Chapter 65

The next day, at the closing ceremony, it seemed as if the entire city of Berlin had poured in; along both sides of the red carpet, media outlets of all sizes lined up, flashes of cameras coming from every direction like a storm.

Wu Yuchen and Jiang Qin also got the chance to walk the red carpet; neither had formal attire, so they wore new clothes bought for a few hundred yuan before departing from Jingcheng, waiting as instructed by the staff.

Jiang Qin was extremely nervous; even before stepping onto the red carpet, her smile looked stiff.

Seeing this, Wu Yuchen smiled beside her and said:

“Qin Qin, what are you nervous about?”

“There are so many people!”

“Heh, all those people aren’t here for us—look around you, over ninety percent of the audience are here for the features.”

Hearing Wu Yuchen say this, Jiang Qin’s tension instantly loosened; disappointment set in, but so did the release of most of her pressure.

“Earlier at the exhibition hall, I really thought we’d gone viral…”

“It’s still just a short film.”

“You’re really laid-back about this~”

“Heh, there’ll be plenty of chances in the future!”

As they chatted casually, the staff urged them onto the red carpet.

As they walked, the cheers weren’t as loud as one might expect, but neither were they as insignificant as Wu Yuchen had claimed—word of mouth had spread, and many had already seen the sharply styled short film “Bus44.”

“Bus44, go for it!”

“No. 44, you’re the best!”

“44, best short film!”

Encouraging shouts and well-wishes came from both sides of the red carpet, surprising Wu Yuchen, who then waved back with Jiang Qin to thank them.

The Berlin Film Festival has always been pragmatic, unlike Hollywood or Cannes with their theatrics; the red carpet didn’t last long. After each crew took their seats, the lights dimmed, the host gave a brief speech, the jury appeared, and the awards began immediately.

Among this year’s jury were two Chinese faces: Tsai Chin and Chen Chong.

Seeing them, Wu Yuchen understood why Chinese films had achieved such success at this Berlin Festival.

Don’t assume the jury is entirely objective and fair—everyone has strong subjectivity. And one thing is certain: Chinese filmmakers stick together at international festivals.

In 1993, Li An, then a newcomer, won the Golden Bear for “The Wedding Banquet” because the jury president was Zhang Yimou. In 2007, Zhang Yimou again awarded Li An the Golden Lion at Venice for “Lust, Caution.” Li An himself has said Zhang Yimou is his benefactor.

This kind of compatriot helping compatriot is extremely common in the international film circle.

The first awards handed out were minor ones or from obscure sections.

Honestly, Wu Yuchen was a bit confused by the big three festivals—he didn’t understand many of the awards.

For example, the earlier awarded Caligari Prize, the Don Quixote Prize, the Berliner Morgenpost Audience Award—no one knew what they were even for, and these awards might appear one year and vanish the next, then reappear two years later—who knew how they came up with them?

Soon, it was time for the short film awards. Wu Yuchen fixed his gaze on the stage and the big screen, sitting upright.

The first award was the Teddy Bear Award, which was no surprise—it went to the film with the same theme, “Alkali, Iowa.”

The remaining short film directors grew slightly tense; only the Silver Bear and Golden Bear for Best Short Film remained.

Wu Yuchen glanced at them—he had two main competitors this year.

One was the British animated short “The Forgotten Toy,” the other was the Norwegian short “Kinobilletten.”

“Please welcome Mr. Thomas to present the Silver Bear for Best Short Film.”

After taking the stage, the presenter didn’t ramble—he simply read the citation:

“This is an animated film about love and friendship, a heartwarming story between the doll Annie and the teddy bear Teddy…”

Simultaneously, scenes from “The Forgotten Toy” appeared on the screen.

The director sighed in relief, then stepped up with a smile to collect the award.

Wu Yuchen’s heart tightened now; though one rival was out, the chance of winning the Golden Bear increased, but he feared ending up with nothing—every year, festival favorites often lost.

“Please welcome Mr. Wagner to present the Golden Bear for Best Short Film!”

Wagner was an old man; standing at the podium, he opened the envelope, glanced inside, and smiled:

“Wow, this is an outstanding short film—I personally loved it!”

Then he paused, scanned the audience, and announced loudly:

“‘Bus44’!”

Though it was a short film, the Golden Bear carried a different weight.

The big screen showed scenes from “Bus44,” accompanied by a voiceover:

“An ordinary bus, a test of human nature, a shocking ending, a haunting smile…”

Below, Jiang Qin screamed and clung tightly to her boyfriend.

Wu Yuchen no longer hid his emotions—he clenched his fist and raised it, grinning freely.

The entire audience erupted in warm applause, and the Chinese crew section shouted loudly: “Well done!”

Wu Yuchen released Jiang Qin, hugged or shook hands with several nearby short film directors, then stood tall, proud and dignified, as he walked up to the stage.

The old man Wagner embraced Wu Yuchen first, then handed him a red box containing the award.

Only the main competition section awarded actual gold and silver bear trophies; all others were medals. This medal bore the image of a Golden Bear.

Wu Yuchen didn’t care whether it was a trophy or a medal—the honor mattered.

“Wow! I still can’t believe it—this is my first film, and it won the Golden Bear for Best Short Film! Thank you to the committee for recognizing me!”

As Wu Yuchen held up the medal, the audience smiled warmly.

“‘Bus44’ wasn’t my achievement alone. Those who’ve watched our short film know there’s a long list of thanks at the end.”

“We were twenty-seven people, pooling less than four thousand dollars to make this film. So I want to thank them here—without them, there would be no ‘Bus44’!”

This truly surprised the audience—no one expected such a story behind this short film. Such a low budget, made by twenty-seven people—imagine the difficulties of production.

Someone again began clapping, and the applause grew louder, sweeping through everyone—applause for the “Bus44” crew, and admiration for their passion for cinema.