Chapter 141: Glory at Cannes

“He’s truly a genius. I think if there were a writing award this year, he’d surely win it too!” Murray and Coppola, like hired praise machines, kept exaggerating his merits.
All the guests present turned their attention to Xiao Ran and the others. Most of them had watched his film *Dark Flowers*. They admitted it was exceptionally smooth and creatively directed—concise yet highly effective.
“I hope he wins!” Coppola said nothing more. Calmly, he opened the envelope, glanced at it without looking, and handed it to Murray. “Murray, read it aloud.”
Xiao Ran smiled continuously at Coppola and Murray on stage. He thought Coppola merely appreciated his film but never expected such high praise. In this situation, he had to reflect—while the film was indeed classic, it certainly wasn’t good enough to earn praise from a globally renowned director like Coppola as a genius. Yet he felt he was missing something crucial, though he couldn’t recall what.
“The winner of the 41st Cannes Film Festival’s Best Director award is…” Murray glanced at the envelope and immediately showed joy. He pronounced two Chinese characters in pinyin: “Xiao Ran, *Dark Flowers*!”
Upon hearing his name, Xiao Ran’s mind clicked. Suddenly, he realized what he had overlooked—time. *Dark Flowers* was originally set ten years in the future. Over those ten years, both directing techniques and other aspects had improved significantly.
This was quite obvious. Comparing films from the 1990s and 1980s, it was clear that all 1980s films had flaws like slow pacing or outdated directing styles. The most typical example was Ng Yu-sun’s classic gunfight scenes, which were imitated and learned from many times later—such techniques were no longer surprising by the time *Dark Flowers* was made. Of course, the original creator remained the best in that regard.
The key to *Dark Flowers* winning the award lay in this difference—ten years was enough to make techniques that would have been futuristic ten years earlier seem extraordinary and innovative today. A typical example was the final gunfight between Yao Dong and A Chen. Twenty years later, such a scene became commonplace, but thanks to Xiao Ran’s on-set direction and conceptual approach, the film still delivered a stunning performance that left a lasting impression.
Realizing this, Xiao Ran stood up, filled with joy. After hugging Fa Ge, Lin Qingxia, Su Renyao, and Zhang Manyu, he walked onto the stage. Taking the award from Coppola, he saw the old man open his arms, so Xiao Ran reciprocated with a hug.
After giving Murray a warm hug as well, both congratulated him joyfully, “Congratulations, Xiao Ran! I think you truly deserve this award!”

“I’m truly ashamed to receive praise from two such senior figures!” Who knows if Xiao Ran was genuinely ashamed, but he remained utterly calm as he held the award. Perhaps what he truly desired was for a work entirely his own to win an award, rather than relying on plagiarized works from others.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced around the audience and slowly spoke in his not-so-fluent English, delivering a speech he had thought of on the spot: “I’m extremely honored to stand here. But I want to say that the increasingly mature Chinese-language films will become an important part of world cinema. And I, along with my compatriots, will bring more outstanding Chinese films to every corner of the world! Thank you to the judges, and thank you to Francis and Murray for presenting this award to me personally—it’s a great honor for me.”

Returning to his seat, Fa Ge gave Xiao Ran a thumbs up, praising his speech. Xiao Ran simply smiled casually. He had no idea his words could have such an impact, but he hoped the West would pay more attention to Chinese-language films.

The Palme d’Or went to another film, and by then Xiao Ran was completely unfazed. The next day, he, Fa Ge, and Lin Qingxia rushed back to Hong Kong, while Zhang Manyu and the others didn’t feel the need to return so quickly.

It was only later that Xiao Ran and the others learned that the Palme d’Or had almost gone to “Dark Flowers,” losing by just one vote. It was also from international critics’ reviews that Xiao Ran found out they had misinterpreted his creative intent—thinking he deliberately used the gang theme to explore good versus evil and reflect societal issues like police corruption.

This outcome left him both amused and exasperated. It was clearly a straightforward gang story, yet critics had twisted it into some so-called social issue or metaphor, which was utterly ridiculous.

While Xiao Ran and the others quietly returned to Hong Kong, Cannes was in an uproar. All the journalists couldn’t find the two award winners, which was extremely frustrating. Some impatient journalists even wanted to turn it into a kidnapping story. By the third day, news of Xiao Ran and the others reached Hong Kong, prompting journalists from all over to flock there.

“Dark Flowers” won an award, and newspapers across Southeast Asia covered the story extensively, as they mainly focused on Hong Kong films. Hong Kong and Taiwan promoted it vigorously, with Taiwan especially treating Xiao Ran’s success as its own.

Needless to say, Xiao Ran and Zhou Runfa reached unprecedented heights in fame in both Hong Kong and Southeast Asian film industries. Especially Fa Ge, who became the first to win at Cannes, further solidified his status as the undisputed top star in Southeast Asia.

As for Xiao Ran, whose directing skills had long been underestimated compared to his writing talent, no one dared deny his directing ability now. After all, even Coppola had called him a genius—so who would dare deny him? If they had the skills, they could try directing a few “The Godfather” films and then speak again.

It’s truly amazing—Xiao Ran was recognized as Hong Kong’s top screenwriter just two years into his career, and now it’s no exaggeration to call him the best screenwriter in Southeast Asia. Yet, while *The God of Gamblers* was nominated for Best Director and Best Film last time, this time it won Cannes’ Best Director award. In terms of achievements, no one in Hong Kong can compare, yet no one considers Xiao Ran the top director there.

This is easy to explain—screenwriters weren’t valued back then, but after Xiao Ran’s rise, their status improved significantly. Coupled with his undeniable writing skills, it’s natural he gained industry recognition easily.

But directing is an artistic craft. Wang Jiawei has won many awards, yet no one considers him Hong Kong’s top director. Xu Ke is definitely one of Hong Kong’s best directors now, but still, no one sees him as the number one. To gain industry recognition, a little achievement isn’t enough; one must do something that impresses all directors in Hong Kong.

Xiao Ran has refused all interviews, even those from Leung Ka-po. He needs to focus on how to shoot *Spy Change* rather than seeking attention. Yet even he, who is usually very strategic, didn’t expect that due to the crowd of reporters and his newly earned status as Best Director, many reporters, unable to get interviews, turned their attention to his new film.

With this focus, reporters like Leung Ka-po rushed to the marketing department’s press office. It was the first time Bai Wenjing encountered such a situation, leaving him flustered. When Xiao Ran heard about it, he had a quick idea—using future marketing tactics—to instruct Bai Wenjing on how to handle it while promoting his new film.

As a result, the next day, Bai Wenjing was much calmer and followed Xiao Ran’s instructions precisely, revealing details about the new film step by step. He also announced several new film projects, letting their titles appear in the newspapers first.

“*Spy Change*—that’s the title of President Xiao’s new film!” Bai Wenjing’s composed and calm demeanor made people doubt whether he was the one who was flustered yesterday. “This film has an investment of 30 million, breaking Hong Kong film records.”

“30 million!” Hong Kong and Taiwanese reporters exclaimed in shock. Foreigners might not know what 30 million means in Southeast Asia, but they understood well enough. It’s already difficult for a film to earn 30 million at the box office, so what does it mean to invest that much?

Bai Wenjing secretly admired Xiao Ran—just one sentence made the reporters actively engage with the news. And indeed, the 30 million investment wasn’t a lie. 25 million in production costs, plus expenses like promotion, added up to roughly that amount.

So, the numbers in the film industry are truly fascinating—far more complex than one might imagine. Just changing a few words can completely alter the meaning of a sentence, yet there’s no flaw to find.

“Forces of Deception” in Hong Kong is now only missing the final explosion scene. For this reason, Xiao Ran specifically requested assistance from the police’s public relations department to seal off the roads. It was an extremely intense explosion scene, and since it was set in a building over forty stories high, Xiao Ran insisted that the pyrotechnics and firearms teams spend a large amount of money to ensure the scene was perfect.

Standing on a building near the explosion site, Xiao Ran carefully observed one of the explosion scenes designed by the gunsmiths and pyrotechnicians. According to their design, the explosion would occur within a floor, but that wasn’t the effect Xiao Ran wanted.

An explosion creates intensity and visual impact, and the effect of an explosion in a room is definitely not as strong as that in an open area. However, after seeing the second design, Xiao Ran’s furrowed brows relaxed.

The second design indeed met the requirement of investing heavily— the explosion would spread from the center to the edges of the floor, with flames bursting out and glass shattering everywhere. But this would be far too costly. Aside from the venue cost, which was covered by using advertisements from the film, at least half a million would be needed to shoot this scene.

Xiao Ran hesitated for a moment. The design met his requirements, but he still felt something was missing. Closing his eyes for a while, he had a sudden idea—he thought he had figured out the ending.

“The explosion design is good enough, but I want flames and black smoke to continue coming out of this floor, creating a ruined look.” Thinking further, he realized that adding sounds of fire trucks and police cars as background music would enhance the effect. “Hmm, I also need to contact the police and fire department for their cooperation!”

The pyrotechnicians and gunsmiths couldn’t help but feel deeply appreciative. If they worked for other companies, they wouldn’t be given such attention. Working for Shadow, they received high pay and recognition, which naturally won over these supporting staff. Of course, this was only possible with enough money.

What impressed them even more was Xiao Ran’s willingness to spend heavily to ensure flawless filming— he wouldn’t tolerate any flaws. In fact, not only they but everyone who had worked with Xiao Ran admired and complained about this trait at the same time.

Take this explosion scene, for example. In other action movies, they might just set fire to a small, isolated house or light a car on fire. But in “Forces of Deception,” just the cost of the explosion scene was enough to make a mid-budget film. Who else would be willing to spend such a large amount?

For them, preparing this scene wasn’t easy—they needed sufficient experience and calculations to determine how to achieve the effect Xiao Ran wanted. For producer Yu Jiayu, it was also challenging—he had to find someone to remove the real glass from that floor and replace it with fake glass.

It was even harder for the cameramen and sound recordists—they had to make full use of natural light and sound, while also determining the best shooting and recording distances and angles. Just this one scene took three days of preparation before it was ready.

Just before filming began, an accident still occurred. Yu Jiayu rushed over to Xiao Ran in a hurry and said seriously, “Brother Ran, the government doesn’t allow road closures for filming!”
No road closures for filming? Xiao Ran was stunned for a moment. The previous car chase had taken place at night, so road closures weren’t necessary. Hearing this, Xiao Ran immediately remembered that the government’s policy of providing assistance for film shooting in various ways was only introduced after 1997.
There were no such regulations for road closures for filming at all. Just thinking about how few large-scale action scenes there were in Hong Kong movies before 1997 made it clear. With this in mind, Xiao Ran admired those veteran filmmakers even more—it was truly remarkable that they could make the movie look real under such circumstances. However, this was clearly a constraint that hindered the development of high-budget Hong Kong movies.
Rubbing his nose, Xiao Ran quickly organized the ideas in his mind and soon decided, “Get the police to help. This scene only needs ten minutes!”
The next day, the final scene in Hong Kong was filmed. Brother Fa, worried, tugged at the wire on his body and asked his action coordinator, “Is this okay? Is it safe?”
“Don’t worry, it’s fine!” The guy glanced at action coordinator Guan Xin. He thought Guan Xin was really strange—very different from all the action coordinators he had met before.
With everyone ready, Xiao Ran picked up a telescope to check the photographers on the other three buildings and those below, then looked up at the photographers suspended in the air and gave a gesture. After that, he picked up the walkie-talkie and asked loudly, “Are all departments ready?”
*****
I’ll be going to Shanghai these days, so the update schedule may not be guaranteed. Please understand!