Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 49 The Shadow from Shanghai

The bread wheels rolled over the frozen clods of earth, producing a series of rapid, jolting sounds.

In the rearview mirror, the silhouette of the meat processing plant's cold storage gradually shrank.

Chen Yan looked away, took out his phone from his pocket, and saw that the screen showed missed calls.

Same number.

Two minutes later, the phone vibrated again.

Chen Yan pressed the answer button but did not speak.

"Director Chen, Great Wall Hotel, French Restaurant."

The voice on the other end was that of a middle-aged man, speaking in a calm tone with a distinct southern accent.

"Who is it?"

Chen Yan asked.

"Shen. Shen Congzhou."

"I don't know him."

"Now we know each other."

Shen Congzhou paused for two seconds.

"Third floor of the Great Wall Hotel. If you don't come, your 'Thunder' might need a different female lead. Or, perhaps a different investor."

Chen Yan looked out the car window.

The light from the streetlamp cut through his pupils.

"Zhang Yuan, turn around. Head to the Great Wall Hotel."

Great Wall Hotel.

The gold-coated revolving door swings slowly.

Chen Yan stepped onto the thick jacquard carpet, making a soft rustling sound.

The French restaurant is lit with warm yellow spotlights.

A middle-aged man in a black suit sat by the window.

A set of pure white porcelain tableware was placed in front of him.

Shen Congzhou was wearing a dark gray stand-up collar Zhongshan suit, with the top button fastened.

He looked up.

"Director Chen, please sit down."

Shen Congzhou stretched out his hand and pointed to the chair opposite him.

Chen Yan pulled out a chair and sat down.

A plate of steamed sea bass sits in the center of the table, steam rising vertically into the air.

Shen Congzhou took out a color photograph, held it between his fingertips, and pushed it in front of Chen Yan.

The edge of the photo traced a straight line across the lacquered tabletop.

Chen Yan lowered his head.

The photo shows a fairly large machinery factory.

The blue corrugated iron roof gleamed in the sunlight.

A sign hangs at the entrance of the factory: Chen's Machinery.

A middle-aged man in gray overalls was standing at the door, with half a cigarette between his fingers.

Chen Yan stared at the man.

That was his father for the rest of his life.

"Shanghai has recently been cracking down on these kinds of privately owned factories."

Shen Congzhou picked up the white porcelain teacup next to him and ran his fingertips along the rim of the cup.

"Permits, fire safety, environmental protection. Every step that stops puts enormous pressure on Mr. Chen."

He put the cup down.

"Director Chen caused quite a stir in Yanjing. Lu Haiming, that kind of rough guy, really shouldn't be making movies, but he has many friends in Shanghai."

Chen Yan didn't look at the photo; he picked up the silver fork on the table.

The tip of the fork pierced the white cloth on the table, picking up a few fibers.

State your terms.

Chen Yan said.

"The Shanghai Film Producers Association needs a leader."

Shen Congzhou leaned back in his chair.

"We want to get involved in the film 'Thunder.' Not as an investor, but as a manager."

He took a contract out of his briefcase and placed it next to the photograph.

"The post-production editing rights will be handled by the Federation. We'll handle everything from film processing and printing to obtaining the film license and distribution. You'll only be responsible for filming."

Shen Congzhou picked up a fork and cut a small piece of fish from the plate.

"In return, your father's factory will become a key support unit in Shanghai. The equipment, medicines, and personnel that were blocked in Yanjing will all be in place tomorrow."

He put the fish into his mouth and chewed slowly.

"Mr. Chen is a student at the Beijing Film Academy. What students need most is an admission ticket. Shanghai can provide you with that ticket."

Chen Yan did not answer.

He took the briefcase from Shen Congzhou and placed it next to the plate.

The silver fork was held in his right hand, the handle icy cold.

He turned to the side, and the fork pierced his flesh.

He skillfully sliced ​​open the skin on the back of the sea bass, avoiding the layer of fat.

The silver fork moves horizontally between the skeleton and the fish meat.

Chen Yan moved extremely quickly.

He lifted the gill bone on the side of the fish's head and pulled it upwards with force.

"Click."

Small bones broke.

Chen Yan took the discarded bone dish from in front of Shen Congzhou with his left hand.

He inserted the silver fork into the fish's belly and scooped down inch by inch along the spine.

Each piece of fish was completely separated and neatly arranged on the left side of the plate.

Less than three minutes.

Chen Yan lifted a complete spine, without a single speck of flesh, from the plate.

The bones were so white they shone, and under the light they presented a strange geometric structure.

Chen Yan placed it flat in the bone disposal dish.

He pushed the plate forward, right in front of Shen Congzhou's plate.

"Boning requires skill."

Chen Yan's voice was low, echoing in the empty restaurant.

"If you try to move bones before the flesh has fully healed, you'll prick your hand."

Shen Congzhou stopped chewing.

He looked at the complete fish skeleton in front of him.

The tail end of the fish skeleton was slightly upturned, directly facing the tip of his nose.

"What do you mean by that?"

Shen Congzhou put down his fork.

The metal struck the porcelain plate, producing a harsh, jarring sound.

"I don't like others touching my films."

Chen Yan picked up the photo and, in front of Shen Congzhou, tore open the first hole.

The crack extends from the father's shoulder in the photo.

"Sizzle."

The photo was torn in half.

Chen Yan tore it up again.

Paper scraps fell onto the contract in a flurry.

"Lu Haiming's 'friends' inside are not qualified."

Chen Yan stood up and placed one hand on the edge of the table.

The water glass on the table shook slightly due to the force exerted, and water droplets splashed onto the back of Shen Congzhou's hand.

"As for my father's factory, let him investigate as much as he wants. He's been there for thirty years. If a few fire safety checks can bankrupt him, then he's wasted his life."

Shen Congzhou's face turned from red to white.

He pressed the contract tightly, his knuckles turning slightly yellow.

"Chen Yan. Shanghai is not Tianjin, much less your Beijing Film Academy experimental base."

"Lu Haiming is just a nouveau riche. You, as a student, will never be able to fathom the depths of the network of interests behind him."

Shen Congzhou's voice turned cold.

"The seal. Without the official stamp from Shanghai, your 'Thunder' is a contraband. You won't even be able to leave the Beijing Film Academy, let alone go to Berlin."

Chen Yan walked around the dining table.

He walked to Shen Congzhou's side and bent down slightly.

The restaurant's air conditioning vents were directly overhead, blowing the stray hairs on Chen Yan's forehead.

"Mr. Shen, have you ever seen what it looks like when the clock tower collapses?"

Chen Yan turned his head and asked.

Shen Congzhou didn't speak, but his shoulders shrugged slightly.

"The foundation is rotten; repainting won't help. The only solution is to tear it up and rebuild it."

Chen Yan patted Shen Congzhou on the shoulder.

The hand landed right on the shredded remains of the photo that had just been torn apart.

Chen Yan turned around and strode out of the restaurant.

Shen Congzhou remained seated, staring at the plate of bass that had been reduced to white bones.

He swung his hand forcefully, flipping the skeleton over to the ground.

The plate hit the red carpet with a dull thud, but didn't break.

White bone spurs were embedded in the gaps of the carpet, like nails.

Chen Yan walked out of the Great Wall Hotel.

The air outside was much colder than inside the restaurant.

Taxis lined up in a long queue along the roadside.

He took a cigarette out of his pocket, shielded it from the wind, and lit it.

He didn't return to the van.

He walked to a newsstand and dropped in a coin.

The call went through.

That was Yan Huaizhong's private residence.

The phone rang five times before it was answered.

"Feed".

Yan Huaizhong's voice was heavy with weariness.

"Teacher, it's me."

Chen Yan took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke onto the glass window.

"Go ahead and say it. It's the middle of the night."

"In Shanghai, who's in charge of the dragon emblem?"

Chen Yan asked.

There was a long, dead silence on the other end of the phone.

Only a faint buzzing sound from the radio waves could be heard.

Yan Huaizhong coughed a few times on the other end of the line.

"The Shen family is looking for you?"

"Um."

"Chen Yan. That's a hornet's nest. The old director of the Shanghai Film Studio has retired, and now Shen Congzhou's brother-in-law has taken over."

Yan Huaizhong sighed.

"He was holding that red judge's pen in his hand. He said you had prohibited footage, and that roll of film you had was just waste paper."

"In Yanjing, the ministry is also waiting for Shanghai's attitude."

Chen Yan drew a circle on the fogged glass with his finger.

He poked the center of the circle hard.

"Teacher, please help me look up someone."

"Who?"

"What was the middleman's surname, where did he live, and who were his family members when Lu Haiming obtained the permit in Shanghai?"

Chen Yan's voice was extremely cold.

"What are you going to do?"

Yan Huaizhong raised his voice.

"I'm not doing anything. I just want to go to Shanghai to have my films processed."

Chen Yan hung up the phone.

He stepped out of the phone booth and pressed the cigarette butt in his hand onto the metal plate above the trash can.

The fire went out.

He looked south.

The clouds on the horizon were pressed very low.

That's the direction of Shanghai.

At this moment, in the darkness not far away.

A black sedan with a Shanghai license plate slowly started moving.

The car headlights cut through the night.

The beam of light swept across Chen Yan's ankle.

Chen Yan did not turn around.

He opened the van door and got in.

"Brother Yan, where are you going?"

Zhang Yuan asked.

"Go to the cold storage."

Chen Yan fastened his seatbelt.

"Have Wu Gang check all the fuses on the explosives. Every single one. Don't miss a single one."

The bread truck started.

The roar of the engine echoed through the empty streets.

In the rearview mirror, the Great Wall Hotel was brightly lit, like a huge, luminous tombstone.

Chen Yan stared at the windshield.

That was his final countdown before entering this circle in Shanghai.

Freeze.

Chen Yan's fingers rested on the edge of the car window.

A crumpled photograph slipped through his fingers.

It fell into a crack in the asphalt road.