*click*
Even in the pitch dark, Noire manages her way into the studio with ease.
Noire: Aa Zing, fire up the spare generator. Aa Ziu, Aa Dou, get the lights.
The trio of puppets scurry out from the wheelchair, their small, animated figures fussing noisily before the miniature generator starts whirring.
Aa Ziu: Ka!
Shadows shift as her puppets flit through the darkness. With the generator now humming, one of them hurries toward the spotlight.
Aa Ziu: Ka, ka!
The puppet fumbles in the darkness, misaligning its aim. The spotlight beams into Noire's eyes, still fragile from the lack of light.
Noire: Tsk.
Reacting on impulse, Noire raises her hand against the light. Her displeasure saturates the puppets' wooden minds like an unspoken command.
Aa Ziu: Ka!
In its rush to fix the spotlight, the puppet Aa Ziu trips over the complex mesh of wires in the shadows, setting off a cascade of entanglements.
Aa Ziu: Ka, ka, ka, ka!
Like a row of dominoes collapsing in the dark, the chaos builds with each moment careening into disaster.
Aa Dou: Ka ...
The other puppets freeze on the spot, their wooden limbs stiff with hesitation, while Aa Ziu, overwhelmed, twists and writhes on the floor, its nonexistent wooden spine bending in imagined distress.
Noire has twisted away from the lamp as she slowly allows her eyes to adjust to the red twilight.
Noire: Oh!
Surrounded by vivid red, Noire's gaze locks onto the clear divide between her dark silhouette and the glowing wall.
Noire: Red is blood and passion.
Noire: It's also the fading light of dusk, the fires of damnation, and the tenderest warmth.
She lets her mind now alight with ideas, flowing seamlessly into the fiery crimson hue.
Aa Ziu: Ka-ta ...?
The confusion clouding Aa Ziu's mind fades as it figures out how to move its own body.
It seems unsure how or even whether it should rectify its misstep.
Noire: Stop.
Aa Ziu's extended hand is suspended in the air, and the red light's edge swells around her shadow.
Noire: Flames, fire—the genesis of civilization.
Noire: Creation and destruction, an endless cycle, eternal and unstoppable ...
Noire lets her mind wander, drinking in the vivid, singular hue.
Aa Ziu: Ka!
Catching the ripples of her delight, Aa Ziu folds over and lies flat on the floor.
Noire: Flames ... my desire, swelling and rising, devouring with every breath.
She traces the curves of her hand, imagining a tiny fire resting within her palm.
Noire: This fire is what has kept me burning.
Red 1980
Qi Xing: Well, I'll be damned. You've actually got a professional setup going on here.
He Rijun and Qi Xing enter behind Noire. The stale air of the room is punctuated by the soft "clack" of Qi Xing's lollipop tapping her teeth.
The sound feels heavy, as if dropping to the floor before it can travel any further.
Qi Xing: Square boxes, boxes with lights, boxes with buttons—what's the deal with all this stuff?
Qi Xing's eyes sweep across the room, finding little to be impressed with.
Her hand comes to hover over some machinery. She gives it a curious tap before her fingers inch toward the inviting buttons.
Noire: This "stuff" costs more than most people make in a lifetime.
Qi Xing scoffs, hovering her fingers over the tempting buttons.
He Rijun: It's probably best if you don't touch anything, and, um, it might be a good idea to put on some slippers while you're in here.
She tugs on Qi Xing's clothing, tilting her head up so that it nearly rests on her shoulder.
Being shorter, if just barely, she always finds herself tilting her head up toward her.
She avoids meeting Qi Xing's eyes.
Noire: Slippers are by the door. They're disinfected. Grab any pair that fits.
Qi Xing scans her eyes over to a cabinet filled with identical white slippers.
He Rijun, accustomed to the routine, trades her boots for slippers and sets her footwear by the door.
Qi Xing: You must get a lot of traffic in here to have all of those things.
He Rijun: There always seems to be someone that needs to go over things here.
Noire strides over to the printer, looking back with a half smile.
Noire: Let me guess, you forgot the script we gave you, right? We're going to need it.
Noire: Don't worry. I'll print out another copy. Teresa, would you go through the notes I jotted down earlier?
He Rijun: Of course.
Qi Xing casts a sharp look at Noire before following Teresa to the slipper rack, giving no thought to the size.
Qi Xing: So, you said you make movies. Anything I would have seen?
Noire: Do any of those posters look familiar to you?
Noire's reply drips with condescension. Their tension feels like a rubber band about to snap.
With every intention of ignoring the posters, she leans over the devices near her, trying to decipher their English labels.
She scans them methodically, before arriving at a particular oddity.
Qi Xing: Is this a handheld camera? How old is this thing?
She takes the bulky handheld camera and turns it over in her hands, scrutinizing it from all angles.
Noire: That's the first camera I ever owned. It's been with me for more than a decade. I've never had the heart to let it go.
Qi Xing: A decade ...
Qi Xing looks up with unconcealed astonishment. Cameras like this have only just started showing up in the local markets.
Noire: It's a Super 8 camera. I think I was 16 when I got it.
Qi Xing: You've been shooting movies since you were a kid?
Noire nods.
He Rijun: That's around the same age I started writing scripts, about 15 or 16?
Qi Xing: You two go that far back then?
She places the camera down delicately, as if it were a priceless antique.
He Rijun: Actually, we met at university. We were in the same class.
Qi Xing: Oh ...
Qi Xing returns to the camera before shifting back to the duo as they set out their papers.
Qi Xing: And I would have just been another girl pouring drinks at a street corner icehouse. Making movies was never even on my radar.
Qi Xing: Until I happened to be there to scare off some creep trying to hit on a girl. Now you two weirdos are telling me I'm lead actress material.
She eyes them from head to toe and back again, trying her best to conceal her real thoughts.
She bridges the lingering silence again.
Qi Xing: See ...
She suddenly feels the urge to withdraw into the silence, but that's never been her way.
Qi Xing: Less than an hour ago, I stepped into a high-end car, stepped out into a mansion, ditched my busted-up sneakers at the door, and walked into someone else's life.
Qi Xing: I always figured life-changing moments came at you with a bang, like an egg exploding in a microwave—something you could pinpoint down to the second.
Qi Xing: But it's funny. Once you're finally in your stride, you forget exactly where it all began.
Qi Xing: All I know is I feel like this is a whole new stage for my life.
Qi Xing removes the lollipop from her mouth.
Keeping her composure, she turns back around, determined not to show her growing sense of envy.
Qi Xing: So, uh, how did all this start out?
He Rijun: Start out? You mean, when did we start working together?
He Rijun glances quickly at Noire's turned back.
Qi Xing: Not that, I mean just ... finding your passion and sticking with it.
She had loved painting once, then playing the harmonica, but her passion for them always dwindled away.
The struggle for survival and sustenance grew like an overinflated balloon, leaving no room for anything else in her mind.
Steering clear of her father's former cellmates, covering rent for the month, staying alive, figuring out how to spend even less just to get by—endlessly innovating new ways to make it to the next day.
She had fought every day against life, against hunger, and strict reform school teachers, while these two indulged in their hobbies, basking in the gentle warmth of privilege.
Qi Xing: Is this what the world looks like behind the spotless marble walls?
He Rijun: Hmm. I just wanted to write, so I did, and I kept at it.
Qi Xing waits, but Teresa seems to have flustered over what to say.
She works better with a pen in hand, crossing out and rewriting words until her ideas take shape.
Noire: It started as a simple slip of the tongue.
Noire, still standing at the printer, picks up the dropped conversation.
Noire: I remember my mother reading me a bedtime story. She told me that the princess shouldn't have taken a bite of that apple.
Noire: But I couldn't help thinking—how would that even make any sense? Then the princess would be stuck in that cottage with those weird bearded guys forever. The story would lose all its appeal.
Noire: And then I asked myself, what if she didn't eat the apple, then what would happen next? I imagined her finding a bear, one followed by a hunter, or perhaps saving a villager that she'd fall in love with.
The printer drones on as Noire gathers a portion of the script and turns to face Qi Xing.
Noire: That's when I decided I'd create my own stories.
Qi Xing: Sounds like you should've been a screenwriter like Little Jun here.
Hearing someone over ten years her junior call her "Little Jun," Teresa feels compelled to say something but ultimately bites back her words.
Noire: Words weren't enough for me.
Noire: Flipping through that fairytale, I came to a conclusion: Pictures could carry my story farther than words ever could.
Noire: But even that wasn't enough. I wanted to be taken seriously.
Noire: And what was taken seriously? Movies, television—mediums that captivate the masses.
Noire: Each moving image adds layers of story, then the music, each part amplifying the narrative.
Noire: That's why I picked up a camera, because I wanted to tell my story through its lens. But even now, it still isn't enough.
Qi Xing: It isn't enough.
Noire flips on the television. The screen depicts a reel of film burning.
Qi Xing: I've seen this before.
Qi Xing's memories recede back to a moment in time, ducking into the dark of the movie theater to escape her father's rougher "acquaintances."
Qi Xing: I knew from the first time I saw it that this was more than just a movie for this guy. He was always chasing something bigger, chasing the light, chasing the shadows. His camera was pointed right at the rising sun, just as dawn broke.
Qi Xing: He wanted that shot so bad that he'd let the sun cook his eyes and burn his film. He got his dawn, then it got him.
Qi Xing: Still, you've got to hand it to the guy.
Noire: So, you are familiar with my work, after all.
Noire says as if confirming the obvious.
Noire: It was my first hit, the one that really made a name for me in the industry. The film's last frame was a pure block of red. That's all it took for people to box me into a style.
Noire: You could say that red gave me everything, but then it took it all away.
