Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 147 Exorbitant Pre-sale Prices and the Birth of an Anti-Monopoly Alliance

Harvey's assistant stood at the entrance to the fire escape.

The phone camera is pointed at suite 704.

The screen displays a countdown timer for the recording.

The number jumped to thirty.

The dark brown wooden door was pulled open from the inside.

A dozen or so European publishers rushed into the room.

The corridor was empty again.

Messy footprints were left on the carpet.

The door panel was closed again.

The assistant pressed the stop button to save the video.

She turned and pushed open the iron gate to the fire escape, which slammed against the wall, leaving a dull echo.

The living room of suite 704 turned into a battlefield.

Two single sofas were pushed into the corner.

A long dining table is placed across the center of the room.

Lin Shufen, dressed in a dark red suit, sat on the left side of the table, with a black calculator in front of her.

Su Wan, dressed in a black business suit, sat on the right, with sixty draft contracts in French and English stacked beside her.

The fountain pens were neatly arranged to one side.

Chen Yan did not participate in the seating arrangement. He opened the glass door and walked onto the balcony.

The sea breeze ruffled the hem of his shirt.

He leaned against the marble railing and took out cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.

Flames leaped up, and he lit the tobacco.

The lighter was thrown on the round table, making a metallic clanging sound.

The bluish-gray smoke dissipated in the night wind.

English and French mingled in the living room, the volume gradually increasing.

Pierre pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Gaumont Cinemas offered a two million euro advance payment."

Pierre pushed a document across the table.

"This only covers the copyright in the south of France."

Lin Shufen picked up the document, her gaze falling on the final number.

She pushed the document back.

"Two million can't buy 'Broken Bridge'."

Lin Shufen taps the table with her knuckles.

"Director Chen's films start at four million."

The representative from Constantin Film, a German company, stood up; his tie was already loose.

"Harvey has already spoken."

The German representative placed his hands on the table and leaned forward.

"Whoever buys 'Broken Bridge' will lose Miramax's film supply for the next three years."

British independent filmmakers echoed this sentiment.

"We are taking on the risk of total crop failure."

The producer straightened the hem of his suit jacket.

"We need a risk hedging solution."

Su Wan opened the notebook in front of her, the pages turning crisply.

"Yanying Culture provides simultaneous screenings for cinemas in Northern China."

Su Wan looked at everyone.

"This is real box office revenue."

Pierre shook his head.

"not enough."

Pierre leaned back in his chair.

"Harvey controls the media channels in Europe."

Pierre picked up the coffee cup from the table, the bottom of the cup clinking against the porcelain tray.

"He can smear the reputation of 'Broken Bridge' into the mud."

The living room quieted down.

The publishers exchanged glances, and some started looking at the watches.

The glass door to the balcony was pulled open, and the sliding track made a scraping sound.

Chen Yan, with a cigarette between his fingers, walked into the living room.

Everyone stopped moving and all eyes were on him.

Chen Yan walked to the dining table and stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray.

The cigarette butt twisted, and the spark went out.

"What Harvey can't give you, I will."

Chen Yan braced his hands on the edge of the table.

"Yanying Culture has officially established an anti-monopoly alliance."

Pierre put down his coffee cup, and coffee spilled over the edge, dripping onto the table.

"Specific terms?"

Chen Yan straightened up.

"First, over the next three years, all high-rated Chinese films from Yanying Culture will be prioritized for supply to alliance members."

Chen Yan raised his second finger.

"Secondly, for European art films produced by alliance members, as long as they pass Chinese censorship, Jinghai Cinemas will guarantee a minimum number of screenings."

Breathing could be heard in the living room.

The German representative swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

What is the guaranteed minimum number of screenings?

Chen Yan looked at him.

"Fifteen percent."

Pierre stood up, and his chair slid back half a meter.

He picked up the documents on the table.

"Gaumont Cinemas wants the rights to all of France."

Pierre took a pen out of his pocket and removed the cap.

"Four million euros, sign the contract now."

The German representative pushed back his chair.

Constantin Films offered three million euros to acquire the German-speaking region.

The British producer squeezed to the front of the table and slammed his hand on it.

"UK and Irish copyrights, 2.5 million."

Su Wan took out three blank contracts and pushed them in front of the three men respectively.

Lin Shufen took the calculator and quickly pressed the keys, the numbers jumping on the LCD screen.

Chen Yan took two steps back, then turned and walked back to the balcony.

The glass door closed again.

Two hours later.

The last publisher signed the papers and left the suite.

Su Wan tidied up the contracts on the table, the papers forming a thick stack.

"France, Germany, Britain, Italy, plus Japan and South Korea."

Su Wan handed the summary sheet to Chen Yan.

Total pre-sales: 15 million euros.

Lin Shufen picked up a glass of red wine, the red liquid swirling in the glass.

"This amount of money is enough to buy two second-tier film studios in China."

Lin Shufen tilted her head back and drank the dry red wine.

"Harvey's ban is off the table."

Chen Yan took the summary sheet, folded the paper in half, and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"This is just an admission ticket."

Chen Yan looked out at the coastline.

"The best is yet to come."

7:00 AM the following morning.

The lobby of the Martinez Hotel.

The newsboy tossed a bundle of newspapers, still smelling of ink, onto the newsstand.

The binding hemp rope was cut.

Le Figaro.

The front page had no text title; the entire page was occupied by a high-resolution black and white photograph.

Lin Qingqiu walked on the red carpet wearing a black men's suit.

She rolled up her right arm, revealing the dark red scar.

Her profile was turned to the side, facing the camera, with a barrage of flashing lights in the background.

There is a line of small print in the lower right corner of the photo.

"Cannes' sharpest oriental rose."

Thomas, carrying his briefcase, walked to the newsstand.

He dropped a coin, which spun on the glass surface.

He picked up a copy of Le Figaro.

Thomas opened the newspaper.

The second edition featured a joint letter from the French Independent Film Critics Association, with sixty signatures taking up half the page.

The third edition features news that "The Broken Bridge" has sold 15 million euros in pre-sales.

Harvey's buyout of The Hollywood Reporter's press release was relegated to the margins.

Thomas stuffed the newspaper into his briefcase and strode out of the hotel lobby.

On the street, under the parasols of cafes, and on benches, people of different skin colors were all holding that newspaper.

Black-and-white close-ups of Lin Qingqiu can be seen everywhere on the streets of Cannes.

Newspapers sold out in front of the newsstand within half an hour.

Inside suite 704.

Lin Qingqiu sat on the sofa, looking at the newspaper "Le Figaro" on the table, her fingers tracing the scar on her right arm.

"A French fashion brand sent ten haute couture gowns."

Su Wan walked over with a list and handed the paper to Lin Qingqiu.

"They want you to wear their clothes at the closing ceremony."

Lin Qingqiu pushed the newspaper away.

"I won't wear it."

Lin Qingqiu pulled down her sleeve and buttoned it up.

"I will only wear the clothes that Director Chen arranged."

Chen Yan sat on a single sofa, flipping through the European cinema schedule, drawing horizontal lines on the paper with a pencil.

"Cancel all interviews and business events."

Chen Yan turned a page.

"Maintain an air of mystery."

Two o'clock in the morning.

Chen Yan sat at his desk, the desk lamp illuminating the script storyboard in front of him.

There was a knock on the door, three times, with a short, rapid rhythm.

Chen Yan put down his pencil, walked to the door, and opened the wooden door.

The corridor was dimly lit.

Thierry stood outside the door wearing a black trench coat, his collar pulled up and his hat brim pulled down above his brow bone.

The hem of the trench coat was damp with rain, and water droplets fell onto the carpet.

Chen Yan stepped aside.

Thierry walked into the room.

Chen Yan closed and locked the door.

**[Suggested revisions: Simplify action descriptions, remove unnecessary onomatopoeia, and make the pacing more compact to fit the current tense and mysterious atmosphere.]**

Thierry took off his trench coat and threw it on the sofa.

He walked to the French windows and drew the heavy blackout curtains.

The room was dimly lit, with only the table lamp emitting a faint light.

Thierry turned around, sat down on the sofa, and placed his hands on his knees.

Chen Yan sat down in the chair opposite him.

"Harvey is putting pressure on the organizing committee."

Thierry opened his mouth, speaking rapidly in French.

"He presented Miramax with a sponsorship deal for the next five years."

Chen Yan leaned back in his chair.

"Did the judging panel compromise?"

Thierry shook his head.

"The judging panel has broken up."

Thierry leaned forward.

"Chairman Quentin insists on awarding the Palme d'Or to 'Broken Bridge'."

Thierry stared at Chen Yan.

"Quentin smashed two glass water glasses in the conference room."

Thierry raised his right hand.

"But three European judges refused to sign the final list."

Chen Yan picked up the lighter on the table, flipping the metal body between his fingers.

"They claim that the violent expression in 'Broken Bridge' goes against the artistic intent of Cannes."

Thierry clenched his fists, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.

"They threatened to resign."

The lighter stopped spinning, and Chen Yan pressed his finger on the ignition wheel.

"What if they resign?"

Chen Yan asked.

"Cannes is facing its biggest scandal in 71 years."

Thierry took a breath.

"The judging panel was unable to reach a majority vote."

Thierry stood up and looked at Chen Yan.

"The outcome of the Palme d'Or is now a dead end."