r18novel Chapter 70 Who Cut Off Her Past?
Chapter 70 Who Cut Off Her Past?
Chen Yan pulled down the rope.
The generator shut down.
The explosion-proof lights are all off.
The air-raid shelter was completely darkened.
Gu Changhe's breath was pressed against the bottom of his throat.
The film was still soaking in the fixer.
Footsteps echoed over the brick wall.
The beam of the flashlight swept in through the gap in the iron gate, across the wall, and disappeared into the depths.
"Master Gu?"
Zhang Qiming's voice came from outside the door, "Nighttime patrol of the factory area, routine check."
Gu Changhe remained motionless.
Chen Yan whispered in his ear, "Don't let the film leak."
The flashlight beam was withdrawn.
The sound of Zhang Qiming whispering to the security guard could be heard outside the iron gate.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Zhang Qiming pushed open the iron gate.
Two security guards in factory uniforms followed behind, one of them carrying a powerful searchlight.
White light filled the entire passageway.
Three water tanks, medicine bottles, film cassettes, and a DV tripod—all exposed to the light.
Zhang Qiming stood at the bottom of the steps and turned his neck around.
"Chen Yan".
He called out the name, his tone neither too loud nor too soft, "Who authorized you to use the sealed equipment?"
Chen Yan emerged from the shadows and stood in front of the water tank.
"Master Gu, you're here too."
Zhang Qiming looked at Gu Changhe and said, "The air-raid shelter is a sealed area of the factory. Unauthorized use without approval is a violation of regulations. You signed the factory disciplinary responsibility statement, so I don't need to say more."
Gu Changhe opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Su Wan's footsteps came down from above the steps.
She held three documents in her hand and spread them out one by one in front of Zhang Qiming.
"The first document is the Technical Responsibility Agreement. It was signed by Gu Changhe and authorized by Chen Yan. The rights and responsibilities of both parties are listed in detail."
Zhang Qiming glanced down at it.
"The second document is the project approval certificate from the Beijing Film Academy, stamped by the project office of the ministry. 'Thunder' is an official academic project, and film processing is a technical procedure within the scope of the project."
Zhang Qiming flipped through the corners of the document without saying a word.
"Third document: Venice Film Festival competition submission letter. The film negatives must be developed and sent to Italy by July 15th. Failure to do so will result in disqualification."
Su Wan folded the three documents neatly and slapped them into Zhang Qiming's hand.
"Director Zhang, your main gate is locked, and your pharmaceutical supply chain is cut off. We used the equipment stored in the factory area for emergency technical remediation, and there are authorization documents and responsible persons signed throughout the process. If you want to classify it as a violation, fine. Please sign and stamp these three documents, indicating that you, Zhang Qiming, vetoed the technical procedures of the ministerial project in your personal capacity."
Zhang Qiming gripped the edge of the document and examined it twice, turning it over and over.
He didn't sign.
Footsteps sounded again from above the steps.
Dense, chaotic, with the clanging of metal equipment.
Wei Cheng was the first to come down.
He wore a worn leather jacket, his hair was styled with hair gel, and a lock of hair fell across his forehead and clung to his brow bone.
Three people followed behind him—two carrying video cameras and one holding a microphone.
Wei Cheng nodded to Zhang Qiming.
"Director Zhang, as we discussed on the phone, I'm bringing a few journalist friends for a follow-up visit."
Zhang Qiming stepped aside.
Wei Cheng pulled a miniDV tape from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and handed it to the cameraman behind him.
"Set up the machine."
The cameraman pushed the tape into the camera body and connected it to the old monitor in the air-raid shelter.
The monitor screen lights up.
The footage has been edited.
One black-and-white photo after another, accompanied by the caption: "A cultural performance banquet in Shanghai, 1991."
In the photo, a young Lin Qingqiu sits at a round table, surrounded by several middle-aged men in Zhongshan suits.
The wine glass is held in hand, the composition cropped to a perfectly ambiguous degree.
The subtitles continue scrolling: Another side of retired dancers?
The long-standing secrets of the Venice Film Festival Best Actress nominees.
Wei Cheng put his hands into his jacket pockets and turned to look at Chen Yan.
"Director Chen, if you're willing to sit down and talk, these things don't have to be broadcast."
Chen Yan did not look at the monitor.
He walked to the control panel, opened the side pocket of the equipment bag, and took out a recording device the size of a Sony Walkman.
Press the play button.
The cement walls of the air-raid shelter form a natural reverberation cavity.
The recording has a lot of background noise, but every word is clear.
Wei Cheng's voice came from the loudspeaker:
"...The vice dean said that two trainees will be chosen from this group to have a chat with some leaders. I'll take care of bringing them there; you just need to come along..."
Lin Qingqiu's voice: "I'm not going."
Wei Cheng's voice: "Aren't you going? Your contract is in the hospital, and the transfer order hasn't come through yet. If you don't go, you won't have the key to the practice room tomorrow."
The recording continues.
"...How long was it locked?"
Lin Qingqiu's voice was strained.
"It happened overnight. The cleaning staff only discovered it when they opened the door the next morning."
"Who gave the order?"
"The vice dean said you're not giving him face and told him to think it over while he's inside."
The recording reached the fourth minute.
Wei Cheng's voice appeared again:
"...If you bring up what happened that day, you won't be able to clear your name. I have the photos and the diagnosis. No matter what you and Chen Yan do, as long as these things aren't destroyed, you won't be able to hold your head up high."
Chen Yan pressed pause.
The air-raid shelter was silent for three seconds.
The reporters on the two cameras exchanged a glance.
The guy carrying the microphone lowered the pole by half a foot.
Wei Cheng stared at the tape recorder.
He swallowed twice.
"Edited."
He began, "You spliced the recording together—"
"The original DV tapes from the rehearsal room are in my editor's hands."
Chen Yan interrupted him, "The timecode is continuous, and the footage has no breaks. If you want to question its authenticity, the Venice Organizing Committee has authentication channels. AFP also has them."
Someone in the group of reporters raised their hand.
"Director Chen, what about Lin Qingqiu's medical records and—"
Su Wan pulled a brown paper envelope out of her bag.
I opened the package and shook out three pages.
"This is an authentication report with an official seal issued by a health system registration and authentication agency."
She held up the first page, pointing it at the camera lens, and said, "Report conclusion: The official seal on the previously circulated so-called Lin Qingqiu gynecological treatment record does not match the hospital's original seal, and the batch of paper used in the document does not match the year indicated. It is a forgery."
Su Wan turned to the second page.
"The source of the paper for the forged documents was traced back to a private clinic in Zhabei District, Shanghai, which was deregistered in 1994."
She paused for a moment.
"Clinic registrant: Wei Deliang."
Wei Cheng took a step back.
His back bumped into the cameraman's tripod, causing the tripod to wobble.
"Wei Deliang is your cousin."
Su Wan closed the report. "The original report has been sent to the Venice Organizing Committee and AFP's Paris bureau. If you think I'm wrong, you can have your uncle explain it to you personally."
Wei Cheng's lips moved, but no sound came out.
The sound of a cane tapping the ground came from the top of the steps.
One beat after another, the rhythm was even and slow.
Lin Qingqiu walked down the steps one by one.
The lumbar support was tightened outside the coat, the left hand was on the crutch, and the right hand was free.
Zhang Yuan followed behind her carrying a DV camera; the red light was on, and the camera was still on.
The reporters turned their cameras toward her.
Lin Qingqiu walked up to the monitor.
The screen still showed the cropped photo from the banquet—her twenty-year-old face, the wine glass, and the shoulder of the man beside her.
She looked at it for two seconds.
I didn't reach out to close it.
She turned around and faced the camera.
"I went to that meal in 1991."
The group of reporters fell silent.
"It was arranged by the vice dean, and Wei Cheng led the way. I sat for less than twenty minutes, didn't drink any alcohol, and then stood up and left. Before I left, someone took a picture."
She tapped the monitor screen with her cane.
"These photos are real. But Wei Cheng cut out the parts where I was away from the stage. He cut out the fourteen hours I was locked in the practice room. He cut out the parts where the cleaning lady broke in the next morning and found me lying under the barre."
Her voice was steady, without any tremor.
"I'm not playing the victim, nor am I seeking anyone's sympathy. If you're going to write, write clearly—the stage ruined me once, but film saved me."
The shutter clicked seven or eight times.
The microphone boom was raised again.
A reporter pressed further: "Ms. Lin, what about the diagnosis circulating online—"
"Producer Su just explained it clearly."
Lin Qingqiu didn't let him finish his question. "It's a forgery. The source points to the Wei family clinic. If you're so capable, go investigate."
Wei Cheng took two steps toward the steps.
Wu Gang found himself standing at the top of the steps at some point.
With arms crossed and feet shoulder-width apart, the exit was completely blocked.
Wei Cheng stopped.
Zhang Qiming placed the document back into Su Wan's palm.
He cleared his throat.
"Well—the information Secretary Zhao gave me before is a little different from what you told me."
His gaze shifted between Wei Cheng and Chen Yan. "I was just following the procedure at the time—"
"Director Zhang."
Su Wan put the documents into her bag without looking at him. "We'll discuss the process issue separately later."
Zhang Qiming shut up.
He waved the two security guards toward the steps, then leaned against the wall, trying to get as far away from Wei Chengqian as possible.
Chen Yan bent down and took out a round, black lacquered iron can from the bottom of the iron cabinet.
The can has white ballpoint pen writing on it: SH-91-007.
He placed the can of tablets on the workbench and pushed it in front of Wei Cheng.
Wei Cheng's gaze fell on the number.
His fingers were tucked deep into his sleeve.
"You cut out her past."
Chen Yan pressed down on the lid of the jar. "I'll put the whole one in."
Wei Cheng stepped back to a distance of one step in front of Wu Gang.
I dared not go any further, nor dared I speak.
The red indicator light on the tape recorder on the control panel was still on.
Zhang Yuan lowered his DV camera and aimed it at the number on the can lid, and the footage moved steadily.