Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 78: Ask about plagiarism first.

Chen Yan reached out and grabbed the man's wrist, his five fingers closing around it.

The tip of the scissors was less than one centimeter away from the perforation point on the film of "Thunder".

"lay down."

Chen Yan uttered these two words and pressed down with force from his wrist.

The man in the old jacket slammed the back of his hand against the projector base, and the scissors fell into the pile of film on the ground.

The man's breathing became rapid, his forehead pressed against the side of the machine, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably.

Luca came up from behind, picked up the scissors that had fallen to the ground, and put them back into the side pocket of his tool bag.

"The technical incident registration form is here."

Luca pointed to the blue notebook on the control panel and drew a heavy circle in the "Damaged Source" column with his pen.

"Director Chen. Regardless of the reason, an image from another film appeared on the screen just now, which is a major technical error."

Chen Yan loosened the man's wrist, her fingernails brushing against the blue paste stain on the other's cuff.

"That was your mistake, not mine."

Chen Yan pointed to the SH-001 lead seal that had been removed. The edge of the aluminum shell had been violently twisted, revealing a white fracture layer.

"The seal was cut off during the five minutes of the power outage."

"Director Luca, are you going to explain to the judging panel now, or will you go to the police station later?"

Luca stuffed the form into the drawer, locked it, and turned away.

"The police can't control the film archives in Venice. But I can."

"Ten minutes later, I will submit the verification report to the organizing committee, which includes the item that 'the film box contains images from an unknown source'."

Zhang Yuan spat beside him.

"You staged this whole thing yourselves, and now you want to turn around and bite the hand that feeds you?"

Chen Yan patted Zhang Yuan on the shoulder, signaling him to put away the splicing tape in his hand.

"Let them remember it."

Chen Yan walked out of the screening room, his leather shoes stepping into the empty circular corridor.

"Su Wan, take Wu Gang to the exit. Don't let that porter leave the palace."

Su Wan nodded and walked quickly toward the elevator.

Two o'clock in the afternoon.

Side hall of the main palace.

More than 30 film critics and journalists from Europe and America sat on makeshift benches.

Vincent stood beside Chen Yan, the checkered handkerchief in his hand already soaked with sweat and heavy.

"Chen. News of what happened in Hall 3 has already spread."

Vincent lowered his voice and leaned forward.

"That 'OLDCITYRAIN,' also known as 'The Sound of Rain in the Old City,' was uploaded to the internet by someone during the break in the screening just now."

"It's not just a technical accident issue now. People are questioning your originality."

Chen Yan sat in the center of the first row, his hands on his knees, his eyes fixed on the chandelier on the ceiling.

"Who's spreading this?"

Vincent looked toward the side door.

A British man wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a beige trench coat is pushing his way to the front of the crowd, holding up a recorder.

He is Arthur, a senior journalist for The Guardian.

Arthur turned on the small media player in his hand and pointed the screen at Chen Yan.

The scene shows a rainy night, and the camera work is very similar to the opening of "Thunder".

In the center of the screen is a line of white Song typeface text: [Screenwriter/Director: Chen Yan].

"Mr. Chen."

Arthur's voice cut through the buzzing discussion.

"Regarding the film called 'Old City Rain' that appeared during the preview screening just now."

"It's also credited to you. And some shots overlap with 'Thunder' by as much as 80%."

"Could you please explain whether this constitutes plagiarism of your own work, or whether it's simply an old piece you hastily cobbled together for the competition?"

The whole place fell silent.

Dozens of cameras were simultaneously pointed at Chen Yan, and the sound of shutters clicking filled the air.

Vincent stepped forward, trying to block Arthur's camera.

"This is a privacy breach. We are investigating the technical incident and are not accepting questions about it at this time."

Chen Yan stood up and pushed Vincent's hand away.

"Let him finish asking."

Arthur's lips twitched down, his gaze fixed on Chen Yan.

"Since Director Chen is so generous, then I'll ask more specific questions."

"As far as I know, this videotape was developed in 1991 in Shanghai. You were only about thirteen years old at the time."

"How can a thirteen-year-old child achieve such mature cinematic language?"

"Or are you saying that you've been plagiarizing the work of a deceased senior to cultivate your image as a directorial genius?"

A low gasp of surprise rippled through the crowd.

Henry appeared at the back row of the side hall at some point.

He held the pipe in his hand and tapped it at Chen Yan from a distance, his eyes showing a relaxed confidence.

Chen Yan took a step forward.

He didn't look at Arthur; his gaze fell directly on the media player screen.

"You're saying this film was made in 1991?"

Arthur holds up a fax.

"The film processing number and master tape library file are clearly visible. SH-91-007."

Chen Yan smiled.

He pointed to a tiny speck of noise in the bottom right corner of the screen.

"In Shanghai in 1991, there was no such high-density digital noise reduction technology. It was an algorithm that was only popularized in post-production software after 2010."

"Since you have this roll of film, I'll ask you three questions."

Chen Yan raised his index finger and pointed it at Arthur's nose.

"First, what is its film processing formula?"

"Secondly, what was the name of its first assistant photographer?"

"Third. If this is a work from 1991, please ask the owner to bring the original negative to the hall now. I will conduct carbon-14 dating in public."

Arthur stood there, stunned, and the recorder in his hand trembled.

"This is your own work, and you're asking me?"

"No."

Chen Yan raised his voice, drowning out the sound of camera shutters throughout the room.

"That's not my work. It's a pile of garbage that someone stole my outline and aesthetic logic and forged using modern technology."

"I have never submitted an entry titled 'Rain Sounds in the Old City' under any name."

"If anyone claims copyright, please follow legal procedures to provide the original source, storyboard manuscript, and filming permission."

Su Wan stepped forward and pulled out a stack of blue-covered documents from her briefcase.

She held up the documents to the reporter; each cover had a clear official stamp.

"This is a dual copyright statement for 'Thunder' from the Film Bureau and the Venice Organizing Committee."

"Any reports that conflate illegally sent or unidentified videotapes with the videos submitted for this competition will face legal action."

Su Wan looked at Henry, her tone as hard as ice hitting ice.

"This includes some overseas publishers who attempt to drive down prices through public opinion."

Henry put down his pipe.

He tucked his pipe into his inner pocket and straightened his trench coat collar.

"Director Chen, Ms. Su. Venice is a place that values ​​evidence, not just legal documents."

He turned and walked toward the exit, leaving behind a casual remark.

"Some things, even if destroyed, will remain in people's eyes. They are things you can't erase."

Arthur sheepishly put away the player and looked down to cross out a line in his notebook.

Backstage lounge.

The door was ajar.

Lin Qingqiu, wearing that dark purple cheongsam, stood beside the dressing mirror, leaning on her cane.

She had clearly heard the argument outside, and her face was paler than usual.

"Director Chen."

Lin Qingqiu turned around and gripped the rounded end of the cane tightly with her hand.

"Let me attend tonight's press conference."

Chen Yan walked in and hung his trench coat on the wooden hook behind the door.

"What are you going to do?"

"They want the spotlight, so I'll give them the spotlight."

Lin Qingqiu pointed to her waistline, which was stretched out by the stiff fabric of the cheongsam.

"My disfigured face, coupled with the old news about the so-called Broken Dancer, is enough to overshadow the popularity of that videotape."

"Since Shen Congzhou wants to play, I'll tear off this scab in Venice and show it to everyone."

Chen Yan walked up to her.

He reached out and pressed the padding on her shoulder.

"You are not a bargaining chip."

"This is a man's scheme. That guy surnamed Lu set a trap for me in that tape, and you want to jump in and fill it for me?"

Chen Yan released his grip, his eyes becoming extremely sharp.

"Go back to your room and sleep. Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, wear your most formal cheongsam to pick up your official handbook."

"Aside from the performance, you don't need to explain anything to anyone."

Lin Qingqiu opened her mouth, then lowered her head and pursed her lips, her cane tapping on the wooden floor with a dull thud.

Wu Gang slipped in from outside, holding a piece of stiff cardboard in his hand.

"Director Chen. It was given to me by that British journalist, Arthur."

Chen Yan took the card.

That's Arthur's business card.

The back of the business card had no printed words, but instead a line of Chinese characters handwritten in dark blue ink.

The handwriting was very stiff, like a steel knife slicing through the paper.

Henry isn't the boss. The person truly waiting for you has the surname Lu.

Chen Yan held the business card in his hand, feeling the thickness of the paper with his fingertips.

He walked to the window and drew back the curtains.

The waves crashed against the stone steps below the apartment, splashing up large amounts of white foam.

A man stands under a street lamp on the shore.

The man was wearing a black overcoat, was thin, and was holding a black umbrella.

He didn't move, his gaze passing through the rain and the floor-to-ceiling windows, landing precisely on Chen Yan.

The man raised his left hand, his slender fingers making a "cutting" gesture in the air.

Then.

He withdrew his hand, stepped into the thick fog, and disappeared around the corner of St. Mark's Square.

Chen Yan folded the business card in half and threw it into the ashtray next to him.

"Zhang Yuan."

"Yes, Director Chen."

Zhang Yuan poked his head out of the doorway, still holding the Seagull camera in his hand.

"Bring all the tape, scissors, and bonding fluid."

Chen Yan walked to the door and put on the black trench coat.

"To the film storage. We'll stay there until dawn."

The wall lamp in the corridor flickered.

The sound of a cleaner mopping the floor could be heard coming from the other side of the screening room.

That's how often the broom wipes the carpet.

a bit.

Two times.

It's just like the prelude to a film reel breaking in a projector.

Chen Yan pushed open the door, and the night wind rushed into his collar.

He strode toward Hall No. 3.

His figure shrank into a black dot at the end of the corridor.

at this time.

The hands of the clock tower at the Grand Palace.

It just skipped midnight.