r18novel Chapter 112 Press Conference: You think you're qualified to talk about art?
Chapter 112 Press Conference: You think you're qualified to talk about art?
Chen Yan's fingers rested on the doorknob.
The black leather gloves rubbed against the metal without making a sound.
He pushed open the door and walked into the Cannes Film Festival Special Press Conference Hall.
The sea breeze in the corridor was cut off by the heavy soundproof door.
The press conference room was already filled with more than two hundred journalists from all over the world.
The flashes of light were continuous.
He Ping sat in the center of the stage, with three simultaneous interpretation devices in different languages in front of him.
He changed into a brand-new Zhongshan suit, his gray hair was neatly combed, and his hands were folded on the table.
Chen Yan walked straight to the empty seat on the side of the stage.
Su Wan followed closely behind him, carrying a thick stack of document bags in her hands.
Wu Gang stood guard at the door, blocking several self-media bloggers who tried to approach.
He Ping adjusted the microphone height, his voice low and deep.
"Before answering your questions, as a member of the Cannes jury, I need to deal with a serious violation."
He Ping looked up at Chen Yan, tapping his fingers on the table.
"Director Chen Yan, your illegal screening on Crosette Avenue last night has seriously disrupted the normal operations of the Martinez Hotel and its surrounding sponsors."
"In addition, the organizing committee received an anonymous report regarding the source of your filming funds, which involves multiple transnational money laundering activities."
"You must apologize for this and withdraw from the main competition."
A murmur rippled through the group of reporters below the stage.
An AFP reporter raised his hand and asked in English, "Mr. He, are you implying that there was illegal manipulation involved in the nomination of 'Thunder'?"
He Ping nodded.
"As a senior, I feel heartbroken. Art should not be used as a cover for capital operations."
Chen Yan pulled out a chair and sat down.
He didn't look at He Ping, but instead took a document from Su Wan's hand.
Those were copies of documents printed in French, English, and Chinese.
"Su Wan, distribute these to the media present."
Chen Yan's voice wasn't loud, but it carried throughout the entire hall through the loudspeaker.
Su Wan walked around the podium and slammed the documents onto the reporters' table one by one.
The document cover bears the logos of Gaumont Film, Günter Cinemas, and the Nordic Arts Alliance.
"This is the pre-sale contract for independent cinemas across Europe that was reached last night for 'Thunder'."
Chen Yan took out a fountain pen and tapped it lightly on the table.
"A total of 17 countries and 42 publishers. The guaranteed revenue share is a total of 20 million US dollars, and the first payment has been received through the French Natixis escrow account."
"Professor He, are the money laundering funds you mentioned referring to this business income protected by French law?"
He Ping's gaze fell on the document in front of him, and his face turned pale.
He flipped through the contract quickly, his fingers leaving a crease along the edge of the page.
"This is impossible... The premiere just ended last night..."
"For truly valuable goods, capital has a faster nose than you."
Chen Yan turned his head and stared at He Ping.
"Regarding the illegal screening, it was a personal art installation exhibition, and the Cannes Police Department has granted me an administrative exemption."
"But Professor He, as a member of the judging panel, did you go to the projection room the day before the screening?"
He Ping leaned back, avoiding Chen Yan's gaze.
"I went to check the equipment and environment; that's within my authority."
"Yeah?"
Chen Yan turned his head to look at Su Wan.
Su Wan pressed the remote control in her hand.
The image on the large screen in the press conference room suddenly changed.
That was the surveillance footage from the control room being projected in the Lumière Hall.
The video has no sound, and the image quality has a grainy quality characteristic of infrared recording.
In the scene, a man in a dark blue suit is bending down and poking at the cable connector of the projector with a thin knife.
Although it was only a view from behind, the outfit was exactly the same as the one He Ping had worn at the dock earlier.
"Snap!"
The sound of reporters snapping photos in the audience suddenly increased, almost drowning out the sound of the air conditioner running.
He Ping suddenly stood up and pushed away the microphone in front of him.
"This is a forgery! You've breached the screening room's security system!"
Chen Yan ignored his roar and turned off the video.
"That was definitely a fake, because it was a scene I imagined."
Chen Yan took a black USB flash drive out of his pocket and plugged it into the port on the table.
"The following part is the real one."
The screen lit up again, but this time it wasn't monitoring; instead, it displayed a completely black audio waveform.
After a buzzing sound of electricity, an old voice echoed in the hall.
"The families of those seven workers, each received 20,000 yuan, and they kept their mouths shut."
"The clock tower collapsed because of a typhoon, not because of substandard cement, understand?"
"If this film wins an award, I can secure three million US dollars in sponsorship, and then everyone's employment will be secure."
The audio recording environment was very noisy, accompanied by the roar of construction sites.
He Ping's hand froze in mid-air, and his body began to sway slightly.
Among the Chinese journalists in the audience, several senior editors stood up.
"Is that a scene record of the Tianjin clock tower collapse twenty years ago?"
A young reporter cried out.
He Ping slumped back into the chair, the chair legs scraping against the marble floor with a screeching sound due to the excessive force.
Chen Yan picked up the thermos on the table and took a sip of water.
"Professor He, since you mentioned that art cannot be used as a cover-up, I would like to ask you a question."
"The Berlin Prize, won at the cost of seven lives, has been sitting in your display case for twenty years. Has the stench of blood dissipated?"
The hall fell into dead silence.
Only the rapid typing of a dozen or so laptops provided accompaniment to this public execution.
He Ping turned to look at the exit, attempting to get up and leave.
Wu Gang had already taken a step forward, his wall-like body firmly nailed to the entrance.
The metal plaque with the character "陆" on his waist flashed coldly under the light.
"Since this is a press conference, how can Professor He leave before the reporters have finished asking their questions?"
Chen Yan stood up and walked to the front of the stage.
He looked down at He Ping, who was huddled in the chair, his gaze calm and devoid of any emotion.
"Last night you had the projectionist turn down the lumens, trying to turn my movie into a black shadow."
"Because you're afraid of the light. If the light is too bright, the dead in the ruins will open their eyes."
"The rules you speak of are used to cover up sins. The art you speak of is used to whitewash the truth."
Chen Yan turned around and looked at the world media below the stage.
"The movie 'Thunder' is about how to set every broken bone back together under the trampling of power."
"Today, in this room, in front of the whole world, I am receiving my last bone."
He took a document with a red header from Su Wan's hand; it was an official summons from the Jinmen Laochang Street Police Station.
"Professor He, the task force from China has already boarded the plane."
"Before the closing ceremony at Cannes, they will take you to receive a special award."
He Ping raised his head, his voice dry and hoarse.
"Chen Yan, this is suicide... You've ruined me, and the roots of Chinese cinema in Europe have been severed!"
"Then let's break it off."
Chen Yan answered, enunciating each word clearly.
"The old roots are completely rotten, which makes room for the new shoots."
A French journalist turned to the last page of the contract and asked loudly, "Director Chen, regarding the controlling stake in the cinemas mentioned in the contract, do you mean you intend to establish an independent film distribution system in China?"
Chen Yan looked at the camera with an undeniable focus in his eyes.
"Yes."
"From today onwards, those who want to talk about art no longer need to kneel on the cracks of capital's door."
"As long as the play is good, I, Chen Yan, am their root."
He closed the folder with a crisp, muffled sound.
He Ping slumped into the chair, cold sweat trickling down his forehead and soaking into his crisp Zhongshan suit.
More than two hundred reporters rushed toward the podium, their microphones and recorders almost poking He Ping's nose.
"Mr. He, is the content of the audio recording accurate?"
"What is your explanation for illegally destroying a competitor's copy?"
Chen Yan ignored the commotion behind him.
He stepped off the stage, with Su Wan and Lin Qingqiu following behind him, one on each side.
Lin Qingqiu straightened her back, the hem of her black dress sweeping across the carpet with a rustling sound.
She walked past He Ping without stopping or even turning her head.
At that moment, the scar on that leg, under the flashing lights of countless reporters, displayed a fierce vitality.
When they reached the door, Wu Gang stepped aside and opened the door for them.
Outside, the Mediterranean sun was exceptionally bright.
Chen Yan stood on the steps in front of the cinema, feeling the slightly salty sea breeze.
"Director Chen."
Su Wan called to him softly and handed him a vibrating cell phone.
The name "Lu Haiming" was displayed on the screen.
Chen Yan took the phone but did not press the answer button.
He watched his phone vibrate in his palm until it automatically disconnected because no one answered.
"Make him wait."
Chen Yan looked at the distant, azure sea.
"I want him to experience this fear for 24 hours straight."
He stepped down the stairs, each step firm and steady.
From the press conference hall behind me, I could hear tables and chairs overturned and gasps from the crowd.
That was the last sound He Ping made before he completely collapsed.
Chen Yan did not turn around.
He walked through the palm trees along Crosette Avenue toward the convertible parked on the side of the road.
Lin Qingqiu was sitting in the passenger seat, applying lipstick while looking in the rearview mirror.
That splash of bright red, under the midday sun, looked like a wound that had not yet healed but had begun to burn.
Chen Yan started the engine.
The tachometer needle swung wildly on the dial, and the exhaust pipe emitted a deep roar.
"Next stop, back home."
Chen Yan shifted into first gear, and the wheels scraped across the asphalt, leaving two charred arc marks.
"Go collect that blood-stained debt."
The car disappeared at the end of Crossett Boulevard, leaving only a withered leaf turned over and swirling in the wind.