Chapter 148: Prize Quiz
The emblem of the Louvain International Film Festival shone brightly in the night sky, with a red carpet over a hundred meters long laid out on the boulevard, and Yu Wei stood at the entrance taking a deep breath.
Behind him stood the team members: Director Lu Zhou, Lead Actress Qi Luo An, Organizing Committee Photographer Xu Yi, and French Translator Zhang Yang.
The sides were crowded with media reporters holding long guns and short cannons and cheering fans, but they had little relation to them…
Chinese people were absolutely newcomers to the Louvain International Film Festival; to put it bluntly, searching for Luwen Award domestically on Baidu yielded hardly any relevant entries.
It wasn’t that the award lacked gold content; the Luwen Award was hailed as the Oscar of short films, and the main reason for its low fame domestically was that no Chinese person had ever been selected.
Short films weren’t valued much domestically to begin with; many who shot microfilms did so out of interest, let alone winning awards.
Precisely because of this, the Film Association attached great importance to this film festival; Yu Wei had blazed a new trail for domestic film industry.
“Let’s go.”
Yu Wei originally didn’t want to lead, but he wore multiple hats—as Lead Actor, Screenwriter, and Producer—not stepping forward first wouldn’t make sense.
The red carpet Master of Ceremonies announced clearly in French and English: “Now entering is the Sound Mixer short film team, starring Yu Wei, from China.”
The moment Yu Wei’s team stepped onto the red carpet, the flashes intensified; though newcomers, rarity made them valuable, and the organizer, seeing a Chinese person selected for the first time, naturally wouldn’t neglect them.
Yu Wei wore a custom black suit, calmly smiling and greeting the media and fans on both sides; whether they shot or not, he had to put on the right appearance.
The team members followed closely; Qi Luo An wore a carefully selected gown, trying to stay composed but unable to hide the shock in her eyes.
This was a place no other Chinese actor or director had been to, not even her grandfather; she, a layman, had actually been brought here by Yu Wei.
It was already 2 a.m. domestically, but some were still watching the live broadcast; they were Yu Wei’s fans and also fans of Chinese-language films.
They truly hadn’t seen the Luwen Award on-site before, so this was a good chance to broaden their horizons…
However, the live broadcast had no official relay, so no subtitles were provided; everyone listened in a fog and could only watch the spectacle.
“Do you think Sound Mixer can win an award?”
“Basically impossible; it’s already exclusive, and there’s not a single judge we can talk to—there’d be a ghost of a chance if it wins.”
“I’m waiting for Yu Wei to win an award and smash the haters’ faces.”
“Read too many entertainment novels, brother; international film awards require connections—no judge backing, even Jesus couldn’t win.”
Yu Wei knew this reason well; so-called no expectations for this trip—international recognition was just that; if they got it, great, but no big deal if not, just a bonus…
They hadn’t walked far before being stopped; a French reporter asked loudly:
“Monsieur Yu Wei, c’est la première fois que vous participez à un festival international de cinéma. Quelles sont vos impressions ?”
What was that jabbering about?
Qi Luo An instinctively looked back at the translator, but before Zhang Yang could translate, Yu Wei surprisingly went forward himself.
“C’est une expérience toute nouvelle, je suis très content.”
Yu Wei actually hadn’t fully understood; he only knew sentences from the French version of Malice.
He definitely understood his own name; the latter part probably meant “first time… how does it feel?”
These were common phrases; since it was a reporter asking, he guessed the unintelligible middle part was Louvain Film Festival-related.
The other was probably asking about his feelings on participating in the Louvain Film Festival for the first time, so Yu Wei gave a versatile response: this experience was very enjoyable.
Yenoyaguchi Shu had used this phrase when recalling his campus bullying experience; the latter half was from Yenoyaguchi’s fabricated childhood memories with Higa.
After Yu Wei said it, not only were Qi Luo An and others incredulous, even the interviewing reporter was somewhat surprised; these days, English was okay, but Chinese people who knew French were rare.
“What’s the situation? Didn’t get it.”
“I don’t understand either; the English announcement was fine earlier, but French is Greek to me.”
“I thought Yu Wei went up to hit someone earlier; I figured even if he didn’t understand, no need to fight… didn’t expect he actually could.”
“Daily French-bashing material.”
Once they entered the Opening Ceremony main venue, they all turned to Yu Wei in unison, wanting to know where he learned that.
Wasn’t he a failure novel author? Which failure knew this?
“Learned from watching French films before.”
Yu Wei had grasped the essence: asked, and it was the four years low period; no one knew what he was doing then, anything could be pinned on it, like self-introducing university experiences in an interview.
Hearing this, the crowd had nothing much to say; anyway, he just knew it—didn’t matter when he learned; showing off on the international stage was good for both individual and team.
Qi Luo An didn’t say it aloud, but inwardly she was thrilled; see, another reason he was better than Old Deng…
The group was led to front-row seats, seemingly in the first tier.
Logically, teams with little hope of winning were seated at the back; no idea what the organizer meant.
“Could it be?”
“Don’t get your hopes up; greater expectations mean greater disappointment.”
Yu Wei directly shut down Qi Luo An’s latter half; seats didn’t mean anything.
It could be preferential treatment for first-time nominees, or even elevated national influence, not directly tied to winning or not.
“Wanna bet? I bet you’ll win an award.”
As a “Yu blower,” Qi Luo An firmly believed Yu Wei would win; for this, she didn’t mind betting with him, anything went.
“Sure.”
If Yu Wei won, losing the bet was no big deal; if not, at least he won the wager—no loss either way.
But when it came to the stake, both hesitated; Qi Luo An wanted something she couldn’t voice, Yu Wei just hadn’t thought of it.
“Owe it first; we’ll settle after the bet.”
While they whispered the bet, the lights dimmed, and the opening film started screening—a brilliant psychology short film, micro-horror, with an interesting topic.
But their scene quality and camera shots were too strong; the psychological shot transitions were extremely eye-catching.
Seeing this film, Yu Wei was even more confident he’d win the bet; international short film standard was high—what could their makeshift team use to win?
Screening ended amid thunderous applause; the main creative team took the stage for Q&A.
Yu Wei wanted to listen, but a bunch of professional terms were completely beyond him; he only knew basic conversation or detective talking points…
That evening’s film festival official welcome reception was held in the historic grand hotel’s banquet hall.
Yu Wei’s group planned to show their faces and leave; they had no connections and didn’t drink much.
Under crystal chandeliers, film people from various countries clinked glasses and chatted; the air was filled with champagne scent and voices in multiple languages.
“Not gonna scout some foreign women for the reader friends?”
Yu Wei glanced at the smirking Qi Luo An; clearly she’d watched the live stream that morning, or how would she know this bit?
“I prefer rebellious little wild horses.”
“Huh?”
At that moment, Qi Luo An felt all sounds in the reception vanish, leaving only the chaotic heartbeat in her chest cavity.
Before she could panic with downcast eyes, Yu Wei pushed his mobile phone in front of her, showing a photo of a car.
“Ta-da, Ford Mustang 2.3T version, known as the rebellious little wild horse.”
“…”
Qi Luo An was half-annoyed half-amused; she’d thought he meant her—who compares themselves to a horse like a normal person? She was a bit obsessed.
Yu Wei truly hadn’t thought of that layer; people can’t or at least shouldn’t become horses, unless it’s racehorse girls…
Just as he planned to go back with Qi Luo An to write, a film festival Artistic Director suddenly approached, asking if Yu Wei could grace the final cultural performance.
The performance was at the Closing Ceremony, four days later.
“Your performance in Sound Mixer was brilliant; several judges really liked your piano performance.”
Hearing the Artistic Director’s words via the translator, Yu Wei was greatly shocked.
Whether him or domestic film critics, they’d analyzed Sound Mixer’s plot, metaphors, and depth, but few considered the film’s musicality.
The piece in the film was adapted from Schumann’s song; not original, but still outstanding, appealing to classical music enthusiasts.
The Artistic Director’s words not only affirmed the short film’s musicality, but most importantly, “judges really liked it.”
Normally, the final cultural performance was the so-called “victors’ showcase,” so—could they really win?
“It’s exclusive here, but they revere art—might actually have a shot!”
Hearing about the impromptu performance, Lu Zhou’s eyes lit up; could he have a chance at Best Short Film Director?
Yu Wei wasn’t as fanciful; Best Short Film unlikely, but from the organizer’s tone, Best Music seemed hopeful.
This award wasn’t a major award, but at least not a wasted trip—far exceeding expectations.
After all, Yu Wei had come treating it as a vacation; his current work focus was music, so a music-related award fit perfectly.
Stepping back ten thousand steps, an honor could shut up the haters.
But this performance was a challenge for him; he only knew the piano piece segment from Sound Mixer—not enough length for a show, and lacking depth in understanding.
Music learned from the movie definitely couldn’t match mastering the music itself.
To participate in the cultural performance, he’d need to redeem a proper piano piece…
Many famous piano pieces were classics; he definitely couldn’t touch those old things, and for excellent works post-1980s, Yu Wei hadn’t recalled any yet.
As Lu Zhou said, they revered art here, so the chosen piece couldn’t be too subpar—domestic pop song piano arrangements were out.
“Heh heh heh.”
Qi Luo An’s sly chuckle nearby interrupted Yu Wei’s thinking; she looked at him smugly, with a victor’s posture.
The bet was right!
Knew there’d definitely be an award—didn’t matter if major; as long as there was one, Qi Luo An won; take a shot, bicycle turns motorcycle.
“You’re not betting money, are you? Then I won’t bet; I’m a good citizen.”
Though results weren’t out, Yu Wei felt he’d lose; performing in cultural show likely meant an award, just unknown which.
Award guessing game.
“Nah.”
What use for that stuff; what Qi Luo An wanted wasn’t money…
“You won’t make me your ox and horse, right?”
Seeing her slightly wicked little gaze, Yu Wei felt a chill; shoulda known not to bet—this person was rotten to the core.
“You got it right.”
Qi Luo An’s eyes lit up; gotta make this kid be the horse.
Screw that Ford Mustang 2.3T version!
Happy Teachers’ Day, everyone.
