171: Chapter 175 Chen Mo Loves You

Immediately after, a loud-voiced boy in the back row stood up, his voice so resonant that it could be heard clearly without a microphone.

"Teacher Chen Mo, you just said that the film industry lacks 'people who are not in a rush' the most. So, in your opinion, what does the entire film industry lack the most right now? Besides not being in a rush."

Chen Mo began to answer this question without almost any pause.

"It lacks quietness. Everyone says we need faster editing, more intense conflicts, more explosive special effects, but the moments that truly touch people's hearts often happen during the quietest times."

"I saw such a moment on Scarlett's set. She stopped acting, she paused, but the director didn't call cut. No one in the whole place moved for several seconds. Although that shot didn't make it into the final film, everyone on set kept those few seconds in their hearts."

"No explosions, no lines, no special effects, just a woman in silence. Those few seconds are the meaning of cinema. So if you ask me what is missing the most—it's shots that don't speak, directors who aren't in a rush, and investors willing to give actors those few seconds."

As soon as Chen Mo finished speaking, thunderous applause erupted throughout the hall.

A girl with short hair raised her hand and stood up. Her voice was trembling a little, but not from nervousness; it was the solemnity of someone who had saved up a question for a long time and finally found the right person to ask.

"Brother Chen Mo, I'm from the cinematography department. I want to ask a more realistic question. You just said 'films need quietness,' but the current market... especially domestically, quiet films are hard to make profitable. How do you think someone who wants to make quiet films should survive?"

Chen Mo took his hands off the podium and leaned against the edge of it. He didn't answer immediately, leaving the screening hall silent for several beats.

"I've asked myself this question too. Not about making films, but about writing songs. If the songs I write are very quiet, can they sell? If the songs I write are too 'slow,' will they be eliminated by the market?"

"Last year, Charlie and I wrote a song, written for losers. He was also very worried that no one would listen to it, but I said, there will be. There are many such people in life. Then he said to release it after winning at the Grammy Awards."

There were a few snickers from the audience. Chen Mo also smiled, raised an eyebrow, and continued.

"The truth is, the more you try to cater to the market, the less the market recognizes you, because the market always changes faster than you do. But if you create something that makes those who are as quiet as you feel understood, then that thing gains vitality."

"Don't think 'how to make everyone buy my movie,' think 'how to make a portion of people feel that this movie was made for them.' Quietness is a power, not everyone understands it. Those who don't understand won't pay for your movie, and that's okay."

"But there will definitely be a small group of people who, in a rented room while suffering from insomnia late at night, will dig out your film and watch it repeatedly. They are waiting for you. Make it for them first, then slowly move toward a bigger world; you can still survive for a long time."

Chen Mo suddenly spread his arms and said jokingly, "How many people are there in our country, how many people are there globally? Even if it's a niche circle, there are still a lot of people."

The girl picked up the voice recorder from the desktop and pressed it against her chest. The screen was lit, still recording. She nodded gently and sat down.

Halfway through the Q&A session, a boy wearing glasses stood up.

He was sitting in the fourth row by the aisle. He had no notebook, no voice recorder, only a half-drunk bottle of mineral water.

When he stood up, a classmate next to him whispered, "Good question." He pursed his lips and took the microphone.

"Brother Chen Mo, I want to ask a question that might be a bit direct. Is your current trouble that you are 'too famous'? How do you view your own success? Will you be proud because of your current achievements?"

Someone in the audience laughed softly, but it quickly went quiet. This question hit home for many people.

The person standing on the podium: Forbes cover, Grammy Awards nomination, American Music Awards Artist of the Year, Time Person of the Year shortlist, Spring Festival Gala finale. In his early twenties, in less than two years, the height he has reached has already made countless people unable to catch up.

Chen Mo switched the microphone to his other hand, looked at the boy, and said with a smile, "I went back to Changsha yesterday morning and bought my mom a new car. My mom said, 'This car is more comfortable than Old Liu's son's Audi.' At that moment, I was indeed quite proud."

He was silent for a moment and put the mineral water bottle back on the podium.

"Many people won't believe it when I say it, but Director Jin framed the Spring Festival Gala ratings and had me bring it home. My dad wiped it with his reading glasses on, my mom posted me in the neighborhood group chat, and neighbors handed me oranges..."

"The moments that truly made me feel 'I have made it' are these very, very small things."

He raised his hand to lift the bottle of mineral water he hadn't drunk much of and shook it. The water in the bottle swayed gently, refracting the warm white light of the screening hall.

"As for the trouble, everyone thinks I am 'too famous' because you place too much importance on me. Actually, when each of you returns home, your parents will also think you are the most important people in the world. So, this love for 'Chen Mo' didn't come out of nowhere; it requires you to keep walking, never stopping, to get to where you are today."

"So my trouble isn't that I'm 'too famous,' but that I'm afraid I'll walk too fast in the future and forget my original intention. As for being proud—"

"Being proud is not something for me to do; I just need to stay clear-headed." Chen Mo said with a smile, "Of course, you can also be proud for me, because what I said is indeed very reasonable."

A boy shouted, "I am proud of you! Chinese pop is the best!"

Laughter rose and fell in the audience, and then there was a silence.

The boy with glasses took a gentle breath, returned the microphone to the volunteer, and wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand as he sat down.

The following few questions ranged from on-set communication, budget allocation, and lens language, all the way to when he would go to see Martin, and whether he had thought about making his own films.

Chen Mo smiled and said, "Movies, maybe not, but if there's a chance to film the short stories I've written, I'll be the first to look for a Beijing Film Academy student to be the assistant director."

The audience erupted in cheers, and the loud-voiced boy directly shouted, "Me! Where do I submit my resume!"

Chen Mo pointed to the back door and said my assistant is over there. You can submit it, but you have to specify how late you can stay up.

Laughter surged up again.

Just at this moment, a volunteer pointed the microphone toward a girl standing between the seats with her hand raised.

Her voice was still trembling when she spoke, clearly not having thought about how to phrase it, but she could no longer control her emotions: "Brother Chen Mo, my father passed away last year."

She paused for several seconds. The air in the screening hall seemed to have been sucked out. Someone in the front row turned their head slightly, and someone put down their pen.

"Before he passed away, he told me, 'Do what you want to do, don't stop because of me.' I am sitting in a classroom at the Beijing Film Academy now, but—" she bit her lip and held back, "but I don't know what to do to make him continue to be proud of me. He is no longer here."

Chen Mo was silent for several seconds before speaking with a hoarse voice.

"I have faced the departure of a friend before. In fact, those who leave don't hope for us to achieve any specific success; they just hope we continue to do what we want to do."

"Your father let you go do it, not to make you become someone for his sake; he was afraid you would stop right there." His voice lowered a bit, and he pulled the microphone in closer.

"You are sitting in a classroom at the Beijing Film Academy, holding onto a dream. He saw it, and he is already proud of you. You don't need to worry about what to do; you just need to continue doing your work, film it, finish the last shot, and then let the credits roll."

"You will see, when that line of text slowly rolls past on the screen, that will be your reply to him."

The girl took a tissue from her desk mate. She looked down at her hands and then nodded several times.

Applause started, not knowing from which row it first began.

The loud-voiced boy in the back row cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Chen Mo! I love you!"

Then the whole row stood up.

Several girls from the acting department in the front row had long stopped taking notes. One of them held her notebook to her chest, her forehead pressing against the edge of the paper, her shoulders shaking gently.

More and more people stood up, and all four hundred-plus people in the screening hall stood up.

Outside the window, the parasol trees at Jimen Bridge were dyed warm gold by the streetlights.

Chen Mo bowed slightly, straightened up, and put the microphone back on the podium.

"Today's exchange was very good. Some things I have said for the first time in public, as someone who is still on the road."

Chen Mo raised his finger and tapped the small bilingual "dont stop" badge on his left chest, saying, "Don't you stop either. Regardless of whether anyone watches what you film, keep filming. Keeping filming is the answer."

Only then did people notice that next to the boy with glasses on the screen, there was another, thinner boy standing on tiptoes, holding half a bottle of mineral water and an unopened pack of Oreos in his hands.

He had probably stood in the corner for the entire lecture, never managing to get a chance to ask a question.

Jessica walked over and took the Oreos, and Chen Mo nodded in that direction.

Jessica was logging the schedule into her phone nearby and was about to call him to leave. He pointed to the back door, where several students who hadn't squeezed into the screening hall were being stopped by security outside the door, standing on tiptoes and looking into the glass window.

Chen Mo walked out and stood in front of them, forming a small semicircle.

Someone took out a half-torn clapperboard from their backpack and asked him to sign the back. He asked the name of the film while signing.

After learning it wasn't finished yet, he shoved his own pencil into the student's hand.

"Film first, then sign the second one after you've filmed. You can't wait when doing things; the longer you wait, the worse it gets."