Chapter 288: Beyond Limits

At this moment, an aerial shot filled the screen—such a shot was incredibly grand in scale and vividly showed that the thief had a real chance of escaping. Just as the police car seemed about to crash into the train, the police suddenly braked hard and drew their pistols. The camera captured the actions in exquisite detail, step by step.
Meanwhile, the thief’s car sped forward at even greater velocity. Before the police car could stop and turn toward the train, the police officer played by Liu Qingyun let the car spin while staring intently at the thief’s vehicle, as if measuring something.
Suddenly, when the windows of the police car faced the thief’s car and the latter leaped into the air, the officer raised his gun and pulled the trigger just above his eyes! With several gunshots, flames erupted from a part of the thief’s car.
In that instant, the camera switched to the thief’s car. Due to those minor explosions, the car flipped several times in the air. Liu Qingyun calmly drove the car, narrowly avoiding the train, spinning through the air before landing steadily on the ground. He then calmly stepped on the accelerator and drove away.
Thus, this action sequence came to an end. Not only were the viewers breathless, but even Xiao Ran and the crew couldn’t dare to breathe loudly. They couldn’t believe how brilliantly the shots, under Xiao Ran’s skillful control, turned out—far more than just impressive; they were utterly smooth and thrilling.
Regarding this, Li Zhuotao could only stare in awe, thinking, “This is absolutely amazing!” His expression revealed a sense of exhaustion after experiencing such excitement. He believed Xiao Ran’s skills had reached perfection; he was undoubtedly the best in action films today.
Just this one scene was enough to qualify the film, and no one would dare disagree. Li Zhuotao could even imagine the film sweeping box offices worldwide—no one could resist such a movie. Xiao Ran was now like John Woo, having reached his peak from *Hard Boiled* to *The Twins*. Both had elevated their directing skills to a masterful level beyond comparison.
Yet what shocked Li Zhuotao even more was the indescribable atmosphere throughout the film. Every line of dialogue seemed to carry deep meaning, enough to inspire careful reflection for a long time. He kept wondering why there were two Liu Qingyuns but couldn’t find a definite answer. He believed Xiao Ran wouldn’t resort to such a boring solution as twins.
However, what truly shocked Li Zhuotao was yet to come. When the action sequence at the end, with its creative concept similar to *Mission: Impossible II*, unfolded, it was this that truly stunned all the audience.

The scenes alternate at an extremely fast pace, and just this editing technique alone is enough to win an Oscar for Best Editing. Li Zhuotao swears that if Hong Kong films were still submitted for Oscars, this film would definitely be up to the standard to win one. He even believes that the editing in this film is the highest standard among global films this year.

The audience can hardly catch their breath—the relentless pace draws them completely into the story, as if they themselves are the two people chasing or fleeing in the film. Their eyes are fixed solely on the screen, with nothing else to distract them.

The climax comes when the two protagonists collide in their cars; at that moment, countless viewers tremble with excitement. On screen, the front ends of the two cars crash violently, and the high speed along with powerful engines lift the cars into the air. Liu Qingyun, calm and agile, quickly jumps out of the cars as they spin in the air. The two grab each other’s arms, silently draw their guns, and fire—creating a truly intense sense of balance.

After the loud crash, the sound effects seem to vanish completely, leaving only faint noises. Xiao Ran takes a few deep breaths and continues to stare at the screen. He actually requested that these sound effects be removed, not because of a faulty theater speaker.

Why do this? Xiao Ran doesn’t even need to explain. Just look at the scene: the violent collision creates a climax-like thrill for the audience. After that thrill, it’s time for calm reflection. Moreover, the transition from loud to silent is highly effective, creating an indescribable sense of solemnity.

When the two land, they immediately get up and point their guns at each other, showing their strength. To the audience’s surprise, both pull the triggers without hesitation—only to find there are no bullets left!

At that moment, the police arrive. Liu Qingyun, who is also a police officer, pulls out a gun from behind him. If you noticed the opening scene, you’ll realize it’s the gun of his murdered colleague. Thus, in front of numerous police officers, a police officer shoots and kills the thief.

Then, the pace of the scenes suddenly returns to that of the opening, creating a strange feeling. The police step forward, say nothing, and put handcuffs on the officer who had been chasing the thief, removing his badge to indicate his identity has shifted from police to thief.

After that, the scene changes again, showing this now-thief officer committing a crime after being fired. In that instant, two undercover police officers arrive. The former police officer shoots back, hitting Wu Zhenyu in the forehead as he slowly falls. In the center of the frame is a police officer—none other than Liu Qingyun from the opening scene!

Then, the screen goes completely black, and subtitles appear. Along with the subtitles come the gunshots and breathing sounds from the opening chase scene. Just as the title suggests, the plot goes through a cycle from beginning to end!

Finally, it was time for what made Xiao Ran the most nervous. He always felt that sometimes people inevitably live for others. This was true even in film-making—if no one appreciated the film created, then what was the point of considering it so important?

Directors pursued not only the pinnacle of this “eighth art” but perhaps also the applause from audiences and the glory they bestowed. At that moment, Xiao Ran felt as if he were on the execution block. Although he knew from watching the film that the audience wouldn’t dislike it, that sense of unease was still inevitable.

It was similar to standing on the stand of judgment—life or death would be decided in that instant. Yet Xiao Ran suddenly realized that he wasn’t a god; it was the audience who were the gods. Or rather, during those 100 minutes, he was the supreme god, controlling everyone’s emotions and thoughts.

But once those 100 minutes passed, their roles completely reversed. Then, the audience became the gods, deciding everything about the film. Perhaps only seasoned veterans like Xiao Ran could experience such a feeling. New directors often, like the young Xiao Ran once, only focused on their own feelings while ignoring those of the audience.

The lights in the theater gradually brightened, and the subtitles on the screen continued to appear. In this regard, Hong Kong films had learned from Hollywood—trying to include the names of as many crew members as possible. However, Hong Kong films didn’t go as far as Hollywood, where even trivial people were listed.

When the lights came on, the audience, as if having experienced several intense climaxes, felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, with a softness in their bodies after the surge of excitement. They couldn’t help but stand up, scanning the surroundings, while applause thundered through the theater.

When they finally saw the cast members emerging from the back rooms of the theater, their excitement reached its peak. They clapped vigorously with all their might, shouting, “Director Xiao, this movie is absolutely… amazing!”

It indeed was amazing. In another theater, Li Zhuotao, feeling the audience’s applause and cheers, had to admit it was an excellent film—probably the best action movie so far.

Yet while the audience was thoroughly entertained, they might still have doubts. Why were there two characters with the same appearance? Why did one person play two roles? Why did the ending, like the beginning, break the rules of time with a completely illogical cycle?

All these questions arose in every audience member’s mind alongside the thrilling plot and visuals. For those who didn’t want to think, the exciting action scenes were enough. But for those who liked to think and loved movies, these questions would trouble them for a while, forcing them to return to the theater and rethink everything.

Li Zhuotao followed the crowd out of the theater in confusion. He really didn’t understand what the movie was trying to convey—was it just pure action? Xiao Ran would never do such a foolish thing. At least, judging by his style, if it were just action, there would definitely not be such an opening and ending. Yet confusion still lingered in his mind.

Xiao Ran and the others were proudly accepting the continuous applause from the audience like kings. He gently closed his eyes, knowing he had successfully combined commerce and art, and achieved balance.

After over a decade, he had finally mastered the delicate balance between art and commerce, reaching the pinnacle of a director’s skills in certain aspects. Now, with his eyes closed, he quietly enjoyed the glory bestowed upon him by the audience. He thought that after this, he might not make movies anymore—so why not take this opportunity to savor this feeling?

After leaving, Xiao Ran patted Liu Qingyun’s shoulder meaningfully: “Qingyun, this time, you have a chance to win Best Actor! Keep it up—acting is always the most important element!”

Xiao Ran wasn’t joking. Liu Qingyun had performed excellently in this movie. There weren’t many lines during the fights, but his strong presence and deep performances were fully evident. If it weren’t for a powerhouse like Stephen Chow in this competition, his chances of winning the award were at least 60%.

At a time when Soros launched a financial attack on Hong Kong and the local market was struggling, the timing in June was particularly unfavorable. Anyway, three days later, the movie premiered.

It was a modest and unassuming premiere—nothing grand. Xiao Ran had long passed the stage where he needed gimmicks to promote his movies. With his reputation as an international director and the acclaim for his previous works, he could earn hundreds of millions in box office revenue just by his name.

Many journalists attended this premiere, including those from the three major North American TV networks, showing the great influence of Hong Kong movies and Xiao Ran’s wide fame. To Xiao Ran’s amusement, there were not only entertainment journalists but also many financial and economic reporters.

Xiao Ran casually chose a reporter from the New Paper to ask the first question. The reporter stood up and asked attentively, “Director Xiao, it’s said this will be your last movie as a director. Is that true? What will you do then?”

“I think…” Xiao Ran pondered for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he could resist his desire to make movies in the future. But theoretically, this would indeed be his last one. “I think this might be my last work. I plan to retire in a couple of years, so…”

The journalists were all surprised, especially Leung Ka-bau, whose face could be seen everywhere. They found it strange—Xiao Ran was not even forty yet. How could he talk about retiring, especially with control over seven huge corporations? How could he step back?

This time, it was a reporter from Asia Weekly who asked the question, his expression very serious: “Mr. Xiao, the Hong Kong financial market is in chaos due to attacks by international speculators. What’s your opinion on this?”
Xiao Ran was momentarily stunned. This was a premiere, and if it turned into a financial discussion, it would be truly frustrating. So, he smiled and said, “Of course I have an opinion, but it’s not convenient to reveal it now. Please ask questions related to the film!”
At that moment, an ABC reporter from Disney asked Xiao Ran, “Mr. Xiao, how long do you think Phantom can hold out under the attacks of international speculators? It’s said that the several hundred billion dollars you invested has already suffered significant losses.”
“You’re wrong. It’s not about how long Phantom can hold out, but rather how long Hong Kong can hold out!” Xiao Ran said firmly, looking at the reporter. He admired the professionalism of the American journalist, who didn’t deliberately make things difficult because of personal grudges between their bosses. “I repeat, please ask questions related to the film!”
This premiere was definitely not very successful, but in terms of box office earnings, it had to be admitted as a huge success. Even during the off-season in June, “Reincarnation,” which was only shown in theaters, managed to earn over 2 million in box office revenue on its first day, which was truly remarkable.
After the preview, Li Zhuotao, who finally got another chance to go to the theater, saw a few vaguely familiar faces—those he had seen at the preview. Once again, he couldn’t figure out what Xiao Ran wanted to convey.
It wasn’t until three days after the film was officially released that Li Zhuotao watched it for three consecutive days and finally understood its meaning. This became the first film review of “Reincarnation” in Hong Kong and even around the world. The previous film, “True Colors,” already made people admit that Xiao Ran was a genius, but now I want to say that’s not enough—he’s actually a genius among geniuses!
What kind of film is “Reincarnation”? No one can give a completely accurate answer. But I can say it’s a film that perfectly blends commerce and art. You can see the stunning scenes that make your heart race, and you can also deeply experience the profound meanings conveyed throughout the film.
At that moment, both you and I will realize that Xiao Ran has more intentions behind it. Yet, we can never fully understand them. This time, Xiao Ran went even further, conveying his theme through extremely clever and diverse structural techniques. What exactly it is, I can’t describe in words—it’s something that can only be understood, not expressed. From “True Colors” to “Reincarnation,” Xiao Ran has truly embarked on the path of a master.
A few days later, when the film was released globally, it plunged audiences and critics around the world into a state of extreme pleasure and pain. Pleasure because they could experience an unimaginable sense of enjoyment in the film. Pain because they found it difficult to grasp Xiao Ran’s intentions. By following those clues, they could trace their origins, but they simply couldn’t understand the brilliance of Xiao Ran’s structural techniques.

Like Lee Cheuk-tao, they spent a lot of time pondering before finally figuring out what Xiao Ran was trying to achieve and what tricks he had used in terms of structure. Just a virtual hypothesis and the concept of parallel timelines managed to stump countless experienced and sharp-eyed film critics and even filmmakers. They were unable to describe literally what the film was trying to convey; as Lee Cheuk-tao said, it was something that could only be understood, not put into words. In the end, in their reviews, they described Xiao Ran and the film using only the words “genius” and “masterpiece,” calling it the pinnacle of police procedurals and structurally complex films.