Chapter 57: Obstacles in the Review Process

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(Thanks to Long Shaoll1 for the generous reward—deeply appreciated. At the moment, Black Car isn’t a VIP, so I can only reply to ten comments a day in the review section; please don’t read too much into it if I haven’t responded. Today, Black Car will surprise you with a small burst—three chapters. Don’t underestimate them, and thank you all for your support.)

In these few months in the middle of 1999, the domestic film scene witnessed quite a few significant events.

In April, director Zhang Yimou’s stunning masterpiece, a film without a single professional actor, “Not One Less,” won Best Feature at the College Student Film Festival and then soared at the box office. Its 28 million RMB gross was a standout achievement for Chinese films of the era.

Though its overseas earnings were modest, at least it was introduced abroad, screening in North America, Spain, and other regions—converted to RMB, it wasn't insignificant. Its future prospects looked promising, though there were some hiccups during its Cannes exhibition.

Another major event: “Titanic,” the epic blockbuster, finally concluded its theatrical run after an extended period, but it became the domestic box office champion. It shattered the previous record held by the classic film “Premier Zhou Enlai,” raising the bar from 270 million to 360 million RMB. Of course, in terms of audience numbers, Premier Zhou still led.

Next, director Chen Kaige’s “The Emperor and the Assassin”—three years in the making—premiered. This historical epic boasted an investment of over 80 million RMB. It was impressive enough to have its premiere at the Great Hall of the People—a venue of utmost significance.

However, it took several months before it was widely released. The promotional campaign was formidable, and rumor had it that it earned over ten million dollars in Japan, though that was just hearsay. It had only just begun screening, so its box office performance remained to be seen.

All these were major happenings, though they had nothing to do with Wu Xiang. Still, he made it his business to stay informed, since he had little else to do.

Why? Simple—this time, the submission of “First Intimate Encounter” for review was dragging on.

Third Master gave Wu Xiang just one sentence: “Wait.” And then, nothing more.

This took Wu Xiang by surprise. His previous film, “The Great Flood,” received an unbelievably swift review, almost legendary in speed. He didn’t expect “First Intimate Encounter” to be approved so quickly, but surely not this slow? Yet, they simply ignored him—he had to wait.

Consequently, Wu Xiang’s entire plan was put on hold. Without approval, everything was futile. The publicity campaign he had prepared, even his idea to collaborate with Penguin on a viral marketing strategy, all had to be shelved for now.

But it wasn’t all bad. Wu Xiang now had free time; he could study, read newspapers, and continue refining his little narrow blog.

He soon noticed a problem: he seemed to have fewer and fewer interactions with Huang Yi. Though he could still see her, even those opportunities were diminishing.

“What’s this woman up to?” Wu Xiang sensed she was avoiding him.

“What are you thinking about?” Teacher Han Xiaolei noticed Wu Xiang’s distracted expression and realized his own words had gone in one ear and out the other.

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“Oh, sorry, Teacher Han. I was pondering a shot.” Wu Xiang lied without the slightest blush.

“Hmph!” Teacher Han could only snort coldly. Truthfully, he was pleased—Wu Xiang was finally regularly attending his classes.

“The techniques you described just now, I’ve used them before, but after hearing your advice, I regret not settling down earlier to learn from you.” No need to ask—Wu Xiang was blatantly flattering him.

Shameless, but Wu Xiang maintained that if a student couldn’t flatter their teacher, weren’t they forcing their parents to send gifts instead?

Twisted logic, thoroughly twisted logic. In situations like this, Wu Xiang showed no sense of propriety. But as the saying goes, flattery always works.

“You rascal! Don’t try those tricks on me!” Teacher Han claimed he was unaffected, but truthfully, the old man was quite pleased. Still, he had to say what needed saying: “You’ve already directed two films. In terms of practical experience, you’re the leading youngster in China. You have ideas—even I, an old man, admire you.”

“You flatter me, sir.” Wu Xiang immediately straightened up, behaving like a model student.

“I’m not finished!” In fact, Teacher Han was satisfied—Wu Xiang’s attitude was excellent. “You’re still not there yet, understand? There’s a big gap. Got it?” Seeing Wu Xiang nod, Teacher Han continued, “Here’s the deal: if you have spare time, go audit the cinematography class. I’ll let their teacher know—they won’t throw you out.”

“Wow!” Wu Xiang couldn’t help but let his Northeastern accent slip. “Thank you so much, Teacher Han—you’re amazing!”

“You rascal!” Teacher Han was thoroughly amused by Wu Xiang.

When it came to studying, Wu Xiang felt like a sponge, constantly expanding in the ocean that was the Film Academy. He used to be a top student, but now his motivation was purely interest-driven, making him realize how joyful learning could be.

A normal university student has plenty of free time. So, besides studying, what else? Wu Xiang wanted to find someone, wanted to talk to someone.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Wu Xiang politely asked Huang Yi, who was watching a film.

This was the Film Academy’s archive room, where one could watch many classic old films, though the dubbing was more like someone narrating a story. Wu Xiang was a regular here, and he also knew Huang Yi liked to watch movies here.

Previously, they kept missing each other. Since Huang Yi lost their bet, apart from fetching the promised laundry, she really didn’t want anything to do with this tall stick. Luckily, the schedule for the acting class differed from the literature class, and Wu Xiang was often busy filming, so her movie-watching wasn’t affected. But now…

Huang Yi didn’t say anything, just glanced at him and prepared to leave.

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“Where are you going?” Wu Xiang blocked the door, domineering.

“What do you want? Aren’t you afraid I’ll call someone?” Huang Yi put on her tough-girl attitude again, though she no longer had the same presence.

“What’s wrong with you?” Wu Xiang was exasperated. He couldn’t figure out what was going on with her. “Is it just because I didn’t give you extra scenes? How is that my fault?”

“No.” She spat out the word, trying to push Wu Xiang aside.

“Qing’er, stop it!” The name “Qing’er” rolled off Wu Xiang’s tongue naturally, as if he’d said it countless times before—certainly he’d practiced it in his mind.

“Who told you to call me that?!” Huang Yi was startled. It wasn’t that “Qing” was wrong; after “First Intimate Encounter” wrapped, she told Wu Xiang she’d use “Hai Qing” as her stage name. But “Qing’er” sounded far too intimate.

“I’m telling myself—isn’t that allowed?” Wu Xiang decided to be unreasonable; he wasn’t about to let her slip away again.

“No!” Hai Qing’s temper flared. “What gives you the right? I won’t let you call me that! If you do it again, I really will call for someone—teacher!”

She meant it—she was certainly a woman of action.

“What’s with you…” Wu Xiang was furious. Imagine—a man reborn, passing up so many beautiful starlets, fixating on her, yet she didn’t appreciate it? (Here, Wu Xiang deserves some criticism.)

Still, Wu Xiang wouldn’t budge. “I’ve come this far—don’t you understand?” With those words, he tried to embrace Hai Qing. But—

“What are you doing?” After all, this was school; teachers weren’t just window dressing.