Director of Photography Department of Huayu

Chapter 368 Disaster, a revised statement from "The Martian".
Under the blazing sun, the Martian landscape outside Chaidan Town was almost distorted by the midday sun.

The heat waves on the ground surged, much like some indescribable illusion.

In the distance, the orange-red dust and cracked rock lines intertwine to form a vast panorama, as if time itself has been frozen by the sun.

"Prepare to derail!" Wu Chen shouted into the walkie-talkie from in front of the monitor.

Behind them was a team of RED telephoto cameras set up far away on the sand dunes. He spoke softly to them:

"Ready, the Mars rover is cutting diagonally across Dune Six, don't go too fast."

The Mars rover slowly drove into the frame.

Jiang Wen, dressed in a spacesuit, sat silently in the driver's seat, his gaze fixed ahead through the helmet visor. The rover's tracks rolled over the loose sand, kicking up wisps of red dust.
The camera pans forward along a high-altitude rail, and in the distance, the car's silhouette resembles a lonely boat adrift in the world.

"This damn weather is going to explode!"

After filming this scene, Jiang Wen, wearing a spacesuit, was already unbearably hot inside, so he quickly went to the shade to cool off.

At noon in May, the sun was still too strong for this place.

"Let's take a break," Wu Chen whispered.

"That's strange, Director Wu doesn't seem to be in a good mood today."

"I didn't even notice until you mentioned it. It seems that Director Wu didn't talk about anything else besides work today."

"."

Just then, a cloud quietly swept across the sky, briefly obscuring the scorching sunlight, as if the heavens had draped a light veil over the earth.

The wind also shifted, and the plateau wind blowing from the northwest was no longer dry and hot, but mixed with an inexplicable coolness, passing through the tents set up by the film crew, reflectors, and the lonely generator truck in the desert.

Just as everyone was enjoying this rare moment of coolness, the earth seemed to take a gentle breath and trembled slightly.

The vibration was very slight, as if the heart had simply missed a beat on a certain rhythm; it was not obvious, but it was real.

But it did not stop there.

The second time was clearer, and then the entire sandy area undulated slightly for a moment.
The steel light fixture swayed slightly, and the flagpole, which was diagonally inserted into the rock and soil, tilted slightly. A photography assistant steadied the track cart in his hands and subconsciously glanced back.

The scene wasn't chaotic, but a palpable sense of unease hung over everyone's faces. Then, as if consciously directed, they looked eastward and murmured:

"Just now...was it..."

Wu Chen was standing on an inconspicuous rocky slope, with a camera track and several camera positions behind him, and rolling yellowish-brown sand dunes in front of him.

He remained silent and still, standing quietly, his features outlined in gold by a ray of sunlight that had once again pierced through the dark clouds.

His gaze passed over the film crew, over the desolate plateau, over the Gobi Desert and mountains, and over thousands of miles.
No one spoke, and the entire set fell silent for a few seconds.

The wind stopped for a moment, as if time itself had held its breath.

Immediately afterwards, a call from the production coordination team came through the earpiece.

Jiang Wen took off his helmet, ran over, and looked at Wu Chen: "Those two attacks just now? They didn't seem to be here."

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away in the suburbs of Beijing, Liu Yifei was about to drink some water when she suddenly noticed the glass on the table shake slightly without warning, causing gentle ripples on the surface.

She frowned: "That's strange."

She looked up and shouted, "Mom, can you feel anything?"

Liu Xiaoli's response came from upstairs: "It seems a bit... uncertain."

Just a few minutes later, Shu Chang called, "XiXi."

Upon hearing Shu Chang's hurried speech, Liu Yifei's heart leaped into her throat. Almost reflexively, she hung up the phone and dialed Wu Chen's number.

At this moment, everything in Chaidan Town remains still, a moment of stillness between wind and light.

"director."

Everyone listened to the latest news coming through the crew's earpieces, their eyes filled with disbelief.

"We can't film today," Wu Chen said, his voice a little hoarse. "Let's call it a day."

No one refuted it, no one made a sound.

Everyone quietly packed up their equipment, moved off the track, and turned off the lights.

There was no panic, only a deep silence.

Almost simultaneously, the phones of all the crew members rang, with family, friends, and colleagues constantly confirming their safety and exchanging fragmented but urgent messages.

Wu Chen's phone rang; it was Liu Yifei.

"Junior brother, are you alright? Are you alright?" Her voice trembled with anxiety.

"I'm fine," Wu Chen said in a low, hoarse voice. "There was a slight reaction here, but I'm alright."

"I wanted to come find you. I was so scared just now. For a moment, I didn't know how far away you were from me!"

Hearing Liu Yifei's incredibly weak voice coming from the phone, Wu Chen couldn't help but gently comfort her, and then gave up the idea of ​​her coming over:
“Transportation resources are very precious right now. Let’s not waste them and cause more trouble. Go back to the company and help me take charge. See what everyone needs, and then we should donate what we can. Individuals and companies alike need to take action.” “Okay, I understand.”

Liu Yifei readily agreed, and soon after, calls from Yuan Xiaoqin and Wu Yangming followed in quick succession.
The next morning, the sky over Chaidan Town was a pale, yellowish hue, and the lines of the sand dunes appeared even more sharp due to the wind of the previous night.

No one was joking or chatting before turning on the computer.

The crew's breakfast consisted of steaming hot steamed buns and eggs, and everyone ate much more quietly than usual.

Everyone saw yesterday's news.

The numbers keep getting updated, and some footage can't even be released—but words are enough; words can shatter hearts.

And those volunteers, militiamen, firefighters, and ordinary people
"director."

A staff member came over and asked in a low voice, "How should we adjust today's scenes? If we're not shooting the sand dune scene, we can temporarily change the location."

Let's shoot something simple.

Wu Chen knew that everyone was not very enthusiastic, and so was he.
The crew was in low spirits on set. They only filmed a few of the simplest shots, whispered among themselves during breaks, and even checked their phones for the latest news.

Wu Chen looked down and glanced at the open script.

That was a scene on page 97 of "The Martian," where a representative of the China National Space Administration spoke at a joint space communications conference. He had already written it very movingly and polished it repeatedly for a long time.

But at that moment, he suddenly felt that the words were too "movie-like" and not "human" enough.

He looked up at the sky.

Then he bent down, took a black pen from the pen holder on the table, flipped over the back of an A4 notice sheet used by the film crew, and began to write:

"No one in this universe should be forgotten."

Whether he is tens of millions of kilometers away, or trapped on the lonely surface of a barren planet, as long as he is still breathing, as long as we can still hear the echo of his heartbeat—

We have an obligation to respond; we should bring him back.

He paused here, as if the news footage from last night flashed through his mind, showing the firefighter on his phone screen shouting until his voice was hoarse, unwilling to give up on the faint sounds coming from the ruins.

He continued:
"This is neither a deal nor diplomacy."

This is the most fundamental promise of human civilization.

If one person is left behind, no one can turn and leave.

A breeze blew, causing the pages to tremble slightly.

He pressed one hand against the corner and continued writing:

"We are willing to share responsibilities with every spacefaring nation in the world, all for one belief—"

We cannot simply look up at the stars; we must also reach out to him when he needs it.

After finishing writing, he put down his pen and let out a long sigh.

This page of text has no dramatic techniques, no plot twists, and not even lofty rhetoric, but the emotion that springs from the soil, the strength of "I won't leave if you're not here," is something he learned from the hands he saw in the reports.

This is not a line written by a single director; it is the faith that an entire nation has collectively expressed at this moment.

Jiang Wen happened to walk by, saw the passage on the paper, read it almost entirely at a glance, stood there without saying a word, and nodded after a few seconds:
"Your statement, 'We can't just look up at the stars,' is quite good."

Wu Chen responded softly, "Yes."

"This is real rescue, not in movies or dramas, but a group of people, fucking. They'll do anything to dig people out of the rubble."

"Ah."

Wu Chen neither explained nor continued, but simply tucked the draft paper into the script.
The entertainment industry organized donations very quickly.

Everyone will donate something, more or less, except for a few particularly stingy people.
Cheng Long and Ying Huang jointly donated 10 million Hong Kong dollars, while Shaw Yi Fu contributed 100 million Hong Kong dollars.

“I want to donate more,” Liu Yifei’s clear voice came through the phone. “Donate my endorsement fees too.”

"Donate if you want," Wu Chen said without objection.

Anyway, in her previous life, this girl donated all her earnings from four TV series, plus advertising fees, totaling 100 million yuan. You should know that in the year before last, the salary for each episode of The Condor Heroes was 8000 yuan, and there were a total of forty episodes.

"Okay, whatever you say. What about the company?"

"The company has raised ten million yuan, half for donations and half for supplies. I'll talk to the finance department later, and you can help check on the supplies. The two of us will also contribute ten million yuan."

"Then we'll each take half."

"Okay." Wu Chen chuckled lightly, without saying anything more.

Despite some disappointments, everyone was generally very enthusiastic, with individuals and companies contributing to fundraising and offering assistance.

The film and television industry, which was shut down for three days, is slowly starting to resume operations.

The film crew has gradually entered a new phase of filming, and the wrap-up in June is not far off.
(End of this chapter)