Entertainment from Divorce

In mid-March, the warmth of early spring finally swept over the lingering traces of winter in Beijing.

The magnolia trees along the street are covered with swollen buds, their pink and white petals about to bloom. The wind carries the fresh scent of newly sprouted grass and trees, making even the air feel softer.

In the top-floor office of the Brilliant Entertainment headquarters building, sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting bright dappled patterns on Tan Yue's ebony desk. A potted green ivy on the corner of the desk unfurled its new leaves, its emerald vines cascading down, adding a touch of life to the otherwise serious office space.

Tan Yue sat in a black leather chair, leaning slightly forward, his fingertips holding a silver-gray fountain pen, the nib hovering over the script outline submitted by the film department.

The edges of the pages were already covered with red annotations, and his brow furrowed slightly from time to time.

This is the fifth script I've reviewed this week. They're either stuck in the old-fashioned framework of "family tragedy + adventure" or the characters are so thin they're like paper cutouts. I haven't come across a story that really catches my eye.

He raised his hand to rub his temples, his gaze falling on the plot summary: "The protagonist embarks on a journey to find his parents after their divorce."

He gently shook his head and wrote in the blank space: "The character's motivation needs to be grounded in reality. You can add details about the life before the parents' divorce, such as photos of the protagonist with his parents in his childhood, and old things left by his father, to make the turning point more emotionally supported and avoid a sense of unrealisticness."

"Chen Ye, please pass this outline to Zheng Tong." Tan Yue closed the document, tapping the cover lightly with his fingertips, his tone carrying his usual meticulousness. "Have him take the lead in coordinating with the screenwriter, focusing on polishing the protagonist's emotional storyline—the current character only has the action of 'searching for relatives,' lacking the core of 'wanting to find,' making him feel like an empty shell. By the way, regarding the TV drama department, has Lin Qingye been on break since his drama wrapped up? Haven't they scheduled any new projects for him?"

Chen Ye took the documents with both hands and carefully stacked them in his arms. His black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose slipped down to the tip of his nose. He raised his hand to push them up and said in a clear and organized voice, "Yes, President Tan, Director Lin has been resting. You specifically instructed him to take this time to adjust his state and wait for new ideas before connecting with projects, so the TV drama department has not arranged any new dramas for him for the time being."

"I understand. It's good for him to rest. In the creative field, sometimes slowing down can actually help you conserve your energy." Tan Yue waved his hand and picked up the research report on the table again.

That was a report compiled by the public relations department on "audience expectations for Tan Yue's next work." Just as they flipped to the data that "35% of his works are realistic themes," there was a gentle knock on the office door, and a familiar yet confident voice came in: "Mr. Tan, is it convenient for you to come in?"

It was Lin Qingye.

Tan Yue looked up and saw the man standing at the door wearing a well-tailored beige casual suit with a light gray knit sweater underneath. His collar was neatly arranged, and although there were a few strands of gray at his temples, his eyes were very bright, exuding a calm and sharp aura.

"Director Lin, come in and have a seat." Tan Yue put down the documents, stood up, walked around the desk, and pointed to the sofa by the window. "I was just talking to Chen Ye about you. I was just about to ask how you've been resting lately, and you've come first. I just brewed some pre-Qingming Longjing tea to try this year's new tea."

Lin Qingye walked into the office, his eyes first falling on the huge poster of "Interstellar" hanging on the wall.

In the poster, an astronaut reaches out to touch a black hole in the vast universe, and beneath the cold science fiction exterior lies a deep sense of human warmth.

A hint of resonance flashed in his eyes. He then glanced at the movie scripts, professional camera manuals, and storyboard sketches piled on the corner of the table. There was no hesitation in his eyes, only anticipation for the new field.

He sat down on the sofa, took the celadon teacup from Tan Yue with both hands, and gently touched the warm cup with his fingertips. Without any further pleasantries, he said directly, "Mr. Tan, I'm here today to formally apply to become a film director. I'd like to join the company's film department."

These words were more direct than Tan Yue had expected. He put down his teacup, leaned forward slightly, and said with a hint of inquiry in his voice, "Are you really sure? I know you haven't taken on any new dramas for the past two months because you're preparing for a career change. But I have to make it clear to you, with your abilities, you can definitely get top-tier projects in the TV drama field. Big productions, good teams, high budgets, but movies are different."

Tan Yue paused for a moment and said, "It is a 'condensed art.' The entire story arc must be packed into one or two hours. The narrative density and camera precision must be maximized. Even if the lighting of a single shot is not adjusted well, or the emotion of a line of dialogue is not in place, the atmosphere of the whole story will fall apart. No matter how strong your directing skills are, you still have to readjust to the rhythm of film."

"It's precisely because I feel capable that I want to challenge myself in more difficult areas." Lin Qingye put down his teacup, his tone candid and confident. "I took a two-month break, not just to relax, but to break down and organize my experience of filming TV series over the past few years. I discovered that good narrative logic is universal; it's just that TV series need to 'expand,' while movies need to 'condense.' During these two months, I analyzed outstanding films from the past five years, and the more I watched, the more I felt that my abilities shouldn't be limited to the pacing of a single episode in a TV series."

He paused, his fingertips lightly tapping his knee, recalling details of the creative process: "When filming the TV series, I tried using cinematic long takes to film the morning market in the old town. From the steamed bun shop at the entrance of the alley to the shoe repair stall at the end, I followed the protagonist's footsteps in one continuous shot. At the time, the cinematographer advised me, 'There's no need to spend so much time on a TV series; shooting in storyboards would save more time.' But the final result was excellent, and the audience said, 'It's like watching a short film in a movie theater; it's immersive.' From then on, I felt that I could control the delicate emotions of a family drama, and I also wanted to try to make these emotions more impactful within the length of a film."

Tan Yue looked at the light in his eyes.

It wasn't anxiety about the unknown, but rather confidence in one's own abilities and a desire for higher creative goals.

As the company's founder, he was acutely aware of Lin Qingye's value: there was a shortage of TV drama directors in China who could simultaneously balance "ratings and critical acclaim" with "artistic expression," and Lin Qingye not only achieved this but also continuously pushed his own boundaries. This kind of creativity was exactly what the film department needed.

“I acknowledge your confidence,” Tan Yue said with certainty. “However, I’ll arrange a transition plan for you during the initial transition. You’ll join the film department as a ‘film director trainee’ and work with Zheng Tong on the preparation of the ‘Sky Road’ project, starting with script readings, casting, and location scouting to familiarize yourself with the film production process. At the same time, you can develop your own film scripts, and the company will provide you with a dedicated screenwriter and planner to help you polish your story. With your abilities, I believe you’ll be able to direct independently in no time.”

Upon hearing the word "ability," Lin Qingye's eyes shone even brighter. He pulled a blue-covered notebook from his dark brown briefcase, the cover adorned with a small clock image. He handed it to Tan Yue without the slightest hesitation: "Mr. Tan, this is a movie script I wrote during my break, called 'Time Ticks.' I didn't follow the typical TV drama approach. I deliberately compressed the character storylines, keeping only two core characters—the old watchmaker and the rebellious teenager—focusing on their emotional clashes. It should fit the narrative logic of a film."

Tan Yue took the notebook, his fingertips touching the neat handwriting on the pages, feeling the care put into each word. Opening the script, the story slowly unfolded: Old watchmaker Master Zhao guarded his ancestral "Zhao's Watch Shop," which was filled with all kinds of old clocks, their ticking sounds rising and falling. He stubbornly refused to buy electronic watches, feeling that "no matter how accurate an electronic watch is, it has no warmth."

Until the rebellious teenager Lin Xiaoyu came to the door, clutching the old pocket watch left by his grandfather, insisting that Master Zhao change it into a digital watch, saying, "Nobody wants such an old-fashioned thing."

The two started with a conflict.

Master Zhao said, "You're ruining old things," and Lin Xiaoyu said, "You're being old-fashioned and stubborn." Later, Master Zhao realized that the boy had altered the watch because he wanted to preserve his grandfather's memories, but he felt that the old pocket watch was "shameful."

The boy understood: the old watchmaker kept the shop to commemorate his deceased wife.

Every clock in the shop was repaired by him and his wife before she passed away. In the end, Master Zhao carefully restored the pocket watch and engraved the young man's grandfather's name on the inside of the dial; the young man helped the shop open an online store, allowing the old craft to continue in a new way.

The script doesn't have complicated character relationships, but it's full of touching details.

The trembling fingertips of Master Zhao when repairing watches are an old ailment left over from years of hard work.

The boy paused when he saw his grandfather's handwriting in the pocket watch, a flash of nostalgia in his eyes.
Lin Qingye specifically noted that "surround sound should be used to enhance the atmosphere and allow the audience to feel the flow of time." Tan Yue was increasingly pleasantly surprised as she watched.

This is not only a good story, but it also shows that Lin Qingye has been actively adapting to the creative logic of film, knowing how to use details to replace lines and use the camera to convey emotions.

"This script is far more mature than I expected." Tan Yue closed his notebook, his tone full of praise. "You've hidden the conflict between tradition and modernity in the interaction between the two characters. There are no slogans, no deliberate preaching, yet it touches people's hearts. This is exactly what you do best, and it's also the kind of 'small but beautiful' story that the film market needs most right now. However, I have a small suggestion: you could add a 'regret line' for Master Zhao. For example, he had a conflict with his father when he was young, and his father wanted him to inherit the watch shop."

"I actually thought of that too, but I didn't dare add too much, afraid of disrupting the main plot's rhythm," Lin Qingye immediately replied, pulling a black pen from his pocket and quickly jotting down notes in his notebook, the sound of the pen gliding across the paper exceptionally clear. "Now that you mention it, I actually think adding it in would be more appropriate."

The two became increasingly engrossed in their conversation, discussing everything from camera language and actor selection to post-production editing and soundtrack styles.

Lin Qingye didn't put himself in the position of a "subordinate," but rather communicated as an equal, as a creator: "Mr. Tan, I would like to ask the editing director of 'Interstellar' to take a look at the script for me. His control over 'emotional blanks' is amazing. For example, when the father leaves his daughter in the movie, he doesn't say 'I will come back,' but only gives a close-up of his watch. That kind of restrained emotion is more impactful than the dialogue. I want to learn from him how to use editing to replace dialogue in movies and convey more subtle emotions."

“No problem, I’ll have Chen Ye help you with the connection.” Tan Yue readily agreed. “In addition, there’s a young screenwriter in the film department named Zhou Hang, who is good at writing realistic themes. He previously participated in the script polishing of ‘Major Events in Life.’ I’ll have him join your team to help you refine the details.”

Seeing Lin Qingye nod slightly, Tan Yue added, "But don't worry, the core creative rights are in your hands. This is your first film, so it has to have your own style and you can't let other people's ideas lead you astray."

Before we knew it, the sunlight outside the window had already begun to set in the west, and the golden light shone through the glass, casting a warm glow on everything in the office.

The wall clock ticked, its hands pointing to 5:30 in the afternoon.

Lin Qingye glanced at the old mechanical watch on his wrist, got up, packed up his notebook, and carefully put it into his briefcase: "President Tan, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll go back and revise the script according to your suggestions, and I'll show you the revised version next week."

“No rush, a good story takes time to develop.” Tan Yue saw him to the office door, patted his shoulder, and could feel the firmness of his shoulder in his palm. “Don’t worry, the company will give you the maximum creative freedom. As for the budget, I’ll reserve enough funds for production; as for the team, you can choose any of the company’s core members—cinematographer, art director, editor; as for publicity, the public relations department will do the pre-release promotion to ensure the film reaches the target audience when it’s released. With your abilities, I’m waiting to see you establish yourself in the film industry.”

Lin Qingye nodded vigorously, his eyes full of enthusiasm, his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement: "Thank you, President Tan! I will definitely not let you down."

Watching Lin Qingye's departing figure, his steps were much lighter than when he arrived, and he tightly gripped the blue notebook in his hand, showing no sign of confusion about the transition.

Because he knew that his directing skills were enough to help him gain a foothold in the new field.

Tan Yue returned to his office, picked up the script, and reopened the first page. The words "Time Ticks By" caught his eye; the handwriting was neat yet conveyed a sense of urgency during the creative process.

He took out his phone, opened the WeChat chat with Zheng Tong, and quickly typed: "Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, have the film department's editing director, art director, and screenwriter Zhou Hang hold a meeting with Lin Qingye to give him professional opinions on his script. Remember, focus on support, and don't use 'film experience' to suppress his creativity—his directing ability is stronger than many new directors who have made three or four films, so we must protect his creative enthusiasm."

After sending the message, Tan Yue leaned back in his chair, watching the sky gradually darken outside the window, a smile playing on his lips. Lin Qingye's transformation was not only a personal breakthrough for him, but also an enhancement of the company's content capabilities.

With such a capable and daring director, Brilliant Entertainment's film division will only become more competitive in the future. (End of Chapter)