I Forged the Myth of the Ancient Overlords
Chapter 374 - 374 373. Lu Ban is just so-so_1

Chapter 374: 373. Lu Ban is just so-so!_1 Chapter 374: 373. Lu Ban is just so-so!_1 Mrs. Merritt Leslie, who was in France, had already watched several heavyweight works that were to be judged when she received the copied DVD.

These included a film from a Middle Eastern director about a protagonist who ends up in prison because of debt and intersects with his autistic son and girlfriend, a film about a father who keeps committing crimes in search of his missing son, and a film about a woman, trapped in a long journey in a train compartment with a miner from Eastern Europe due to an extramarital affair.

Most of these films focused on human nature, familial bonds, the self, and crime, possessing the style of artistic films.

Moreover, the majority of these films were not from Europe and America but rather from Middle Eastern, Eastern European, South American, and other non-developed countries. These directors painted their homelands with a mysterious hue; films saturated with primal wilderness and foreign landscapes dominated.

Of course, most of the films’ narratives were relatively dull—usually just one or two people engaging in enigmatic, riddle-like dialogue in some dimly-lit scenes, then mixing in elements of violence and sex.

Mrs. Merritt thought that this year’s Palme d’Or would emerge from among these movies.

As for “Peaceful Days in Spring”?

Sorry, not familiar with it.

She had even considered fast-forwarding through it, counting it as a film she had seen just to get it over with. In Mrs. Merritt’s anticipation, the film was nothing more than some personal heroism and machismo, coupled with the graceful and gentle beauty of a young woman—just like those superhero movies that make her feel sick just from the smell.

Such films weren’t even worth nominating, let alone her time.

But in the evening, her colleague, film critic Professor Michael Vivo, sent her an email.

“Dear Merritt, I think you must see ‘Peaceful Days in Spring.’ This work is simply perfect. If there’s any film this year that can be called art, I believe it’s this one. I can’t explain more to you; it’s a film that touches the heart and heals, one that you must watch in its entirety. My God, I’ve never felt such a tremor. I guarantee that you won’t regret watching it and that you’ll want to recommend it to others!”

Professor Vivo wasn’t typically the extroverted, enthusiastic French person, so Mrs. Merritt was rather surprised to see him describe a film this way.

He wasn’t the kind to praise a bad movie.

Could it be… “Peaceful Days in Spring” was actually excellent?

Mrs. Merritt went to her home’s screening room, skeptically placed the DVD in her computer, and first poured herself a martini. Then she closed the door.

Before her divorce, she had no children, and since then, she had lived alone in a detached home in the French countryside, where the seasonal dampness invaded the green moss on the walls, and the vast farmland was shrouded in mist—perfect for an evening of drinking.

After glancing at the scenery outside the window, Mrs. Merritt drew the curtains and pressed play.

The film began with a night scene.

Something was moving through the dark.

In the dim light, Mrs. Merritt saw that they were monsters.

These monsters were unlike anything she had ever seen; each was contorted to the extreme, akin to the work of a drug-addict drunk with wine—a mere glance was enough to shake the soul.

She felt a bit dizzy for a moment.

“That bastard Michael…” she couldn’t help but curse. Was it this terrifying opening scene that that old man had wanted her to see?

Was he that bored!!?

However, this opening scene with monsters solidified Mrs. Merritt’s conviction that the film was just another commercial movie, and moreover, it was precisely the kind of horror-thriller that those in the artistic realm like herself despised most.

She picked up her glass, took a sip, and massaged her temples, trying to steady her mind.

The monster rampaged through the village on the island, devouring humans.

Compared to the violence among humans in common movies, this raw struggle of man versus nature was even more startling. Even Mrs. Merritt, worldly and well-versed as she was, couldn’t help but feel her heart race, her fingers tightening around the glass.

Then, a pale fire streaked across the sky, like an arrow, and fell amidst the beasts.

The whole world lit up.

The grotesque and twisted monsters were consumed by the flames, along with the vegetation, the village, the very earth.

Everything turned to nothingness within that pale fire.

Only a few surviving villagers and children remained, who boarded a small boat and drifted far away.

One of the children turned to look back at the island of his birth, now ablaze, its fire reflecting off his profile.

As the scene shifted, the subtitles also gave a brief introduction to the world’s background.

Mrs. Merritt had no prior knowledge of this work, but after watching this segment, she could roughly grasp the background of the story.

“So, it should be this child who grows up and then sets out on a journey with that shrine maiden?”

Mrs. Merritt had seen countless films; such developments were easy to guess.

As the transition ended and the title appeared, the whole screen brightened.

Just like the spring scenes with cherry blossoms shown in the trailer, Mrs. Merritt took another sip of her drink. As she felt slightly tipsy, a loveable warmth of spring burst forth from the screen, with people bustling to and fro on the streets, exuding vitality and the essence of everyday life.

The protagonist and a few mercenaries accompanying him walked down the streets, noticing the stall merchants, the children playing around, the women walking under falling cherry blossoms with umbrellas, the strong men hauling cargo, and the women hushing their children.

With just a few shots, the atmosphere of the entire town was laid bare.

The protagonist and his companions arrived at the entrance of the town’s most prestigious building and, led by a maid, entered the courtyard and moved through the corridors.

At this moment, the protagonist seemed to sense something, raising his head to look toward a corner.

The camera followed his gaze, and before a building’s windowsill, a black-haired woman was watching this place.

Mrs. Merritt recognized at once that this was the female lead from the trailer.

But at this moment, the female lead exuded an air of cool detachment, indifference, distance.

The protagonist only stole a brief glance, quickly shifting his gaze away.

At the same time, the sister-in-charge at his side explained that this was a genius shrine maiden, The Island’s hope.

“Cliché,”

Mrs. Merritt murmured to herself. She had seen this type of story too many times. Whether a commercial or an art film, the road movie template was applicable. It seemed Lu Ban was just an ordinary director after all!