novelraw Chapter 133
Chapter 133
Chapter 133
Indeed, the work itself speaks for itself, which is more effective than empty talk.
"If Li Jun really had problems, would Hollywood dare to work with him?"
"I feel like he genuinely wants to get things done, and isn't just creating hype."
Of course, there are still dissenting voices, but they no longer hold sway.
Yuan Tao called, his tone relaxed: "Public opinion monitoring shows that positive reviews have rebounded to 60%. And because of the collaboration with 'Looper,' your international reputation has increased again."
"What about Wang Zhonglei?" Li Jun asked.
"It's still under investigation. Apparently, he paid some of the money back and might get a suspended sentence. But his cousin's marketing company was investigated, fined, and ordered to suspend operations." Yuan Tao paused. "But Li Jun, you have to be careful. Someone like Wang Zhonglei won't let this go easily."
"I know," Li Jun said, "but I can't stop myself because of him."
After hanging up the phone, Li Jun turned on his computer and began writing the script for a film about painters from the Republican era.
In 1937, in Nanjing, painter Lin Shen completed his last landscape painting in his studio.
The sound of gunfire could be heard outside the window, but the mountains in his paintings remained tranquil and the waters continued to flow.
He wrote a line: "The land may be shattered, but words can rebuild a world."
Li Jun suddenly stopped writing at this point.
He recalled the dialogue between Joe and his future self in Looper: "If you had the chance to do it all over again, what would you change?"
Nothing will change. Because if it did, I wouldn't be myself anymore.
The same applies to art.
Every stroke, every shot, every choice contributes to the final image.
You can't start over, you can only continue.
Three months later, Looper completed its rough cut.
Legendary Pictures decided to send it to the Toronto International Film Festival not in the main competition, but in the "Special Presentations" section.
This section does not award prizes; it focuses on market transactions and media exposure, making it very favorable for commercial films.
Carter called Li Jun: "Li, we need you to attend the film festival. It's not just about walking the red carpet; we need you to meet with distributors and discuss distribution strategies for the China region."
"it is good."
Li Jun said.
"I'll bring my team over."
In September in Toronto, the maple leaves are just beginning to turn red.
During the film festival, the entire city was enveloped in a cinematic atmosphere.
Posters, billboards, and reporters with media passes can be seen everywhere on the streets.
Li Jun stayed at a hotel near the main venue of the film festival and attended five or six meetings every day.
The first afternoon featured a screening of "Looper".
The screening room was packed with people.
Representatives from major North American publishing companies, European buyers, and media reporters.
The lights dimmed, and the movie began.
Li Jun sat in the back row. This was the third time he had seen the rough cut, but he was still shocked.
Villeneuve's cinematic language is austere yet poetic, and his visual design of the futuristic world is both technologically advanced and down-to-earth.
Chinese elements are naturally integrated; under a holographic GG sign on a street in Shanghai, an elderly man is practicing Tai Chi.
The scene in the traditional Chinese medicine shop has been changed; the old doctor now uses acupuncture to calm the protagonist's emotions instead of numbing their pain.
The Chinese child the protagonist saved later helped him draw away the pursuers at a crucial moment.
The protagonist, Joe, finally confronts his future self, and the two face off on the Bund in Shanghai.
The neon lights reflected on the Huangpu River resembled fragments of time.
"I tried to change, but each change led to a worse outcome," Joe said in the future.
So I won't change anymore. I accept everything, including you, including all the mistakes I've made.
Now Joe asks, "Then what's the point of living?"
"That is the meaning."
The future Joe smiled, a tired but relieved smile.
"Knowing that none of this can be changed, I still choose to keep going."
The camera zooms out, revealing two Joes standing by the river, their backs gradually blurring.
The subtitles read: "Time is not a straight line, it's a circle. We are all searching for an exit within this cycle."
"
The screening ended, and applause rang out.
After the lights came on, Carter walked to the front of the stage and gave a brief introduction to the film and its creators.
Then we moved on to the Q&A session.
A reporter asked, "This film has a distinctly Eastern philosophical flavor. Was this intentional?"
Villeneuve took the microphone: "Yes. Our collaboration with director Li Jun was to explore different cultures' understanding of time and destiny."
In Chinese philosophy, time is not a one-way destruction, but a cyclical renewal.
This concept influenced the overall tone of the film.
Another reporter asked Li Jun, "As a co-producer for the China region, what is your greatest contribution?"
Li Jun thought for a moment and said, "What I'm doing is not making a contribution, but translating the subtle things in Chinese culture into a visual language and emotional logic that a global audience can understand and resonate with."
For example, cause and effect is not a simple retribution, but a complex network of actions and consequences;
Yin and Yang are not opposites of black and white, but rather interdependent.
The Q&A session lasted for half an hour. After it ended, Li Jun was surrounded by publishers.
The Lionsgate representative was the first to approach: "Director Li, we are very interested in the distribution rights for the Chinese market. What is your marketing strategy?"
Li Jun presented his prepared plan: "It will be done in three steps."
First, the film's philosophy of time was emphasized in the early stages through science fiction fan communities and film critics;
Second, a time-themed art exhibition will be held before the film's release to materialize the visual concepts from the movie; third, a collaboration with a technology brand will create an AR interactive experience—viewers can scan the poster with their phones to see an animated effect of a time loop.
"What about the budget?"
"Fifty million RMB, including print advertising, new media, and offline events."
"Expectations for recovery?"
"A minimum box office guarantee of 800 million in China, aiming for 1 billion."
The Lionsgate representative nodded: "A very solid proposal. We'll discuss it in detail next week."
Next, Li Jun met with representatives from Universal, Sony, and Warner.
Everyone is interested in the Chinese market potential of Looper.
But more importantly, they were impressed by Li Jun's professionalism.
He not only understands creation, but also the market, distribution, and how to build bridges between different cultures.
That evening, Carter treated his team to dinner.
From the window of a French restaurant in Toronto, you can see the lights of the CN Tower.
"Li, you did a very good job today."
Carter raises his glass.
"To be honest, some people within Legendary initially opposed hiring you, thinking that you were an art film director and didn't understand business."
But after today, everyone shut up.
Li Jun clinked glasses with him: "I just did what I was supposed to do."
"more than."
Carter shook his head.
"You made the film more profound."
Villeneuve told me, "Your suggestions elevated the story from a simple sci-fi action film into a work with philosophical depth."
Li Jun smiled but didn't say anything.
After dinner, he walked alone on the streets of Toronto.
It was a bit chilly at night, so he pulled up the collar of his trench coat.
My phone vibrated; it was a message from Jane Zhang: "How was your day? I'm checking the Toronto weather forecast; it says it's going to get colder, remember to wear more clothes."
Li Jun replied, "Smooth sailing. How's your album recording going?"
"I finished recording the last song today."
When you come back, I'll sing for you.
"it is good."
Li Jun put away his phone and looked up at the sky.
The night sky in Toronto is very clear, and you can see the stars.
He thought that movies are like stars, and each film is a shining point.
Some are brighter, some are dimmer, but they are all running on their own tracks.
His task was to connect these stars into constellations, allowing the audience to see a wider night sky.
Back at the hotel, Li Jun turned on his computer and continued writing the script for the Republican-era painter.
Tonight I wrote about Lin Shen leaving Nanjing, taking his painting tools and the few works he had with him, and embarking on a journey of escape.
On the train, he met a little girl who was also fleeing the disaster. The girl asked him, "Sir, where are we going?"
Looking out the window at the shattered landscape, Lin Shen said softly, "Let's go somewhere where we can still paint."
The girl asked, "Where can I still draw?"
Lin Shen thought for a moment, then pointed to his chest: "Here."
Li Jun stopped writing at this point.
He suddenly understood why he was simultaneously fascinated by two seemingly unrelated projects: Looper and painters from the Republican era.
Because they are all exploring the same issue:
How can one maintain inner order when the external world collapses?
Time may cycle, and mountains and rivers may crumble, but some things—art, love, and memory—will always survive through all the turmoil.
This is what movies should record.
On the final day of the Toronto International Film Festival, Looper signed a global distribution agreement excluding China.
In North America, Legendary Pictures handled the distribution themselves; in Europe, Sony took over; and in other parts of Asia, Warner Bros. was given the rights.
Negotiations in China are ongoing, but Lionsgate has already offered a very competitive price.
Before leaving Toronto, Li Jun visited a used bookstore.
The bookstore is near Chinatown; it has a small storefront and is piled high with Chinese books.
He found an old copy of Zhuangzi in a corner, opened it, and on the title page was a line of handwritten words: "Knowing that it is beyond our control, we accept it as fate. — Autumn 1978, Toronto"
Li Jun bought the book.
On the plane, he opened Zhuangzi and read the line: "Life between heaven and earth is like a white horse flashing past a crack, gone in an instant."
Time flies like a white horse galloping past a crack in the wall, gone in an instant.
The glory of "Bodyguards and Assassins," the collaboration with "Looper," the criticism from the media, the busyness of film festivals—
All of this is but a fleeting moment in the cracks of time.
The important thing is, what did he leave behind amidst these "sudden" moments?
The plane landed in Beijing at 3 a.m.
Li Jun opened his phone and saw Zhang Liangying's message: "I'll be waiting for you at the exit."
After collecting his luggage and walking out of the arrival gate, he saw her standing outside the railing, wearing a light gray sweater, her hair loose, which seemed to be coated with a soft light under the early morning lights.
She ran over and threw herself into his arms.
Welcome home.
She said it, her voice muffled against his chest.
Li Jun hugged her tightly, smelling the familiar scent in her hair.
"Is the album finished recording?"
he asks.
"Recording is finished."
Zhang Liangying looked up, her eyes bright.
"I'll take you to hear it tomorrow."
As he got into the car, Zhang Liangying handed him a thermos: "My mom made some white fungus soup, saying it'll help soothe your lungs."
Li Jun took it; the temperature was just right.
He took a sip; it was sweet but not cloying.
The car drove onto the airport expressway, and the night view of Beijing was visible outside the window.
The city was quiet in the early morning, with only a few car lights moving by.
"How's Toronto?"
Zhang Liangying asked.
"Busy, but fulfilling."
Li Jun said.
"The release of Looper is basically confirmed, and the next step is to start working on the Chinese market."
"What about your own movie?"
"The script is halfway done."
Li Jun looked out the window.
"I've decided on a title for the film: 'Mountains and Rivers Enter Dreams'."
"Mountains and Rivers in Dreams" —
Zhang Liangying repeated, "Very beautiful."
"It tells the story of a painter who, during a time of war, used his brush and ink to rebuild the landscape in his heart."
Li Jun said.
"It might not be a box office hit, but I have to make it."
"I understand."
Zhang Liangying held his hand.
"Just like how I had to make 'Their Voices.' Some things aren't done for the market, they're done for myself."
The two looked at each other and smiled.
I got home at four in the morning.
Zhang Liangying went to take a shower, while Li Jun sat on the sofa in the living room and opened the copy of "Zhuangzi" that he had brought back from Toronto.
The penmanship of the phrase "Knowing that there is nothing one can do about it, one should accept it as fate" was slightly yellowed under the light.
Knowing that there is nothing that can be done, one should accept it as fate.
Knowing that some things cannot be changed, accept them as part of fate.
But this does not mean giving up.
Accept your fate, and within that framework, do your best to create, express, and love.
This is true freedom.
The sound of water in the bathroom stopped. Zhang Liangying came out, wearing pajamas, her hair still wet.
"Aren't you going to sleep yet?" she asked.
"immediately."
Li Jun closed the book.
"You go to sleep first."
Zhang Liangying walked over, sat down next to him, and leaned on his shoulder.
"Xiaojun."
She said softly.
Sometimes I feel like we're two people traveling in the dark.
We can't see the end, and we don't know what we'll encounter along the way, but knowing we're together makes us fearless.
Li Jun put his arm around her and said, "Then let's walk together."
"Um.
""
When Li Jun woke up, sunlight was already streaming through the gaps in the curtains, cutting slanted patches of light on the floor.
He squinted, his consciousness slowly surfacing from the dream.
In his dream, he was still in the screening room in Toronto, watching two Joes confront each other on the Huangpu River. But suddenly the river turned into ink, and the figures became lines in a traditional Chinese ink painting, spreading and disappearing on rice paper.
The pillow was empty.
He reached out and touched the sheets; they were still warm.
A slight noise came from the kitchen; Zhang Liangying was making breakfast.
Li Jun lay on the bed, not getting up immediately, but just listening to those familiar voices.
The faucet was turned on and off, the porcelain bowls clinked gently, and the gas stove clicked when it was ignited.
These sounds form the outline of "home".
He sat up and glanced at the clock on the bedside table:
9:17 a.m.
I haven't fully adjusted to the time difference yet; it feels like there are two clocks fighting inside me, one pointing to Toronto at night and the other to Beijing at morning.
There are three unread messages on my phone.
The first message was from Yuan Tao, sent at 2 AM: "Lionsgate has given their final offer: a guaranteed subscription fee of 80 million RMB for the China region. The revenue sharing ratio needs to be negotiated further. I've sent you the draft contract to your email. Check it when you wake up."
The second message is from the mother, at seven in the morning: "Son, I saw on the news that it's getting colder in Toronto. Did you bring enough clothes? Remember to come home for breakfast when you get back. Mom will make you some soup."
The third post was from Nicholas Tse, posted half an hour ago: "Director Li, back in Beijing? Let's have tea sometime and chat about the new movie."
Li Jun replied to each of them, then got up and washed up.
The man in the mirror had faint dark circles under his eyes, and a layer of stubble had sprouted.
He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face.
As I walked out of the bedroom, Zhang Liangying was just coming out of the kitchen with fried eggs and toast.
She was wearing loose loungewear, her hair casually tied in a low ponytail, with a few stray strands falling to the side of her neck.
"woke up?"
She looked up at him.
I want you to sleep a little longer.
I can't sleep.
Li Jun sat down at the dining table.
"I forget what I dreamt about as soon as I wake up, but the feeling is still there."
"That's how it is with time differences."
Zhang Liangying pushed the milk in front of him.
"Eat something first."
Breakfast was simple, but it was made with care.
The fried egg was runny, the bread was baked to a golden brown and crispy perfection, and the milk was just the right temperature.
As Li Jun ate, he suddenly recalled the breakfasts he had in Toronto: hotel buffets, ice-cold juice, rock-hard bacon, and strangers all around him speaking English.
"Home is still the best," he said.