This director only directs blockbusters.

The later stages of "Dragon Shield Crisis" progressed slower than expected.

Yang Ning spends every day in the special effects studio, sitting for more than ten hours at a time.

There were no windows in the shed, so it was impossible to tell day from night; only the light from the screen shone on my face.

The air was filled with the burnt smell of heated equipment, the smell of instant noodles, and the stuffiness of poor ventilation.

Han Duoduo and her classmate, who had returned from the United States, meticulously examined the screen frame by frame.

Liu Yong's models took up half the shed, and the materials he shot in South Africa were spread all over the floor, covered with labels.

On the third day of Wuershan's visit, he encountered a problem.

That day, I watched the section about the winding mountain road—Nicholas Tse drove his car off a cliff, spun three times in the air, and then deployed a parachute.

Han Duoduo released the initial version of the video, which combined live-action footage with CGI.

The screen lights up. The car speeds forward, spins in the air, and the parachute opens with a "bang." The visuals are smooth, and the special effects are detailed.

After the performance, the shed was quiet for a few seconds.

The only sound was the hum of the machine.

Yang Ning didn't speak, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the frozen scene. The car had just opened its umbrella, the canopy unfolding in the setting sun.

Wuershan stood at the back, not saying a word. He had just arrived and was still hesitant to speak, but his eyes remained fixed on the screen.

Han Duoduo bit her lip, tapping her fingers on the mouse, and asked softly, "Director Yang, isn't...something wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Yang Ning asked, his voice quite flat.

"That flip," Han Duoduo pointed and zoomed in on a part, "the footage is great, and Nicholas Tse's performance is spot on."

However, after the synthesis, the tracking of the helicopter is a bit unstable.

Also, when the umbrella is open, the lighting and shadow matching are not precise enough, and the highlights on the umbrella surface are not positioned correctly.

Yang Ning nodded without comment. He turned to look at Wuershan.

What do you think?

Wuershan was stunned for a moment. Everyone in the studio was looking at him. He swallowed hard, walked to the screen, bent down, and stared at the frozen image for more than ten seconds.

"That drift," he began, his voice a little strained, clearing his throat, "is it because the angle of the real-life helicopter and the CGI model's perspective aren't perfectly aligned? If they're a few degrees off, the movement trajectory won't match."

Han Duoduo's eyes lit up: "You figured it out?"

"Hmm," Wuershan said, gesturing in the air, "The helicopter was filmed from this angle, but the CGI model was built from that angle. It was almost like the two layers of skin weren't properly attached when it came to motion."

He paused, then pointed to the highlights on the umbrella surface.

"There was also light. It was a little after four in the afternoon in South Africa, the sun was in the west, and the light was coming from this side at an angle."

He drew a diagonal line with his hand, "The light in CGI is flat, although it's also a sunset, it doesn't have that angle."

Almost, I can't quite put my finger on what's wrong, but it just doesn't feel right—the live-action has a warmth to it, the CGI doesn't.

Yang Ning stood up, walked to the screen, and stood side by side with Wuershan.

"Duoduo, bring up the original footage," Yang Ning said.

Han Duoduo tapped a few times on the keyboard, and the screen split in two. The left side showed the actual footage, while the right side displayed CGI.

Once the original footage is shown, the difference becomes even more obvious.

The actual lighting in the photos has layers, with a golden gradient reminiscent of four o'clock in the afternoon.

CGI lighting is flat; it has everything it should, but it lacks warmth.

The shed became even quieter.

"Can it be fixed?" Yang Ning asked, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

Han Duoduo thought for a moment: "Yes, but it will require re-rendering. We'll need to adjust the lighting and shadows frame by frame, aligning the CGI lighting parameters with the actual footage frame by frame. It will take a week."

"One week it is," Yang Ning said. "Let's do it."

Wuershan listened silently from the side.

But Yang Ning noticed that he looked at the screen with great focus, as if he wanted to absorb every detail.

At lunchtime, a few people squatted in the open space outside the shed and ate their boxed lunches. It was still cold in Beijing in March, and the wind quickly dissipated the heat from the lunchboxes.

Liu Yong, picking at the braised pork, mumbled, "Director Yang, if we keep doing this post-production, Duoduo and her crew might go bald."

Yesterday I saw Xiao Zhang—the one who wears glasses, Duo Duo's classmate—shed a handful of hair in one go.

"Going bald is considered a work injury," Yang Ning said, picking up a piece of eggplant. The eggplant was cold and a bit greasy.

Han Duoduo laughed from the side: "My classmates are really good at staying up late. They worked until 3 a.m. last night and came back at 9 a.m. this morning. Their eyes were all red."

"And you?"

"You really are a capitalist. Don't you know what I'm like?" Han Duoduo broke apart a disposable chopstick and smoothed out the rough edges.

"Weren't you watching me grind it down bit by bit? But speaking of which, 'Zi Xiao' was much harsher back then."

The craziest time was when I didn't sleep for 72 hours. I ended up having to go to the hospital for an IV drip, and the doctor said that if I kept going like that, I would die suddenly.

She spoke casually, as if she were talking about someone else's story.

Wuershan squatted to the side, remaining silent the entire time.

He ate slowly, staring blankly into the distance—in the distance was the wall of the special effects company, gray and covered with withered ivy vines.

Yang Ning glanced at him.

"Old Wu."

Wuershan snapped out of his daze: "Hmm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"I want the lighting to match." Wuershan poked at the lunchbox with his chopsticks, stirring the food together.

"If only we had taken more sets of photos of the light from different angles back in South Africa—"

"You used to take photos in different lighting conditions—front light, side light, backlight—at every time of day. Now, wouldn't it be much less troublesome? You can just use a reference image."

Yang Ning smiled faintly, but there was something in her eyes.

"Yes."

Wuershan paused for a moment, then laughed. The laugh was a mix of self-deprecation, realization, and regret—"Why didn't I think of that?"

"I've learned something," he said, shoveling the last bite of rice into his mouth.

Let's continue this afternoon.

Wuershan learned software from Han Duoduo.

He sat next to Han Duoduo, staring intently at her hands.

When it's my turn to do it, I become clumsy—clicking the wrong menu, entering the wrong parameters, and often making a mess of the screen.

Han Duoduo wasn't impatient and taught her again and again: "This parameter adjusts the shadow density, this adjusts the highlight range, this is ambient occlusion... Yes, like this, take your time."

Liu Yong watched the commotion from the side, grinding a car model part in his hand. As he did so, he said, "Old Wu, are your hands the kind you use for making movies? How come they're so clumsy? Clicking the mouse is like holding a hoe."

Wuershan wasn't angry. His eyes were still fixed on the screen, his right hand holding the mouse, and his left hand searching for keys on the keyboard. His movements were stiff but serious: "Making movies doesn't rely on a mouse."

"Then what do you rely on?"

"It's all about your eyes," Wuershan said, without looking away. "Once your eyes are focused, your hands will naturally follow."

Liu Yong was momentarily speechless; he opened his mouth, but then remained silent.

He turned to look at Yang Ning, who was watching the playback on the other side, her back to them, but her shoulders twitched slightly—she was smiling.

Liu Yong shook his head and continued grinding his parts.

Yang Ning was indeed smiling. It was very faint; no one noticed.

This person is interesting. They have a keen eye, but are clumsy with their hands; however, they're willing to learn. That's what matters.

In this industry, many people are talented but unwilling to learn, and end up wasting their potential. Those who are willing to learn, even if it takes time, will eventually succeed.

At nine o'clock in the evening, Han Duoduo and her classmates left first. They couldn't hold on any longer after three days.

When a boy stood up, he swayed, and Han Duoduo quickly helped him up.

"Duoduo, you guys go back too," Yang Ning said. "You have to come back tomorrow."

"Director Yang, I'll keep an eye on this for a little longer and finish this shot..."

"If you can't finish it, do it tomorrow." Yang Ning interrupted her, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Go back to sleep. That's an order."

Han Duoduo bit her lip and finally nodded: "Okay."

She packed her things and left with her classmates. The shed suddenly became much emptier, with only Yang Ning, Wuershan, and a few humming machines remaining.

Wuershan was still fixated on one shot. It was the moment the car plunged off the cliff, at the boundary between live-action and CGI.

He adjusted the parameters again and again, previewed the screen repeatedly, and deleted and started over and over again. The light from the screen flickered on his face.

Yang Ning walked over and sat down next to him. The chair was a swivel chair, and he spun halfway around to face the screen.

"No rush," he said.

Wuershan didn't stop, his eyes still glued to the screen: "I know. But that's just how I am, I can't sleep until I finish my work. If something's on my mind, I'll lie in bed with my eyes open."

Yang Ning didn't try to persuade him further. He lit a cigarette, but didn't smoke it; he held it between his fingers and watched it burn slowly. Then he looked at Wuershan.

The images on the screen flashed by frame by frame. For the lighting and shadow matching problem, Ulsan used the most basic and inefficient method—

Check it frame by frame. Place the live-action footage and CGI side by side, zoom in, and look at the highlight positions, shadow density, and reflection details.

Then, the CGI lighting parameters were adjusted frame by frame to align the light on both sides.

Slow. Clumsy. But useful.

Yang Ning watched without saying a word.

He remembered doing the same thing many years ago—not in this life, but in a previous one.

I stared at the screen, meticulously examining frame by frame until my eyes blurred and I could no longer distinguish between reality and the image.

Back then, no one taught me; I had to figure it out on my own. If I made a mistake, I would start over; if I got it right, I would remember it.

Now there are people to teach me. But I still have to walk my own path, step by step.

Half an hour, or maybe longer, passed. Wuershan pressed the Enter key, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long sigh.

"Alright," he said.