Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 73 The Sound of Rain in the Old City

The salty vapor from the Adriatic Sea rushed into the Marco Polo Airport terminal through the opening and closing of the automatic doors.

Chen Yan pressed down the film box latch, his palm pressed firmly against the aluminum alloy casing.

Zhang Yuan, carrying a heavy blue folder, jogged from the luggage carousel and stood right in front of Chen Yan.

"Confirmed. The bus will arrive in five minutes and will go directly to Lido Island."

Zhang Yuan wiped his sweat and shoved the folder forward.

"I have your plane ticket, passport, and itinerary. The technical committee has scheduled a preview screening for 10:00 AM on the 18th in Hall 3 of the Grand Palace."

Su Wan strode forward from the side and snatched the folder away.

"What are you yelling about?"

She gestured towards a spot ten steps away, where three foreign journalists with telephoto lenses were looking in her direction.

Zhang Yuan sheepishly withdrew his hand, his voice dropping eight octaves: "I've been feeling stifled for too long! Hall 3 is the main competition venue. I really want to make hundreds of copies and plaster them all over the gates of the Beijing Film Academy to give Shen Congzhou a piece of my mind."

Su Wan turned to Chen Yan: "Vincent is picking someone up at the dock. Miramax hasn't made a move, but AFP is investigating our hotel. Should we change locations?"

Chen Yan picked up the film box and stepped through the revolving door.

"Shen Congzhou has no jurisdiction over the Adriatic Sea, so you can investigate him at will."

On the long embankment, the bus bumped along, and a salty wind blew in.

Lin Qingqiu leaned against the back seat, her hands clasped together and resting on her knees.

The hoodie covered his head, and his chin was hidden in shadow.

Two hours later, at a private apartment on the west side of Lido Island.

The yellow light overhead shone on the deep purple cheongsam that Su Wan had just pulled out.

Black-edged sleeves with a reflective satin finish.

Lin Qingqiu took off her outer clothes, revealing heavy medical protective gear strapped to her waist.

She stood in front of the mirror, the back of her hand brushing against the fabric, and her shoulders hunched.

"Put it on and check the waistline. The tailor worked three sleepless nights in the alley, and the measurements were taken before the group joined."

Lin Qingqiu ripped open the Velcro strap with a ripping sound.

With the support removed, she immediately leaned forward, barely managing to steady herself by gripping the back of the chair, and struggled to put on the cheongsam.

Extremely tight around the waist.

Because of prolonged hunching, the fabric at the lower back bulged out.

"Relaxed?"

Su Wan reached out and pulled, feeling something solid. "No, it's a bone protruding."

Chen Yan walked back from the balcony, casually putting a box of safety pins into his pocket.

The deep purple fabric made Lin Qingqiu's face appear deathly pale, and the hollow in her left shoulder was clearly visible.

Chen Yan squatted down, took out scissors, and cut open the inner seam.

"Raising the waistline by five centimeters, trying to use stiff padding to forcefully support the spine, is the wrong approach."

Lin Qingqiu looked down at him: "If I don't hold on, I won't be able to walk the entire 60-meter red carpet."

Chen Yan folded the excess satin inward, secured it with a safety pin, and then sewed it with black thread.

"Don't cover it up, just show it off."

Pull the thread tight and bite it off.

"Just stand firm, no need to be perfectly straight. Clothes should follow the contours of the bones; if the bones are crooked, the seams should follow suit."

The fabric was refitted to fit the sides of the waist.

The bulge formed an angled crease, outlining the deformed bone structure.

With Su Wan's help, Lin Qingqiu took two steps forward.

The silk clings to the skin and flesh, catching the force of the fall.

"Alright."

In the mirror, the tattered curves of the body clashed with the gorgeous clothes in a way that was both extremely incongruous and strangely fitting.

Chen Yanzheng swept the broken wire into the wastebasket.

Su Wan leaned closer: "The side gate of the main palace, the parameters of Hall 3, the method of altering clothes. You've never been abroad, Chen Yan, but you know this place inside and out."

"Memorize the information."

Chen Yan replied.

Su Wan pulled out her passport, her fingertip pointing to the blank visa page: "You're kidding me. Look at the water level at the dock, it's like they're strolling in their own backyard. The way they're going is too smooth, it's abnormal."

Black water splashes against the rocks outside the window.

Chen Yan looked at the sea: "If you've already fallen into a pit, you won't fall again if you walk down the same path a second time."

Su Wan slapped her passport and contract into his hand: "Don't try to handle this all by yourself. Wu Gang is downstairs; he may be lame, but he still has his fists."

Chen Yan rubbed his thumb against the passport stamp: "Bring back two cans of dark roast Italian coffee."

At exactly one o'clock, Wu Gang brought in a body full of rain vapor.

The tin can wrapped in kraft paper was pushed onto the dining table and slid toward Chen Yan.

"Gu Changhe smuggled it out of the old warehouse of the Shanghai Film Studio. It's an original, sealed copy from 1991."

Tear the kraft paper open.

Thirty-five millimeter film canister, yellow label with frayed handwritten lettering: Selection of sample films from "Rain in the Old City".

Chen Yan placed the film into the film inspection machine and turned on a strong light.

At the mahogany round table, the vice president in uniform sat at the head of the table, with the young Wei Cheng to his side.

Directly opposite him, Shen Congzhou held a wine glass with a broad smile on his face.

"The Warlords"

Wu Gang pulled out a chair. "In 1991, based on this meal alone, he swallowed up the entire expansion project of the dance theater. On the day Lin Qingqiu was locked up, he was in the next room signing the contract."

Chen Yan turned off the film detector: "Keep it pressed down for now. We'll use it when we collect Shen Congzhou's body."

The wall-mounted walkie-talkie suddenly started ringing.

Zhang Yuan came out of the inner room wearing a coat, listened to a speech in Italian from the other side, and then went out.

Three minutes later, he returned with a blank plastic box.

"The front desk specifically requested this urgent package from you. There's no sender information."

The standard VHS videotape was covered in scratches.

Zhang Yuan pulled out the VCR from under the TV and plugged it in.

The tape was fed into the machine, followed by a dry, grinding sound, and then the screen flickered with static.

The images finally snapped together.

A rainy night.

Chen Yan's thumb hovered above the button, frozen in place.

In the dilapidated alleys of old Yanjing, torrential rain shattered the blue tiles.

The man holding the broken black umbrella walked forward.

From a ground-level perspective, leather shoes waded through mud and water, crushing the reflections of streetlights.

Zhang Yuan leaned over the screen: "A ripped version of 'Thunder'? The color tone and camera work are all off. That back view..." Chen Yan shut up.

The air in my lungs wasn't exhaled.

That is definitely not "Thunder".

That was "The Sound of Rain in the Old City," a work he had poured three years of his heart and soul into in his previous life, which was ultimately burned to ashes by Lu Haiming.

A rare master tape that could never have existed in the year 2000.

The black umbrella spun halfway around.

Close-up shot.

Leather shoes stepped into the mud.

The following text appears in white Song typeface: [Screenwriter/Director: Chen Yan].

"This signature!"

Zhang Yuan turned around and asked, "You took these photos of the demolition area from last year? When did you take them?"

The screen is turned black.

The blank character appeared as: 【陈砚。】

It's raining heavily.

Do you think you're the only one who remembers what happened 25 years from now?

Chen Yan suddenly stood up, smashed the remote control on the floor, and the battery flew off.

A blinding white light shone on his profile.

"What nonsense are you spouting?"

Zhang Yuan reached out to press the back button.

Chen Yan pressed down on the back of his hand.

My palms were covered in sticky sweat.

The words faded away, revealing a still image.

CCTV footage of Yanjing streets in 2025.

A drunkard with a stubble-covered face was slumped over the curb.

That was exactly how Chen Yan looked when he died a rotten death on the street in his previous life.

The machine lost power, and half of the cartridge was ejected.

Only the noise of waves crashing against the stone slabs outside the window remained.

Chen Yan's gaze was fixed on the cassette tape.

The secret he took to his coffin in his past life was unearthed and sent to Venice.

The walkie-talkie blared again, producing only a harsh AC static.

Chen Yan picked up the receiver.

A processed, low electronic voice emerged: "Grand Palace Hall 3, last row, left seat. Director Chen, someone wants to relive old memories with you."

A busy signal sounded.

The wind tore the balcony door open a crack, and the cold wind whipped the curtains around.

Chen Yan put down the receiver.

Lu Haiming is not alone.

There is another person in this world who climbed back from 2025, and he is sitting in the black box in Venice waiting for him!