Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 175 Tearing Apart Hypocrisy, The Death Knell of Hollywood Tyrants

At 10 a.m., outside the glass doors of the Venice Film Festival press center, the damp sea breeze was blocked by the crowd.

The 500-square-meter hall was packed with people, camera tripods were lying across the aisles, and power cords snaked past the reporters' feet, threatening to trip them all if they weren't careful.

It wasn't just film media present; social news, political news, and even location presenters from several European television stations crowded into the back row, headphone cords dangling around their necks, their eyes fixed on the podium.

In the backstage dressing room, Marc Muller took off his glasses and pressed his thumb against his temple, but he couldn't stop the throbbing pain no matter how long he pressed.

The sponsors' phones were still ringing, and the conservatives within the organizing committee had already printed out a statement to expel "Thunder," the pages lying on the table, just waiting to be signed and processed after the press conference.

In the front row of the hall, several public relations managers sent by Harvey mingled among the reporters. Some were looking down at their notes, while others were sending text messages on their phones. When they exchanged glances, their faces already showed that they had won.

The side door opens.

Chen Yan walked onto the podium alone.

He didn't bring Su Wan or Zhao Xiao.

One flash after another lit up the screen, the white light cutting his face out clearly.

Before the microphone was even properly adjusted, problems were already piling up.

"Director Chen, did you already know that the male lead had a criminal record, yet you still insisted on casting him?"

"By placing a violent criminal under the spotlight at an international film festival, aren't you conveying the wrong values ​​to the audience?"

"If the victims' families see this film, how do you plan to deal with their pain?"

Chen Yan placed his hands on the edge of the podium, his fingertips pausing briefly on the wooden edge.

He didn't rush to speak, but let the voices echo around in the hall.

When he looked at the reporters who had started the commotion, they first raised their voices, then swallowed the last words.

The human voices gradually faded away, until only the camera shutter and the background noise from the simultaneous interpretation headset remained.

Chen Yan moved the microphone forward half an inch.

"Let me first correct a fact."

His voice came through the speakers, clear and distinct: "Mr. Zhao Xiao committed a crime, no one denies that. But he has served his sentence, and the punishment he received under the law has ended. A citizen released from prison has the right to return to work. This is a basic human right."

He paused for a moment, then looked at the French journalist who had just asked the question.

"You preach liberty, equality, and fraternity, and you even use the law to encourage criminals to reintegrate into society. How come these principles suddenly become inapplicable in a Chinese director's film?"

The French journalist, embarrassed, leaned forward, microphone in hand: "This doesn't mean he deserves to be a star! This is a provocation against public morality!"

Chen Yan ignored his emotions.

"Movies are not a cover-up for ugliness."

He tapped the table lightly with his finger. "Film is a tool for dissecting people and showing them to them. I don't need Zhao Xiao to play a saint. I need him to put the cruelty and greed of early capitalism, how human lives were reduced to numbers, in front of the camera."

He turned to look at the large screen behind him.

The screen displayed stills from the movie "Thunder," showing a mine disaster scene: collapsed tunnels, mud, and endless darkness where the lights couldn't reach.

"The evil that should truly be questioned is not always a person standing in the street with a knife."

Chen Yan withdrew his gaze. "Some evil people sit in air-conditioned rooms, staring at reports, and can wipe out dozens of lives with just a few words. Zhao Xiao used to be a cog in that machine, and now, he's dismantling that machine for you to see on camera."

These remarks shifted the focus of the accusations from their personal criminal records to the shadows of capital and the system.

Several left-wing film critics who had initially been watching the spectacle with their arms crossed have now begun to take notes.

Harvey's men couldn't sit still any longer.

A public relations manager pushed aside the reporters around him and stood up, his voice cutting through the microphone and the crowd, carrying a deliberately trained toughness: "Mr. Chen, please don't try to deflect the issue with grand concepts. You hired criminals just to create a sensation. Your production team lacks the most basic professional ethics and has no industry bottom line."

Chen Yan looked at him for a while.

That gaze held no anger; instead, it made the other person's Adam's apple bob twice.

"Professional ethics".

Chen Yan repeated himself, reached into his suit's inner pocket, took out a black USB drive, and placed it on the podium.

The plastic casing made a very soft sound when it hit the table.

"Since everyone is willing to talk about the bottom line of the industry today, let's make the word 'bottom line' clear."

He raised his hand towards the sound engineer in the audience.

The stills of the mining disaster on the screen disappeared, and several scanned copies of English documents were projected onto the screen, with footers, signatures, and legal clauses enlarged enough for the reporters in the front row to see clearly.

"These are confidentiality agreements that Miramax Films has signed with sixteen actresses over the past decade."

Chaos erupted in the hall.

Harvey's PR managers visibly changed their expressions; one of them bent down to dial the phone, but his finger pressed the wrong button twice in a row.

Chen Yan did not wait for them to make amends.

He pressed the remote control, and the screen switched to a recording waveform.

stab.

There was static coming from the speakers, followed by a restored male voice.

"...If you want this role, you'll have to play by my rules. Didn't your agent tell you? Don't play dumb with me. If you dare to leave this room, I guarantee you'll never get an extra role in Hollywood for the rest of your life."

His New York accent was rough, arrogant, and few of the film journalists present could not recognize it.

Harvey Weinstein.

The sound of camera shutters has decreased.

Many reporters held their cameras, their hands still hovering in mid-air, but they forgot to press the shutter button.

This is no longer just a scandal involving a single film in competition; it's a bomb that could overturn the power structure of Hollywood.

"In the past 48 hours, I've not only been preparing for the premiere of 'Thunder'."

Chen Yan looked at the suddenly bright eyes below the stage and said, "I have also commissioned an investigative reporter from The New York Times and contacted several victims who are willing to come forward. The relevant evidence was sent to the editorial departments of major American media outlets five minutes ago."

He clasped his hands together and leaned his body slightly towards the microphone.

"A mine owner who has just finished serving his sentence confesses to the crimes he was involved in in front of the camera, and you call that moral depravity."

His gaze swept across the crowd, as if passing through a television signal, and landed on a suite in the Exelcio Hotel.

"So, a movie mogul who controls the allocation of Hollywood resources has been abusing his power to assault actresses for a long time, and then using contracts, money and gangster methods to silence them, and is now sitting in a luxury suite drinking champagne, manipulating the jury's votes."

Chen Yan tapped his finger on the table, and his voice finally dominated the room.

"What's this called?"

After a brief silence, the news center was filled with the sounds of people talking.

Reporters began to push forward, their microphones so close they almost touched Chen Yan's tie.

"Director Chen, are these recordings legally obtained?"

"Is Mr. Harvey already aware of this?"

Are there any A-list actresses on the victim list?

When will The New York Times publish the full report?

Chen Yan did not continue to answer.

He unplugged the USB drive, turned around, and left the podium.

Security personnel closed in from both sides, separating him from the nearly out-of-control crowd of reporters. The microphone foam cover was pushed to the ground and rolled to the side of a leather shoe.

The lights in the backstage corridor were old, casting a bluish tint on people's faces.

Mark Muller stood at the end of the line and saw Chen Yan approaching. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Chen, you've gone mad."

His English had a slight Italian accent, and the last syllables were dry. "You just declared war on all of Hollywood."

"If I don't declare war, will he let me go?"

Chen Yan stopped in front of him, his collar slightly ruffled from the earlier commotion, but he didn't straighten it. "The pressure isn't on you now, Mark. The sponsors should be answering the phone."

Lido Island, Exelcio Hotel.

A blue-and-white porcelain vase worth tens of thousands of US dollars crashed into the corner of the wall, its shards flying onto the carpet, the white porcelain and blue patterns mixing into the champagne stains.

On the television screen, CNN is broadcasting breaking news.

The front page of The New York Times has been replaced with a 10,000-word in-depth investigation, in which sixteen women have filed charges against Harvey Weinstein, with a list of legal counsel and victims' lawyers scrolling below the headline.

The phone in the room rang so loudly it made my eardrums throb.

The assistant stood against the wall, a dark patch of sweat soaking the back of his suit: "Boss, the Disney board of directors has requested an emergency meeting. Several independent shareholders of Miramax have also requested a temporary suspension of your position."

"roll!"

Harvey grabbed the documents on the table and swept them to the floor, panting heavily like a wild boar trapped in a cage.

He didn't understand.

How could a young director far away in China possibly unearth all those things that were buried in the sewers by money, contracts, and intimidation in just 48 hours?

This shouldn't be a last-minute counterattack.

It's more like someone had already dug his grave, just waiting for today to push open the coffin lid.

"Get the car ready!"

Harvey grabbed his coat, his eyes bloodshot. "To the airport, back to Los Angeles. Have the legal team draft a lawyer's letter immediately, suing them for defamation."

"Boss..."

The assistant's voice was already trembling with tears, "We can't leave."

Harvey turned his head.

The suite door was pushed open.

The people who came in were not reporters, but two Italian police officers, followed by several representatives of the organizing committee, all wearing suits with their shirts buttoned up tightly.

The officer in charge showed his badge: "Mr. Weinstein, we have received a request for assistance from the FBI. You are suspected of multiple transnational and interstate felonies. Please cooperate with the investigation and accept the travel restrictions before extradition proceedings begin."

A representative from the organizing committee handed over a document.

"In light of the serious allegations against you, the Venice Film Festival organizing committee has decided to immediately disqualify 'The Abyss' from competition and terminate all cooperation with your company."

Harvey stared at the paper.

The paper wasn't thick, but he couldn't hold it steady in his hands.

His empire, built on capital, awards, connections, and fear, collapsed on this brightly lit Italian morning, without even a decent farewell.

At dusk, the sea in Venice is bathed in the glow of the setting sun, turning it into a shimmering gold.

Chen Yan stood on the hotel terrace, a cigarette between his fingers.

The protesters downstairs dispersed, leaving only a few cleaners collecting the banners, and crumpled leaflets on the ground.

The media's focus has now shifted entirely to Harvey's scandal.

Zhao Xiao's long-standing criminal record couldn't even squeeze into the headline when faced with the systemic crimes committed by Hollywood giants over a decade.

Su Wan pushed open the glass door to the balcony and walked to Chen Yan's side.

She held a newly delivered official notice in her hand, the edges of which were slightly creased from being gripped.

"It was sent by Mark Muller."

She tried to keep her voice down, but her eyes gleamed. "The screenings of 'Thunder' have been restored, and two more prime-time screenings have been added. Gaumont just called and offered to buy out the European distribution rights for five million euros, without interfering with the domestic revenue sharing."

Chen Yan exhaled smoke, and the ashes were blown off course by the sea breeze, landing outside the railing.

"Tell Gao Meng that five million is not enough."

He put the cigarette back between his fingers. "Seven million, plus a 15% guarantee of screenings in French cinemas."

Su Wan nodded and wrote the sentence down in her notebook.

She looked up at the man beside her, recalling the past two days from the hotel lockdown to the reversal at the news center, and then Harvey being restricted from leaving the country. The tension in her chest, which had been so intense it was almost painful, finally eased a little.

"Chen Yan".

She paused. "Did you already know about Harvey's affairs?"

Chen Yan didn't turn around, but only looked at the sinking coastline in the distance.

In his previous life, Harvey's scandal wouldn't have truly exploded for more than a decade.

All he did was take advantage of the information gap to press the fuse ahead of time.

"When capital first grows and bleeds, its foundation is not clean."

He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, extinguishing the embers at the bottom of the glass. "Lu Haiming is like that, and so is Harvey. If the foundation is dirty, there will always be cracks. Find the crack, put the knife in, and the rest will just rot away on its own."

After saying that, he turned and walked into the room.

"Let's prepare for the awards ceremony speech. It's time to wrap things up here in Water City."

Chen Yan opened the terrace door, and the light from inside the house fell on his shoulder.

"After winning the award, we'll go back to China and settle accounts with Lu Haiming."