Chapter 20: Maybe God gave me a brain transplant?

Li Qinglan operated the software while saying, "Don't rush to edit yet. You don't have a small amount of footage, and it's a chamber drama. Don't be fooled by the single setting; when it gets messy, it's even more troublesome than location shooting. First, organize by scene, camera angle, and audio. Don't name your projects recklessly; write the date, scene, and version number clearly. You students love names like 'Final Version,' 'Final Final Version,' and 'Won't Change Even If I Die,' and in the end, you can't even find the files yourselves."

The project window opened on the screen, and the footage folders popped up in a dense array.

Apartment opening, Jiang Yuan's monologue, Shen Hong entering the door, the first interrogation, secret witness, car accident flashback, the body dumping site, eye contact by the window, the unmasking twist.

A camera, B camera, handheld inserts, ambient sound, sync sound, clock ticking, teacup clinking, and the script supervisor's notes.

Just looking at the file names was enough to make many students' scalps tingle.

Director Jiang Ning also fell silent for a moment.

While filming, she had felt quite clear about things—which shots to trim, which lines to keep, and where to use silence to pressure the other person. But once she arrived at the editing suite and all the footage was laid out, she realized there was a fatal chasm between the completed film in her mind and this pile of messy footage on the hard drive.

This was very annoying.

Li Qinglan moved quickly, clicking the mouse on the screen with clean precision: "First, build your Bins. What's the biggest fear with a chamber drama? It's that you think it's just two people sitting and talking, but it ends up looking like security camera footage. Jiang Yuan's reactions, Shen Hong's pressure, the clock sounds, spatial relationships—all of these need to be managed separately. Archive the audio separately; don't spend half a day looking for a simple teacup sound later."

She opened one of the bins and pointed to the project settings: "Confirm the frame rate, aspect ratio, and audio sample rate first. If the audio and video aren't synced, check the sample rate and timecode first; don't just start manually moving the audio tracks. You might align them now, but once you export, the whole film will drift like it's haunted."

Several students nearby had already secretly gathered around.

It wasn't often that an editing professor personally stepped in to guide a student. Especially not when the student being guided was Director Jiang Ning.

Who in the Directing Department didn't know the state of Director Jiang Ning's past editing classes? Lateness, absenteeism, and half-hearted assignments.

Li Qinglan spoke for a few minutes, then suddenly stopped and turned to look at her: "Do you understand?"

Director Jiang Ning nodded: "Pretty much."

Li Qinglan raised an eyebrow.

She had taught students for so many years, and what she feared most was when they said three phrases: "Pretty much," "I should be able to," and "Let me try."

Usually, these three phrases were followed by either a disaster or an even bigger disaster.

"Pretty much?" Li Qinglan repeated softly, her tone a bit cold, "Then you do it."

She pushed the mouse directly toward her.

The editing room went instantly silent.

A few students couldn't help but exchange glances, some of them barely able to suppress a smirk.

Here it comes.

The public execution segment.

Director Jiang Ning took the mouse, her fingers pausing on it for half a second.

She really wasn't familiar with AVID; how to build projects, set cache paths, and properly import footage—all of this she had to learn on the spot. But she knew what kind of story this film needed to express, and she had the gem of the original work from her past life to guide her, not to mention the final edits of various masterpiece films in her memory.

What she lacked was mostly practical skills, and the professor had just taught her the method.

"The Invisible Guest" isn't just about filming two people chatting.

It's filming a trial.

Every time Shen Hong asks a question, Jiang Yuan takes a step back; every time Jiang Yuan tells a lie, the audience is pushed a little closer to the truth by her. Chamber dramas don't have big spectacles; all the tension is hidden in the eyes, pauses, breathing, and editing points.

Director Jiang Ning didn't rush to drag the timeline; instead, she opened the script supervisor's notes first.

Li Qinglan raised her eyebrows slightly.

This move was correct.

The script supervisor's notes recorded the status of every take—which take had smooth lines, which one had off-kilter emotions, which one had an extra glance from the actor—things that needed to be carefully considered during editing.

Director Jiang Ning began to look at the footage.

Fast forward, pause.

Fast forward again, pause again.

She watched quickly, but she wasn't skipping around randomly. Every pause point was caught exactly when Song Shishi raised her eyes, when Zhu Yilong's fingers rubbed the edge of the teacup, or the second the clock's ticking pressed into the silence.

The sound of breathing in the editing room grew lighter.

Professor Wang Hongwei stood in the back; he had originally wanted to offer a couple of reminders, but in the end, he swallowed his words.

He also wanted to see just how far Director Jiang Ning could go.

A minute later, Director Jiang Ning stopped and dragged a few close-ups of Song Shishi into a separate folder, placing the other takes to the side.

Li Qinglan asked: "Why did you separate them like that?"

Director Jiang Ning stared at the screen, her voice not loud: "These takes can't be used."

"Why?"

"The emotion was revealed too early."

She clicked on two of them.

On screen, Song Shishi was wearing a wig and glasses, sitting opposite Zhu Yilong. The overhead lighting cast deep shadows into her eye sockets, and a cold blue light reflected off her lenses.

In the first take, she said: "Mr. Jiang, there is only one language between us that can clear your name."

Zhu Yilong asked: "What?"

She raised her eyes: "The truth."

This take was steady.

Cold, hard, with no unnecessary emotion.

Director Jiang Ning clicked on another take. The lines were the same, and the actions were similar, but when Song Shishi said the word "truth," there was a faint glint of hatred in her eyes.

Ordinary people might not notice it.

But Director Jiang Ning noticed it.

She pointed to the screen: "This take is acted with more power, but it cannot be used. Right now, she should only be 'a lawyer understanding the situation' to Jiang Yuan; you can't let the audience sense personal hatred too early. Otherwise, the twist regarding her identity as a mother will be leaked."

The editing room went silent for a few seconds.

A student subconsciously frowned.

The words sounded a bit convoluted, but upon careful thought, it was indeed the case.

Shen Hong must act like a lawyer in the first half.

The more she acts like a lawyer, the more shocked the audience will be when she removes the wig and wipes off her makeup at the end.

If the editing gives away her hatred too early, the twist won't be a twist.

Li Qinglan didn't comment immediately; she just reached out and watched the two takes again. First time, second time. Then, she paused the frame on Song Shishi's eyes, her brow knitting slightly.

Director Jiang Ning was right.

The second take was certainly good, perhaps even more dramatic if taken out of context. But it was too "dramatic."

Some shots aren't bad; they're just in the wrong place.

This is the cruelest part of the editing table. A good performance by an actor, beautiful cinematography, and great lighting don't mean a shot can stay. It must serve the secret of the entire film.

Li Qinglan continued to scroll forward, growing quieter as she went.

Several students nearby were already a bit dazed. They didn't quite understand, but they could read the professor's reaction.

Li Qinglan didn't refute it.

This in itself already spoke volumes.

Finally, Li Qinglan let go of the mouse and looked up at Director Jiang Ning: "Who taught you these things?"

Director Jiang Ning was stunned for a moment.

This question was harder to answer than three-point editing.

She couldn't exactly say that in her past life, she had edited thousands of short videos, watched countless director interviews and behind-the-scenes documentaries, and been forced by clients to revise projects hundreds of times, right?

That was too absurd.

And it sounded like her mental state wasn't very stable either.

She blinked, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly, and she played the cute card very seriously: "Maybe... Heaven saw that I skipped too many classes in the past and was afraid I wouldn't be able to graduate, so it gave me a brain upgrade overnight."

Someone in the editing room couldn't hold it in and let out a low chuckle.

Li Qinglan was also choked up for a second.

She stared at Director Jiang Ning for a long while, then sneered: "If Heaven really cared about you, it should have fixed your attendance record first."

Director Jiang Ning nodded quickly: "That's why I suspect that It might find me too much trouble as well."

Professor Wang Hongwei finally couldn't help it and turned his head to cough.

Li Qinglan looked at her for a few seconds; her gaze wasn't as cold as before, but her tone remained stern: "Less lip. Keep watching."

Director Jiang Ning's fingers fell back onto the mouse, and the bit of nervousness in her heart slowly subsided.