novellhall Chapter 145
Chapter 145
Chapter 145
The morning after the wrap party, Li Jun woke up with a hangover headache.
Sunlight streamed in through the wooden lattice windows of the old house, cutting neat patches of light on the floor.
The air was filled with the faint aroma of alcohol and the lingering scent of food, mixed with the unique fresh scent of grass and trees characteristic of the southern Anhui mountains.
The sounds of tables, chairs, and dishes being cleared away came from downstairs, mixed with Aunt Gui's low-pitched command: "Quietly, quietly, Director Li is still asleep!"
Li Jun sat up and rubbed his temples.
I drank quite a bit last night, but the memory is clear: Nicholas Tse hugged everyone with red eyes, Qin Hailu softly sang a Kunqu opera tune, Master Li held Zhao Xiaodong's hand and said, "The lighting and shadows in this film are absolutely stunning," and Xiao Chen cried like a child.
Three months have passed just like that.
He got out of bed, washed up, and changed into clean clothes.
My suitcase is packed and placed in the corner. I'm leaving this afternoon to go back to Beijing to start post-production.
When I pushed open the door and went downstairs, the courtyard was already bustling with activity.
The crew members were packing equipment, sorting and boxing it, and attaching labels.
Nicholas Tse and Qin Hailu sat at a stone table drinking tea. Both were dressed casually and without makeup, looking much younger than in the movie, but their eyes showed a similar weariness and satisfaction.
"Director Li is awake."
Nicholas Tse stood up.
"Does your head still hurt? Aunt Gui made some hangover soup."
"fine."
Li Jun took the bowl from Qin Hailu. The soup was warm, with a sweet and sour taste, and it made his stomach feel much better after drinking it.
"Lin Mo left early this morning."
Qin Hailu said.
"I left a painting for you; it's on the table in the main room."
Li Jun entered the main room.
A sheet of Xuan paper, four feet in length, was laid out on the octagonal table; the ink had dried.
The painting depicts a scene from the film crew's wrap party; it's not realistic, but rather impressionistic.
Use light ink to outline the figure, use dark ink to dot the eyes, and use ochre to color the lamplight and wine.
The center of the image is the profile of Li Jun, Xie Tingfeng, and Qin Hailu raising their glasses, surrounded by blurry figures and light and shadow, like a dream or a memory.
The inscription in the upper right corner reads: "Written in the autumn of the year Ren Chen, at the wrap party of the TV series 'Dreams of Mountains and Rivers' in Yixian County, southern Anhui. By Lin Mo."
A small note was tucked under one corner of the painting: "Director Li, thank you for letting me watch."
This painting is a gift to you, in the hope that it will live up to the spirit of the film.
My contact information is on the back. Please feel free to contact me if there is an opportunity to collaborate. Lin Mo.
Li Jun carefully rolled up the painting and put it in the painting tube he had brought.
This was an unexpected bonus, not only because of a good painting, but also because of a potential collaborator.
At 10 a.m., it was time to say goodbye.
The villagers all came out to see him off.
Aunt Gui's eyes were red as she handed each person a bag of dried bamboo shoots and preserved vegetables that she had made herself.
The village secretary shook Li Jun's hand: "Director Li, when will we be able to see the show you made on TV?"
"Probably next summer."
Li Jun said.
"When it was released, I invited the whole village to see the movie."
"well!"
The Party Secretary nodded repeatedly.
"We'll wait!"
The convoy slowly drove out of the village.
Li Jun was sitting in the first car. When he looked back, the villagers were still standing at the village entrance waving.
The village with white walls and black tiles is as peaceful as a painting under the autumn sun, and the stream under the stone bridge sparkles with shimmering light.
The place where I lived for three months is now fading away, becoming just a memory.
"Reluctant to part with it?"
Xiao Chen, sitting in the passenger seat, turned around and asked.
"A little."
Li Jun admitted it.
"But once the movie is finished, we have to leave eventually."
"Next stop is Beijing, then Shanghai, then ————"
Who knows?
Xiao Chen sighed.
"That's how it is when you're with a film crew; you're always moving around."
"But wherever it drifts, there are stories to tell."
Qin Hailu replied softly.
She and Nicholas Tse were in the same car, flying to Hong Kong this afternoon, each with their own work commitments.
The convoy wound its way along the mountain road. Autumn colors were in full bloom in southern Anhui; maple leaves were turning red, ginkgo leaves were golden, and the layered mountains displayed rich layers of color under the sunlight.
Li Jun looked out the window and recalled the scene when he first came here three months ago. It was the same road and the same mountains.
But back then, I was filled with trepidation about the film; now, I'm filled with ninety minutes of footage and endless possibilities.
After arriving at the airport, everyone said a brief goodbye.
"Director Li, please contact me anytime if you need anything for post-production."
Nicholas Tse said.
"I'm available anytime for voice-over or re-recording."
"Me too."
Qin Hailu nodded.
"The character Wanrong will always remain in my heart."
Thank you.
Li Jun hugged them one by one.
"Without you, there would be no movie."
After watching their car leave, Li Jun and Xiao Chen boarded a flight back to Beijing.
As the plane took off, he took one last look at the land of southern Anhui.
From a bird's-eye view, the mountains, terraced fields, and villages appear as miniature models, like the freehand landscapes in Lin Mo's paintings.
Three months, condensed into dozens of reels of film.
Now, he is about to begin the second phase of his work: to cut out a world from these materials.
On his third day back in Beijing, Li Jun plunged into the editing room.
The editing studio is located in a creative park on the East Fourth Ring Road. It's not big, but it's equipped with professional equipment.
The three walls were covered with monitors, the middle was the editing console and color grading console, and dozens of hard drives were piled up in the corner, which contained all the shooting materials for "Dreams of Mountains and Rivers".
Editor Lao Yang was already waiting there.
He was in his fifties, bald, wore thick glasses, and didn't talk much, but he was incredibly skilled with his hands.
He is Li Jun's long-time collaborator; he edited "Bodyguards and Assassins".
I've done a preliminary review of the materials.
Old Yang handed Li Jun a thick notebook, filled with notes, timestamps, and comments.
"The quality is very high, especially the scenes between Nicholas Tse and Qin Hailu; almost every take is usable."
Li Jun took the notebook and sat down next to Lao Yang: "Shall we look at the rough cut first?"
"We've already done a rough cut, two hours and forty minutes."
Old Yang retrieved the file.
"It was edited in the order of the script, and the pacing hasn't been adjusted yet."
The first shot appears on the screen:
Terraced fields shrouded in morning mist, egrets flying by.
Then there's Lin Shen teaching students in his studio, Wanrong cooking at the stove—the daily life of the village.
The cinematography is calm and restrained, like a slowly unfolding scroll painting.
Li Jun and Lao Yang spent the entire afternoon watching.
The rough cut retained all the important scenes, but the pacing was definitely problematic.
The first forty minutes were too slow, some parts in the middle were redundant, and the ending didn't build up enough emotion.
"We need to simplify."
Old Yang said.
"Especially the daily scenes, although they are well filmed, too many of them slow down the pace. I suggest cutting three scenes: drying drawing paper in the forest, Wanrong picking mulberry leaves, and the students chopping firewood."
Li Jun stared at the screen, the days and nights he spent filming in southern Anhui flashing before his eyes.
The scene where the drawing paper is drying was filmed on a clear morning after the rain. The lighting was exceptionally good, and Nicholas Tse's silhouette had a sculpted quality in the morning light.
Picking mulberry leaves was something Qin Hailu herself requested to add, saying that Wanrong shouldn't just be a painter's wife, but should have her own work and life.
"Cut it down."
Finally, he said.
"Film is an art of time; you have to know how to let go."
"it is good."
Old Yang wrote it down in his notebook.
"In addition, we filmed three versions of the scene where we encountered danger in the bamboo forest:"
There are three different close-up shots of Qin Hailu falling; choose one.
They pulled up that footage and watched it frame by frame.
The first angle is from the front, and the look of terror on Qin Hailu's face is clearly visible when he fell.
The second angle is from the side, showing the process of her entire body losing its balance.
The third angle is a top-down shot, a close-up of her hand pressing on the bamboo stubble, with blood seeping out.
"Use the third one."
Li Jun said.
"The close-up of her hand, coupled with her expression of gritting her teeth and enduring the pain, is more powerful than the entire fall itself."
"agree."
Old Yang nodded.
"There's also the scene where the paintings are burned. We filmed five takes, and the fire was different in each one. I suggested using the third take, where the fire starts from the bottom, slowly spreads, and finally engulfs the entire pile of paintings—that would be the most complete."
"But in the third clip, Nicholas Tse's close-up eyes look a bit unfocused."
Li Jun brought up that clip and zoomed in on Xie Tingfeng's face.
"Look here, he looked at the flames for three seconds, then looked at Wanrong."
But the fourth one has a better rhythm; look at the flames for two seconds, then look at Wanrong, the change in gaze is more natural.
"Then combine the fire scene from the third scene with the close-up of the character from the fourth scene."
Old Yang said.
"There are no technical problems."
And so, frame by frame, scene by scene, Li Jun and Lao Yang spent a whole week in the editing room.
During the day, we review materials, discuss pacing, and make notes.
That evening, Lao Yang adjusted the editing based on the discussion results, while Li Jun took a nap on the sofa next to him, and continued watching when he woke up.
When they were hungry, they ordered takeout; when they were sleepy, they drank strong tea. Both of their beards grew very long, and the blood vessels in their eyes became increasingly dense.
This is another stage of filmmaking, not sweating it out on set, but meticulously crafting in the darkroom.
If filming is like freehand ink painting, then editing is like meticulous brushwork, where every frame must be carefully considered and every second must be calculated.
On the seventh night, Li Jun received a message from Zhang Liangying: "Still in the editing room?"
"exist."
"I'll bring you some food, it'll be there in twenty minutes."
Li Jun then realized that he hadn't left the editing room for a week.
When Zhang Liangying arrived, she was carrying an insulated bag containing homemade chicken soup and a few side dishes.
She frowned when she saw Li Jun's appearance: "How long has it been since you last showered?"
"Three days? Four days?"
Li Jun scratched his head, unable to remember either.
"Eat first, then go back to shower and go to sleep."
Without waiting for a reply, Zhang Liangying laid out the food, saying, "Teacher Yang, please eat with us too."
Old Yang smiled sheepishly: "Thank you, Miss Zhang."
The chicken soup smelled delicious, and the dishes were light and refreshing. Li Jun drank two bowls of soup before he felt a little better.
Zhang Liangying sat quietly beside her, watching the scene on the editing screen, which was the scene between Lin Shen and Wanrong in the cellar.
The dim light of the oil lamp illuminated the two figures embracing, while the faint sound of an explosion could be heard outside.
"This scene was filmed really well."
She said softly.
"Teacher Xie and Teacher Qin acted very well."
Li Jun said.
"There were almost no NGs."
"It's because you directed it well."
Zhang Liangying turned to look at him.
"Li Jun, have you noticed that your films are getting quieter and quieter?"
Li Jun was taken aback: "What do you mean?"
"Bodyguards and Assassins has grand scenes, action sequences, and intense conflicts. Dream of Mountains and Rivers is almost entirely about inner emotions, the power of silence."
Zhang Liangying said.
"It's an evolution. Like singing, when you're young you like to hit high notes, but now you understand that sometimes speaking softly is more powerful."
Old Yang nodded in agreement: "Miss Zhang is right. The amount of dialogue in this movie is only one-third of that in 'Bodyguards and Assassins'."
But the emotional intensity was by no means low.
Li Jun stared at the screen, lost in thought.
Indeed, he is consciously or unconsciously moving towards a more reserved and restrained style.
Instead of relying on intense dramatic conflict, it believes in the accumulation of subtle emotions;
Instead of pursuing visual spectacle, we seek the beauty of artistic conception.
This is an adventure.
Will the audience accept it? Will the market approve of it?
"Are you worried about the box office?" Zhang Liangying seemed to see right through him.
"A little."
Li Jun admitted it.
"Although the production cost of this film is not high, it still costs money."
If the box office is dismal, it will be difficult to find another film.
"Then don't think about it too much."
Zhang Liangying held his hand.
"Cut it up first. Once you've cut it up, then think about other things."
Her hands were warm, which made Li Jun feel more at ease.
After dinner, Zhang Liangying insisted on taking Li Jun home.
She drove up to the apartment building and said, "I'll go upstairs, take a shower, and get a good night's sleep. I'll come back tomorrow."
"Why don't you come up and sit down?"
"Not today. I'm flying to Guangzhou early tomorrow morning for the last show of the tour."
Zhang Liangying said.
"I'll come back and watch it after you finish the first cut."
Li Jun nodded and watched her car leave.
When he got home, he took a long, hot shower, washing away all the fatigue of the week.
Then I lay down on the bed and fell asleep almost instantly.
There are no dreams, only a deep, restorative darkness.
Another week passed, and the first cut was finally completed.
The film is one hour and fifty-two minutes long, nearly fifty minutes shorter than the rough cut.
The pacing is tighter and the emotional arcs are clearer, but the serene poetic feeling is retained.
Li Jun invited several of his most trusted people to watch the initial cut:
Yuan Tao, producer Lao Zhou, and Chen Zeshi, who flew in specially from Hong Kong.
The screening was held in a small theater next to the editing room, with only ten seats. The lights dimmed and the screen lit up.
The first shot is still of terraced fields in the morning mist, but the time has been shortened, retaining only the most essential fifteen seconds.
Then it cuts directly to a close-up of Lin Shen in his studio, with his brush moving across rice paper.
The film's tone is established within the first ten minutes.
It's not the brutality of a war film, nor the tenderness of a romance film, but a kind of almost stubborn beauty that upholds the everyday amidst turmoil.
In the scene where they encounter danger in the bamboo forest, Li Jun adopted Yang's suggestion to edit close-ups of their hands and facial expressions together.
Qin Hailu fell, her hand hitting a bamboo splinter, blood seeping out. She gritted her teeth, looked up, her eyes not filled with fear, but with a fierce determination.
This shot lasts only five seconds, but it's incredibly powerful.
The scene of burning the painting was even more effective after the fire and close-ups of the characters were added.
The slow, consuming process of the flames contrasted sharply with Nicholas Tse's calm gaze.
The faint smile on Qin Hailu's face as he handed over the torch, illuminated by the firelight, possessed the sanctity of a martyr.