Chapter 28: Screening

In the front row, Vice Dean Hou Keming smiled at Xie Xiaojing and said:

“Your new student this year has real guts!”

“He dares to face the entire school’s scrutiny right after enrolling.”

The head of the Acting Department beside him added:

“Old Xie, a freshman who dares to shoot and publicly screen a short film after only two months—has that ever happened at Jingying before? Aren’t you afraid your student will get crushed here?”

Xie Xiaojing adjusted his glasses and smiled warmly:

“He doesn’t look like a fool. Raising money himself to make a short film right after entering school? That’s talent. True gold fears no fire!”

“If he breaks here, then better he gives up on film early and finds another path—it might even be a good thing.”

“But if he can withstand it, no matter how this film turns out, I’m backing him.”

“Excellent—true gold fears no fire!” Hou Keming laughed heartily.

The head of the Acting Department beside him gave Xie Xiaojing a thumbs-up: “You’re still the toughest one, kid!”

Time ticked away second by second; as seven o’clock neared, the entire screening hall fell silent. Jingying students still respected cinema etiquette—no matter how good or bad the film, it was a form of respect for the creator.

At exactly seven, the big screen first went dark, then white text appeared.

“Joint production by the Beijing Film Academy Film Group.”

“Director: Wu Yuchen.

Screenwriter: Wu Yuchen

Assistant Director: Jia Zhangke, Wu Shixian, Chen Er

…”

Then, centered on the screen, the title flashed: “Bus 44.”

The film opened with a wide shot: a bus traveling on a desolate, sparsely populated road. The sky above was vast and gray, the land dull yellow, with distant crows cawing.

Just this one shot—the color palette and the crows’ cries—immediately gave the audience a sense of oppression and gloom.

Next, the scene shifted inside the bus: passengers wore dark clothing, few spoke, and a heavy, lifeless air hung in the air. When the camera turned to the female driver, her bright red coat stood out sharply, making viewers instinctively sense she was unusual.

Hou Keming silently thought: This freshman has real skill with color language!

When someone waved down the bus from the roadside, it slowed to a stop. A thin, slightly scruffy but not unpleasant youth boarded, chatting casually with the female driver as if they were old friends.

His line, “I’ve been waiting over two hours,” subtly revealed the driver’s kindness.

The bus continued, then stopped again when two men pretending to be ill blocked the road. But the moment the doors opened, they straightened up, pulled out daggers, and revealed their violent intent!

All passengers were terrified by the ruthless robbers; those who refused to hand over money were beaten.

The students in the screening hall were fully immersed in the plot, but the teachers in the front row saw more.

Low-angle tilting shots showed passengers’ fear of the robbers; high-angle shots emphasized the robbers’ view of the passengers as weak and powerless. Several close-ups were inserted perfectly, vividly portraying the psychological states of the robbers, the female driver, and the passengers—simple, swift, clear, with a sharp edge.

This Wu Yuchen really knows his craft!

Not even some graduates with years of on-set experience could so skillfully combine and deploy these cinematic languages. Is this kid gifted beyond measure?!

Just as the robbers finished stealing money and prepared to leave, the taller robber paused at the door, tilting his neck, staring coldly at the beautiful female driver without moving—the air seemed to freeze. Then, suddenly, he grabbed her and yanked her off the bus.

Her struggles and cries for help echoed inside the bus; everyone knew what was coming.

The thin youth stood up and looked around at the passengers: “Why are you all just sitting there?”

A middle-aged man rose to act, but his wife yanked him back down; silence returned to the bus.

The youth stood at the door, frowning at the passengers, then charged out alone.

Everyone inside immediately stood up and crowded to the windows, craning their necks to watch.

The camera followed their viewpoint: the thin youth was brutally beaten by the robber’s henchman, a knife slash cutting his leg, sending him crashing to the ground.

Meanwhile, despite the driver’s struggles, her clothes were torn; her heart-wrenching cries made it clear what was happening.

The camera did not return to the violence; instead, from outside the bus, it slowly panned from front to back, through the glass, giving the passengers inside a ten-second long take—sunlight glinted off the glass, making the entire bus glare painfully.

“Whoa—this shot? Brilliant!” The head of the Acting Department couldn’t help murmuring.

Several teachers recognized the shot’s deliberate composition, lighting, and color symbolism.

When the scene cut back to the wasteland, the two criminals had fled. The youth lay on the ground, clutching his wounded leg, moaning. The female driver rose silently, dazed, stumbling back onto the bus.

Seeing her disheveled hair tangled with grass, her torn collar, her face streaked with tears and blood mixed with dust, the passengers remained silent—but all averted their eyes, none daring to meet hers.

The driver stood at the door, staring at the full bus. In just a few seconds, humiliation, sorrow, rage, and hatred flashed across her face—then she sat numbly back in the driver’s seat, slumping over the steering wheel, weeping.

The horn blared as she accidentally hit it. When she lifted her head, she saw the small dog figurine on the dashboard, nodding and grinning. That once-cute smile now looked mocking. Her eyes hardened with hatred and vengeance.

Watching from the audience, Chen Shasha and Yin Qiaoqiao were stunned: When did Jiang Qin’s acting get this good?!

The head of the Acting Department in the front row, watching Jiang Qin’s performance as the driver, nodded in quiet satisfaction.

Beside him, Hou Keming thought the detail was brilliant: using a car ornament to trigger the driver’s emotional breakdown—this director never stopped surprising people!

“Are you okay?”

The youth stood at the door, limping, concerned. Then his face twisted with guilt:

“I’m sorry!”

The female driver looked at him with a complex expression:

“Get off! Get off my bus!”

“Why? I was the only one who tried to save you!” The youth looked stunned, hurt.

The driver bit her lip, pressed the door button shut, then threw his luggage out the window and drove away, leaving the youth alone on the desolate road.

“Fuck!” The youth sat in the middle of the road, clutching his leg, breathing heavily, utterly bewildered.

At that moment, a strange, sinister music suddenly rose—rhythmic, hypnotic, as if the events had been a dream, yet striking deep into the audience’s hearts.

Many students in the audience quietly echoed the protagonist’s “Fuck.”

In 1995, morality still held sway; bravery and righteousness were encouraged, and the audience? A crowd of passionate, idealistic students.

So this scene filled them with burning anger—they felt suffocated, choked: What kind of thing was this?!

A passing jeep kindly picked up the injured youth. But when they reached a certain spot, they found police cars blocking the road. The youth got out, limped over, and watched.

He heard the police say: “We saw Bus 44.

Just confirmed—all passengers and the driver are dead.”

The youth stood before the wreckage, his expression first confused—then his lips curled into a strange smile.

The background music cut off abruptly. The screen plunged into darkness.

“Fuck!” The audience could no longer hold back—they shouted out in shock.