Chapter 32: So You

Xie Xiaojing admired the short film “Car 44,” but didn’t think much of it—after all, a short film was just a short film; it could never be screened in theaters.

Xie Xiaojing looked at Wu Yuchen, waiting to hear what he would say next.

“I want to submit ‘Car 44’ to the Berlin Film Festival for the Short Film Award,” Wu Yuchen said without preamble.

“Berlin…” Xie Xiaojing blinked, momentarily stunned.

They had all completely overlooked the idea of submitting a short film for competition—domestically, short films had never been taken seriously; they were merely seen as tools for training students.

At the same time, Xie Xiaojing wondered in his mind: had any Chinese-language film ever won a short film award abroad before?

He thought for a moment, and vaguely recalled one instance.

In 1982, at what was then called the West Berlin International Film Festival, China’s “Three Monks” won the Silver Bear for Short Film.

But “Three Monks” was an animated film!

It was produced by the Shanghai Animation Film Studio—completely unrelated to their circle of filmmakers, so no one in the industry ever mentioned it.

In the decade and more since, no Chinese-language film had ever been submitted abroad for short film competition, so he had genuinely forgotten the category existed.

“Short film competition…”

Xie Xiaojing murmured it under his breath, then sighed.

“This might not work.”

Shooting a short film domestically required no reporting or approval, but if you wanted to submit it abroad for awards, you needed official clearance.

But Xie Xiaojing considered the content of “Car 44”—it probably wouldn’t pass.

Wu Yuchen nodded; he had expected this.

It was 1995—the review system hadn’t been fully established yet, and many areas were still ambiguous.

If you called it strict, it was far looser than it would be ten or twenty years later—you could see films in the 1990s with content and dialogue far beyond what later generations could imagine.

But if you called it loose, that wasn’t true either—if it touched even remotely on international image issues, they’d nitpick every detail.

And “Car 44,” at this moment, would likely be labeled as defaming the Chinese people.

In his past life, this short film won many international awards in 2001, but was banned domestically—it was only released ten years later, because society had changed so drastically; by then, even encouraging righteous acts was no longer promoted, so banning it made no sense.

But now Wu Yuchen faced this exact problem. He wasn’t panicked—he remained calm and said:

“Teacher, here’s my plan. I won’t use the official submission channel—I’ll mail it abroad under my own name.”

Xie Xiaojing’s brow immediately furrowed, his voice rising sharply:

“How can you do that? Don’t you know this could get you punished?”

In the worst case, even…

Even your future could be ruined!”

Wu Yuchen knew the risks, but this was about funding his next film—taking some risk was worth it.

Besides, the risk wasn’t as great as it seemed.

Wu Yuchen asked Xie Xiaojing:

“Teacher, I know you care about me.

Let me ask you this: which has greater influence—a short film or a feature film?”

“Obviously the feature film!” Xie Xiaojing blurted out.

Everyone knew this—short films couldn’t even be screened in theaters!

Wu Yuchen smiled and continued:

“Last year, ‘To Live’ won countless international awards and had massive influence, but when it returned home, it was banned—yet Brother Zhang Yimou was fine; he just kept making ‘The Road to the Sea.’

I know I can’t compare myself to Brother Zhang, but I’m only making a short film—it won’t even be screened, so its influence and reach are nowhere near the scale of ‘To Live.’

If I don’t win any award, then forget it—the authorities won’t even notice me.

If I do win something, and they ask me about it when I return, I’ll just admit my mistake and say I was a new student who didn’t know any better.

If the school is willing to speak up for me, I think, out of respect for the school, they’ll just give me a verbal reprimand.”

Xie Xiaojing opened his mouth, then paused—this… actually made sense.

Short films had too little influence—they couldn’t be screened in theaters, couldn’t be released on video, and were always ignored domestically.

Later, when Jingying Film Academy sent Wu Yuchen to apologize, saying he was just a naive new student, a written self-criticism and a lecture would be enough—the matter would be settled.

Xie Xiaojing suddenly realized—he looked at the student across from him in astonishment: this kid had planned this from the start?!

He couldn’t help muttering inwardly: Is this really a freshman? He’s way too clever!

Xie Xiaojing pointed at Wu Yuchen and laughed in mock scolding:

“So that’s why you called us all over to watch your film—you were just using us to cover your back, weren’t you!”

Wu Yuchen grinned sheepishly:

“Teacher, how could I ever do that!

I just thought—I’m a student of Jingying Film Academy, and our school is such a united, supportive family—it wouldn’t abandon me!”

Xie Xiaojing shook his head lightly and sighed: “I truly regret calling you here today!”

Wu Yuchen immediately lifted his teacup respectfully: “Thank you, Teacher! Thank you, School!”

Wu Yuchen knew perfectly well—since Xie Xiaojing didn’t oppose it, he had tacitly approved.

“Wu Yuchen, from now on, stay put at school and don’t stir up any more trouble!”

“How could I? Teacher, look how actively I participate in class!”

After Wu Yuchen left, Xie Xiaojing felt a wave of exhaustion—this freshman was talented, yes, but also dangerously clever; he’d probably cause trouble for years to come at Jingying.

He thought again of “Car 44”—it was just a short film, with no subversive content; Jingying could handle it.

Still, he needed to inform Director Hou.

After leaving Xie Xiaojing’s home, Wu Yuchen felt refreshed, the sky bluer than ever.

He’d gotten everything he came here for!

That’s the advantage of being backed by an organization—where else would you get these resources? Who would vouch for you, speak up for you?

Wu Yuchen had understood this from the start: all the underground directors who got banned had made feature films—none had ever been banned just for a short film.

And his short film had no subversive content at all.

If you talk about realism, it couldn’t compare to “To Live”!

As for why Zhang Yimou won awards for “To Live” without trouble, while Jiang Wen’s “Devils on the Doorstep” got banned for five years and still has no clear explanation decades later—well, the final authority always lies with them, and they’ve never bothered to explain.

His “Car 44” had nothing to do with politics whatsoever.

So the risk was small—and worth taking.

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(End of Chapter)