Went Abroad to Be a Director, Shook Hollywood’s Box Office - Chapter 12 

The screen lit up, and the movie began.

Up — the tenth animated feature produced by Pixar Animation Studios.

It told the story of an old man and his late wife’s dream: to visit a waterfall nestled deep in the jungles of South America.
Life, however, had kept them too busy to ever make the trip.
When the government planned to demolish his old house, the old man decided to take his home and fly it straight to the waterfall.

Along the way, he met a young boy named Russell, and the two embarked on an unforgettable adventure together.

Though the main story centered on the old man and the child, the flashback of Carl and Ellie’s lifelong love was deeply moving.

Scarlett’s eyes glistened with tears as she watched, completely absorbed.

Qin Feng glanced at her secretly, wanting to offer her a tissue—only to realize he didn’t have any.

When the film ended and the audience began to leave, Scarlett sighed emotionally.

“That was so beautiful,” she said, her voice still soft with feeling.

“Yeah,” Qin Feng agreed. “It might be an animated film, but it’s got everything—love, friendship, humor, danger. A rare masterpiece.”

“To earn Director Qin’s approval, it must be truly special.”

“Don’t say that,” he replied with a smile. “It’s already a great film on its own.”

Qin Feng hailed a taxi, and the two continued chatting all the way back—about Pixar, about Disney, about art films and action movies.

Scarlett was surprised to find that Qin Feng not only knew Hollywood cinema inside and out, but also had a deep understanding of the global film industry and its future. He spoke with confidence and clarity, as if he could see far beyond the horizon.

Her admiration for him quietly deepened.

When the taxi stopped in front of her apartment, she stepped out and waved.

“Another unforgettable day,” she said, smiling.

“Hey, Scarlett,” Qin Feng called after her. “Can I… ask you out again sometime?”

She turned back, her lips curving into a charming, playful smile.

His gaze was steady and sincere.

“Of course, Qin Feng. I’d love that.”

---

Word of Qin Feng and Scarlett’s date spread quickly through the art department.

Everyone was stunned—Scarlett was a famous actress, young, beautiful, and adored by countless men.
And Qin Feng? He was still just an assistant director.

Some of the team, however, saw it differently.

“Qin Feng and Miss Scarlett are a perfect match—talent and beauty, truly.”

“Exactly! They look great together. It’s like watching a scene from a romantic movie!”

“Scarlett’s really friendly too. She seems genuinely fond of Qin Feng.”

The male colleagues groaned in despair.

“No! My goddess Scarlett—my heart! It hurts so bad!”

“I can’t accept this! I’ve been waiting for her for ten years! Why him? Is it because I’m bald?”

Kelly rolled her eyes.

“Please, you’re fifty. Give it a rest, old man.”

“No! My Scarlett! Awooo—!”

---

Meanwhile, preparations for Jurassic Park were in full swing.

Storyboards and animation previews were distributed to every department.

Qin Feng worked closely with Spielberg, practically becoming his right-hand man.

At the same time, he immersed himself in Hollywood’s working methods, learning as much as he could.

Spielberg guided him generously—mentor to student.

In the midst of it all, Qin Feng even managed to pass his U.S. driver’s test.

A month flew by. The film was almost ready to start shooting.

That afternoon, Spielberg called out to him.

“Qin, come with me to dinner tonight.”

“Of course, Director,” Qin Feng answered without hesitation.

He didn’t know what it was about—but if Spielberg asked, it had to be something worthwhile.
Over the past few weeks, he’d learned so much from the man.
To him, Spielberg wasn’t just a director—he was a life mentor.

After work, Qin Feng joined Spielberg in his private car.

The spacious, luxurious interior felt more like a moving palace.
Spielberg lowered the armrest and took out a bottle of wine.

“Director,” Qin Feng asked, “are we meeting someone important tonight?”

“Not really,” Spielberg smiled. “Just a few old friends. You’ll see soon enough.”

“Oh… alright.”

Qin Feng didn’t press further.

After a while, Spielberg looked at him thoughtfully.

“Qin, I watched the film you made before coming to the U.S.”

“What?!” Qin Feng froze.

He couldn’t believe it—Spielberg had seen The Sinking Village?!

Had he somehow found an online copy and even had it translated?

His face burned in embarrassment.

“Director, that film… I—”

Spielberg chuckled.

“It had an interesting idea—very rooted in your homeland’s culture. The storytelling and effects could use improvement, of course.”

He patted Qin Feng’s shoulder like a kindly elder.

“Qin, no one succeeds overnight. No director’s first film is a box office hit.”

Qin Feng listened intently.

“Being a filmmaker isn’t easy. Failure is part of the journey. What matters is to stay ambitious and confident—never let setbacks bring you down.”

Qin Feng’s chest tightened with emotion.

“I understand… thank you, sir.”

---

By the time the city lights began to glow, their car pulled up to an elegant restaurant.

They went inside, taking the elevator to the third-floor dining room.

From a distance, three people were already waiting for them—two men and one woman.

When they saw Spielberg, they immediately came forward with warm smiles.

Qin Feng followed behind his director—and froze in shock.

He recognized them instantly.

Sam Neill, Laura Dern, and Jeff Goldblum—the three lead actors of Jurassic Park!

It was as if he had traveled back in time, standing inside one of his own childhood memories.
In this parallel world, he was now helping rebuild that very film.

The three actors greeted Spielberg warmly.

“Good to see you, director!” Sam Neill said in his calm, scholarly tone, his British accent crisp and clear.

“It’s been too long, Steven,” Laura Dern added with her graceful smile.

“How’s your health these days?” Jeff Goldblum asked, towering at nearly 1.94 meters, as charming as ever with that perpetual smirk.

Spielberg’s eyes twinkled as he shook their hands.

“It’s great to see all of you. Come, let’s sit.”

They took their seats around a quiet corner table.
Soft piano music drifted through the air as the waiter brought their dishes.

The three actors soon noticed the young Asian man beside Spielberg.
Clearly, someone important—someone worth introducing.

Sam Neill tilted his head curiously.

“And who’s this gentleman, Director? Won’t you introduce us?”

Spielberg smiled knowingly.

“You’ve all read the script, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” he said, turning to Qin Feng, “this is the film’s chief screenwriter and assistant director—Qin Feng.”

(End of Chapter)