Artistic director Cesare has been in his new role for barely two years, yet together with president Antonio, he has already infused a powerful new wave of commercial energy into Cannes.
In January, he flew direct from Los Angeles to Ning City, where Li Shan, Tiwen, and an interpreter greeted him at the airport.
Chinese director Li Shan is an old friend of Cannes – the last time he stepped onto the Cannes red carpet, the host introduced him exactly that way. And in truth, it was indeed the case. He has been selected for the main competition three times, won the Grand Prix and Best Director awards, and has also served as president of the jury for the Un Certain Regard section and as a jury member for the main competition. However, all of his Cannes credentials predate Cesare’s tenure, so this meeting is actually the first between Li Shan and Cesare.
He couldn’t figure out why Cesare would make a special trip just for this. Cannes has always been rather aloof toward Chinese-language films; the honeymoon period between them was decades ago. When he received Cesare’s email, Li Shan could hardly believe it. Still, he is, after all, a towering figure in Asian cinema and a leading force in Chinese-language film – his stature and standing are unquestionable. So once the initial surprise passed, Li Shan met Cesare’s arrival with a composed, unruffled ease.
Compared with the Academy Awards and the guild awards, the selection process for the Big Three film festivals is, to some extent, quite casual and personal. For a long time, the lineup for each edition of Cannes was essentially decided by the festival president, the artistic director, and – when they were too busy – an additional third person, who might, who knows, have been the president’s youngest son. That was why Cesare had come this time with only one assistant in tow.
Cesare was in his early fifties, with a stout, stocky frame packed into a shirt and suit, a shiny bald pate, and graying hair only at his temples and the back of his head. Yet beneath this unassuming, portly exterior sat a pair of characteristically Gallic, deep-set eagle eyes.
His purpose in coming was clear. After Tiwen and the others picked him up and treated him to a welcome meal at the hotel, he got straight to the point, saying outright that he had come for When Snow Melts It Turns Green.
“It’s been many years since you last released a new work,” Cesare said, his French rapid-fire. “We are all looking forward to your ‘ten years of sharpening one sword.'”
Of course, that was the interpreter’s rendering, but it was apt all the same.
Li Shan gave a faint smile, neither confirming nor denying it. “It’s just a romantic art-house film.”
“Love is an eternal theme,” Cesare said frankly, and broke into an open smile. “Besides, I ran into Ellisn in Los Angeles – he was staying at the same hotel as me, and we had coffee together. He simply couldn’t stop talking about your new film.”
No wonder.
Ellisn was the CEO of ARP, a major overseas distribution powerhouse. By the time the film wrapped, Zhuang Tiwen had already hosted a banquet for him. During an early internal screening, before the foreign-language subtitles were even ready, Tiwen had invited him first for the first round. If ARP could be secured as the overseas distribution lead for When Snow Melts It Turns Green, it would undoubtedly give the film an edge both in box office and awards prospects.
Hot on Cesare’s heels came Dafu, the artistic director of Venice.
Compared with Cesare, Li Shan and Dafu could truly be called old friends. Dafu had been in charge of the festival’s Asian selection for a full fifteen years, and he was deeply familiar with – and fascinated by – the core of East Asian culture. During his tenure, many emerging Chinese directors made their mark on the Lido.
At the same time, Li Shan’s track record in Venice was equally impressive: two Golden Lions, one Best Director award, and he had also helped launch Yu Wang as a Chinese winner of the Volpi Cup for Best Actress, and, while serving as jury president, had secured Shen Ji the Volpi Cup for Best Actor.
As soon as he got off the plane, Dafu said, “It seems this spring in southern China is turning out to be warm and dry.”
He could speak Chinese, and it was more fluent and idiomatic than the last time Li Shan had seen him. On that previous visit, the place had been mired in overcast, drizzly, sweltering humidity for a full month, which had been quite distressing for this elderly man raised in a small town by the Mediterranean.
“I heard Cesare just left.”
His words and expression carried a hint of mischief, and Li Shan had no intention of hiding anything from him. He laughed heartily and said, “You both keep each other well informed – he knew you were coming before you even arrived.”
Though they are both among the Big Three international film festivals, Cannes and Venice have distinctly different selection philosophies and aesthetic inclinations. Cannes tends to strike a balance between artistry and commercial appeal, boasting greater star power and more enduring influence. Venice, on the other hand, places artistry above all else.
For many years, the Venice Film Festival’s credo has been that “cinema serves serious art.” They are committed to uncovering niche, fledgling, commercially weak art films and providing them with every possible opportunity to shine. Every year, nearly a third of Venice’s lineup comes from unknown newcomers.
However, in the face of Cannes’s aggressive momentum and Berlin’s engagement with political issues, the Venice Film Festival has undergone subtle changes as well. People have been surprised to discover that, at some point, the awards for Best Film, Best Director, and Best Actor and Actress at Venice have shown an astonishingly high degree of overlap with the Oscars.
This is, of course, the result of Venice actively moving in that direction.
The media began to jokingly call Venice yet another Oscar bellwether, and the top brass at major studios, along with producers themselves, have come to accept this subtext as a given –
“Venice is the Academy Awards’ forward outpost. If you have ambitions for the top Academy honors, then starting at Venice is the surest path.”
Some critics have lamented this trend, decrying it as a betrayal. Cultural scholars have written articles calling it yet another victory for Hollywood’s commercial hegemony. But regardless, Venice has indeed regained greater star power as a result.
Dafu was more patient than Cesare. After arriving in Ning City, he first took his time enjoying several long-missed teahouse restaurants before finally sitting down in front of Li Shan’s screen.
…
“So that means both Cannes and Venice have extended invitations to you, with a commitment to select you for the main competition,” Ying Yin said, holding the hotel landline while lounging on a casual sofa near the balcony. The breeze drifted in from the red rooftops and church spires of Milan, carrying a cool touch against her face.
“To us,” Tiwen corrected her phrasing. “Which means you’ve effectively already secured a spot as a Best Actress contender at either Cannes or Venice.”
Unlike awards ceremonies, film festivals don’t require separate nominations – once a film is selected for the main competition, its lead actors are automatically in the running for the acting prizes.
Ying Yin was still a bit dazed, her palm sweaty around the receiver.
“Do you know what Dafu said?” Tiwen continued with a laugh. “It’s only early January, and Venice’s submission window hasn’t even opened yet – and he’s already this eager.”
Ying Yin laughed along. “What did he say? That he was ‘in the neighborhood’?”
“No, no – he said,” Tiwen repeated, “‘Cannes’s submission deadline is still a month and a half away. Cesare will definitely play deadline psychology and hunger games with us – he’ll try to keep us on edge.'”
“So which one are you choosing?”
As soon as she asked, Ying Yin felt it was a silly question and laughed at herself. “Since Cannes came calling, of course it’s Cannes.”
Though they are collectively known as the Big Three, the buzz and prestige of Berlin and Venice clearly fall short of Cannes by a considerable margin. Films that earn a spot in Cannes’s main competition rarely turn to another festival instead. Besides, the temperament of When Snow Melts It Turns Green is a perfect match for Cannes as well.
Tiwen gave it to her straight. “We haven’t decided yet.”
That’s because it involves choices about overseas distributors, the treatment promised by the festival organizers, the jury lineup, and the subsequent awards campaign. To put it bluntly and cruelly – while a selection is certainly cause for celebration, for Li Shan it’s hardly a big deal. He’s been selected plenty of times. Those nominations have long since faded into the river of time; people only remember them in retrospectives, if at all. What he wants now is to make history once again.
“Li Shan will choose Cannes,” Ying Yin said thoughtfully, her fingers unconsciously twirling the telephone cord. “He’s never won the Palme d’Or – that’s his one regret. But he already has two Golden Lions.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Tiwen said with a playful smile on the other end of the line. “But remember – we are the producers, boss.”
She hadn’t yet told Ying Yin that Shang Qingye had given her a card with thirty million US dollars. Since it was a gift, it was best to give it at just the right moment – that way, it would be a true surprise. Tiwen was a patient one. She set aside the film talk and casually asked, “How’s the wedding dress fitting going?”
Ying Yin had made a special trip to Milan just to try on her wedding dress.
The custom handcrafted gown required a long production timeline, but to achieve the perfect fit, the designer had invited her to come try on the initial sample. Ying Yin didn’t want to spoil the surprise for Shang Shao, so she had only brought Junyi and Chu Anni along.
Wen Youyi had originally planned to come as well – but once Shang Qingye learned that she had asked Jacb to design the dress, he practically went into a state of high alert, suddenly jealous over sour grapes nearly forty years old. That Italian was full of tricks; back in his younger days, he had gone on and on about Wen Youyi being his muse, tossing off all sorts of flowery flattery with ease, which only made the taciturn Shang Qingye seem all the more fierce and insensitive by comparison.
Jacb had even once held Wen Youyi’s hand as they made a grand finale appearance at his personal fashion show, proclaiming her the goddess of elegance, the earthly embodiment of Athena and Aphrodite. The Hong Kong media ran headlines everywhere, and Wen Youyi became the talk of the town overnight – a hotly pursued catch among young heirs from wealthy families. Though it was common knowledge that Wen Youyi was originally betrothed to Shang Qingye, it was equally well known that Shang Qingye had been blind to her worth, offended the young lady, and that the marriage had already fallen through.
Shang Qingye never imagined that at his age – when most men his age were already enjoying their grandchildren – he would still be losing sleep and getting riled up over old scores.
Even Wen Youyi’s apology didn’t help.
“You saw it yourself – I spent a whole month picking out a wedding dress with Yinyin, visited every haute couture designer, and couldn’t find anything she truly liked. That’s why I went to Jacb,” she said, reasonable and gentle.
Shang Qingye listened in silence, then delivered a deadpan summary. “So what you’re saying is, no one in the whole world understands your taste except him.”
Wen Youyi was speechless.
“But Yinyin and Ah-Shao’s wedding is what matters most,” Wen Youyi pressed on, trying to reason with him.
“I don’t matter.”
Wen Youyi fell silent again.
She held her patience, coaxing him gently and persuasively, and even hooked her finger around his. “I just want to give them the very best. This was an urgent matter – please don’t hold it against me. Daddy certainly wouldn’t want their wedding to have any regrets.”
Shang Qingye’s lips curled slightly. After a faint, wry smile, he looked down at her and said, “So you’re making up for it because our wedding had regrets?”
Wen Youyi was left speechless once more.
She let go of his hand, stood up, walked away, and closed the door behind her. “Think it over some more.”
That said, that night, when she heard him shut himself in the small study and cough from smoking too heavily, she couldn’t help but feel both pained and exasperated. She certainly couldn’t tell Ying Yin any of this, so she used wedding preparations as an excuse and asked Xiao Lai to arrange all the schedules, vehicles, and drivers for her.
The initial sample of the wedding dress was very plain – like the raw clay of a vase, before coloring or carving. Yet even so, the ivory taffeta clung to the figure, and its noble, pure elegance was amplified by the voluminous skirt and train, leaving Junyi utterly transfixed.
Chu Anni had seen her fair share of the world, but when she met the designer Jacb in person, she was struck speechless. Then, when she laid eyes on Ying Yin in the first fitting, she stood frozen, a shudder like an electric current racing through her entire body.
With one hand resting on the strapless bodice and her other bare arm curved gracefully in front of her, Ying Yin inclined her head and dipped into an elegant ballet curtsy. She smiled and asked, “Do I look like a princess?”
Chu Anni let out a soft sigh and clasped her hands together. “I’m afraid my own vulgarity might sneak out and ruin you.”
From that day on, every second of her time was consumed by imagining Ying Yin’s styling and makeup. She scrapped draft after draft, and they fluttered like snowflakes across the solid wood floor of her studio.
…
When news broke that When Snow Melts It Turns Green would premiere at the Venice Film Festival, it marked the film’s first entry into the public eye since wrapping production.
An official media outlet under the Film Bureau reported the news in a brief dispatch:
[“Li Shan’s new film When Snow Melts It Turns Green has been confirmed to screen at the Venice Film Festival, making it the first Chinese-language film this year to secure an overseas festival engagement. Venice artistic director Dafu also confirmed the news to reporters, expressing great anticipation.
It is understood that Cannes had also extended an invitation to When Snow Melts It Turns Green, but this time Li Shan has clearly set his sights on the City of Water. When reached by reporters, Cannes artistic director Cesare confirmed this fact and expressed his regret, citing scheduling and technical reasons.
When Snow Melts It Turns Green tells the story of a terminally ill sex worker who finds true love in the snowy mountains. Produced by Hong Kong’s Ning Ji Film and starring Ying Yin – a Best Actress winner at three major awards – it marks the fifth collaboration between Li Shan and Shen Ling. The film was registered in Hong Kong and produced by Li Shan’s full regular crew. However, the production team has yet to give a definitive response regarding whether it will be released in mainland China.
This year’s Venice Film Festival will be held from August 10 to September 9, when filmmakers from around the world will gather on the Lido to exchange and celebrate the art of cinema.”]
Naturally, fans, followers, and detractors alike promptly reposted the news across various entertainment forums and discussion boards.
The online buzz was heated, with reactions ranging from regret and well-wishes to anticipation and schadenfreude:
[I really don’t get it – they could have gone to Cannes, why choose Venice?]
[Didn’t they say it’s technical and scheduling reasons? Cannes is in May, and it’s already the end of January.]
[You actually buy that? It’s clearly just an excuse.]
[It’s fine. We already have Goodbye, Angela and Ke Yu. Given Cannes’s usual PUA antics, even if they did make it into the main competition, they’d just be cannon fodder.]
[I’m suddenly reminded of our Best Actress’s proud record of being shut out at Cannes. When she set off, banners were flying and drums were beating; when she came back, she was a nobody.]
[Surely not everyone here still doesn’t know that Cannes would never give the Palme d’Or, Best Actor, and Best Actress to the same film? Goodbye, Angela has already made it into the TSPDT Top 1,000 – has your fave? Can they handle a thirty-minute one-take shot?]
[This is Ying Yin’s fourth outing at the Big Three – I know you’re bitter, so just swallow it.]
[Ying Yin’s filmography just got thicker +1. Hot take: she’s only 30.]
As the discussion grew, the characterization of Yin Xueqing and the film’s level of explicit content once again became a subject of public debate – and the backlash came fast and fierce:
[To be honest, judging from the project filing, it’s basically a “rescuing the fallen woman” fantasy for old men. Can the Shang family really accept a daughter-in-law like that? /shocked//shocked/]
[Going nude to chase awards – our Sister Yin sure plays hardball. Otherwise, how else could she bag a wealthy family?]
[This movie probably hits all the right notes for old white men too – a beautiful, terminally ill sex worker who’s all dramatic over love because of me. Tsk tsk, Sister Yin’s skills at pleasing men have really reached new heights.]
[Sister Yin really is a top-tier graduate of the male gaze academy, huh.]
[Honestly, other young actresses in the domestic entertainment industry should take notes – look at how far she’s willing to go]
[LOL, other people have dignity. Not like her – she’s good at using “art” as a fig leaf.]
[A passerby clicked into this thread expecting serious discussion about female actors and performance boundaries, and instead I get…]
[You guys are…]
[The movie hasn’t even come out yet. What are you all even implying? I don’t get it.]
[Let me say it straight: the better this film does, the more disgusted I am by her /vomit/]
Junyi couldn’t bear to read any further. Her heart racing and breath short, she got up and headed for the restroom.
She couldn’t understand it – no matter how hard she tried. All the honors, the achievements, the unwavering fairy-tale love, the sincerity and tenderness offered as a sacrifice to art – none of it seemed able to move this cold, unyielding wall even an inch. Ying Yin under the spotlight still felt like she was being paraded through the streets, unarmed, while their words turned into spears.
Junyi splashed cold water on her face twice, braced herself against the ceramic sink, and took several deep breaths before finally suppressing the stifling unease pressing on her chest.
When she returned to the lounge, Ying Yin had already finished her makeup and was waiting for the magazine shoot and interview. Noticing that Junyi’s baby hairs were damp, she asked, “Why did you go wash your face all of a sudden?”
Junyi scrambled for an excuse. “I was getting a bit tired.”
“Give me my phone.” Ying Yin held out her hand.
“The interview’s about to start. N-no, don’t – don’t get distracted.” Junyi turned clumsy again, telling a flimsy lie.
Ying Yin saw right through her with a single glance and raised an eyebrow. “I got flamed again?”
“…Yeah.”
Ying Yin thought for a moment, then let Junyi have her way and decided not to look. Still, there was no trace of sadness on her face – instead, she smiled and comforted her: “Don’t you read them either. Don’t take it to heart.”
The magazine’s intern editor came to knock on the door. “Ms. Ying, our set is ready.”
This was a cover feature funded by Musel. The photos had already been taken; today was the interview session, which would include both a written feature and simultaneous video recording. The news of When Snow Melts It Turns Green being selected for Venice had just broken, so the interview theme was set as: [Filmmaker Ying Yin: Waiting for the Snow to Melt, Giving Life Its Greenery].
Per standard practice, the interview outline had been strictly vetted by the artist’s team. However, the editor-in-chief Feng Xingxue had sincerely asked for Ying Yin’s input on whether they could include some personal, emotion-related topics. Ying Yin agreed.
“If only we could do a feature interview with you and Mr. Shang,” Feng Xingxue said half-jokingly. “And maybe shoot a set of inside pages while we’re at it.”
“Absolutely impossible.” Ying Yin laughed, deflecting modestly on Shang Shao’s behalf: “He’s not photogenic. Your magazine would end up unsold.”
The interview was set in a studio with an elegantly arranged backdrop – pure black curtains accented with white and green hydrangeas, lilies of the valley, and bamboo leaves, perfectly matching the theme. Two chairs faced each other in front of the camera, the setup informal and relaxed, with a chill, conversational vibe.
“We just heard the good news a few days ago about When Snow Melts It Turns Green being selected for Venice. Could you tell us about the circumstances and your original intentions when you took on this film?”
Ying Yin then described her conversation with Li Shan.
“I’m an actress with a very strong drive,” she admitted candidly. “When an opportunity comes, I have to seize it. So when Li Shan said this role would be very challenging, my first reaction was that I wanted to give it a try. Before Xueqing, I hadn’t taken on any art-house films for over two years. I really wanted to once again take on a role with depth and a strong sense of life.”
“There must have been so many stories during the shoot,” the host guided. “I heard your entire crew stayed in a snowy valley in Xinjiang for three whole months.”
“Yes.” Ying Yin smiled, as if she could see the Kazakh wooden cabins and the fluffy snow before her eyes again. “It was freezing there, and I’m someone who really feels the cold – I wanted to hug the oil heater and never let go. The way the Kazakhs get through winter left a deep impression on me. They have a kind of flatbread that can be stored for one or two months, and it’s so hard you have to saw it slowly with a knife.”
“So the rumor is true – that Mr. Shang sent over a hundred oil heaters to the crew,” the host said, resting her chin on her hand with a mischievous grin. “And they were even airlifted in by helicopter.”
“Yes.” It was the first time Ying Yin was sharing these personal details with the public, and though her mature, composed voice remained calm, her heart was already tightening with shyness. “My assistant had only prepared one, so when he came over, he brought a few extra.”
Shang Shao came to pick her up after work.
The magazine had received instructions from higher-ups and dispatched their PR staff along with Feng Xingxue to greet him hurriedly in the underground garage elevator lobby. When they saw the legendary Hong Kong license plate 3 slowly approaching, they hardly dared to blink. By the time the man stepped out of the car, their palms were already sweaty.
“Mr. Shang, the interview is still in progress. It’s expected to take about another fifteen minutes,” Feng Xingxue reported, leading him upstairs.
If news had a speed limit, then inside a magazine building, it would undoubtedly travel at the speed of light. By the time the elevator reached the eleventh floor, everyone at Mda already knew that the young heir – the one who had been seen laughing and chatting with their group boss on a superyacht – had arrived.
He walked nearly a hundred meters past several department offices, all with transparent glass walls offering no privacy whatsoever, under the gaze of countless eyes.
Everyone watched Feng Xingxue speaking to him. Though no one could hear what was said, they could see him nod slightly, offering measured responses – distant, perhaps, but without the arrogance or carelessness of someone looking down on others.
When they reached the studio, Feng Xingxue gently pushed the door open for him.
The studio was spacious. The photographer, photography assistants, makeup and hair assistants, content editor, star editor, and assistants all stood quietly. At the faint sound of the door, several of them turned around and saw Feng Xingxue raise an index finger to her lips, signaling them to stay quiet.
Ying Yin kept her eyes on the host, assuming it was just a staff member coming and going. With professional dedication, her gaze didn’t waver in front of the camera.
The host asked, “I remember in a previous interview about marriage, you said that you actually had no longing or expectation for it. Now you’re thirty – the prime age for an actress – and very few of your peers in this industry get married at this age. What prompted this change in you?”
The man who had been largely indifferent, there only to pick up his wife from work, now lifted his gaze.
“After the internal screening of When Snow Melts It Turns Green, I met Ms. Zhang Wei. When she talked about Xueqing, one line left a deep impression on me. She said that honest, heartfelt love is nothing to be ashamed of. Whether it’s marriage, career choices, or changes in life’s path – these are all things that can happen over the course of our long lives. But when the moment comes, if we can firmly examine our own will, find the strength to face ourselves and be honest with ourselves, then I believe any choice we make will be without regret.”
What Ying Yin didn’t know was that as she spoke these words, every man and woman behind the camera had unconsciously lifted their eyes toward her.
As she pondered, an unconscious gentle smile spread across her face. “My husband had a line tattooed on himself – it’s from Socrates. I think it’s fitting to share it here as well: ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ Conversely, if every step we take has been examined with self-honesty, then the road ahead is worth looking forward to and worth striving for.”
After saying this, she realized something, froze for a moment, and then said in a low voice, “Wait – remember to cut this part out.”
The host asked, “Why cut it? It was beautifully said.”
Ying Yin covered her forehead with one hand. “I can’t let my family find out he has a tattoo.”
Shang Shao: “…”
She was still insisting that it had to be cut, when she heard some stifled laughter and coughs around her. Sensing the atmosphere had relaxed, Ying Yin turned her head to look –
Shang Shao sat with his long legs crossed, a faint smile playing on his lips, his gaze toward her both helpless and meaningful.
Ying Yin’s face went pale, then flushed red, and her mouth went dry.
