My cousin asked me to go to Wuha, and Hanikezi stuck to me.

After saying this, Chen Yi opened the car door and got into the car.

Xiao Fang went around to the driver's seat and started the engine.

The car smoothly climbed the ramp of the underground parking garage and merged into the street traffic at dusk.

The streetlights came on one after another, and orange spots of light slid backward along the car window.

When I got home and unlocked the door, my daughter had already taken a shower and changed into her pajamas, walking barefoot on the wooden floor of the living room.

The little girl stood with her hands on her hips, her chin held high, poised as if she were about to step onto the stage.

Hanikezi was leaning back on the sofa scrolling through her phone when she saw him enter the room and gestured for him to come in.

"Sit down quickly, my daughter has been waiting for you for almost half an hour, she almost flipped the sofa cushions off."

Chen Yi took off his slippers, walked over, and sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table.

The girl cleared her throat and began to sing the nursery rhyme she had learned during the day in a very serious manner.

The tune was off-key, and the rhythm was sometimes fast and sometimes slow.

The little guy missed a word at the end of the song, so he just mumbled a string of "la la la" to get it over with.

After finishing his song, he spread his hands to the sides, eagerly awaiting the next part.

Chen Yi clapped in agreement.

"Did you make up the lyrics for the last line?"

"I've forgotten everything the teacher taught me, so I just cobbled it together on the spot."

"You've written it quite freely."

"Daddy, did you like it?"

"It sounds good. Next time, memorize the original lyrics thoroughly before singing. Improvisation is a skill, but you have to have a solid foundation first."

The little girl nodded her head as if she understood, then turned and snuggled into Hanikezi's arms, acting all cute and affectionate.

Chen Yi got up and went into the study, closed the door behind him, and pulled out a chair to sit down.

On the table lay a first draft of a script, its cover neatly printed with the title "The Last Time".

He turned the pages of the book, and the blank spaces were filled with annotations written in pencil.

He spent two years working on this project.

The inspiration came after I finished my second feature film.

One late night, he read a documentary report about an old traditional Chinese medicine doctor in a remote town who still insisted on taking patients' pulses by hand after the popularization of smart diagnosis and treatment.

When someone asked the old doctor why he resisted the procedure, his answer was remarkably simple: "The machine can't detect the warmth in my palm."

These words lingered in Chen Yi's heart, eventually forming the framework of a complete story.

The protagonist of the film is a clockmaker in a remote town.

With the full arrival of the intelligent era, all kinds of instruments can be automatically calibrated by the terminal.

The traditional skills of artisans have lost their place in the market.

Even so, he still pushes open the shop's roller shutter door every day, sits comfortably under a wooden wall covered with gears and springs, and waits for customers who may come at any time.

This character doesn't fight against the tide, doesn't roar, and doesn't vent.

He simply adhered to his inner principles, using the most unassuming methods to move forward steadily in this fast-paced world.

When Chen Yi first drafted this case, he was still preparing for his debut work.

I put it away at the bottom of a box right after writing eight thousand words.

Back then, my skills were too weak to support such a restrained and calm demeanor.

The more restrained the scene, the more it tests the director's skill in directing. If the camera angles are slightly off, the scene will become dull and empty. At that time, the timing was not right.

Now, after the refinement of two feature films and the recognition from both inside and outside the industry, he estimates that the time is ripe.

The following morning, Chen Yi convened a meeting of the main creative team at the studio.

The room was filled with the old crew from two of their previous works, along with newly hired art director and visual effects supervisor.

The whiteboard in the meeting room was covered with concept sketches: a town street scene in gray and blue tones, old shops lined with mechanical clocks, and a massive data hub tower standing at the horizon.

After the producer finished reviewing the budget list, he closed the document and looked at Chen Yi.

"The cost was almost double that of the previous film. The price for the post-production visual effects alone was equivalent to the entire budget of the previous film."

Chen Yi leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped together and resting on his knees.

"The large scale of special effects stems from the requirements of the architecture. The lively atmosphere of the town must be realistic, and the data tower in the distance must have a strong sense of presence. We cannot cut costs on either end."

"The investors were very generous. Two companies joined forces and reached an agreement in less than a week. Such efficiency is rare in the industry. You know in your heart what the investors are after."

"Based on the reputation and trust built up from the first two dramas."

"That's right. The investors have confided in us privately that investing in Chen Yi's project will guarantee that you break even, but how much you earn depends entirely on luck. It sounds like gambling, but they've shown a lot of sincerity."

Chen Yi skipped over that topic and turned to look at the art director.

"How many designs were displayed inside the shop?"

The art director pulled out a tablet and placed it on the table, where several hand-drawn concept sketches were neatly arranged.

"We made three plans in total. The first version leaned towards industrial retro style, using iron frames and wooden workbenches. Another version focused on the local atmosphere of old houses, with water stains and mottled walls. The last version was a compromise that balanced the two."

Chen Yi tapped the second proposal lightly twice with his knuckles.

"Choose the second set. This master craftsman can't repair expensive watches. He only repairs old wall clocks and pendulum clocks from ordinary people's homes. The house should exude traces of life. When you enter, you should be able to smell the aroma of machine oil mixed with old wood."

"The furnishing team will have to put in a lot of effort and go to the flea market to find genuine parts."

"This expense must be accounted for separately; it cannot be avoided."

The meeting lasted a full three hours.

When the meeting ended, the sun was already setting in the west, and there were seven or eight empty paper cups left on the coffee table.

Xiao Fang walked to the end and stopped by the door frame.

"There's something I need to tell you beforehand."

Chen Yi casually put away the concept drawing on the whiteboard.

"speak."

"This film takes a completely different approach from the previous two. The first two relied on suspense and crime as their foundation, which secured a stable audience and guaranteed box office success. Now, there are very few successful examples in China of combining science fiction and humanism. Are you really sure about this one?"

Chen Yi rolled up the blueprint tightly and secured it with a rubber band.

"I've got this seed planted in my mind for two years. I'll feel uneasy if I don't bring it to fruition. As for whether the market will accept it, the reputation I've built up is enough for me to take a gamble. If I lose, I'll accept it; if I win, it means there's no limit to the subject matter."

"You have a very stable mindset."

"Whether it's stable or not, we have to start filming. Some films weren't even started just for financial reasons; they've reached the point where we have no choice but to begin filming."

Xiao Fang nodded slightly, turned around, and pushed open the door to leave.

With the production team fully engaged in preparations, Chen Yi was constantly working in the studio.

The script underwent four rounds of revisions.

The selection of actors took two whole months.

The lead role was played by a middle-aged veteran actor with a background in theater. He is not associated with popular celebrities, his lines are steady and solid, and his eyes exude an unyielding tranquility.

The auspicious date for the start of filming is set for early September.

On the first day of filming, the location was chosen to be an old town at the foot of the mountains in southern Zhejiang.

The mountain mist had not yet dissipated in the early morning, and the stone path gleamed with a damp sheen.

The clapperboard was wiped clean, the columns were empty, waiting to be filled with the sequence number for the first scene.

Chen Yili stood in front of the monitor, intently examining the arrangement of light and shadow within the viewfinder.

The stagehands and crew members were busy running back and forth, the lighting technician was adjusting the angle of the reflector, and the sound engineer was holding up the jib microphone to check the frequency band.

He took out his phone and casually pressed the shutter button.

In the center of the photo is only a blank clapperboard leaning against a folding chair, with a warm gray background.

He then logged into the social media platform, posted the image on his personal feed, and selected "friends only" as the viewer.

I've included a short note.

The third time.

Still nervous.

But I prefer this feeling of tension.

Within two minutes of posting, a notification popped up in response.

Hanikezi's profile picture appeared at the top, with a reply of five words: "Go, my director!"

Immediately afterwards, a long string of Chen Chichi's speech transcription appeared.

"You've been on camera for the third time already, what's the rush? You're not a novice taking a big exam, just start filming and stop being so dramatic."