This director only directs blockbusters.

Nicholas Tse sat alone by the window in his hotel room, a cigarette between his fingers, but he didn't light it.

Johannesburg outside the window was already asleep. A few lights shone in the distance, scattered like cigarette butts. Almost six hours had passed since the daytime farce ended, but his mind was still racing.

He stood by and watched as the mayor handed over the keys. The old man in the suit shook Yang Ning's hand, his face crinkled with smiles, repeatedly calling him "Chinese friend" and "Sino-South African friendship." Flashbulbs popped and popped, like a movie scene.

Nicholas Tse didn't think much of it at the time. Having lived in Hong Kong for twenty-three years, he'd seen this kind of scene countless times. Officials giving speeches, reporters taking photos, everyone putting on a show—it's all just for appearances.

But then the group of people from the Chinese Chamber of Commerce arrived.

Sister Chen, holding Yang Ning's hand, with red eyes, said, "We old overseas Chinese have lived abroad for so many years, and this is the first time we've seen a film crew from China being bullied like this."

Her voice trembled as she said this.

Nicholas Tse stood behind her, watching her back. The woman was in her fifties, with half her hair white, and wearing a faded floral shirt.

He had run a restaurant abroad for twenty years and built up a business, but when he said this, he sounded like a wronged child.

"If you need anything in the future, feel free to contact us. Here, we old folks still have some influence."

At that moment, Nicholas Tse suddenly felt something stir within him.

It wasn't just being moved. It was... something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He recalled many years ago, when he first started out in the industry, traveling abroad with film crews to shoot movies. He encountered trouble and was sometimes bullied. What did he do then? He endured it. He called his company, but they said they had no one there and he had to figure it out himself. He contacted the local police, but they said it wasn't their jurisdiction. In the end, he could only pay to avoid trouble, getting ripped off.

After that experience, he learned a lesson—out there, you're all alone. No one will help you unless you pay them.

But now, looking at all this, he saw it all. People from the embassy had arrived, the police had arrived, the mayor had arrived, even people from the chamber of commerce had arrived.

Just because they are a Chinese film crew, just because they were bullied while filming in South Africa.

He suddenly remembered what Yang Ning had said on the phone earlier that day—"Thank you, Chairman Han."

Who is Chairman Han? Han Shanping, the CEO of China Film Group. He can make a phone call from Beijing to South Africa, and have embassy officials waiting outside his hotel the very next morning.

What's behind this?

He dared not think any further. But that thought, like grass in spring, could not be suppressed.

---

He took out his phone and opened the notes app.

Let me write something.

I tapped the screen a few times with my finger and started typing.

Johannesburg, August 3, 2003, sunny

Something happened on set today. A bunch of local thugs came to cause trouble, but we managed to fight them off.

I've encountered something similar when I was filming in Hong Kong before. I was sixteen then, filming "Gen-X Cops," and a group of people came to the set to collect protection money.

The Jackie Chan Stunt Team members stepped in and talked to them, eventually giving them 20,000 yuan before they left.

Back then, I thought that was the rule. That's how it is outside: if you have money, you're safe; if you don't, you get beaten up. Nobody will help you because you're not one of them.

But today is different.

Director Yang made a phone call. The embassy staff arrived early the next morning.

They were driving a car with diplomatic license plates, accompanied by local South African police. They stood outside the film set, and the thugs glanced at them from afar before turning and running away.

Then the mayor arrived. Dressed in a suit, accompanied by reporters, he personally presented Director Yang with a golden key—an honorary citizen of Thornton.

Later, a group of uncles and aunts from the Chinese Chamber of Commerce brought fruit and drinks, and held Director Yang's hand, saying, "Come to us if you need anything in the future."

I stood there watching, suddenly unsure of what to say.

In my 23 years in Hong Kong, I've never experienced anything like this. Not because Hong Kong is bad, but because... it's different.

There's a term called "backing someone." I didn't understand it before. I thought that people should rely on themselves to survive, and that no one else could be relied on. But now I think I understand. Backing someone isn't a person, it's a mountain. That mountain is there, and if you stand at its foot, you won't be afraid.

I don't know how to describe this feeling. It's just... a sense of security. Like when I was a child and fell down, and I looked up to see my dad standing next to me.

Director Yang said, "We're not fighting this battle alone while we're filming outside."

I didn't believe it before. Now I do.

He stopped writing here.

Looking out the window, the night was deep.

He remembered his notebook, the one he always kept in his suitcase. The cover was black, the edges were worn, and inside were notes about his experiences filming over the years.

Good, bad, heartbreaking, and aggrieved.

I never thought of showing it to anyone before.

But now, he suddenly wants to share this article with more people.

He continued typing:

I have a habit of writing a diary every time I'm filming. This notebook has been with me for five years, from Hong Kong to mainland China, and from mainland China to South Africa. It's full of notes about filming, and I never show it to anyone.

But I want to publish this piece today. To let more people know what it feels like to have someone back you up when you're filming on location.

It's not about showing off, it's about letting those of us who are working hard away from home know—

There is a mountain behind you.

It's always been there.

After writing the last word, he put down his phone.

I picked up the cigarette that I hadn't lit yet and lit it.

As the smoke rose, he suddenly smiled.

I haven't laughed like this in many years.

---

The next morning, Yang Ning ran into him at the restaurant.

"Didn't you sleep well last night?" Yang Ning noticed some dark circles under his eyes.

Nicholas Tse shook his head and handed over his phone.

"Director Yang, take a look at this."

Yang Ning took it and looked at the memo on the screen.

I read it very slowly.

After reading it, he looked up at Nicholas Tse.

"Want to publish?"

"Um."

Yang Ning thought for a moment.

"Where to send it?"

"I haven't decided yet," Nicholas Tse said. "Ming Pao or Wen Wei Po are both fine."

Yang Ning nodded and handed the phone back to him.

"Send it once you've thought it through."

Nicholas Tse looked at him: "You don't object?"

"Why are you against it?" Yang Ning took a sip of coffee. "You're telling the truth."

Nicholas Tse remained silent for a few seconds.

"Director Yang," he suddenly said, "I used to think that making movies was just making movies, and it had nothing to do with anything else. Now I think that's not necessarily true."

Yang Ning smiled.

You'll see eventually.

Nicholas Tse nodded and said nothing more.

---

Later, that article was published. It was a full page in Hong Kong's Ming Pao, titled "South Africa Diary: That Night, I Saw the Mountains."

Yang Ning only saw it after returning to China. On the plane, a flight attendant handed him a newspaper, and he casually flipped through it and saw that headline.

The article is written simply, without fancy words or sentimental sentences. It's written in Nicholas Tse's tone, understated, like chatting with a friend.

After reading it, Yang Ning folded the newspaper and put it in his bag.

I later heard that the article sparked a lot of discussion in Hong Kong. Some people agreed with it, some disagreed, some called it "political propaganda," and some called it "a genuine expression of feelings."

Nicholas Tse did not respond.

He only said one sentence in an interview:

"I'm just writing down what I've seen. Whether you believe it or not is up to you."

Yang Ning knew that phrase.

Because he learned it later too.

Some things don't need explanation.

Those who understand will understand.

No matter how much you explain it to someone who doesn't understand, it's useless.

Just like that day in South Africa, standing in the center of the film set, watching the mayor smile and hand over that golden key.

At that moment, his heart stirred as well.

He just didn't say it.

But Nicholas Tse said so.