Director of Photography Department of Huayu

Chapter 262 Director Wu, wait a moment! Is there a prize?
The city was bathed in the soft light of dawn, and the sea breeze rustled through the palm leaves, gently wandering through the alleyways, bringing with it a faint dampness and the scent of grass.

The French bakeries along the street were just beginning to emit their first aromas, while the cafes on the roadside had already set up outdoor tables and chairs.

Unlike previous years, the streets of Cannes this morning were filled with excited film fans and locals at newspaper stands.

They held front-page newspapers and magazines such as Le Monde, The Screen, and Cinema Notes in their hands, flipping through them while chatting quietly with those around them, their emotions gradually rising.

"They actually didn't give the Palme d'Or to 'Black Peony,' what a coward!"

An elderly French film fan muttered indignantly, "Look at this review, 'The most Cannes-like film since 2000,' doesn't it deserve the Palme d'Or?"

“Of course they deserve it! But they’re too stubborn and old-fashioned, clinging to the rules,” the young man next to him immediately chimed in.

"Is it okay if we don't divide the prizes? Is it okay if we don't follow the traditional methods?"

"I also saw '4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days.' But such political narratives wouldn't have mattered in previous years, but Cannes should be about artistic merit, and I'm very dissatisfied with this result."

Crowds converged at the street corner, and several screening rooms even had flyers announcing the re-release of "Black Peony," where many movie fans gathered and discussed it.

Meanwhile, at the restaurant on the second floor of the Martinez Hotel.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the breakfast area was as meticulously arranged as ever, with silverware and ceramics neatly displayed.

Wu Chen and Liu Yifei sat by the window, the air around them filled with the aroma of coffee and butter.

Liu Yifei was wearing a T-shirt and a short skirt, her hair was slightly curled at the ends, and there was still a hint of weariness in the corners of her eyes, but the smile in her eyes and brows could not be hidden.

"What did your auntie say to you?" Wu Chen really didn't want to cut the fried egg piece by piece, so he just forked a piece and ate it, then casually asked.

"Oh, don't ask!" Liu Yifei quickly picked up a small piece of baguette and stuffed it into Wu Chen's mouth, her face quickly turning pink, with a hint of shyness still lingering between her brows.

She pretended to take a serious sip of orange juice, glanced at the news report, and muttered under her breath, "What a pity. Look, all the media outlets are saying you should have won the grand prize."

Just as Wu Chen was about to respond, a familiar figure slowly walked in from the elevator.

Zhang Manyu was wearing a gray-white trench coat, her hair was naturally loose, and she was holding a newspaper she had just finished reading.

She walked briskly, her gaze sweeping over the two of them before she approached, a faint smile in her eyes: "Director Wu, Yifei, have you seen the media reports?"

Liu Yifei was the first to speak, her tone tinged with resentment: "Sister Manyu, I just saw it, it's such a pity."

Zhang Manyu sat down, ordered a black coffee, and slowed her tone: "These things shouldn't be talked about normally, but the media has already exposed them."

It really was a close call; Cannes was indeed constrained by the rules, and the media weren't wrong.

Wu Chen put down his knife and fork.

Zhang Manyu took a sip of her coffee and continued:
"In our final closed-door discussion, the votes for *Black Peony* and *4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days* were not tied. Especially in terms of directorial expression and overall aesthetic structure, you had an almost overwhelming advantage."

"Huh? Then why?" Liu Yifei's eyes widened.

“The problem is,” Zhang Manyu paused, looked around, and lowered her voice, “that someone suggested, ‘The Best Actress award has already been given to Black Peony, we can’t give the Palme d’Or to it as well, that would break a long-standing tradition.’”

"Same as always," Wu Chen said with a sigh of relief.

Zhang Manyu nodded helplessly: "It was Michel Piccoli who suggested it."

He is a man of few words, but wields considerable influence. He is French, a veteran director at Cannes, a member of the Cannes "old idealists," and has close ties with Romanian cultural institutions.

Then someone immediately chimed in, saying that the balance of Cannes and the value of intercultural dialogue should be considered. This statement immediately veered the discussion off course, and in the end, they were separated by only one vote.

"I'm so annoyed! Where's the chairman of the judging panel?" Liu Yifei had already stuck her fork to the bottom of her plate.

"He didn't say anything. I guess he wanted to avoid further conflict," Zhang Manyu shook her head. "Many jury chairpersons are just playing the peacemaker."

Liu Yifei pouted, looking annoyed, but still asked in a low voice, "Sister Manyu, is it okay for you to say this?"

"What problems could there be? Would you and Director Wu tell anyone?" Zhang Manyu chuckled. "I'm slowly retiring from the film industry anyway." "Let's go." She finished her coffee and waved with a smile.

Watching Zhang Manyu's graceful departure, Liu Yifei couldn't help but be stunned: "What a dashing sight!"

"Ok!"

Wu Chen nodded slightly, but despite this, Zhang Manyu's love life was anything but smooth; it was extremely bumpy, and she was a classic example of someone who was blinded by love.

After breakfast, the two did not go for a stroll, mainly because Liu Yifei was not feeling well.

Inside the room, Liu Yifei couldn't help but hit Wu Chen with a pillow, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"I can't share a room with you anymore, it's so inappropriate."

"It's all my fault for this hand, it doesn't obey my commands at all." Wu Chen looked at his right hand with disgust and complained.

Seeing Wu Chen's shameless behavior, Liu Yifei was both amused and exasperated. "I'm going back to my room, hmph!"

Just then, Julian Schober called: "Wu, you haven't left yet, have you?"

No, we'll have to wait two more days.

"Okay, your photos will be developed and dried this afternoon. I'll send them to you later."

"OK, thank you!"

“It’s such a shame. I saw the report. Damn regulations.” Julian Schober couldn’t help but rant.

Meanwhile, inside the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television office building, morning light slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the Venetian blinds of the conference room, and a faint aroma of tea filled the air.

At this moment, Tong Gang had just finished a meeting and sat back down at his desk, flipping through summaries of reports from various Cannes media outlets that his secretary had prepared beforehand. His gaze was solemn yet full of approval.

"Boom boom boom!"

There was a sudden knock on the door.

"Enter."

The secretary strode in, a hint of excitement on her face, and a few pages of printed materials tucked between her fingers.

"Director Tong, the congratulatory message has been drafted," the secretary handed over the document. "As you instructed this morning, it will be sent out on behalf of our bureau, mainly to congratulate Director Wu Chen on winning the Special Palme d'Or at Cannes and enhancing our country's cultural influence."

Tong Gang nodded and flipped through it.

As soon as she finished speaking, the secretary added, her tone slightly agitated:
"Director Tong, the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs just sent a notification through the Cultural Department, asking for our opinion on the awarding of an honor to Director Wu Chen. They asked whether we should arrange for it to be awarded in Paris, Cannes, or at the embassy in China."

Tong Gang was immediately taken aback: "What level? The highest level?"

The secretary thought for a moment, then nodded.

Tong Gang hesitated for a moment, then his brows relaxed and he smiled.

"The French are quite generous. If it weren't for the highest level, I would have been thinking of raising it to the highest level for Wu Chen. This saves them the trouble."

Okay, I'll talk to the cultural affairs department about this. As for where the award is given, it doesn't matter much. You can talk to Wu Chen about his schedule and ask him if he's still in France these days or planning to return to China.

The medal can be awarded in Cannes, Paris, or at the embassy—whatever is convenient for them; there are no strict formalities.

"understood."

The secretary nodded in agreement, turned around, and quickly left.

(End of this chapter)