This director only directs blockbusters.

The sunlight was blinding.

Yang Ning opened his eyes, his chest felt heavy—Xu Qin's head was resting there, her long hair spread all over the bed.

He stared at the ceiling for three seconds before he was sure he was really back.

In the summer of 2002, at the age of twenty-two, I graduated from university.

It's been three months, and it still feels like a dream.

He gently moved Xu Qin's hand away, his movements very light, afraid of waking her.

It's not about showing pity for a beautiful woman, it's just that it's unnecessary.

She was willing to take him to meet people last night, and he should remember that favor, even if it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing after drinking.

Xu Qin stirred, but didn't wake up.

Her sleeping face still held a rare softness for a thirty-three-year-old woman—

In a few years, this face will become a sophisticated and sharp symbol, impeccable on the red carpet.

The most memorable thing he left on the audience was his charming and alluring appearance on the second floor of the barbershop in the movie "Mr. Six".

But now, she can still walk around barefoot in her hotel room wearing a bathrobe, her hair disheveled, not minding being seen as if she has just woken up.

Yang Ning put on the shirt. Pure white, inexpensive, with slightly worn cuffs. It was his best shirt. He had ironed it three times before leaving the house last night.

The face in the bathroom mirror looked young but unfamiliar.

There were no eye bags from years of staying up late, no frown lines from arguing with people on set, and no resentment from being "unappreciated."

Neat and clean, even a bit student-like.

He smiled at himself in the mirror.

The young man in the mirror smiled too, but something was off about his eyes—

Hidden within it are the weariness and ambition of a man in his forties.

Memories from two lifetimes clashed in his mind, and sometimes he couldn't tell whether he had been reborn or was having a nightmare that lasted for twenty years.

"What time is it?"

Xu Qin's voice drifted from the bedroom, hoarse from just waking up.

"Ten o'clock." Yang Ning buttoned up the last button. "You can sleep a little longer. I'll go back to get my things."

"etc."

A rustling sound. Xu Qin walked out barefoot, her morning robe loosely tied, revealing her collarbone and a patch of snow-white skin. The languid look in her eyes made the brothers who had just lowered their heads feel ready to go into battle again.

She walked to the small bar to boil water, her back to him: "Coffee or tea?"

"Anything is fine."

"That's coffee." She poured water into the pot lazily. "I didn't look closely last night, but that notebook of yours... are you really planning to shoot it like that?"

Yang Ning watched her retreating figure: "What else?"

"Otherwise, you're just dreaming." Xu Qin turned around and leaned against the bar. The morning light streamed in from the window behind her, gilding the ends of her hair.

"Yang Ning, I know you're talented. The teachers at the film academy all praise you, saying you're good at storyboarding and have great ideas."

But that's school. Once you step outside the school gates, it's a different story.

"I know," Yang Ning said.

"You know nothing," Xu Qin laughed, a laugh tinged with something complex.

"Do you know what 100 million means? That's about the total amount of all the movies China Film Group invested in last year."

You're asking for 1.2 million right off the bat, and you want to film... apocalypse? Zombies? Do you even know if censorship allows that kind of thing now?

Yang Ning didn't say anything, but walked over and picked up his briefcase.

Black, artificial leather, with worn-out edges.

He opened it and pulled out two thick stacks—scripts and storyboards.

"This is the script, the thirteenth draft." He placed the script on the table. "This is the storyboard, two hundred and forty-seven pages."

Xu Qin didn't move, she just looked at him.

"Sister Qin, you'll see when you see it." Yang Ning's voice was calm, but every word was firm and resolute. "I'm not dreaming; I'm striving towards the dream I'm pursuing."

Xu Qin stared at him for a long time, so long that the kettle started to scream.

She turned around, turned off the stove, and slowly made coffee.

Two cups of black coffee, without sugar or milk, were brought over and placed on the table.

She finally picked up the script.

It wasn't flipping; it was just weighing it.

"So thick?"

"The world setting alone is thirty pages long," Yang Ning said. "Character biographies, a chronology, and instructions for the superpower system... are all in there."

Xu Qin turned to the first page and read for five minutes.

I turned the page and read for another five minutes.

She read very slowly, her finger moving down the lines of text, pausing occasionally.

The only sound in the room was the turning of pages.

At a certain point, her fingers stopped.

Yang Ning knew where she was looking—the scene where the protagonist awakens.

Purple lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating the entire city as if it were daytime.

"Where's the painting?" Xu Qin looked up.

Yang Ning pushed the storyboard collection.

She opened it. The first page was a panoramic view of awakening.

The direction of lightning, the angle of light, the shadow cast by a figure's position... every line tells a story.

This is not a sketch; it is a finished product that can be directly handed over to the photography team.

Xu Qin turned the pages one by one. Her hands were trembling, though she probably didn't realize it herself.

She stopped when she turned to the scene of the monster siege. Two whole pages, a large, double-page spread.

Thousands upon thousands of mutated creatures surged toward the city walls, while the defenders stood on high ground, their hands condensing lightning into spheres.

"How much will this cost?" she murmured.

"1.2 million," Yang Ning said. "Not a penny less."

Xu Qin closed the notebook, shut her eyes, and took a deep breath.

When he opened his eyes again, his expression had changed.

"Wait a minute."

She walked to the sofa and picked up her phone—a silver flip Nokia, the most fashionable model this year.

Open the cover, press the number, and let your finger rest on the dial button.

Turning to look at Yang Ning, he said, "I'll only say this once. I'll call, schedule a time, and take you in."

The rest is up to fate.

Whether it works out or not, don't ever come looking for me again. Understand?

"I understand," Yang Ning said.

"And one more thing," Xu Qin added, her voice lowering.

"When you meet someone, you should know what to say and what not to say."

Don't use your old school rhetoric; nobody wants to hear it.

Yang Ning nodded.

Xu Qin stared at him, as if trying to find some flaw in his face.

Finally, he sighed and pressed the call button.

His voice switched instantly—soft, smiling, and with just the right amount of intimacy: "Director Liu? It's me, Xiao Xu... Oh, please don't call me that, it's too much of a compliment..."

Yang Ning stood in the morning light, watching the woman perform.

She was facing him sideways, her morning robe belt loosened, revealing a section of her waistline.

While speaking, he twirled the telephone cord with his fingers and lightly tapped the ground with his toes; every little movement was carefully designed.

Three minutes later, she hung up.

"2:30 PM, seventh floor of China Film Group, Deputy Director Liu's office." She tossed her phone back onto the sofa. "Dress formally. Don't be late."

"Thank you, Sister Qin."

"No need to thank me." Xu Qin walked back to the bar, picked up her coffee, took a sip, and without looking at him, said, "Remember to close the door when you leave."

1:50 PM, China Film Group Building.

Yang Ning stood at the doorway, looking up at the building.

The China Film Group building in 2002 wasn't as grand as it is now, but it was already impressive enough to make anyone wanting to enter the industry look up to it.

He carried his briefcase, his palms slightly sweaty. It wasn't nervousness, just a natural bodily reaction—

At twenty-two, the body hasn't yet learned to completely hide its emotions.

Take a deep breath.

Once, twice.

Stepping into the lobby, a cool breeze hit him. A young woman in uniform sat at the reception desk, looking up at him: "Who are you looking for?"

"I've arranged to meet at Deputy Director Liu's office at 2:30."

"Register."

Yang Ning wrote his name and the date in the register. His handwriting was steady, even more steady than he had expected.

The elevator reached the seventh floor, and the doors opened.

The corridor was carpeted in dark red, which absorbed all sound.

Both office doors were closed, with signs on the doors reading "Office," "Department," and "Center."

In the innermost room, a bespectacled female secretary in her thirties sat by the door, typing. Seeing him, she stopped typing: "Yang Ning?"

"Yes."

"Wait a moment." She got up, knocked on the door, went in, and came out half a minute later. "Director Liu would like to invite you in."

Yang Ning pushed open the door.

The office was small, piled high with documents and videotapes. The air smelled of smoke and old paper.

Behind the desk, a man in his fifties was looking at documents; his hair was thinning slightly.

"Hello, Director Liu." Yang Ning bowed slightly.

Deputy Director Liu looked up, took off his reading glasses, and sized him up.

From top to bottom, from face to hands, finally stopping at that cheap briefcase.

"The one Xiao Xu recommended?"

"Yes, Sister Xu Qin introduced me to this place."

"Please have a seat," Deputy Director Liu said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "Did you bring the notebook?"

Yang Ning sat down and opened his briefcase. He took out only two things—the script and the storyboard.

He handed it over with both hands.

Deputy Director Liu took it, first weighed it in his hand, and then raised an eyebrow.

Opening the script, the first page is the title page, with only one line of text:

Doomsday: The Purple Cloud Era

—The Beginning of a New World

He glanced at Yang Ning, said nothing, and continued flipping through the pages.

I watched for about five minutes, skipping around, occasionally pausing for a few more seconds on a particular page.

Then put down the script and picked up the storyboard.

I'll watch it for a longer time this time.

When he turned to the third page, his finger stopped on a single frame—

The protagonist used his superpower for the first time, and lightning exploded from his palm, sending surrounding debris flying.

In the lower right corner of the screen, there is a small note: "Low camera angle, slow motion, lightning effects require layered rendering."

"Did you draw this?" Deputy Director Liu looked up.

"Yes," Yang Ning said. "I studied fine arts, and later switched to directing."

"From film school?"

I just graduated this year.

Deputy Director Liu looked down at the painting again.

After turning a few pages, the scene comes to a grand spectacle—the defense of the city walls.

The image contains dozens of figures, each with their position, actions, and expressions clearly marked.

"How many people would that take?" he asked.

"There were 200 actors on set, and the final image will have over a thousand people, thanks to post-production special effects," Yang Ning said.

"I want to make a growth shot, panning from one end of the city wall to the other, for three minutes without stopping."

Deputy Director Liu didn't say anything and continued flipping through the pages.

One page, two pages, three pages... He turned to about a third of the page and closed it.

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Young man," he said flatly, "do you know what you're doing?"

"I know." Yang Ning sat up straighter. "I want to make a movie."

"It's not a movie," Deputy Director Liu said, looking him into the eyes. "It's war."

An investment of 1.2 million involves people, departments, and resources...

This is a war. Have you ever fought in a war?

Yang Ning remained silent for two seconds.

"No," he said, "but I've studied every classic battle."

Deputy Director Liu laughed, not a happy laugh, but the kind of laugh that comes from seeing "young people who don't know their place."

He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and the smoke rose slowly in the sunlight.

"Keep the script," he said. "Keep the storyboard too. I need time to look at it."

Yang Ning's heart sank – the lack of an immediate response meant that the matter was being shelved.

"However," Deputy Director Liu flicked his cigarette ash, "it's rare for Xiao Xu to speak up."

Okay, Mr. Han has a preliminary review meeting for a project next week, I'll submit your materials there.

But whether I can get into the association, and what position I'll be ranked, is not up to me.

"Thank you, Director Liu." Yang Ning stood up and bowed.

"Don't thank me yet." Deputy Director Liu also stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to him.

"It's a good thing that young people have ideas."

But you should know that China Film Group receives hundreds of scripts every year, but no more than ten are approved. 1.2 million... that's a huge number.

He turned around and looked at Yang Ning: "You go back first. I'll let Xiao Xu know if there's any news."

"I understand," Yang Ning said. "Thank you for your help."

I walked out of the office, the door closing behind me.

Yang Ning paused in the corridor.

My palms are still wet, but not because I'm nervous.

It's because of excitement.