Chapter 18: An Unexpected Delight

Li Xiaoran parted her lips slightly, staring blankly at the large screen.

At that moment, the screen on stage began to play footage of Li Xiaoran sketching portraits on the beach.

On the screen, Li Xiaoran gazed into the distance, her expression gradually becoming dreamy, as if murmuring in a trance, "I wonder, does he miss me as much as I miss him?"

The applause swelled.

Accompanied by the clapping, Cao Yang gently removed the earpiece from Li Xiaoran’s ear, and only then did she come back to her senses. She covered her mouth and stood stiffly.

Just a few months ago, she was a minor character barely noticed in TV dramas, only landing slightly more significant supporting roles through friends’ recommendations.

Now, she stood at one of the highest temples of art cinema—the Berlin International Film Festival—as Best Actress and Berlin’s Queen of Cinema. Could there be anything more unbelievable?

Li Xiaoran embraced Cao Yang, her voice trembling with emotion: “Thank you, Cao Yang.”

Then she hugged Zhao Tiantian, who had risen beside her, gave a polite one-handed embrace to Lao Tian, and walked toward the stage.

In Wang Xiaoshuai’s crew, Gao Yuanyuan’s eyes widened in surprise as she whispered to Xun Ge’er, “She really won Best Actress? The first from mainland China to win Best Actress at Berlin, and the second among the three major film festivals—truly remarkable.”

Though she had expected this, Xun Ge’er was still envious, staring at Li Xiaoran, who was receiving congratulations from the award presenters. She corrected Da Meiyuan, “Including Hong Kong’s Wan Wan, she’s the second Best Actress at Berlin, the fourth at the three major festivals. Mainland China is indeed the first to win Berlin Best Actress.”

“That’s still incredible.”

Xun Ge’er only focused on the stage and ignored Da Meiyuan.

Of course, it was remarkable. International stars constantly issued press releases claiming breakthroughs in Hollywood, calling themselves global superstars, but what meaningful awards had they actually won? Most rose to fame thanks to the national master’s film *My Father, My Mother*.

Last year, *My Father, My Mother* received the Jury Grand Prix at Berlin. Originally, International Star had no part in it, but she forced her way onto the stage with the national master, wearing a bright red bellyband, stirring a storm of public opinion.

With that kind of energy, it was no wonder others succeeded more.

Taking the Silver Bear from the presenter, Li Xiaoran couldn’t help but glance at it; it felt heavy. Rumor had it the trophy was made of pure silver, crafted entirely by hand—she wasn’t sure if that was true.

A whirlwind of thoughts crossed her mind. She took a deep breath and stepped up to the microphone.

“Thanks! I... I...”

She froze, forgetting her lines. She had memorized them perfectly just yesterday. It was all Cao Yang’s fault.

Better to listen to Cao Yang—just speak in Chinese.

“Thank you. Thank you to the Berlin International Film Festival, the jury, all the crew and cast, and my parents. Special thanks to director Cao Yang for giving me this opportunity. And thank you to the past me—your efforts have not been in vain!”

She raised the Silver Bear in her hand, glanced again at the frozen image on the screen behind her—the image of herself gazing dreamily into the distance, the subtitle reading: "I wonder, does he miss me as much as I miss him?"

Then, bowing her head to the microphone, she added softly, “I’m still thinking of you.”

Once more, she raised the Silver Bear and stepped down from the stage.

Was she aiming for another Best Actress award? Many wondered.

“Such ambition,” Xun Ge’er murmured quietly.

After another round of applause, the Best Actor award was given to Benicio Del Toro for *Drug Network*. The film’s director was Steven Soderbergh, a previous Palme d’Or winner at Cannes.

With the Best Actor award given, three awards remained: Best Director, the Jury Grand Prix, and the top prize, the Golden Bear for Best Film.

Among these, the Golden Bear was the highest honor. The Jury Grand Prix was next, sometimes called the second-best film, considered slightly higher in prestige than Best Director—though they were more or less equal.

Occasionally, there was an additional jury prize, more of a consolation, less prestigious than Best Director.

This year, the Jury Grand Prix went to *Italian Language Class*, a work by Danish female director Lolle Safie—a prize with some symbolic significance given the director’s gender.

Cao Yang’s ambitions were modest; winning Best Actress already fulfilled his goal. From now on, he was no longer unknown and could proudly claim the title of “renowned director.” Making movies would no longer be so difficult.

He therefore paid little attention to the remaining awards, idly playing with Li Xiaoran’s Silver Bear, contemplating investment and casting choices for his next film.

Wang Xiaoshuai, however, grew tense. The remaining prizes were all major awards, naturally stirring anxiety. He speculated which might be his and secretly coveted the Golden Bear.

Who attending the Berlin Film Festival wouldn’t want to claim the sole Golden Bear?

When the presenter announced, “Wang Xiaoshuai, for *Seventeen-Year-Old Bicycle*,” Wang Xiaoshuai blinked in disbelief, feeling both regret and relief.

Regret for missing out on the Golden Bear, regret that the film hadn’t passed censorship, but relief for having Teacher Xie’s help and Sister Jiao’s support to clinch Best Director.

Cao Yang applauded, puzzled. He recalled that Wang Xiaoshuai had previously won the Jury Grand Prix and that this award had propelled him to Best Director status.

In truth, it was fine. Though slightly less prestigious than the Jury Grand Prix, for those less familiar with the domestic scene, “Best Director” sounded more impressive.

Wang Xiaoshuai was deeply moved. This was his first heavyweight award. On stage, he thanked many people in a rambling manner, somewhat at odds with his usual reserved persona.

Cao Yang believed Wang Xiaoshuai must be satisfied. Risking a directing ban, he had earned Berlin’s Best Director prize—well worth it.

With the Silver Bear for Best Director in hand, Wang Xiaoshuai had joined the ranks of renowned directors.

As Cao Yang daydreamed, Lao Tian nudged him and whispered, “Aren’t you nervous?”

“What is there to be nervous about?” Cao Yang was baffled. He had gotten all he should; what was left to worry about?

“I counted out of boredom just now. Only *Intimacy* hasn’t won an award yet, but two major prizes remain.”

“Hmm?”

A strong premonition filled Cao Yang’s heart. Both *Intimacy* and *Alone by the Sea at Night* shared themes of love and extramarital affairs, exploring human loneliness through these stories.

Same theme, different expression.

*Intimacy* portrayed two strangers engaging in silent, almost unspoken trysts—arguably not quite affairs, as the female lead was always brought by her husband—using sex to reach love.

Under Cao Yang’s direction, however, Li Xiaoran’s stunning performance carried the entire film. There were no erotic scenes, yet the film perfectly achieved its purpose.

By comparison, it seemed far more “refined” than *Intimacy*. Indeed, its reputation was much stronger, with festival ratings far surpassing *Intimacy*.

Though the plot was simple, the contrast was striking.

Could it be that the two films had fought fiercely for the Golden Bear?

With the final screening yesterday as compensation, then...

“The Jury Grand Prix goes to: wow, this year’s youngest and most handsome director, who I believe is also the youngest director and grand prize winner in Berlin International Film Festival history—Cao Yang, for *Alone by the Sea at Night*. Congratulations!”

The large screen on stage began playing scenes from *Alone by the Sea at Night*, this time showing Li Xiaoran smoking and softly singing outside a café.

Just a few lines of a cappella, as if believing time would heal all wounds, yet longing remained undiminished, growing ever stronger, uncontrollable. The sorrow and loneliness within her heart vividly emerged.

“What a pity,” Tian Zhuangzhuang muttered under his breath.