Chapter 230: Endless Charm

Xiao Han and Jin Chengwu were utterly stunned. They never imagined that the opening sequence, which took many attempts to assemble through editing, would be so stunning—so captivating that one had to hold their breath until the end before letting out a sigh of relief.
The story was richly detailed, featuring Jin Chengwu and Xiao Han’s innocent and tender first love, with them blushing at each other beneath red maple leaves. Xiao Ran found this extremely amusing; they had shot that scene many times just to make them blush.
Eventually, out of desperation, Xiao Ran forced them to drink alcohol, which finally made the blushing scene work. Interestingly, right after shooting those scenes, Xiao Han, who usually refused alcohol, got drunk and kept muttering things like “brother.”
Fortunately, there were only one or two such blushing scenes; otherwise, their cover would have been blown. This pure love scene was deeply moving—Xiao Han’s innocence and cuteness conquered every audience member, especially that blushing scene, which was truly remarkable.
Actually, this love scene wasn’t written by Xiao Ran; he couldn’t create such a scene. It was written by You Hai, who was a master at crafting love scenes. However, Xiao Ran believed that You Hai might not always excel in love-themed stories. You Hai’s strength lay in his ability to effortlessly weave in subtle and touching emotions into any genre using minimal dialogue and scenes.
The most typical example was the ambiguous relationship between Liu Qingyun and Meng Jiahui in “Very Sudden,” which was an extremely touching part of the film. Another example was the emotional struggles of the two aunts in “True Hero.” So, although many said the encounter scene between Xiao Ba in “Secret War” was written by a French screenwriter, Xiao Ran still thought it was purely in You Hai’s style.
The story focused not on first love but on struggle. The male protagonist played by Jin Chengwu loved driving cars but had never considered racing. Thus, in the film, even when walking on the street, he would occasionally drop in a few professional terms.
Wu Zhenyu’s performance was absolutely brilliant; people hadn’t even imagined such a way of acting. He made a grand entrance, and after competing with someone, he got out of the car with seemingly feminine movements—slow but sinister.
Xiao Ran wasn’t surprised, but he still found it fascinating, as Wu Zhenyu’s performance was almost identical to that in “Crazy Boys,” with a similarly hoarse voice. Even though his acting was still a bit immature, it was overshadowed by his unique performance style.
Of course, Wu Zhenyu wasn’t playing a villain; there were no villains in this film. Though he seemed extremely bad on the surface, he became friends with Jin Chengwu by the end. Xiao Ran really hoped Wu Zhenyu would continue to act in sequels.
The theme of the film was passion and struggle, yet struggle was hardly evident. Xiao Ran knew he had failed to convey the theme properly. On the contrary, challenges and passion were well portrayed, especially the former, which stood out when Jin Chengwu stubbornly challenged Wu Zhenyu to a race.

As for passion, Xiao Ran chose another subtle way to express it—first by showing Kim Sung-moo always polishing the cars to a shine after fixing them. Later, he used other methods to convey it, which were quite remarkable. To Xiao Ran’s surprise, after a race between Kim Sung-moo and Wu Zhenyu, their friendship at the end unexpectedly created a sense of mutual respect, similar to the camaraderie between opposing heroes in “The Twins.” It was a fascinating phenomenon. After returning, Xiao Ran spent some time thinking before reluctantly coming up with an answer—perhaps because he had been greatly influenced by Wu Yushen and Du Qifeng. Of course, though the written description seems plain, the film itself is exceptionally wonderful. The film is 110 minutes long and features six racing scenes, three of which are the highlights. The first is naturally the opening sequence, the second appears around the 70th or 80th minute as per the script’s logic, and the final scene is the climax of the highlights, bringing the film to an end with an intensity even greater than love. The second major racing scene occurs through an unexpected accident, with neither side knowing who the other is. In that scene, Xiao Ran changed his approach slightly, deliberately making it less smooth. For the final scene, he put in tremendous effort, racking his brains to devise the best interpretation. This scene had to surpass the opening one; otherwise, it would have created an imbalance. Xiao Ran’s approach could be described as simple or complex. It’s simple because he employed a variety of ingenious techniques—starting with fallen leaves, which is quite important. Before filming this scene, the producers even spent a lot of money to plant countless maple trees on both sides of the track to create a special and stunning effect. During filming, the road was covered with maple leaves, making it seem like a battle taking place in a paradise, full of romance. This style fit perfectly with the overall tone of the film—part innocent, part romantic—reflecting the fact that the protagonist still had a long way to go in his journey as a racing legend. Given the effort put into the atmosphere alone, one can imagine how much care Xiao Ran invested in this final scene. A total of 18 cameras were used for this scene, not including aerial shots from two helicopters. In terms of scale and grandeur, it was truly rare among Hong Kong films. The only regret was that although the grandeur was sufficient, the scale was somewhat limited by location constraints, which was clearly not due to human error. Fantasy special effects then took over to enhance the beauty of the battle scenes. In this final scene, fantasy special effects made extensive use of computer editing to create multiple angles of footage, similar to the techniques used by Li An in “The Green Giant.” This completely innovative method of parallel shooting gradually unfolded, allowing everyone to experience this new production technique, complemented by an extremely cool soundtrack.

What’s cool isn’t just the techniques but also the costumes of the fighters in the duel, which truly embodies the style of ancient warrior battles. Ye Jintian is indeed extremely sharp when it comes to costume design, and the film’s art direction is simply masterful. However, Ye Jintian is well aware that much of this comes from Xiao Ran’s guidance—more of an epiphany than mere advice.

Why did Xiao Ran use so many cameras? The reason is simple: he needed shots from all angles to select the most suitable ones. Moreover, he even employed a trick he learned from Wu Yushen—slow motion!

Xiao Ran may not claim to be the best at using slow motion, but he’s definitely the most skilled director in Hong Kong cinema today aside from Wu Yushen. When it comes to slow motion, he admires not only Wu Yushen but also Huang Jingpu.

Huang Jingpu is a rising director of the 21st century. He rose to prominence with the excellent film “Fu Bo” and was promoted by Zeng Zhiwei to direct “Jianghu.” In this film, one can see Huang Jingpu’s imitation of the visual style from Wang Jiawei’s works, especially his skill in using slow motion.

“Ah Siao” is even more remarkable. This time, he abandoned his imitation of Wang Jiawei and achieved even greater control over slow motion. Although “Ah Siao” is a gangster film, it’s fundamentally pure and joyful. Despite sadness, it ultimately conveys pure happiness.

The brutality and scheming of gangsters should not blend with a girl’s innocence, yet Huang Jingpu manages to combine them, allowing viewers to deeply experience emotion by the end—truly impressive. In this regard, Huang’s mastery of slow motion is invaluable; without it to soften the gangster elements, it would be difficult to achieve such balance.

In “Ah Siao,” Huang Jingpu’s use of slow motion is almost obsessive, and through these sequences, he successfully creates a romantic style with a strong “jianghu” flavor. It’s truly amazing, and Xiao Ran admires this young director who emerged more than a decade later.

Xiao Ran uses slow motion in a somewhat similar way, but he doesn’t need to rely on visual flair to create romance—art direction and cinematography already achieve that. He uses slow motion to emphasize the extreme speed in racing, giving the illusion of surpassing wind and electricity.

It’s not difficult to operate slow motion; the challenge lies in choosing the right timing. Xiao Ran chose to use it during two turns. Since it’s such an effective technique, why not use it more? Xiao Ran knows that no matter how clever a technique is, if used too often or at the wrong time, it often backfires.

With two cars closely following each other, they reach a turn, and the lead car suddenly makes a 90-degree turn. At that moment, slow motion is applied, dividing the screen into two views: one of Jin Chengwu and the other of Wu Zhenyu.

Both of them were intensely focused on what lay ahead. In that moment, it seemed as though everything moved slower, yet it didn’t give off a sense of slowness or weakness—instead, it made the action even more intense. The movements of each driver were clearly visible in the split-screen view, with the cars’ close trajectories shown in slow motion, turning these high-speed turns into something truly breathtaking.

It was in this stark contrast between motion and stillness that the sensation of speed became even more intense, delivering an ever-more exhilarating visual experience. Although Xiao Ran was delighted, he still felt regretful. He had specifically assigned Zheng Zhaoqiang to handle the photography, and added Jiang Lan, who excelled at capturing motion, thinking they could push the contrast between motion and stillness to its limits.

But in a sense, he failed—Zheng Zhaoqiang wasn’t yet the top photographer of the future, nor was Jiang Lan an experienced cameraman. The only good thing was that they complemented each other in some aspects. Yet Xiao Ran believed that the footage taken wasn’t even close to capturing the ultimate contrast between motion and stillness. If it had been perfect, just that single shot would have been a classic.

In the final sequence of turns, Xiao Ran used split-screen and slow motion again—this time horizontally instead of vertically—to create variety. But he didn’t let the split-screen overshadow the main view, allowing it to capture in stunning detail Kim Sung-moo overtaking Wu Zhenyu.

And the true climax arrived at that moment. As mentioned earlier, whoever took the lead after this turn would be considered the winner. Just when everyone thought the peak had been reached, the real climax struck.

Wu Zhenyu’s car was overtaken by Kim Sung-moo, causing him to lose control and crash into a tree by the roadside, flying at least four or five meters into the air before crashing back to the ground. This sudden turn of events terrified all the spectators, sending their hearts pounding again.

Fortunately, Kim Sung-moo managed to bring his car back, and Wu Zhenyu wasn’t killed. Just after being rescued, Wu Zhenyu weakly cursed before admitting Kim Sung-moo’s victory. Then, the two exchanged knowing smiles—a smile of mutual respect between drivers.

This time, the audience finally caught their breath. They all stood up to show their respect to the crew in the back rows. The thunderous applause, so intense it seemed capable of lifting the theater roof, turned into a warm feeling of pride and honor in everyone’s heart.

Xiao Ran glanced at Xiang Bao and the others and couldn’t help but smile slightly. He had felt the same way back then. But now, what he enjoyed most was the sense of control—he knew he had shaped every spectator’s emotions over those 110 minutes.

Do you know what obsession is? This was obsession. Xiao Ran was fascinated by this feeling—he knew this was what he wanted. When he imagined using his creativity to ensure this story would forever remain in people’s memories, he felt satisfied. How many people in the world live unnoticed? But he could, through cinema, secure a lasting place in people’s hearts.

At this moment, the director is a god—he creates a virtual yet perfect world, brings about emotions of joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, and creates vivid characters with blood and tears. What is God? Anything God can do, he can do as well. And he is doing it now, not just once—he wants to be greater than God in this very moment.
There is nothing more passionate or emotional than creation, and Xiao Ran has a deep understanding of this. This is why he doesn’t intend to direct future films to gain fame for himself. Not only because he no longer needs fame, but also because he wants something that belongs to him alone—no one likes to keep using others’ things.
*****
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