r18novel Chapter 142
Chapter 142
Chapter 142
In the car, Yuan Tao briefly explained the situation: "Master Cheng suffers from high blood pressure and overwork."
I worked non-stop for three days on the set of "Beauty in Troubled Times," sleeping only three or four hours a day.
On the third day, during the filming of an action scene, he suddenly fainted and was rushed to the hospital where he was diagnosed with a brain hemorrhage.
"What did Wang Zhonglei say?"
"They gave me 100,000 yuan, saying it was a condolence payment," Yuan Tao sneered.
"But Master Cheng's treatment costs are conservatively estimated to be over 500,000 yuan, not including the later rehabilitation. His son is still studying in the UK, and his annual expenses are over 300,000 yuan. This amount of money is just a drop in the bucket."
Li Jun looked at the rain outside the window: "Have you notified Xie Tingfeng and the others?"
"The notification has been sent."
Teacher Xie said he would help, and Teacher Qin also said he would donate money.
The rest of the crew were also helping out.
Yuan Tao paused.
"But this matter—needs someone to take the lead. Your influence in the industry is greater than theirs."
The car drove into Union Hospital.
The inpatient building was dusty and looked particularly solemn in the rain.
Cheng Guoqiang is in a neurology ward, in a single room with good conditions, which clearly indicates that someone has taken care of things for him.
When Li Jun pushed open the door, it was Cheng Guoqiang's wife.
An elderly woman with gray hair and a thin figure was sitting on the edge of the bed, using a cotton swab dipped in water to moisten her husband's lips.
Cheng Guoqiang, lying in his hospital bed, was a completely different person from the one I remembered.
He had lost a lot of weight, his face was sallow, half of his body was paralyzed, and his mouth was slightly crooked.
But her eyes were open, and when she saw Li Jun, her gaze flickered.
"Master Cheng." Li Jun walked to the bedside.
Cheng Guoqiang's lips moved, uttering a muffled sound.
The wife leaned down to listen, then translated: "He said—Director Li, you've arrived."
"I am coming."
Li Jun held the hand that wasn't receiving an IV drip; the hand was very cold.
"Just focus on getting better and don't worry about anything else."
Cheng Guoqiang uttered a few more syllables. His wife's eyes reddened as she listened: "He said—I'm sorry."
Li Jun shook his head: "You haven't wronged anyone. The ones who should apologize are those who didn't know how to cherish what they had."
He sat by the bed for half an hour, not saying much, just quietly keeping me company.
Cheng Guoqiang was sometimes asleep and sometimes awake. When he was awake, his eyes were cloudy, but when he looked at Li Jun, he had a calmness that showed an old man who understood everything but was helpless.
Before leaving, Li Jun placed an envelope on the bedside table: "Master Cheng, this is a small token of my appreciation. Don't worry about the follow-up treatment costs."
Cheng Guoqiang's wife tried to decline, but Li Jun held her hand, saying, "Teacher's wife, please don't be so polite. Master Cheng has taught me a lot; this is what I should do."
After leaving the ward, Li Jun stood in the corridor for a while.
The smell of disinfectant, the beeping of medical equipment, the tired faces of patients and their families —
The hospital is a place that makes people clear-headed; here, all fame, fortune, grudges, gains and losses become insignificant.
Yuan Tao walked over: "What do we do next?"
Two things.
Li Jun said.
"First, I will launch an industry-wide fundraising campaign in my name to raise funds for Master Cheng's treatment and rehabilitation."
Secondly, contact several directors and actors who have worked with Master Cheng to film a video message of support, letting him know that people still remember him.
"Okay, I'll take care of it."
When I left the hospital, the rain had lessened a bit, but the sky was even more gloomy.
Li Jun didn't get in the car, saying he wanted to walk around.
He held up an umbrella and walked slowly along Dongdan North Street.
Pedestrians hurried along the streets, and cars streamed by. Autumn in Beijing always arrives suddenly; a single rain shower can cause the temperature to drop by ten degrees.
I passed by a movie theater, and there was a huge poster of "Beauty in Troubled Times" on the door.
Zhang Ziyi's face was somewhat blurred in the rain, but her deliberate allure was still dazzling.
Li Jun stopped and looked at the poster.
At the bottom of the poster is a line of small print: "Executive Producer: Wang Zhonglei".
This person lured Cheng Guoqiang to work for him with a high salary, squeezed out the last bit of value from him, and then gave him 100,000 yuan to settle things when he collapsed.
His movie is still being promoted, and his posters are still up here.
Cheng Guoqiang was lying in the hospital, unable to move half of his body and having difficulty speaking.
Is it fair?
unfair.
But that's the reality.
Li Jun continued walking forward.
He thought of the village in southern Anhui, the bamboo forest, the farewell on the stone bridge, and the quiet door.
Perhaps movies can change very little.
It cannot stop illness, punish injustice, or even preserve those beautiful moments.
But it can record.
This documentary records how veteran filmmakers like Cheng Guoqiang poured their last breaths into their work on set.
It records how a fictional character like Lin Shen manages to preserve a spark of spirit amidst chaos.
To record those overlooked, small but precious acts of perseverance in this era.
This is enough.
My phone vibrated; it was Zhang Liangying.
"Have you arrived at the hospital yet?"
She asked.
"We've arrived. Let's see how the driver performs."
"How is the situation?"
"Not good, but still alive."
Li Jun said.
"As long as there is life, there is hope."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then Zhang Liangying said, "Li Jun, are you alright?"
"fine."
"When you lie, your voice goes down half a tone."
Zhang Liangying said softly, "I know."
Li Jun stood on the street, watching the vehicles passing by in the rain.
The taillights cast long streaks of light on the wet road, like the trails of tears.
"I just feel—"
He spoke, his voice a little hoarse.
"Humans are so fragile, and films are so insignificant. What's the point of all this making movies?"
Zhang Liangying said.
"The actors who were taught by Master Cheng will continue to perform."
People will still watch the movies you've made.
The songs I've sung will still be listened to. All of that combined constitutes a legacy.
She paused for a moment, then said, "Just like Lin Shen teaches his students to paint, not so that they become the next Lin Shen, but so that the ability to see and record beauty can be passed on."
Li Jun closed his eyes.
The sounds of rain, cars, and people blended into a noisy background.
But Zhang Liangying's voice was very clear, as if it pierced through all the noise and reached the depths of the heart.
"When are you going back to southern Anhui?" she asked.
"tomorrow."
"Then I'll take you there tomorrow."
"No need, you go about your business."
"I want to go," Zhang Liangying insisted. "I'll see you off."
After hanging up the phone, Li Jun continued walking forward.
I passed by an art gallery, and contemporary ink paintings were being exhibited in the window.
He went inside, wanting some peace and quiet.
The gallery was quiet, with only a handful of visitors.
Most of the exhibited works deconstruct tradition, with landscapes pixelated, ink and fluorescent colors colliding, and classical inscriptions paired with English poems.
Li Jun looked at each painting one by one, finally stopping in front of a small work.
The painting depicts a village in southern Anhui.
White walls and black tiles, a light drizzle, and a small figure holding an umbrella on the stone bridge, almost invisible.
But the overall mood of the painting is strikingly similar to what he has felt in southern Anhui these past few days.
The painting is titled "Passerby".
The label reads:
Lin Mo, a young painter, was born in 1985 in Yixian County, Anhui Province.
Li Jun stared at the painting for a long time.
A passerby.
Yes, they are all just passing through. They stay in a village in southern Anhui for a few months, make a movie, and then leave.
Cheng Guoqiang dedicated his entire life to the film industry, only to end up lying in a hospital bed.
Everyone is a passerby in time.
But even passersby can leave traces.
Like this painting, like the movie he's making.
The rain stopped when I left the gallery.
A sliver of blue sky peeked out, and sunlight streamed through gaps in the clouds, casting dazzling patches of light on the wet streets.
Li Jun folded his umbrella and took a deep breath.
The air was fresh with the unique scent of rain and cool with the distinct autumn chill of Beijing.
He took out his phone and texted Yuan Tao: "Hurry up with the fundraising. Also, help me arrange a meeting with that painter named Lin Mo."
Perhaps the next film could be about contemporary artists.
Film them as they struggle between tradition and innovation, balance commerce and art, and uphold the dignity of ink and brush in this turbulent era.
But that's for later.
Now, he needs to go back to southern Anhui to finish filming "Dreams of Mountains and Rivers".
Finish telling the story of Lin Shen and Wanrong.
Record those who reconstructed the landscape on paper.
That night, Li Jun stayed at his home in Beijing. The house hadn't been lived in for a long time, and there was a faint smell of dust.
He opened the window to ventilate the room, did a quick cleaning, and then sat down at his desk and opened his laptop.
He had many unread emails in his inbox, but he first opened the folder containing the shooting materials for "Dreams of Mountains and Rivers".
I randomly clicked on a section.
The scene is a bamboo forest, a bamboo forest after the rain, with sunlight filtering through the bamboo leaves. Qin Hailu is leaning against a rock, and Xie Tingfeng is squatting in front of her, their eyes meeting.
There was no sound, but everything was conveyed through their eyes.
He clicked on another section.
It's a replay of the farewell scene on the stone bridge.
Nicholas Tse stood in the middle of the bridge, his back straight, a tear sliding down his cheek.
These scenes, these moments, are the result of his and the entire crew's hard work and dedication.
does it worth?
He remembered Cheng Guoqiang lying in the hospital bed, the sound of Aunt Gui chopping meat in the early morning, the rain in southern Anhui, and the rain in Beijing.
Then he opened a new document and began to write: "What is a movie? I've asked myself this question many times. And the answer is different each time."
Today I feel that film is a form of resistance. Resistance to forgetting, resistance to indifference, resistance to the brutal passage of time.
We use light and shadow to build dams on the river of time, trying to hold back some things, some emotions, some moments, and some people who shouldn't be swept away.
Lin Shen's painting of landscapes on paper is a form of resistance.
Making this film is also a form of resistance.
The dam may eventually be breached, but the process of building the dam itself is meaningful.
Just like Master Cheng Guoqiang, he has fallen, but the moves he taught and the movies he made are still there.
Like Lin Shen, he may have died in the war, but his paintings may have been taken away by his students and passed down to future generations.
We are all doing the same thing: creating something that may last longer than life itself within our limited lifespan.
It is both insignificant and magnificent.
Heading back to southern Anhui tomorrow. Back to filming.
After finishing writing, he saved the document and turned off the computer.
Outside the window, Beijing was brightly lit.
In this vast city, how many people are busy, how many stories are unfolding, how many movies are being filmed, and how many songs are being sung?
And at this moment, he is here, a temporary passerby.
Tomorrow, he will be setting off again.
Returning to that landscape, returning to that unfinished film, returning to those who waited for him.
He took a shower and went to bed.
I'm very tired, but I feel at peace.
Because he knows what he is doing.
I also know why I have to do it.
This is enough.
Night fell, and the city gradually quieted down.
Li Jun fell asleep quickly.
In his dream, he saw Cheng Guoqiang standing on the film set, skillfully demonstrating a martial arts move.
Then the scene shifts to Lin Shen in his studio, his brush moving across rice paper.
The ink spread, turning into mountains, into water, into villages in southern Anhui, into stone bridges, and into bamboo forests.
Finally, all the images merged together, becoming a beam of light that was projected onto the screen.
The theater was packed with people.
They are watching.
On the plane back to southern Anhui, Li Jun kept looking at the clouds outside the window.
There weren't many passengers on the early morning flight.
He sat by the window, gazing at the boundless sea of clouds outside the porthole.
The sunlight slanted in from the east, gilding the edges of the clouds with gold and red, like molten metal or burning silk.
Beneath the sea of clouds, the outline of the earth, the folds of the mountains, the veins of the rivers, and the spots of the towns are faintly visible.
Below that is BJ, the city he just left.
There is Cheng Guoqiang lying in a hospital bed, Yuan Tao running around raising funds, and countless others like them who are struggling in the industry.
The plane began its descent, breaking through the clouds.
The clouds turned into fog, and the fog turned into rain, which fell on the portholes, leaving streaks of water.
Below, the unique landforms of southern Anhui appear.
The rolling green hills, the curves of the terraced fields, and the villages with white walls and black tiles dotting the landscape are like perfectly placed blank spaces on rice paper.
The rain stopped when we landed.
The ground was wet, and the air had a unique freshness and coolness after the rain.
Li Jun dragged his simple luggage out of the airport, where Xiao Chen was already waiting at the exit.
The young man grinned when he saw him: "Director Li, you're back!"
"I'm back."
Li Jun patted him on the shoulder.
"How have you been these past few days?"
"It went well; we filmed a few short scenes as planned."
Teacher Xie and Teacher Qin were on point the whole time, and Master Li finished setting up the last few scenes.
Xiao Chen took the luggage.
"Well—everyone's been a bit down since they heard about Master Cheng's situation."
"normal."
Li Jun said.
"I'll talk to you all later."
The car drove out of the airport and headed into the mountains.
The rice paddies on both sides of the road have been harvested, and the rice stubble is pale yellow in the moist soil.
The distant mountains are shrouded in a thin mist, layer upon layer, their colors gradually fading from green to gray-blue, like a watercolor painting in the process of spreading.
"Director Li,"
Xiao Chen hesitated for a moment.
"What's the next step regarding Master Cheng?"
"Yuan Tao is organizing a fundraising campaign, and many people in the industry are helping."
Li Jun said.
"The treatment costs shouldn't be a problem. But recovery is a long process, and what about life afterward—"
He didn't finish speaking, but Xiao Chen understood.
There was a moment of silence in the car. The windshield wipers rhythmically scraped the windshield, making a soft rubbing sound.
"Director Li," Xiao Chen spoke again, his voice very soft, "sometimes I wonder, what are we working so hard to make movies for? Master Cheng worked his whole life, and this is how it ended. We might also—"
"That's possible," Li Jun chimed in. "But Xiao Chen, do you remember how Master Cheng taught Teacher Xie martial arts moves?"
"Remember."