Chapter 78: Filming and Exhibition

In March, Wu Yuchen also did something: he hired an agent to register a film and entertainment media company, which has now been officially approved, abbreviated as Miracle Pictures.

This kind of early-stage film company is basically a shell corporation; Wu Yuchen rented a small room in a cheap office building, set up a desk, and hired one accountant—that was about it.

From now on, any film-related matters can be handled through the company, and he can gradually build up its reputation—he’ll need it for all the awards he’s bound to win.

The filming of “The Night the Comet Came” still used 16mm film; this movie doesn’t require ultra-clear visuals—it relies entirely on its sci-fi concept and suspenseful plot to succeed.

On the night of April 30th, inside a rented villa, the “Comet” crew officially began shooting.

Jiang Qin walked into the room and greeted friends already there, praising the many dishes already prepared on the table.

Liu Mintao saw Jiang Qin and hesitated, then pressed her lips together before walking over to Jiang Qin, who was taking off her coat, and whispering: “Amy, Wei Wei is coming tonight—if you can’t control yourself, I’ve got some calming medicine.”

Jiang Qin was momentarily stunned, then quickly smiled and assured her it wasn’t necessary—her rivalry with Wei Wei was in the past, and there would be no more conflict.

The remaining friends arrived, including Chen Shasha, dressed in a red dress that was sexy and provocative—she was Jiang Qin’s former rival.

Seeing everyone dressed casually, she feigned surprise, covering her mouth: “Did I dress too formally?”

Just by looking at her performative act, you knew she was here to stir trouble.

“Cut! Perfect! Everyone nailed their character traits—keep it up.”

Wu Yuchen praised them; at first there was a bit of fumbling, just to help them find their characters’ states. Everyone was well-prepared—even Chen Shasha, whom he’d worried about, delivered the role of the seductive, theatrical woman in red perfectly.

Shooting started at 7 p.m. and by 12:30 a.m., Wu Yuchen noticed someone yawning and decided they’d done enough for the night.

“That’s it for tonight—everyone adjust your sleep schedule. Tomorrow we might shoot even later.”

All scenes take place in and around the villa, so filming proceeds in chronological order; today they completed the first fifteen minutes. At this pace, they’d finish in about six days. But Wu Yuchen believed that once the actors fully settled into their roles, shooting would go even smoother.

The next night.

Sun Honglei, wearing glasses and a bandage on his face, raised his hands helplessly and said:

“It’s not that I don’t want to say it—I’m afraid you won’t believe me.”

“When I got close to that house, there was the exact same table, glasses, candles, and dishes—and around the table were our eight people! Eight people exactly like us, laughing and chatting!”

“What?!”

“You’re kidding!”

“Li Wei, did you just get dizzy and walk around your own house in the dark?”

“Li Wei, didn’t you two just circle your own house because you couldn’t tell direction in the dark?”

Everyone expressed disbelief.

“We’re absolutely certain we didn’t walk in circles!”

“We have no reason to joke about this—the box was brought back from over there!” Sun Honglei added, growing agitated.

“Cut! Ready for the next scene!”

That scene just revealed to the audience the confirmed existence of parallel timelines.

As Wu Yuchen expected, by the next day, everyone had adjusted their routines and states perfectly; filming became even smoother, with some scenes passing in just one or two takes.

Regarding the film’s dialogue, aside from the part about “Schrödinger’s Cat,” which was introduced through reading a book, most lines were highly natural and everyday.

So Wu Yuchen didn’t micromanage them—so long as the meaning came across clearly. Some actors, when in good form, even improvised lines that felt more authentic than the original script.

In fact, a film shot mostly in one room feels almost like a play—once the actors find their rhythm, they just get better and better.

For the next three nights, filming ran from 7 p.m. to 2 a.m. each day; after shooting, Wu Yuchen sent the exposed film for development during the day.

On the fifth night, in the shot, Sun Honglei held up a piece of paper, face flushed, emotionally charged, shouting at Fu Dalong:

“Tell me, what is this?! Your damn note says you slept with my girlfriend!”

Fu Dalong looked like he’d just swallowed a bug—it was a letter from another version of himself, exposing his secret.

Someone tried to step forward and calm Sun Honglei, but he suddenly roared:

“Who else knows about this?!”

Everyone stayed silent.

Sun Honglei turned to Gong Beibi nearby and asked: “Li Na, do you know?”

Gong Beibi nodded weakly.

“Amy, Luo De, do you know?”

Jiang Qin and Huang Haibing opened their mouths but said nothing—but Sun Honglei could tell they knew. He swept his gaze over the others and roared: “You all knew they were having an affair—and you kept it from me?!”

Liu Mintao looked terrified, and Fu Dalong, embarrassed by the accusation, simply spread his hands and said:

“Li Wei, I didn’t sleep with your girlfriend!”

“Don’t you get it yet? We don’t even belong here—you, me, her, everyone in this room—we don’t even belong to the same world!”

Fu Dalong bluntly revealed the truth he’d already deduced.

“You slept with my girlfriend and now you’re bullshit-ing me?!” Sun Honglei still raged.

“Don’t believe me? Then show everyone your phone!”

Sun Honglei pulled out an undamaged phone—but everyone’s eyes changed, because when they first arrived, all their phones had been shattered.

Fu Dalong added: “Each of us pulled an item from the box when we first came. What did you get?”

“Napkin.”

“Gloves.”

“Ping-pong ball.”

As each person named their item, none matched—their items were all different, proving none of them came from the same world.

But Sun Honglei, still consumed by rage, failed to grasp the situation:

“What the hell does that have to do with you sleeping with my girlfriend?!”

Fu Dalong snapped, waving his hands and shouting:

“Don’t you understand?! You’re not the Li Wei from this world, she’s not your girlfriend Anna, and the Mike who slept with her isn’t me! We’re not even from the same world—why the hell are you taking it out on me?!”

Everyone fell silent. Sun Honglei took several ragged breaths, his chest heaving—he finally understood.

But he realized something else: no matter which world he was from, he’d been cuckolded by that bastard Mike. The thought made his eyes burn red. He roared “Cao ni ma!” and lunged at Fu Dalong, punching him—they tumbled into a brawl.

…

Chaos erupted. The woman in red, Chen Shasha, stumbled and fell beside Huang Haibing, feigning helplessness to seduce him; Huang Haibing hugged her, asking if she was hurt.

Jiang Qin watched it all, utterly disillusioned with the reality of this world. Her gaze suddenly turned dark and resolute. She quietly opened the door and walked out. She would cross the black zone leading to other worlds, find a parallel universe where she had a loving boyfriend and loyal friends, and kill her own counterpart to replace her.

“Cut!”

With this, all the ensemble scenes were finished. Only Jiang Qin’s solo scene—killing herself—remained.

All they needed was another actress wearing the same wig; whenever both women appeared together, they’d use angles or props to show only one face at a time.

After Jiang Qin’s scene—where she smashed her own head in the bathroom—was shot, the production wrapped.

Wu Yuchen checked the time: 11 p.m. But due to the past few nights of late shooting, everyone was unusually energized.

Wu Yuchen raised his hand and shouted: “Wrap party! Let’s hit the late-night food!”

Everyone cheered and hollered.

At dinner, Fu Dalong suddenly asked:

“Wu Dao, do you believe human nature is inherently evil?”

“Hm?”

“Your ‘Car 44’ was a satire on human nature. This ‘Comet,’ though with a fresh premise, still centers on the selfishness of people—I feel you’re drawn to this theme.”

Wu Yuchen had never considered this himself. Now that Fu Dalong said it, he realized: if his first feature hadn’t been ‘Donkey Gets Water,’ but instead he’d made ‘Car 44,’ ‘Comet,’ and ‘Donkey Gets Water’ in sequence, he’d definitely be labeled as someone obsessed with satirizing human nature.

“Haha, Brother Dalong, I don’t take a stance on whether human nature is good or evil. No matter how someone is born, once they walk this world, they’ll inevitably touch both good and evil—it all comes down to personal cultivation.”

“Besides, my other unfinished film is a celebration of truth, goodness, and beauty!”

Everyone laughed: “Heh, Wu Dao, we’re actually curious what your movie celebrating truth, goodness, and beauty will look like.”

Seeing everyone chatting freely, Jiang Wen casually asked: “Wu Dao, what are your plans for this film?”

Wu Yuchen smiled, not hiding anything: “I’m submitting it to film festivals.”

Jiang Wen nodded—now some of his doubts were cleared.

“Comet” was shot in a villa district, and everyone had cars. Jiang Wen had thought the film felt disconnected from the current living standards of the Chinese people. But if it was meant for international festivals, it made sense—foreigners’ living standards were far higher than China’s now, so it wouldn’t seem odd.

Jiang Wen didn’t think Wu Yuchen was pro-Western or inferiority-complexed; everyone was doing this now—even his brother Jiang Wen’s “In the Heat of the Sun” only sold well after winning awards; otherwise, it would’ve bombed in theaters.

After the late-night meal ended, Jiang Qin confidently linked arms with Wu Yuchen and walked into a hotel. After filming so late every night, she couldn’t return to the dorm—she’d been staying with Wu Yuchen outside.

Jiang Qin was no longer as shy as she’d been months ago—girls grow up, after all!

…

From the start, Wu Yuchen had planned “The Night the Comet Came” for film festivals—not just one, but multiple.

The “Big Three” European festivals had an unwritten rule: you could only submit to one. But smaller festivals had no such restriction—if you had time and got selected, they welcomed you.

Thematically, “Comet” was best suited for the world’s three major fantasy film festivals; the original version had won at the Sitges Film Festival.

But Sitges was in October—nearly six months away—so Wu Yuchen planned to submit to several suitable festivals this fall, increasing the chance of finding a buyer.

This was the normal operating model for low-budget independent films: “Xiao Wu” had entered over a dozen festivals in a year. Ning Hao sent “Incense” to ten festivals and personally attended three; these internationally recognized festivals covered travel and accommodation costs—otherwise, Ning Hao couldn’t have spent two or three months abroad on his own dime.

In mid-June, right after finishing his final exams at Beijing Film Academy, Wu Yuchen boarded a flight to Australia.

The Sydney International Film Festival, founded in 1954, was one of the oldest and most influential in Australia, held every June.

Wu Yuchen walked the streets of Sydney with Jiang Qin, accompanied by a young man.

His name was Tang Yu, a senior film production management student about to graduate. Wu Yuchen planned to hire him; he’d need someone for future festival trips, since the company would need someone to handle external communications. Some small festivals were too numerous for Wu Yuchen to attend alone—producers often went. Bringing Tang Yu along was for training.

Tang Yu looked at the festive, bustling crowds around him and sighed:

“I’d never even heard of this festival back home, but it looks huge.”

Wu Yuchen smiled and introduced:

The Sydney Film Festival may not be well known domestically, but each year its screenings attract nearly a hundred thousand viewers.

Unlike the three major award ceremonies, it selects ten best films from the entries, and these ten films draw the attention of film distributors from Britain and America, often becoming huge hits there.

If Wu Yuchen remembered correctly, this year’s festival lineup would include a film called “Shining Glory” that would become a massive hit and later earn seven Oscar nominations next year, ultimately winning the Oscar for Best Actor.

This was also Wu Yuchen’s reason for attending the Sydney Film Festival—after all, he had to admit that British and American distributors were the wealthiest.

Tang Yu listened and silently noted down Wu Yuchen’s words; much of this information was something she had never encountered in school, and this trip had been an eye-opening experience throughout.

Jiang Qin also watched Wu Yuchen with sparkling eyes—her boyfriend was truly well-traveled and knowledgeable!