Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

The cabin door opens.

A dry, cold northerly wind, carrying the smell of coal smoke, instantly filled the entire covered bridge, stripping away all the lingering warmth of the Mediterranean Sea.

Yanjing is back.

Su Wan leaned on Chen Yan's shoulder, her body trembling almost imperceptibly. She clutched the leather bag containing the checks tightly in her arms, her fingernails digging deep white marks into the leather.

"It's fucking cold." Zhang Yuan switched the heavy camera bag from his shoulder to his hand and breathed white vapor into his palm.

The exit was bustling with people.

There were no flowers, no welcome signs.

Several men dressed in dark gray Zhongshan suits stood straight on the periphery of the crowd, their gazes sweeping over each face as they came out of the gate like knives.

The man in the lead walked straight up and blocked their way. His hair was neatly combed, but the top button on his collar was buttoned incorrectly.

"Chen Yan?"

Chen Yan stopped, pulled Su Wan half an inch behind him, and his gaze fell on the misaligned button.

"I am."

"Film Bureau Joint Investigation Team." The man flashed his badge, the red cover worn at the corners. "You are suspected of illegally carrying unapproved film negatives out of the country and are involved in a copyright dispute over 'The Night Watchman.' You need to come back with us to explain the situation. The film negatives and the trophy are temporarily confiscated."

Su Wan's palms were instantly soaked with cold sweat: "The trophy was awarded by the Cannes authorities..."

Chen Yan squeezed her hand to stop her.

"The box is at the bottom, it's hard to get now." Chen Yan looked at the other person, "Where's the car? I'll go with you."

"Please." The man stepped aside, making way for him.

A black Santana and a gray van.

Chen Yan was led to the back seat of the Santana, where a broken spring pressed against his spine. He looked out the window, where bare poplar trees rushed past.

Passing by a newsstand, the latest issue of the "Beijing Film News" was displayed in the most prominent position.

In the corner of the front page, a line of small print reads: "On the Artistic Integrity and Servility of Young Directors."

……

Lu's Film Industry, at the top level.

In the ashtray, cigarette butts from the redwood tree were piled up like a small mountain.

"Mr. Lu, the man has been taken in." Wang, the comprador, had one side of his face swollen and spoke unclearly. "We've already spoken to the guesthouse; he won't be out for at least ten days or two weeks. By the time things calm down, he'll be infamous."

Lu Haiming turned around and shoved the cigarette butt into the ashtray.

"If he dared to tamper with things in Cannes, he must have a backup." His voice was deep. "I want that film, 'Thunder,' to die in the film can.

"Understood. The stunt team has already spread the word that Wu Gang, that cripple, is short on money lately and might take on some work."

Lu Haiming flicked another cigarette from the pack: "What kind of trouble can a cripple cause? Tell the Martial Arts Association that anyone who dares to work with Chen Yan is cutting off their own career for the next ten years! From now on, not a single stuntman from their group will be allowed into any of Lu's films!"

……

Yenching Film Academy, Guesthouse.

Large chunks of plaster had peeled off the walls, revealing dark yellow bricks. The ceiling fan whirred listlessly, unable to dispel the oppressive atmosphere of the room.

This is the third day, and the interrogators have already been changed five times.

Chen Yan leaned back in his chair and answered all the questions fluently.

The door opened, and Yan Huaizhong walked in carrying an aluminum lunchbox, his eyes drooping.

"Braised pork with potatoes." He placed the lunchbox on the table. "It's oily, but filling."

Chen Yan opened the lunchbox; the meat was very tender, but the potatoes were slightly undercooked. He ate without changing his expression.

Yan Huaizhong rubbed his hands together and sat down on the wooden stool: "Lu Haiming, along with several senior professors, demanded that the school revoke your diploma. The ministry also received a report saying that you received a 'political award.' Chen Yan, you've really stirred up a hornet's nest."

Chen Yan swallowed a piece of meat: "Teacher Yan, do you believe that?"

Yan Huaizhong remained silent.

"Lin Shufen came to me. If that US dollar isn't deposited soon, there will be problems." Yan Huaizhong leaned forward. "Lu Haiming has you by the throat at the bank. You're begging for food while holding a golden rice bowl."

"That's all the tricks he has up his sleeve," Chen Yan said, putting down his chopsticks.

"You still have a backup plan?"

"He's not afraid that I'll win the award." Chen Yan walked to the window and looked at the students walking by in twos and threes downstairs. "He's afraid that when 'Thunder' is made, people will remember the clock tower that collapsed in Tianjin twenty years ago."

Yan Huaizhong's hand holding the teacup shook violently, spilling hot water all over the table.

"Are you crazy? You think you can use a movie to undermine his 20-year-old foundation?"

"It wasn't prying." Chen Yan turned around and said, emphasizing each word.

"It's an explosion."

He stared into Yan Huaizhong's eyes: "Professor Yan, please pass on a message to Lin Shufen. Contact the AFP correspondent in Beijing and tell her that the Cannes short film Palme d'Or winner has been restricted in his career due to 'technical reasons'."

"You're letting a wolf into the house!"

"He wants my life, so I have to make him experience what it's like to have his heart skip a beat first." Chen Yan pulled a crumpled red plum blossom from his pocket. "Also, have Su Wan go to the changing room alley behind Dashilan and find a bicycle repairman surnamed Wu. Give this to him."

"Tell him the boss is back, let's get to work."

……

Changing Lane is full of puddles.

Wu Gang squatted on a small stool, struggling with a rusty Forever bicycle. He was covered in grease and his chin was covered in dark stubble.

Su Wan, wearing a trench coat, carefully walked around the puddles on the ground and stood in front of him.

"Master Wu?"

Wu Gang didn't even look up, tightening the wrench rapidly: "Two yuan for tire repair, five yuan for chain replacement, no bargaining."

Su Wan didn't say anything, but took out the crumpled red plum blossom from her pocket and placed it on the toolbox in front of him.

Wu Gang stopped moving.

He put down the wrench, picked up the cigarette, and brought it to his nose to smell the cheap tobacco.

"What did he say?" The voice was as rough as sandpaper.

"He said, 'The boss is back, it's time to get to work.'"

Wu Gang grinned, revealing a few teeth stained yellow by smoke. He stood up, leaning against the wall, a cracking sound of bones grinding against each other coming from his lower back.

"Lu Haiming has declared that anyone who takes his job is going against the entire martial arts industry in Yanjing." Wu Gang spat out the tobacco in his mouth and looked at the narrow sky above, cut off by the eaves.

"But he's the one who ruined my livelihood ten years ago."

He turned around and pulled a dusty cloth bag from the broken wooden plank behind the door. He opened it and found a pair of rusty cowhide wristbands inside.

"Go back and tell him, I have the man. I'm willing to risk my life." Wu Gang rewrapped his wristband. "But the money has to be in place. Also, I need to get the best doctor to take a look at my back."

……

Within days, several veteran film critics jointly published an article criticizing "The Night Watchman" for exploiting suffering.

On the Beijing Film Academy's internal forum, a post titled "Chen Yan betrays his country for personal gain" was pinned to the top, followed by hundreds of replies.

In the guesthouse room, Chen Yan spread a huge sheet of white paper on the table.

He used a pencil to draw the structural diagram of the clock tower, stroke by stroke.

The location of every load-bearing beam, every critical stress point, and even the cracks left over from that year are all clearly marked.

The door was suddenly pushed open.

It wasn't Yan Huaizhong who entered, but a blond, blue-eyed man, followed by the investigation team leader with a livid face.

"Mr. Chen, this is Matthew from AFP."

The Frenchman raised his camera.

Chen Yan put down his pencil, slowly stood up, and calmly looked directly at the camera.

The flash went off, completely obscuring any expression from his face.