Chapter 271: The Virtual Protagonist

This was clearly a completely new experience, especially with the use of long shots, as the camera moved rapidly across the scene. To address the focusing issue, Xiao Ran spent a whole day coordinating the set layout and adjusting the camera position to solve it. Now, it seemed the problem was minimal.
The long shot of the gunfight wasn’t very long—only about three to four minutes—but it required a great deal of effort from Xiao Ran. It was one of the most exciting sequences in the film. Remarkably, even though it was a long shot, thanks to the careful set coordination, it retained Xiao Ran’s usual style, appearing smooth and seamless.
The buildup before this scene took nearly ten minutes, with the rest of the action taking place in an abandoned warehouse. This scene was particularly simple, as the camera didn’t need to move around much, resulting in few reshoots.
The subsequent plot was much simpler: two “supporting characters” schemed and fought each other inside the warehouse, while the police arrived outside. Eventually, both of them and the virtual protagonist were trapped there. The two supporting characters, severely injured, gasped for breath before discovering the virtual protagonist and shooting him dead.
As the virtual protagonist collapsed to the ground with a thud, the screen gradually darkened. Yet, the sound of the two supporting characters speaking one last line could still be heard, followed by the sound of footsteps—probably the police. Then, the sounds faded away.
Xiao Ran felt strangely emotional as he reflected on his creative process. During filming, he felt like an inflated balloon, filled with endless inspiration every day, which he quickly seized to incorporate into the film. Even during post-production, he retained a strong sense of inspiration and creativity. Looking back, it was indeed that inspiration and impulse that drove him to complete the film in less than a week.
But once the film was finished, he felt like a deflated balloon, utterly devoid of energy. The worst part was that his mind was empty when it came to filmmaking—as if everything he had been given had been taken away by that film, as if he had devoted his entire life to creating it.
Now, Xiao Ran finally understood why many directors and actors struggle to produce outstanding work soon after creating a classic. Their desire and impulse to create were completely exhausted while filming that movie, taking a long time to recover—just like after a long race.
The entire audience was stunned; no one could imagine such a film! Lin Qingxia and the others stared at Xiao Ran in confusion, hoping he would give an explanation. But Xiao Ran simply smiled without saying anything. Of course, he didn’t know either—that this film could win the Palme d’Or largely thanks to this unique style of storytelling.

What kind of movie is this, and what is it trying to convey? These are the questions in the minds of the audience. In fact, they all know very well that the story is quite simple—a police-and-thief tale that unfolds over more than an hour, or rather, a story between thieves.

But they don’t understand why it is like this, as it’s completely different from what they’re used to seeing. It’s a completely different way of expression. They see two thieves who will undoubtedly remain the most unforgettable characters of their lives, fighting against each other out of mutual respect, yet forced to kill one another due to the notion that one tiger cannot share the mountain.

In this regard, Xiao Ran adopts a gradual approach. Initially, the conflict between the two supporting characters is centered around the money stolen from the bank. Only later, as their attitudes toward money gradually emerge unintentionally, do they realize that the reason for their struggle isn’t money at all, but rather a competition to outdo those who are similar to them. Overall, this concept is highly romantic.

Yet Xiao Ran’s cinematography is highly realistic. Even Xiao Ran himself can’t understand how he managed to present these two elements so skillfully. This is somewhat similar to Ah Du’s attempt in “The Big Event” to depict mutual respect between two thieves through a realistic approach—a contradictory technique.

However, Xiao Ran does it much better than Ah Du did ten years later, with all traces concealed. The realistic approach becomes a means, while the romantic tone gradually takes root in the audience’s minds through the performances of the two actors and the cinematography.

The audience is completely silent, and Xiao Ran’s heart sinks. Perhaps he has gone too far—some audience members can’t even understand that this is a movie with fictional characters. By using the eyes of fictional characters to reveal the essence of things, making everything more realistic, no realistic technique can compare to this in terms of classicness.

But Xiao Ran overlooked one thing: he indeed went too far. Many techniques are not acceptable to everyone. For example, the parallel time-line technique in “Infernal Affairs 3” once gave countless audiences a headache for a long time.

Thinking of this instantly, Xiao Ran forced a wry smile. He realized he had really gone too far, and the local audience truly couldn’t accept it. But then, thinking of the parallel time-line technique in “Infernal Affairs 3,” he suddenly had an idea—an idea that made him want to think about it right away.

Yet after briefly considering that the idea might be even more extreme in terms of structural approach, he lost interest. Now, looking at the audience below, he felt extremely depressed. He thought he had really failed, even doubting whether his Palme d’Or was stolen.

“It’s okay; they just don’t understand!” Lin Qingxia clearly understood Xiao Ran’s feelings best. Seeing his expressionless face and the despair in his eyes, she immediately leaned in and whispered, “In my heart, you are the most talented person.”

It doesn’t matter if the whole world rejects me; as long as you appreciate me! Xiao Ran inadvertently remembered this familiar line. But he knew it was false. Although Lin Qingxia’s words made him feel a little better, he was still extremely distressed.

That’s exactly how Xiao Ran felt when, after holding onto hope, he suddenly realized reality was a hundred times worse than what he had imagined. Still expressionless, Xiao Ran stood up. He didn’t want to stay any longer—here, he was no longer a god, perhaps just an abandoned one.

After Xiao Ran left, many spectators still sitting in the theater pondered what kind of story and film this was. On the surface, it could be considered a perfect example of something without a beginning or end. But anyone with a decent understanding of cinema could clearly see that every detail of the film was explained.

The origin of the story was clear, and the feud between the two gangsters was subtly revealed through their dialogue. The ending was even more subtle and meaningful, with the two gangsters’ final lines carrying deep significance. The sound of footsteps confirmed the police breaking in, and the fading sounds could be interpreted as the virtual protagonist’s death.

Strangely, the spectators didn’t even know where they didn’t understand. They only told themselves it was incredibly strange, to the point of being incomprehensible. The entire story was laid out clearly before everyone, even the protagonist was well-defined, yet they still felt there was something they didn’t grasp.

Eventually, the theater gradually emptied, and even the most stubborn spectators had to leave. On his way home from the theater, a spectator passed two beautiful girls, but lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice them. Suddenly, he exclaimed excitedly, “I get it!”

This scared the two girls, who thought they had encountered a perverted sex maniac, only to see this handsome guy shouting “I get it” and running away. Of course, the label of perverted sex maniac was avoided, but the label of crazy was inevitable.

Li Zhuotao, the film critic who knew Xiao Ran best, was also thinking deeply on his way home by taxi when suddenly he had an epiphany and shouted, “I understand!” A smile spread rapidly across his face. His excited cry scared the driver so much that he almost crashed into the safety island.

If we could have ears to listen to the world, we would surely hear such exclamations happening once or twice in Hong Kong from time to time. Some would utter them on their way home, some in bed, and some in their dreams…

That night, many people would surely have trouble falling asleep. Yet we can fully believe—and be certain—that once this film, “True Colors,” was released, even more people would suffer from insomnia…

The only regret was that Xiao Ran didn’t hear those cheers; otherwise, he would have been much happier. Movies are made for people to watch—Xiao Ran made films not for himself. Without the approval of the audience, he meant nothing. Just like novelists, who create works to gain readers’ recognition—would they really write just for themselves if there were no readers?

Yet, Xiao Ran never expected that he wouldn’t even get a single voice of approval. Though he knew he was lucky not to be beaten up, it still made him feel as if he had lost his spiritual support. On his way home, he mocked himself, thinking perhaps he was truly destined only for plagiarism, unable even to create a work that truly belonged to him and reflected his personal style!

The next morning, when Lin Qingxia saw Xiao Ran not getting up after a long time, she realized something was wrong. She touched him and found that he was sick. Xiao Ran himself wasn’t sure if he was really ill, but he felt as though he should be writhing in bed like a snake, as if something was blocking his chest, preventing him from breathing.

After Lin Qingxia called in a private doctor, she casually glanced at the latest newspaper and suddenly spotted the title of the film “True Colors.” Out of curiosity, she picked it up and read it. After getting a general idea, she rushed into Xiao Ran’s room and exclaimed, “A Ran, someone appreciates your film!”

Xiao Ran, who had been lying in bed, immediately sat up, repeating those words in disbelief. In that moment, it felt as though those words had echoed countless times in his mind. His heart, which had almost stopped beating, started pounding violently, almost making the private doctor think Xiao Ran had a heart attack. His body also became scorching hot.

“Look, in the newspaper—Li Zhuotao’s review of this film!” Lin Qingxia was deeply moved by Xiao Ran’s sudden transformation, from a lifeless snake to a soaring dragon. How many people like Xiao Ran, who loved films so much, could there be? He even became so depressed because his film didn’t gain audience approval that he fell ill.

“Madam Xiao, Mr. Xiao isn’t really sick. His temperature is a bit high, but…” The private doctor couldn’t help but laugh. He also loved watching Xiao Ran’s films and, seeing this scene, could roughly guess why. “I think Mr. Xiao might be suffering from emotional distress. It’s nothing serious!”

Xiao Ran could no longer hear what the private doctor was saying. Li Zhuotao’s review was excellent—perhaps even quite unique. He described his experience watching the film’s preview in the theater yesterday and how he suddenly understood everything while on a taxi. Then came his critique of the film: If you haven’t watched the film and haven’t suddenly realized what it’s about or what’s missing, then you’ll never understand Director Xiao Ran’s extraordinary talent. It’s a kind of artistic vision that can only be felt, not expressed in words. Only by experiencing it can one realize its uniqueness. And you’ll find that this film is never boring to watch—at least I would go to the theater again and again to fully grasp that feeling.

After reading the entire text, Xiao Ran no longer felt depressed, and his body temperature also dropped rapidly. Though it might seem exaggerated, this is often the case—something you love can dominate your life. Just as Xiao Ran had once been desperate to watch the gangster classic “The Underworld.”

The private doctor had left. Lin Qingxia sat beside Xiao Ran with a smile, gently tapping his forehead and scolding, “I’ve never seen anyone who loves movies as much as you. To become like this just because a movie didn’t get audience approval!”

Xiao Ran chuckled sheepishly. Lin Qingxia had no idea that it’s extremely difficult for a movie to receive no audience approval at all. Moreover, since Xiao Ran always considered himself a genius, how could he not be deeply shaken by such a crushing failure last night?

On the day the preview finally ended, Li Zhuotao and other film critics finally understood Xiao Ran’s “True Nature” and once again commented on it. In Li Zhuotao’s view, this personal work by Xiao Ran featured a truly outstanding and genius-level perspective concept. He even believed that merely coming up with such an idea was already a sign of genius, and Xiao Ran had actually achieved it.

He also thought the entire movie was wonderful—both in terms of plot and narrative, it was an excellent police-and-thief film. The most genius-like aspects were several specific techniques: first, there were many long shots, with the long shot of the police-and-thief gunfight at the beginning being particularly classic; its scene management could even serve as a textbook. Second, the brief darkness when the title appeared created a highly artistic atmosphere, conveying subtle tension. Third, the way the story was structured, especially the ending, was truly astonishing. He even felt sorry for Xiao Ran, believing that with these techniques, winning the Cannes Director’s Prize wouldn’t be difficult at all.

He also believed the movie was filled with flashes of genius, with that intense brilliance evident at every moment. Coupled with the highly distinctive performances of the two lead actors, it pushed the movie to an almost unattainable level.

However, Li Zhuotao also pointed out the movie’s biggest flaw—more of a regret than a flaw. He felt the movie wasn’t artistic enough, and the main reason was its strong commercial elements; even the entire plot was of a commercial film type. Of course, considering Xiao Ran’s commercial style, this could indeed be considered a work that fully embodied his personal style.

Facing these comments, Xiao Ran could only smile bitterly. Only outsiders could see what the people involved couldn’t. He realized now what his greatest flaw was: being too commercial. Even when creating such an experimental work, he subconsciously added many commercial elements.

With the opinions of outsiders, Xiao Ran quickly identified the flaws. It was indeed very commercial, with no lack of intense gunfights, and the chase scenes were changed from car chases to foot chases. On the surface, it seemed less exciting than blockbusters like “Spy Change,” but the intensity of the atmosphere was fully present and highly engaging.

In terms of genre, it was essentially “Dark War” or “True Hero” wrapped in a unique perspective. Of course, the plot was distinctly different, referring to that type of film featuring two evenly matched protagonists.

Xiao Ran knew he had improved—he could now create such an atmosphere through clever techniques. Moreover, with his concise and not overly intense gunfight scenes, he managed to convey the tension and excitement of “Spy Change,” all while shooting under the challenging conditions of just one camera.

Numerous facts proved that through years of hard work, Xiao Ran had finally achieved mastery in his craft. He could now combine his experience and knowledge to develop his own style, meaning he had truly stepped into the ranks of renowned directors.

What amused and frustrated Xiao Ran the most was that Li Zhuotao even bluntly called him a master-level director of commercial films. This was no exaggeration—his distinctive and stylized low-budget film was transformed by him into a fast-paced, tense commercial movie. It was impossible for Xiao Ran to deny his status as a king of commercial filmmaking.

However, everything that arose from “True Nature” did not diminish with its official release; instead, more things happened, some even more unexpected for Xiao Ran…