Chapter 88

Zhou Xun was overwhelmed with tears of joy; she had chased Dou Peng to the capital for love, spent years as a Beijing drifter sleeping in basements, crashing at strangers’ homes, singing in bars, and once got slapped across the face and yanked by her hair after refusing to drink with clients—how could outsiders ever know the suffering she endured?

Now that she had actually won Best Actress at the Tokyo Film Festival, all the pent-up grievances and regrets of these past years surged into her heart, and her tears flowed uncontrollably.

After Wu Yuchen led Zhou Xun onto the stage, he saw Kitano Takeshi—whose face looked somewhat fierce—smiling warmly at them; he didn’t hold a grudge over the earlier joke, for winning the award was the happiest thing, and he found Kitano’s demeanor utterly agreeable.

Kitano didn’t tease them again this time; he swiftly handed each of them their trophy.

The instant Zhou Xun gripped the trophy, she smiled brilliantly through her tears, feeling every hardship she’d endured was worth it.

Wu Yuchen handed the microphone to Zhou Xun first, but she, overwhelmed by the moment, didn’t know what to say: “I… thank you! Thank you, Director Wu, thank you, Grandma Jin, thank you everyone!”

Those present understood her emotions perfectly and responded with warm applause.

Wu Yuchen, having already experienced Berlin and Sydney, remained calm despite his joy; he picked up the microphone and smiled:

“Grandma Jin Yaqin couldn’t come due to health reasons. Before arriving, I joked with her, asking if she’d thank me if I brought back a trophy. She said she’d make me dumplings when I returned—looks like I’m in for a treat!”

Most here in Japan knew what dumplings were and laughed at Wu Yuchen’s remark; the atmosphere instantly lightened.

Wu Yuchen then grew serious:

“Grandma Jin Yaqin is truly an outstanding actress. She has spent most of her life on the front lines of performance, often in minor or supporting roles, yet never once complained. For the Tokyo Film Festival to award her Best Actress, I believe this is the finest gift possible! Thank you!”

The audience erupted in applause upon hearing Wu Yuchen’s words; no one present could fail to sincerely admire a 70-something woman who had devoted most of her life to acting.

Amid the applause, Wu Yuchen led Zhou Xun offstage; back at their seats, Zhou Xun kept caressing the trophy, even kissing it several times.

Wu Yuchen smiled, then turned back to focus on the ceremony.

After Best Actress came Best Actor—an award unrelated to “You and Me”—but Wu Yuchen still paid close attention, as Zhu Xu, the lead in “Face Change,” had been nominated; in his past life, he had won Best Actor.

This time, there was no surprise: Zhu Xu, with his brilliant performance, rightfully claimed the Best Actor trophy.

After the Best Actor award, the next one—crucial to Wu Yuchen—was Best Director.

This year’s Best Director nominees besides him were Wu Tianming for “Face Change,” Jan Svěrák for “Give Me a Dad,” Krzysztof Zanussi for “The Road to Freedom,” and Vincente Amorim for “Growing Up.”

The presenter was a small Japanese elder who first delivered a long speech, praising each director, before slowly tearing open the envelope.

“The Best Director is… ‘Face Change,’ Wu Tianming!”

Hearing the result, Wu Yuchen’s tense heart eased; he felt disappointment, but now controlled his emotions well, and immediately clapped for Director Wu Tianming—they were both Chinese, naturally happy for him.

“Face Change” was truly this year’s biggest winner, taking home both Best Actor and Best Director—had China’s internet just been born then, this news would’ve made them instantly famous back home.

The final two major awards were the Grand Jury Prize and the Golden Kirin Award; both were selected from the five films, including “You and Me” and “Face Change,” but “Face Change,” having already won two major awards, likely had no chance.

Wu Yuchen’s heart rose again; though he’d already won Best Actress, who wouldn’t want the heavier prize? And winning would boost the film’s licensing value!

The presenter came up and, as usual, played a montage of the five films. Honestly, the mood among the five crews was delicate: the Grand Jury Prize was essentially the runner-up to Best Picture—winning it meant you couldn’t win the Golden Kirin.

Everyone wanted the Golden Kirin, but didn’t want to end up with nothing; thus, feelings toward the Grand Jury Prize were complicated.

“The Grand Jury Prize of this year’s festival is…”

The presenter glanced down, then fixed his gaze on Wu Yuchen: “‘You and Me’!”

The name spoken by the presenter made Wu Yuchen exhale in relief, then his face broke into a radiant smile; beside him, Zhou Xun was ecstatic, hugging him tightly and babbling congratulations.

After releasing Zhou Xun, Wu Yuchen quickly shook hands with Wu Tianming and Huang Jianxin, who reached out, then strode confidently onto the stage.

Wu Yuchen accepted the trophy gracefully and smiled into the microphone:

“‘You and Me’ is a low-budget film, under $50,000, and my first feature-length personal film. Yet its reception and affirmation by so many people stems from the purest, most sincere human emotions it conveys.”

“Thank you to the Film Channel for investing in ‘You and Me,’ to Grandma Jin Yaqin, Zhou Xun, and every crew member for your dedication, to the audience for your love of ‘You and Me,’ and to the committee for your recognition of the film and me—thank you all!”

Back at their seats, Zhou Xun leaned over, grinning, and gave him a thumbs-up: “Director, you said it perfectly!”

But Wu Yuchen saw her eyes constantly flicking toward the trophy—he knew exactly what she wanted; he handed it to her immediately, making Zhou Xun beam with joy.

In fact, Wu Yuchen had harbored a faint hope for the Golden Kirin before the award; now that it was over, he felt only ease and joy—after all, winning Best Actress and the Grand Jury Prize was already a tremendous harvest!

Finally, amid the tense anticipation of the other crews and the full attention of the audience, the Golden Kirin Award was indeed given to the favorite: the Czech film “Give Me a Dad.”

On the night the ceremony ended, the Chinese delegation gathered for a celebration banquet; Tian Zhuangzhuang, now finished with his jury duties, also attended.

Huang Jianxin raised a glass, beaming:

“‘You and Me’ and ‘Face Change’ won four major awards this time—what a harvest! Let’s drink together!”

Huang Jianxin didn’t care that his own “Red Light Stop, Green Light Go” won nothing; he’d expected as much—it was a comedy, and just getting nominated and selling the rights was already a success.

At the table, everyone was joyful; Chinese-language films were clearly the biggest winners, and all eagerly shared their experiences since arriving in Tokyo.

As the conversation grew lively, Tian Zhuangzhuang recounted some behind-the-scenes details from the jury’s deliberations, then said to Wu Yuchen: “Little Wu, your ‘You and Me’ is a bit unfortunate.”

Everyone paused in surprise—how could it be unfortunate after winning the Grand Jury Prize?

Wu Yuchen looked at Tian Zhuangzhuang. Tian took a sip of tea and explained further:

“The Czech film ‘Give Me a Dad’ is undeniably excellent. But the film that drew the most attention and sparked the strongest reaction this festival was truly ‘You and Me’—it resonated deeply with the Japanese audience!”

Everyone realized: “You and Me,” with its emotional depth and portrayal of empty-nest elders, struck right at Japan’s current vulnerability.

Tian continued:

“Of the five jury members, one Japanese, Nishio Yoshinobu, strongly advocated awarding the Golden Kirin to ‘You and Me.’ I voted for it too. But the chair, Polish director Siergiej Silberman, said if we gave the Golden Kirin to ‘You and Me,’ this Tokyo Film Festival would become a solo performance by Chinese cinema—we can’t do that. So they gave ‘You and Me’ the Grand Jury Prize instead.”

Everyone suddenly understood—it was all because of that!

Wu Yuchen now understood too, but felt no strong emotion; he just smiled: “That Polish guy lacks the boldness of Brother Zhang Yimou!”

Everyone froze for a moment, then burst into laughter: “Absolutely! He’s nowhere near!”

At the 43rd Berlin Film Festival in 1993, as jury chair, Old Zhang Yimou stubbornly awarded the Golden Bear to two films simultaneously: Xie Fei’s “The Story of Qiu Ju” and Li An’s “The Wedding Banquet.”

Yes—two Chinese films won the Golden Bear together!

To be fair, Old Zhang Yimou’s move was truly impressive.

Wu Yuchen joked, then added:

“But honestly, this outcome is better. If ‘You and Me’ had won the Golden Kirin, it might’ve lost Best Actress. I traded one Golden Kirin for two Best Actress awards and a Grand Jury Prize—this is a win!”

Film festival awards inevitably involve dividing the cake; no single film can claim every prize unless it utterly dominates all others. Most often, everyone sits down and shares the fruit.

Tian Zhuangzhuang, seeing Wu Yuchen’s sincerity, felt genuine admiration for his openness—many directors would gladly sacrifice every other award for just the Best Picture prize.

Then Tian remembered something and said to Wu Yuchen: “Little Wu, I heard your film was a TV movie funded by the Film Channel. When you return, talk to them—get at least one cinema screening, so you can enter next year’s Golden Rooster Awards.”

“I’ll remember, thank you, Teacher Tian!” Wu Yuchen raised his glass and toasted him.

Then Zhou Xun, Wu Tianming, and Zhu Xu all raised their glasses to thank Tian Zhuangzhuang—after all, their wins owed something to his vote as a jury member.

After the ceremony, the Chinese delegation dispersed; Huang Jianxin led his crew away first, while “You and Me” and “Face Change” stayed behind to negotiate rights.

In a Japanese tea house, Wu Yuchen met his familiar face from last night’s ceremony: Kitano Takeshi, who had presented Best Actress to “You and Me!”

Kitano, perhaps suffering the common trait of comic actors, rarely smiled privately; combined with his intimidating face, he looked more like a yakuza.

“Mr. Wu, please sell me the rights to ‘You and Me’—I beg you!”

Wu Yuchen looked at Kitano and recalled his connection with Jia Zhangke. After Jia’s “Xiao Wu” won at Berlin, Kitano took notice—he admired Jia’s long takes and focus on marginalized characters, and later, Kitano’s studio invested in most of Jia’s films, establishing a long-term partnership.

“Mr. Kitano, if you offer a fair deal, I’d be happy to entrust ‘You and Me’ to you,” Wu Yuchen said with a smile.

“Mr. Wu, I’ll first screen ‘You and Me’ at Iwanami Cinema, then expand to all art-house theaters across Japan—I’ll ensure it reaches as many viewers as possible.”

In Japan’s cultural circles, it’s said: “Japan watches Tokyo, Tokyo watches Iwanami”—films screened there have a strong chance of being picked up by all art-house theaters nationwide.

Wu Yuchen nodded, calmly: “Mr. Kitano, Iwanami Cinema has already contacted me—they’re eager to schedule ‘You and Me’ for screening.”

Kitano fell silent. He’d assumed this young director would be easy to persuade—offer some empty promises and slash the price—but it didn’t work.

He thought a moment, then said: “Mr. Wu, the Kitano Studio is willing to pay $300,000 for the rights to ‘You and Me.’”

“Mr. Kitano, your sincerity seems lacking. I can privately tell you: after ‘You and Me’ won last night, Mr. Fukazawa Shinzo called me, offering $500,000 for Asian rights.”

Wu Yuchen sipped his tea and said nothing more.

Kitano’s eyelid twitched—he knew Fukazawa Shinzo, general manager of Toho Toho, responsible for importing foreign films into Japan, who had a strong interest in Chinese culture.

Kitano didn’t want to haggle further; he cut straight to the point: “Mr. Wu, what price do you want?”

“One million U.S. dollars.”

“Impossible!” Kitano flatly refused.

At today’s exchange rate, one dollar equals 110 yen—$1 million equals 110 million yen. To break even, “You and Me” would need to gross nearly 300 million yen in Japan.

The risk was too great!