Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

With the heavy-duty soundproof door closed, the sound of the waves was completely shut out.

Chen Yan walked quickly on the red carpet.

Zhang Yuan was carrying two aluminum alloy cases, the metal buckles clanging against the cases.

The man blocking the stairwell was wearing a blue uniform.

His name tag read: Technical Supervisor, Luca.

He raised his arm to block the way, his palms covered in calluses.

"Leave the venue."

Luca gave the commands in English with a heavy Italian accent.

"I am the director, Chen Yan."

Chen Yan stopped and looked directly at the other person.

"The test screening time has been moved up to 8 o'clock so we can check the copies."

Luca pointed to the clock on the wall.

"The projectionists have entered. It's closed for setup and testing now. Outsiders are not allowed in; that's the film festival's rule."

Zhang Yuan took a step forward and lifted the box up a bit.

"Rules are meant to ensure projection quality. What's the point of you doing this behind closed doors? Our copy hasn't even had its audio-visual synchronization finalized yet."

Luca didn't look at Zhang Yuan; his arm remained horizontal in mid-air, motionless.

"The film has been returned to its place in the projection room. If it's about adjusting the technical parameters, go downstairs to get the technical committee's signature."

Chen Yan took out the original delivery letter signed by the French, Italian, and Chinese parties, unfolded it, and handed it over.

"Read the last point carefully."

Chen Yan pressed down on the clause with his fingertips.

"The production company has the right to personally check the opening six yards 15 minutes before the screening. It's 7:10 now, and I'm five minutes earlier than the scheduled time."

Luca took the document, his gaze shifting back and forth between the text and the aluminum alloy box behind Chen Yan.

"Leave the box here."

Luca released his grip and turned to the side.

"You come in alone. You can look, but you can't touch the machines."

Chen Yan glanced at Zhang Yuan.

Zhang Yuan put down the box and stood guard at the top of the stairs.

Chen Yan climbed the metal ladder, the hollowed-out iron plates making a dull clattering sound.

The screening room reeked of engine oil.

The medium-to-long focal length projector is idling at low speed.

Two film reels are mounted on either side of the camera body, with the edges of the film showing through a dark brown background.

The old projectionist was bending down to wipe the lens.

Chen Yan walked to the film rack.

His gaze fell on the title track of the first disc.

There was a white label there.

Chen Yan bent down, his fingertips tracing the edge of the label.

The paper surface is smooth, but there is still a lingering smell of glue.

This adhesive tape is brand new.

When he sealed the boxes at the Shanghai printing factory, he used specially made frosted paper labels, which should have had curled edges.

"Have you finished watching?"

Luca stood at the door and asked.

Chen Yan straightened up and looked towards the entrance of the film.

"The first six characters of the title sequence are incorrect."

He pointed to the perforations on the edge of the film.

"This is the backup volume of 'Thunder.' Where is the master copy?"

The old projectionist stopped what he was doing and looked up at Luca.

Luca walked over and glanced down at the opening credits.

"The labels were affixed by the technical committee for standardized identification. If you have objections to the copy, you can request an extension, but that means you will miss the judging session."

Chen Yan remained silent.

This is an open trap.

If you request a replacement copy, the other party can postpone the screening under the pretext of technical malfunction.

Here, postponement is tantamount to being eliminated.

"No need to change it."

Chen Yan spoke.

"Just leave it like that."

Chen Yan returned to the corridor.

At the far end, next to a vending machine, Su Wan was confronting a man in a gray suit with his collar open.

That was Miramax's representative, Henry.

"Miss Su, it's very cold in Venice in the morning."

Henry took a sip of coffee, his tone relaxed.

"You shouldn't be here guarding a bunch of film reels."

Su Wan leaned against the wall, her hands in her suit pockets.

"Film is more reliable than people. Especially in a place like this where ghosts are everywhere."

Henry leaned forward: "There are different kinds of ghosts. Some live in the old town in 1991, and they come out for a walk whenever it rains."

Su Wan didn't move, staring at Henry's freckled face: "What did you say?"

Henry shrugged and straightened up.

"I said, the title 'Rain in the Old City' is actually quite poetic."

"Harvey likes it very much."

"He felt that this name was more fitting as the end of a genius's career than 'Thunder'."

Chen Yan was walking down the stairs.

These words reached my ears.

He gripped the metal handrail, increasing the pressure.

Henry turned to look at Chen Yan, raised his coffee cup and tapped it against the air.

"Director Chen, I wish you a fulfilling dream."

After saying that, he turned around and slowly walked around the corner.

Chen Yan walked closer.

Su Wan's face was extremely pale: "He knows everything. They've figured out everything in the videotape."

Chen Yan shook his head.

"They not only knew, but they also left something in the screening room."

Zhang Yuan ran over and pointed to the door of the projection room.

"Director Chen, should we replace these two rolls in our box?"

"It's too late."

Chen Yan glanced at his watch; it was 7:40.

"Luca won't let us touch the machines. Their goal is to instigate a conflict here."

He patted Zhang Yuan on the shoulder.

"Go and prepare the splicing tape."

"If the tape breaks midway, it must be reconnected within thirty seconds."

The main entrance to Hall 3 is open.

Several reporters with cameras were blocking the entrance.

Lin Qingqiu, dressed in a dark purple cheongsam and wearing a black woolen overcoat, walked steadily with a cane.

Wu Gang stood to the side, blocking the approaching camera.

A male reporter pushed his way forward and held the microphone under Lin Qingqiu's chin.

"Ms. Lin, I heard that you suffered a serious spinal injury during filming. There are rumors that the production team is using this to gain sympathy from the European judges. What is your response?"

Lin Qingqiu stopped.

She stopped relying on Wu Gang for support and straightened her back.

The stiff fabric of the cheongsam accentuates the waistline.

She looked at the reporter.

"Injuries are a given; performance determines the quality of the play."

"I came to Venice to control the camera solely based on my abilities; don't try to judge my worth with worthless paper."

Another female reporter pressed further: "What about the rumors from 1991...?"

Lin Qingqiu turned around and slammed his cane heavily onto the floor tiles.

"Thump."

The reporter was speechless.

Lin Qingqiu walked into the screening room, her back straight.

Wu Gang turned around and scanned the crowd.

The reporters tacitly stepped back and packed up their equipment.

7:55.

The lights in Hall 3 were turned off.

The jury members sat in the center of the front row.

Harvey Weinstein did not appear.

Henry sat in the shadows at the back row, his face mostly obscured.

Chen Yan sat on the left side of the last row, his hand resting on the armrest of the seat.

The velvet surface of the armrests is prickly to the touch.

He could feel the sensor still vibrating slightly under the seat cushion.

The projector emits a beam of light.

A strong light was projected onto the screen.

There was no countdown or studio intro.

The screen was filled with only a somber, grayish-blue hue.

rainstorm.

This is the cinematic language that Chen Yan is most familiar with.

In the old hutongs of Yanjing, rainwater washes over the bluestone slabs.

A line of white Song typeface text appears in the center of the image.

[Screenwriter/Director: Chen Yan]

Chen Yan held his breath.

What is being shown in front of us is definitely not "Thunder".

The master tapes of "The Sound of Rain in the Old City" were burned to ashes by Lu Haiming in his previous life, but now they are being premiered at a top film festival around the world.

Zhang Yuan sat in the side row, the splicing tape in his hand rolling off.

"This is not something we filmed at all."

He spoke involuntarily.

Chen Yan remained silent, his eyes glued to the screen.

Handheld shooting keeps the footage shaky.

The umbrella turned, revealing a man's profile.

That was how he looked when he was twenty-eight years old in his previous life.

He looked exhausted and emaciated.

Discussion broke out in the screening room.

The judges in the front row whispered among themselves.

Henry went around to Chen Yanzuo's back and bent down.

"Director Chen, is this your directorial debut?"

"It seems you'll be going to hell much sooner than we expected."

Chen Yan gripped the armrest foam and looked up at the screen.

The image shows a broken line.

The snowflakes engulf the entire image.

Amidst the static of electricity, new letters popped up.

【OLD CITY RAIN】.

Below that is a line of numbers.

2025.12.16.

The date he died with regret in his previous life.

The entire audience fell silent.

The projector's gears operate mechanically.

Luca walked out of the control room, leaned against the second-floor railing, and coldly looked down at Chen Yan in the last row.

The indicator light turns from red to dark red.

The projection beam was completely cut off.

The dull bells outside the palace tolled eight times in a row.

Chen Yan stood up.

He ignored Henry and walked straight to the entrance of the screening room.

His shadow was elongated by the emergency exit light.

Pushing open the soundproof door, the old projectionist in the projection room had already let go of his hands.

The discarded film was piled up on the floor, tangled together.

That was the trump card he risked his life for, and now it's being wantonly destroyed.

Chen Yan stepped into the room.

White light leaked out of the projection port.

Amidst the interplay of light and shadow, a figure in an old jacket stepped across the scattering of film reels, the scissors in his hand reflecting a cold light.

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