Just because I wrote "Zhu Xian," the school beauty sent me razor blades.

Chen Yuan was even more efficient than Lin Yuan had expected.

On October 9th, Chen Yuan brought back a crucial piece of information—the August First Film Studio.

As a film production institution directly under the Chinese military, the August First Film Studio has produced countless classic military-themed films, and its resources and influence within the industry and the military are unmatched by any private company. For such a sensitive joint project, having the August First Film Studio as the primary producer is ten times smoother than Tianxing trying to force it on its own.

"I've made contact with the August First Film Studio through an old connection," Chen Yuan reported to Sun Heming over the phone. "The deputy director of their creative department was very interested after reading the script outline and said he wanted to arrange a formal script review."

"What is the military's attitude?" Sun Heming asked.

"The process is still underway, but preliminary feedback from the space agency has arrived. They said they will arrange for experts to participate in the review of the script, which involves the history of China's nuclear weapons and satellite program and the Gobi Desert test scenario."

Sun Heming hung up the phone and asked his assistant to call Lin Yuan up.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Lin Yuan walked in.

"Lin Yuan."

"Um?"

"Next Monday, the August First Film Studio, the military, and the space agency will have a three-way meeting to review the script. You're coming with me."

Lin Yuan closed the script and nodded.

"The initial feedback from the August First Film Studio is good, but the formal review is another matter." Sun Heming's tone was very serious. "The people sitting across from you will include veteran directors who have spent their lives making military films, and experts who have actually participated in national aerospace projects. You need to be mentally prepared."

"I know what I'm doing," Lin Yuan said.

October 12th, 9:30 AM.

The screening room at the August First Film Studio.

The room was small, with a circle of dark fabric sofas arranged in a semi-circle, and a projection screen lowered in front of it.

There weren't many people who arrived, but each one of them was a heavyweight figure whom Lin Yuan had never met before in his life.

Three people from the August First Film Studio arrived. The leader was Zhou Jianguo, the director of the studio's creative department. He was in his fifties, with his hair shaved very short, and sat upright, exuding the sharp, efficient air characteristic of a soldier. A younger woman sat next to him, taking notes. The third person was an elderly man wearing reading glasses. He didn't say a word, but Sun Heming was exceptionally polite to him when he entered, calling him "Director Qin."

Two military representatives arrived, dressed in crisp uniforms, serious and unsmiling, their rank insignia gleaming slightly under the fluorescent lights.

An elderly man with gray hair and a middle-aged man wearing glasses arrived from the space agency. The elderly man, surnamed Fang, had participated in some of the supporting work for the early "Two Bombs, One Satellite" series and was a true witness to history.

On Tianxing's side, Sun Heming brought Lin Yuan and Fei Zhao with him.

Lin Yuan was the youngest face in the room.

This can be seen from the way everyone looked at him after entering the room.

Zhou Jianguo spoke first, his voice crisp and clear: "We've all read the script. To sum it up, I personally think this script is worth recommending."

He paused, then looked at the "Director Qin" beside him: "Director Qin, would you like to go first?"

Director Qin took off his reading glasses and began to speak slowly. His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried weight.

"The story is good. The scenes set in the US were well-written, without excessive sentimentality or deliberate exaggeration. The scenes in the Gobi Desert after returning home used a restrained style to portray the sacrifices of that generation. Especially the final mushroom cloud scene—"

"The imagery was very vivid. I couldn't see the camera, but I could see the visuals. That's something you only see in a good script."

The military representative opened the documents in front of him: "We've checked publicly available information regarding the historical events mentioned in the script, and they're generally accurate. A few lines of dialogue need minor adjustments, but the overall direction is fine."

Mr. Fang from the space agency remained silent, only slowly stroking the cover of the script with his hand.

He didn't speak until everyone had finished.

His voice wasn't loud, but it had a hoarse quality that came with the passage of time.

"The scene depicted in the script—on the Gobi Desert, after the successful experiment, everyone stood there, without cheering or applauding, simply gazing silently into the distance."

He raised his head.

"That's true."

The screening room fell silent for a moment.

"I was one of the people standing there," Mr. Fang said. "In 1964, I was twenty-three years old. The wind was very strong that day, and the sand stung our faces. But no one moved. We just stood there, for a long time."

He lowered his head and turned to the last few pages of the script.

"The script was right. That generation didn't lack the desire to speak; they simply didn't know what to say. Were they happy? Yes. But more than anything, they felt a sense of relief."

"This script," Mr. Fang said, closing the script, his voice soft but firm, "I approve of making it into a film."

The atmosphere in the screening room changed completely.

If the previous stance was one of "review," the current stance is more like tacit approval.

Zhou Jianguo tapped the table, bringing the discussion back on track: "Since everyone has reached a preliminary consensus, I have a technical question—has the director for this project been decided?"

"It's settled," Sun Heming said.

"who?"

"The person sitting next to me."

Zhou Jianguo's gaze fell on Lin Yuan.

Lin Yuan sat very upright, meeting his gaze.

What's your name?

"Lin Yuan."

What works have you directed before?

"No. This is the first one."

Zhou Jianguo raised an eyebrow: "No other work? A new director directing a film of this scale?"

"Director Qin, what do you think?" Zhou Jianguo turned to look at the old man.

Director Qin put his reading glasses back on and looked at Lin Yuan for a few more seconds.

How old is he this year?

"eighteen."

Behind Director Qin's glasses, his eyelid twitched.

"Eighteen years old." He repeated, then suddenly laughed. "When I was eighteen, I was drawing slides for the army's propaganda team."

No one answered in the screening room.

"However—" Director Qin changed the subject, "I've drawn slides my whole life, but I've never written a script like this."

He looked at Zhou Jianguo: "The script is the soul. The depth of the scriptwriter's understanding of the characters and the story is more important than any technical experience. Most directors on the market might not be able to capture the essence of this script. Letting the writer direct it is probably the closest we can get to its true form."

Zhou Jianguo was silent for a few seconds, then looked at Sun Heming: "What about Tianxing's plan?"

Sun Heming laid out the previously agreed-upon model: Lin Yuan would serve as director, responsible for the overall direction and quality control; Tian Xing would be responsible for finding a senior executive director to form a team, handling on-site coordination and administrative tasks. The two generations would collaborate, each leveraging their strengths.

"Have you chosen an executive director yet?" Zhou Jianguo asked.

"We're currently in contact with them, and there are several directions we're exploring."

Zhou Jianguo thought for a moment and nodded: "This model is acceptable. But the executive director must be qualified; we can't let a newcomer handle it all by himself."

"We know this better than anyone else," Sun Heming said.

Ultimately, all parties reached an agreement.

Tianxing Entertainment provided the funding, with August First Film Studio as the primary producer, and the military and the space agency as joint support units, jointly launching the project.

The script was submitted to military and space agency experts for further technical review, with minor adjustments made to the dialogue and scenes.

Confidentiality agreements, prop approvals, and actor background checks were all conducted according to standard procedures.

What happened next was like something out of fast forward.

The moment the National Film Administration officially issued the project approval document, Fei Zhao breathed a long sigh of relief.

"It's done." She took a picture of the approval document and sent it to Sun Heming, along with two words.

Sun Heming replied with a single word: "Do it."

The formation of the core creative team proceeded almost simultaneously.

The art director was Zhao Mingyuan, a well-known "detail maniac" in the industry. He had built sets for period dramas, from the Republic of China era to the Cultural Revolution to the Reform and Opening Up, and he could capture the texture and atmosphere of each era down to the pore level. Fei Zhao sent him the script, and he only replied with one sentence: When do we start filming?

Xu Heng was chosen as the director of photography. He had shot several award-winning art films and possessed exceptional cinematic skills, particularly in using light and shadow and composition to tell stories. Lin Yuan reviewed his portfolio and immediately decided: he's the one.

The costume, makeup, and props team was recommended by the August First Film Studio, and they have collaborated with the team many times before. They have a complete database and production capabilities for costumes, makeup, and props for period dramas, from Zhongshan suits in the 1950s to work pants in the 1960s, from the MIT school badge to the weathered sand effects of Lop Nur, all of which can be made to look real.

The assistant director was ultimately chosen from a man named Lao Zheng—Zheng Guodong, fifty-two years old, who had spent most of his life in filmmaking, working his way up from script supervisor to assistant director, possessing extremely solid experience. He wasn't picky about scripts, didn't fight for credit, and would work for whatever money he was paid for, but he was extremely reliable. After speaking with him on the phone, Fei Zhao told Lin Yuan, "This guy is the most stable anchor on set; you're responsible for letting your imagination run wild, and he's responsible for bringing you back to reality."

"That sounds like a good fit."

"His only condition is—" Fei Zhao paused, "you have to let him see the script. He said he won't work for a director who doesn't read the script."

"Show him."

After reading the script, Lao Zheng remained silent for a long time, then sent Fei Zhao a message: "This kid's got something. I'll take over."

Casting is the most time-consuming part of the entire preparation process.

It's not because they can't find the right people, but because the subject matter is too special—all the main actors have to pass a political vetting process, which means that more than half of the popular celebrities are eliminated.

The casting of the male lead caused the team a long-standing headache. The role had a vastly different scope, ranging from the spirited young man in his twenties to the composed and reserved man in his sixties, requiring exceptional acting skills. Lin Yuan compiled a list, none of whom were popular celebrities; all were middle-aged actors with solid acting foundations.

Ultimately, through multi-party coordination, the key actors for the main characters were finalized.

Location scouting is underway simultaneously.

The location shooting team split into three groups. One group went to the Northwest to scout the Gobi Desert and barren landscapes, looking for locations that best captured the atmosphere of the Lop Nur test site from that era. Another group went to old Western-style buildings in Shanghai to scout locations for the American scenes. The third group stayed around Beijing to select locations that could be converted into interior scenes of the Chinese Academy of Sciences and the Aerospace Research Institute in the 1950s.

Making props is an even bigger project.

Missile launchers, experimental equipment, early computers, wind tunnel models... these things couldn't be bought on the market; all of them needed to be remade as simulation models based on historical data. The August First Film Studio coordinated a military-grade model workshop to handle this task. The design drawings for each prop had to be submitted to the space agency for approval before production could begin.

The confidentiality agreement has been strictly enforced from day one.

All personnel entering the core production team—lead creators, actors, and key technical personnel—must sign two confidentiality agreements before entering the set: one for Tianxing's commercial confidentiality and the other for the military and space agency's classified confidentiality. The script is only permitted to be read in designated locations and is not allowed to be photographed, copied, or taken out in any form. All materials are copied and sealed on the same day during filming and stored in the secure data center of the August First Film Studio.

As a director, Lin Yuan's work schedule runs from 7 a.m. to 1 or 2 a.m. every day.

During the day, he attends meetings, scouts locations, reviews props, and goes over details with various departments. In the evening, he returns to the temporary office that Tianxing arranged for him, turns on his computer, writes storyboards, reviews the footage from the day's location scouting, or analyzes the lighting and shadow treatments of similar films.

One late night, after revising the lines for the final scene, Lin Yuan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his sore eyes.

The phone lit up briefly.

Hongqiezi Literature Network's backend notification: You have a new private message.

He clicked on it casually.

[Fellow Immortal "Failed Tribulation Tonight": You old bastard, you updated sixteen chapters around National Day and then disappeared! Do you think our lives don't matter?! What are you doing?! I reasonably suspect you've been abducted by aliens!]

Lin Yuan stared at the private message for two seconds, and the corners of his mouth curved into a smile.

He couldn't tell his fellow immortal that he had indeed been "abducted"—just not by aliens.

He typed a line of text.

[Old Man of Mount Akina: I am currently in seclusion cultivating an unparalleled divine skill. Fellow immortals, please wait patiently and do not worry.]

send.

Then he turned off his phone.

The city outside the window was completely silent, with only the occasional car headlights flashing by on the distant overpass, like a silent countdown.

He glanced at the sticky note on the corner of the table.

New Year's Day.

wait for me.