Went Abroad to Be a Director, Shook Hollywood’s Box Office - Chapter 9

Everyone was dumbfounded, thinking they must have misheard. Whispers broke out all around.

“What?! He’s going to describe every storyboard shot verbally?”

“A single movie has over a thousand shots—sometimes more! How could he possibly describe them all? Does he think he’s Superman?”

“This is impossible! The film hasn’t even started shooting yet—some of those shots are supposed to be decided by the director and cinematographer!”

“Yeah… this isn’t an animated film. Directors don’t follow storyboards frame by frame.”

“Even Spielberg wouldn’t copy storyboards that literally! What, are we supposed to draw everything, only to have him throw it all out later? This is insane!”

“Who does this Qin Feng think he is, anyway?”

“Seriously! Acting like he’s the director now!”

“…”

The arguments grew louder and more heated.

In all their previous projects, even when storyboards were involved, they were drawn by the art team and then handed over to the director for review—never the other way around. And the number of panels was never this massive.

Aust stood up and raised his hands to calm everyone down. “All right, let’s quiet down first and hear what Mr. Qin has to say.”

The room fell silent. Every gaze turned toward Qin Feng, filled with skepticism and disbelief.

Qin Feng had anticipated this reaction. He smiled faintly and spoke evenly,
“Please don’t worry, everyone. I’m the screenwriter for this film. Every plot, every shot has already played through my mind countless times. All you need to do is draw the storyboards from my descriptions. I’ll also provide animation previews.”

“I can guarantee the images I describe will be the most effective visual results. I’ll personally communicate with the director about it.”

“This is the only way to save both shooting time and post-production costs.”

The crowd began murmuring again.

Qin Feng turned toward Aust. “Mr. Aust.”

Aust immediately understood. He motioned for one of the animators to set up a camera.

Within minutes, the camera was in place and pointed at Qin Feng. Someone handed him a microphone.

The room quieted again—everyone curious, even skeptical, about how exactly he intended to describe a film verbally.

After all, in all their years of art work, none of them had ever seen anything like this.

The animator gave an “OK” sign.

Qin Feng took a deep breath, lifted the mic, and cleared his throat lightly.

He replayed the film sequence in his mind—slowing it down frame by frame.

“First shot: medium shot. A rainy night. In the forest. Leaves rustling in the wind.”

“Second shot: close-up. A worker wearing a safety helmet stares past the leaves, face tense.”

“Third shot: medium shot again. The leaves shift. Something seems to be moving behind them.”

“Fourth shot: the camera slowly pushes in—from medium to close-up. A soldier holding a gun, eyes fixed nervously on the trees ahead.”

“Next shot…”

Qin Feng continued at a calm, steady pace, his voice clear, his tone confident.

Within just two minutes, the mood in the room shifted—from confusion, to curiosity, to outright astonishment.

Oh my God…

People couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

This man didn’t just know his own script by heart—he knew every shot, every composition, every movement of the camera. He described lighting, pacing, even lens transitions with precision.

Listening to him, it felt as though a vivid film was unfolding right before their eyes.

How could a single person hold such an immense amount of visual information in his head?

The entire team fell silent, mesmerized, hanging on his every word.

Even Aust was so absorbed he’d forgotten to take notes.

Now he finally understood why Qin Feng had asked for the camera to record everything—there was simply no way anyone could memorize all of this.

Time ticked by, minute after minute.

Qin Feng went on without pause.

“…Next shot: close-up. The T-Rex’s eye turns, fixating on the people inside the car. It growls, low and menacing.”

“Next shot: the camera moves from outside the car to inside. The child, Lex, screams in panic. Hold for three seconds.”

“Next shot: medium shot. The T-Rex’s jaws press down, shattering the car’s glass roof with a single blow!”

Aust swallowed hard.

He glanced at his watch—it had been two hours already. Qin Feng had only stopped once for a sip of water, and he was still going.

Good God… how does he remember all of this?!

This guy was a maniac.

He’d dissected the entire film into countless pieces—then stored every single fragment inside his mind.

Terrifying.

Aust couldn’t even be sure Spielberg himself could do something like this.

This level of mastery could only belong to a true genius.

Qin Feng kept going.

No one could remember how many shots he’d described. It had to be at least a thousand.

By now, not a single person doubted his ability—or his understanding of the film.

“…And for the final shot.”

Qin Feng’s eyes gleamed with an almost hypnotic brilliance.

It felt as though everyone present had been transported into a movie theater, watching the climax unfold on the big screen.

“The music swells. Wide shot. The T-Rex stands in the center of the hall, rearing back to unleash a thunderous roar!”

“A banner slowly flutters down… landing across the frame.”

“Fade out. End of film.”

When he finished, Qin Feng took a long drink of water and looked up at the room.

Aside from a dry throat, narrating the entire movie in one breath actually felt… exhilarating.

“Ah—sorry,” he chuckled, “I must’ve kept everyone sitting too long.”

Clap… clap…

Aust was the first to applaud.

Then, one by one, everyone else joined in.

Clap clap clap!

The animator switched off the camera, shaking his head in amazement while clapping enthusiastically.

The entire room rose to their feet, their eyes shining.

At that moment, they all understood—

No matter what challenges lay ahead, this film was already halfway to success.

Because they had a genius on their team.

“Mr. Qin, that was incredible!”

“I feel ashamed for ever doubting you. Please forgive my earlier skepticism.”

“I’ve never seen anyone describe a film’s storyboards like that—it’s unbelievable!”

“You’re a genius. A true genius!”

“…”

Qin Feng smiled graciously and nodded, feeling the warmth of their newfound respect.

He gave a small bow.

“Please distribute the recorded footage to everyone. The art department’s schedule is tight and the workload heavy—so I’ll be counting on all of you.”

…

Afterward, Aust assigned the tasks:

The art team would focus on three main objectives:

1. 1. Concept Art – designing the initial look of characters, dinosaurs, and environments.

1. 1. Storyboards – based directly on Qin Feng’s verbal breakdown.

1. 1. Previsualization Animations – for scenes featuring dinosaurs, to streamline production.

Thanks to Qin Feng’s detailed narration, tasks two and three became far more efficient—almost like working from the most refined shooting script imaginable.

By the next morning, everyone was hard at work.

And everything—finally—was moving in the right direction.

(End of Chapter)