboard rang out once again.
35. Lin Wanhua, the Relentless Screenwriter
It was late at night.
The lights in the living room of The Single Society had long since been turned off. Only a dim yellow wall lamp remained in the hallway, casting a hazy glow over the old wooden doors and mottled walls.
Only Lin Wanhua’s room still had a light on. The sound of the keyboard rang out as densely as raindrops.
Tap, tap, tap... Lin Wanhua sat at the desk, leaning slightly forward, her eyes fixed on the screen, her ten fingers flying rapidly across the keyboard. Sometimes she frowned. Sometimes she stopped to think. Then, in the next moment, as if she had suddenly caught an inspiration, her fingers began flying again.
The tea on the desk had already gone cold. The night outside was growing darker and darker. But she showed no sign of stopping.
Footsteps came from outside the room. Qiu Chen carefully approached, carrying a steaming bowl of assorted noodles.
“Wanhua.”
There was no response. Qiu Chen stood at the door and called softly again.
“Wanhua, eat something.”
“Mm.” Wanhua did not even turn her head. She only gave a vague response.
Qiu Chen waited a few seconds. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.”
Qiu Chen opened the door and came in. “Then I’ll put the noodles on the vanity.”
“Okay.”
Qiu Chen glanced at her desk. It was covered with manuscript pages, notes, books, and a glass of water that had already gone cold.
He knew that saying even one more word at this moment might interrupt the train of thought she had just formed.
So he said nothing more and simply placed the noodles beside the desk.
“Remember to eat them while they’re hot.”
Wanhua continued staring at the screen. “Mm.”
Qiu Chen turned and left. When he reached the living room, he suddenly saw Sun Qing coming out of the kitchen.
She was still holding a spatula. She looked at the empty dining table, then at Qiu Chen.
“Where are the noodles?”
Qiu Chen froze. “What?”
“The bowl of assorted noodles I made.” Only then did Qiu Chen remember.
“Oh... I took them to Wanhua.” Sun Qing’s expression stiffened slightly.
“To her?”
“She’s still rushing to finish her manuscript. She hasn’t eaten anything since dinner.”
Sun Qing tightened her grip on the spatula. “So you gave her the noodles I made?”
Qiu Chen did not notice anything unusual in her tone.
“She needs to eat something.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Sun Qing looked at him. “I made that bowl of noodles for you in the first place.”
Qiu Chen was stunned for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Sun Qing forced a smile. “Forget it.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen.
“The noodles are gone. I can just make another bowl.”
But once she entered the kitchen, the smile on her face quickly disappeared.
She stood at the counter, looking down at the little broth remaining in the pot. For some reason, what had originally been nothing more than an ordinary bowl of assorted noodles now looked especially painful to her eyes.
Meanwhile, Qiu Chen returned to Wanhua’s door. He did not go inside. Through the half-closed door, he saw Wanhua still bent over her writing. The bowl of hot noodles sat beside her hand, the steam gradually fading. The noodles were slowly losing their sheen.
But Wanhua had no intention of picking up her chopsticks.
Qiu Chen sighed softly. He knew that once Lin Wanhua entered a creative state, it was as if she had entered another world entirely. She could forget the time, forget to eat, forget to sleep, and even forget that there were still other people around her.
Qiu Chen did not dare disturb her. He turned and went back to the living room, where he picked up a broom and dustpan.
The room was still a mess. Several manuscript pages crumpled into balls were scattered across the floor. Empty drink cans sat on the windowsill, and several books were stacked crookedly on a chair. Qiu Chen crouched down and picked up the manuscript pages one by one. Some of the backs of the pages were also covered with writing. He did not dare throw them away carelessly, so he first arranged them neatly in the corner of the desk.
He carefully restacked the books, then put the garbage on the floor into a plastic bag. Throughout the entire process, he made almost no sound. Every now and then, he looked up at Wanhua. She was still hunched over her writing.
Qiu Chen continued cleaning.
This scene happened to be seen by Sun Qing as she walked past carrying a glass of water. She stopped.
Standing motionless beneath the dim yellow hallway light, she watched Qiu Chen crouching on the floor and cleaning Wanhua’s room.
She watched him carefully organize those manuscript pages, and even take out the glass of water Wanhua had left behind and wash it for her.
She had never seen such patience before.
Sun Qing slowly tightened her fingers around the glass.
“So...” she whispered to herself. “This is how you take care of her.”
Qiu Chen suddenly turned around. “Sun Qing?”
Sun Qing immediately put on an indifferent expression. “Nothing.”
“Why aren’t you asleep yet?”
“I was just thirsty, so I came out for some water.”
Qiu Chen smiled. “Get some rest early.”
“Mm.” Sun Qing nodded.
But she did not leave. She stood there, watching Qiu Chen bend down again and pick up a manuscript page from the floor.
At that moment, she felt as if something inside her were slowly sinking.
She had originally thought that Qiu Chen simply regarded Lin Wanhua as a friend from work. But these small gestures before her made her realize for the first time that some forms of concern did not need to be spoken aloud. And some feelings could not be explained away with the single word “friend.”
Sun Qing lowered her head and quietly took a sip of water. The water was neither cold nor warm anymore. But her heart felt as if it had suddenly fallen into a deep well.
“Am I... already too late?”
She did not say the words aloud.
She simply turned and walked back to her room alone, gently closing the door behind her. The hallway became quiet again.
Inside Wanhua’s room, the sound of the keyboard continued.
Tap, tap, tap...
Beneath the solitary light, a woman was rekindling her life for the sake of her dream;
another man was silently guarding that light.
And behind another door, a woman felt for the first time that she might have quietly lost a place she had once thought still belonged to her.
36. The Pink Quick-Handed Screenwriter
Three days. Only three days.
Before the morning sunlight had completely penetrated the curtains, Qiu Chen gently pushed open Lin Wanhua’s door.
“Wanhua?”
No one answered.
Qiu Chen poked his head inside. The first thing he saw was not a person, but a desk covered with messy manuscript pages.
A thick stack of screenplay pages lay spread across the desk. Several ballpoint pens and empty mineral water bottles were scattered around them. The laptop screen was still lit, and the last line of text stopped just before the blinking cursor, like a breath that had not yet been fully exhaled.
Lin Wanhua was lying facedown beside the desk, her hair disheveled, with two deep dark circles around her eyes.
Qiu Chen was shocked. “You... don’t tell me you really haven’t slept for three days?”
Wanhua slowly raised her head and looked at him with hazy eyes.
“Who said I haven’t slept?”
“Then how long did you sleep?”
“...I don’t know.”
“Two or three hours?”
“About that.”
Qiu Chen could not help giving a bitter smile.
“Does that count as sleeping?”
Wanhua rubbed her eyes and gave a huge yawn. “At least it’s better than not sleeping.”
Qiu Chen looked at the screenplay on the desk, feeling both admiration and concern.
“Finished?”
Wanhua pushed the stack of manuscript pages toward him.
“Read it yourself.”
Qiu Chen picked up the screenplay and flipped through several pages. After reading only a few scenes, his expression began to change.
First came surprise. Then he smiled. By the time he reached the later pages, he could not help slapping his thigh.
“Haha! This is good!”
Wanhua glared at him. “Keep your voice down. I still want to sleep.”
Qiu Chen lowered his voice, but he could not hide his excitement.
“This character is incredible! And this scene... you actually brought all the foreshadowing from earlier back together!”
Wanhua did not answer. She simply rested her chin on her arm, her eyes half closed.
“Anything else?”
“What?”
“Are there any other flaws?”
Qiu Chen paused. “Flaws?”
“You keep saying it’s good, good, as if I wrote an Oscar screenplay.” Wanhua said weakly, “There can’t possibly be not a single flaw, right?”
Qiu Chen smiled. “There is.”
“What?”
“The flaw is that the screenwriter is exhausted.”
Wanhua narrowed her eyes. “Say that again?”
“I said...” Qiu Chen immediately took a step back. “This screenplay is very good.”
Wanhua grabbed the pillow from the desk and threw it straight at him. “Get out!”
Qiu Chen dodged while clutching the screenplay. “Okay, okay, I’m leaving!”
“I want to sleep!”
“I know.”
“Don’t make any more noise!”
“I know.”
Qiu Chen walked to the door, then could not help turning around.
“Wanhua.”
“What now?”
“Thank you.”
Wanhua did not answer. She simply waved her hand tiredly.
“Go.”
Qiu Chen left with the screenplay. The door gently closed behind him.
A few seconds later, the room filled with the steady sound of Lin Wanhua’s breathing.
This time, she had really fallen asleep.
37. The Screenplay Brought Back to Life
At the production studio, Qiu Chen walked into the meeting room carrying the screenplay, wearing a rare expression of confidence.
Big Boss Guo Wuyong sat at the head of the long table. Director Pei Lingxian sat beside him, while the production, cinematography, art, and several other key crew members gradually took their seats.
Qiu Chen placed the screenplay on the table.
“Everyone, this is the revised screenplay.”
Guo Wuyong picked up the screenplay and flipped through the pages quickly.
“Mr. Guo, the original screenplay wasn’t impossible to film. It’s just that the jokes were rather thin and relied on tired old clichés. In this version, the relationships between the characters have been reorganized, the pacing is tighter, and many of the jokes aren’t forced into the story. Instead, they naturally grow out of the characters’ personalities.”
Pei Lingxian gave a cold laugh.
“You certainly know how to make it sound good.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference whether I read it or not.” Pei Lingxian leaned back in his chair. “Film is the director’s art. It’s not something a screenwriter can simply change however he wants.”
The meeting room suddenly fell silent. Everyone’s eyes moved back and forth between the two men.
Qiu Chen knew that what truly made Director Pei uncomfortable was probably not the screenplay, but himself. A young man who had just returned from the United States and had only worked as a gofer and stand-in on the crew was now standing at the conference table with a new screenplay in his hands, becoming the center of everyone’s attention. To Pei Lingxian, this was undoubtedly a threat.
“I’m not trying to take Director Pei’s position,” Qiu Chen said calmly. “I just hope we can make the movie better.”
As Guo Wuyong continued reading, his originally serious face gradually broke into a smile.
“This scene... is interesting.”
He turned another page. “Haha! This joke works.”
He turned another page.
Boss Guo could not help laughing out loud. “Now this is a comedy!”
Pei Lingxian’s expression grew darker and darker. “Mr. Guo...”
Boss Guo looked up. “Director Pei, don’t get worked up yet.”
“But—”
“I know what you’re worried about.” Boss Guo put down the screenplay, his tone becoming gentler. “You’re the director of this movie. No one is going to remove your name.”
Pei Lingxian fell silent.
“How about this?” Boss Guo said. “You’ve been tired lately. Take some time off first.”
Pei Lingxian was stunned. “Time off?”
“Yes. I’m giving you paid leave.” Boss Guo nodded. “Qiu Chen will handle the pre-production coordination and filming of this movie for now. Once the movie is completed, your name will still be listed as the director.”
Pei Lingxian’s brow furrowed even more deeply. “Mr. Guo, this...”
“Director Pei.” Boss Guo patted him on the shoulder. “Everyone is trying to make the movie better. Don’t worry. You won’t lose your credit. During this time, just go abroad and take a break. The company will cover your travel expenses.”
Pei Lingxian said nothing more. His eyes fell on Qiu Chen.
In that gaze were unwillingness, jealousy, and a trace of undisguised coldness. Qiu Chen met his gaze without backing down. The meeting room remained silent for several seconds. Finally, Boss Guo stood up.
“All right.” He looked around at everyone. “Now that the screenplay has been finalized, there’s no need to waste any more time.”
He slapped the table firmly. “Notify all departments. We’re officially starting production!”
Everyone stood up one after another. Some picked up the storyboards, some hurried to set up the camera tracks, some arranged the sets, and others installed the lighting and sound equipment. The tense atmosphere that had filled the meeting room instantly gave way to a flurry of activity.
Qiu Chen stood to one side, looking at the screenplay in his hands, and let out a long breath. He knew this was only the beginning.
And before the movie truly began filming, the undercurrents between him and Pei Lingxian were only just about to rise to the surface.
39. The Direct Clash Between the Old and New Forces
Under Qiu Chen’s coordination and direction, the crew worked together with considerable harmony.
One month later, filming of The Four Talented Men of Jiangnan was completed smoothly, and the production immediately entered post-production.
Another month later, the costume comedy was successfully released, and its box office climbed steadily.
Within just a few days, long lines formed outside the theaters. Scalpers were even appearing around the ticket booths, and tickets became difficult to get. The entertainment sections of newspapers reported on the movie for several consecutive days, while television programs competed to discuss its hilarious scenes. In particular, several absurd comedy sequences designed by Lin Wanhua became hot topics among audiences.
At the production studio, everyone from top to bottom was filled with an unusual atmosphere of celebration.
That morning, the company held a business meeting.
The spacious conference room was filled with company executives and key members of the film crew seated on both sides of the long table. The air-conditioning unit on the wall hummed loudly, but it could not suppress everyone’s excitement.
Guo Wuyong sat at the head of the long table, holding the latest newspaper. He slapped it down on the table, his face full of smiles.
“Everyone, we fought this battle beautifully! The box office is still climbing...”
A round of applause immediately broke out in the meeting room.
“Boss, this wasn’t just a beautiful battle!” Xing Zheng said with a smile. “If the box office keeps going like this, we might even break the company’s all-time record.”
“Of course!” Guo Wuyong laughed heartily.
Qiu Chen, sitting to his right, merely smiled faintly. He did not join in with everyone’s excitement. Instead, he lowered his head and continued looking through the market data in his hands.
Guo Wuyong noticed his expression and asked with a smile, “Qiu Chen, what do you think?”
Qiu Chen looked up. “I think the success of this movie proves that audiences are actually very willing to accept fast-paced commercial comedies packed with jokes.”
“Mm.” Guo Wuyong nodded. “Go on.”
Qiu Chen pushed the data in his hands toward the center of the table. “For our next movie, we don’t necessarily have to continue making costume films. Instead, I suggest bringing the setting back to the modern city and making a series of contemporary comedies.”
The meeting room fell silent for a moment. Several executives exchanged glances.
Qiu Chen continued. “Modern urban stories are closer to the audience’s everyday lives, and production costs can also be reduced. The characters, settings, and stories can all be expanded. If the first movie succeeds, we can even develop it into a film series.”
Guo Wuyong’s eyes lit up. “A series?”
“Yes.” Qiu Chen nodded.
“Instead of starting over with a completely different story every time and preparing sets and costumes for different historical periods, we could build a dynamic group of comedy characters and storylines. Once audiences become familiar with the characters, they’ll develop expectations for them.”
The more Guo Wuyong listened, the more excited he became. He stood up, picked up the pencil on the table, and began sketching ideas on the whiteboard.
“This is a good idea!”
“Mr. Guo...” Suddenly, a cold voice came from the other end of the conference table. “I disagree.”
The smiles on everyone’s faces instantly froze.
The speaker was Pei Lingxian. He sat back against his chair with his arms crossed, his expression gloomy. Ever since filming of The Four Talented Men of Jiangnan began, although his name remained listed as the director, actual control over the production had gradually shifted to Qiu Chen. Now that the movie had become a box-office hit, everyone at the company regarded Qiu Chen even more as the next generation of director. Pei Lingxian had been holding in his resentment over this all along. Now, hearing that Guo Wuyong was actually preparing to adopt Qiu Chen’s suggestion, he finally could not hold himself back.
Guo Wuyong frowned. “Director Pei, what do you disagree with?”
Pei Lingxian slowly straightened up. “I’ve been making movies for so many years. I know what kinds of subjects can make money better than some young kid who just got back from the United States.”
Qiu Chen did not argue. He simply looked at him quietly.
Pei Lingxian gave a cold laugh. “You make one movie that does well at the box office, and you think you understand movies?”
The atmosphere in the meeting room immediately became tense. Qiu Chen remained calm.
“Director Pei, I’m only making a suggestion.”
“A suggestion?” Pei Lingxian sneered. “You’re a deputy director. What right do you have to decide what the company makes next?”
That remark made Tony, sitting beside Qiu Chen, change expression.
“Director Pei, you can’t put it that way.”
Qiu Chen reached out and stopped Tony. “It’s okay.”
He looked at Pei Lingxian, his tone still calm.
“The purpose of a company meeting is to let everyone offer different opinions.”
“You certainly know how to talk.” Pei Lingxian stared coldly at him. “But movies aren’t made with a few pretty words.”
“I know.” Qiu Chen nodded. “That’s why I let the box office speak for me.”
The entire room suddenly fell silent.
The words were not harsh, but they were like a needle piercing directly into Pei Lingxian’s heart.
Pei Lingxian’s expression instantly darkened. “You—”
“All right!” Guo Wuyong slammed his hand on the table. “This is a business meeting, not a place for you two to argue!”
The meeting room fell silent again.
However, the real conflict had only just begun.
Pei Lingxian took a deep breath and simply stood up.
“Mr. Guo, since you admire Qiu Chen so much, I’ll make myself clear today.”
Everyone’s eyes turned toward him.
“If the company decides that he will be in charge of directing from now on, I can leave.”
“Director Pei...” someone quietly tried to stop him.
But Pei Lingxian showed no intention of stopping.
“But if you still consider me the company’s official director, then don’t let an outsider tell me how to make movies.”
Qiu Chen looked up. “I’ve never wanted to tell you how to direct.”
“But you already are!” Pei Lingxian suddenly turned around and pointed at Qiu Chen.
“From the screenplay to the way the movie is filmed, and then to post-production, what haven’t you interfered with?”
“That’s because the boss asked me to take full responsibility for the production.”
“So now you want to replace me?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what exactly do you mean?”
The two men’s eyes collided across the room, and the air seemed to freeze.
Just then, subtle commotion began to spread through the meeting room. Those who supported Qiu Chen quietly exchanged opinions.
“The success of The Four Talented Men of Jiangnan really does have a lot to do with Qiu Chen.”
“Yeah. His way of handling the production is different from before.”
On the other side, several veteran members who had worked with Pei Lingxian for many years also gathered together.
“Director Pei has been making movies for so many years. How could he possibly lose to a young man?”
“Exactly. The company can’t just abandon the people who helped build it once they’ve crossed the river.”
What had originally been a business meeting to discuss the direction of the next movie had quietly turned into a struggle between two forces.
Guo Wuyong sat in the main seat, watching the two camps gradually form on either side of him. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.
On one side was Pei Lingxian, the veteran director who had followed him for many years.
On the other was Qiu Chen, who had just helped the company create impressive box-office results and had also won the support of many younger crew members.
He did not want to offend either of them.
But now, it seemed that the issue was no longer whether he wanted to choose.
Both sides were forcing him to choose.
Pei Lingxian stared at Guo Wuyong.
“Mr. Guo, I’m only going to ask you one question today.”
He spoke slowly, word by word.
“Do you believe me, or do you believe him?”
Everyone held their breath.
Guo Wuyong remained silent for a long while. His gaze moved from Pei Lingxian to Qiu Chen, then from Qiu Chen back to Pei Lingxian.
“Well...” He opened his mouth, but he could not bring himself to give an answer.
Qiu Chen instead slowly stood up.
“Boss Guo, you don’t have to decide right now.”
Pei Lingxian sneered. “What? Are you afraid?”
Qiu Chen ignored his provocation.
“In the end, a movie still has to let the box office speak for itself.”
With that, he gathered the materials on the table and put them into a folder.
“If my idea is wrong, the market will give us the answer.”
He turned and walked out of the meeting room.
Tony glanced at Pei Lingxian, then followed him out.
The meeting room was suddenly left with a silence in which the two sides faced one another.
Guo Wuyong rubbed his forehead and let out a long sigh.
“Let’s... end today’s meeting here for now.”
“Meeting adjourned!” Guo Wuyong raised his voice.
The sounds of chairs being dragged and documents being gathered gradually filled the room. People left the meeting room in groups of two or three.
Pei Lingxian remained where he was, staring in the direction Qiu Chen had left, his eyes as dark as a deep pool.
He slowly clenched his fists.
“Young man, are you really in such a hurry to replace me?”
A cold smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“It won’t be that easy.”
At the other end of the hallway, Qiu Chen had no idea that a struggle far more intense than the movie itself had already quietly begun.
下一則： Chapter 7. The Stand-In in the Fire
