The People's Choice

The day of the awards ceremony arrived, and the night in Cannes had never been so quiet.

Su Jin sat in the middle of the third row. In the darkness, her blush-pink skirt had lost all its color, leaving only the beadwork, occasionally lit for an instant by a glimmer reflected from the stage, like pearls forgotten in the depths of the sea.

Her fingers rested on her knees. The yellow diamond on her lily-of-the-valley ring had warmed in her palm, and it lay against the side of her ring finger, neither cold nor uncomfortable, like a luminous cocoon that had grown there.

Anderson sat to her right, trembling ever since the ceremony began. He wasn't cold; he was nervous.

His hand gripped the armrest, his knuckles white. It quivered slightly in his grasp, like a spring bent back and forth.

The producer was on her left. He had already drunk three cups of water, each in a single gulp, then taken out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. After wiping his forehead, he wiped his palms, then squeezed another paper cup.

Sitting between them, Su Jin glanced at them several times, amused.

Best cinematography went to the cinematographer of "Winter Harbor," an Icelandic man with his hair dyed pale pink. On his way to the stage, he tripped over a skirt and nearly fell, making the whole audience laugh.

He stood at the microphone and gave a very short speech in Icelandic. The simultaneous interpreter in the translation earpieces said, "Thank you to the sea. Thank you to the wind. Thank you to the woman who stood by the sea without pulling her feet away."

The audience laughed again. The camera cut to Su Jin in the third row. The corners of her mouth curved up, but that was all.

Best art direction went to Shen Nian.

Shen Nian hadn't come. Su Jin accepted it for her.

Standing at the microphone, she said Shen Nian was making a lamp in her Boston studio. It was called "Spring in Maine."

"She asked me to tell everyone that spring is here."

She held her friend's trophy high and walked gracefully back down.

The audience applauded, and the camera followed her all the way from the stage to the floor, to her seat, until she sat down and placed the trophy at her feet. Her skirt covered half of it, and the beadwork touched its metal base with the faintest sound, like two glasses gently clinking in a toast.

Best actress was the final award.

When the presenter came out, the room fell silent. It wasn't a tense silence, but the kind that said, "It's finally here."

Su Jin drew her hands back from her skirt and placed them on her knees, fingers interlaced, thumbs pressed together.

She wasn't nervous. She knew she wouldn't win.

The shot of the pianist with Alzheimer's played by Huppert, her fingers trembling over the keys, had been called "the best thirty seconds of acting this century" by every critic.

There was no shame in losing to Huppert. She had already lost once in Berlin, and lost with dignity. Today would be the same.

She would smile and applaud, stand up, embrace Huppert, and watch her walk onto the stage and give a short acceptance speech. Then the ceremony would end.

But when the presenter came out, Su Jin's fingers stilled.

It wasn't Huppert. It was that man. He wore a white suit today, and his pink tie made him look even more dashing.

He came to a stop in the center of the stage. Light poured down from overhead, casting his shadow on the curtain behind him, while those amber eyes pierced the vast sea of people and fixed precisely on Su Jin, burning with intensity.

Su Heng stood in front of the microphone, holding an envelope.

His hand was shaking. It wasn't a slight, barely noticeable tremor. He clutched the envelope, his knuckles white, his whole hand straining, yet he still couldn't stop it shaking.

He spoke. His voice was hoarse, like someone who had cried all night and, upon trying to speak the next morning, found his throat was no longer his own.

"Best actress," he read, then stopped. He looked out at the audience again, toward the third row, at the beautiful woman in the long blush-pink dress. His gaze passed over the heads of two thousand people, through the darkness and the light, and settled on her.

Su Jin sat in the third row, her fingers interlaced on her knees, her thumbs pressed together.

She too watched the person onstage, looking into his eyes for a long time.

Until he said, "Best actress."

He read it again. This time his voice was steadier, but softer, like someone telling himself a secret he had waited a very, very long time to finally say aloud.

"'Winter Harbor,' Su Jin."

The entire room fell silent in an instant.

Then applause erupted, resounding throughout Cannes.

Su Jin sat in the third row, her fingers interlaced on her knees, her thumbs pressed together.

She was stunned, even a little at a loss.

Anderson threw his arms around her and held her tight. The producer wiped away tears as he patted her back, and everyone looked at her with pride.

Our Chinese best actress.

Su Jin stood up. Her skirt slipped off the seat and spread across the floor, its beadwork flashing in the light like a river set ablaze in the dark.

She walked up the steps at an unhurried pace.

It had taken her eight minutes to walk the three-hundred-meter red carpet. There were only twenty steps from her seat to the stage, and she took twenty. Not one more, not one less.

Until she stood before him.

He was nearly a head taller than her. Standing in front of her, he blocked most of the light behind him.

He gently put down the envelope, picked up the Silver Palm from the tray, and offered it to her with both hands.

His hands were still shaking, but as he handed her the trophy, his fingers gripped its base with perfect steadiness, like someone holding something he had waited a long time to finally receive, afraid he might drop it, afraid it might break, afraid it might slip through his fingers.

Su Jin gazed into his eyes and took the Silver Palm. In the light, something seemed to glimmer at the corners of her eyes.

She didn't pull her hands away. She held the Silver Palm, and he held its base. The two of them held the same trophy, standing before the cameras of the whole world.

He didn't let go.

He looked at her, and there was a light in his eyes. It wasn't the lights reflected in tears; it shone from within. He said something.

"As Su Jin, I am honored to receive this award. As Lin, I will also spend the road ahead of me searching for that little bookstore that belongs to me alone."

The whole audience was moved to tears.

This was Su Jin's night.

Just then, the microphone was still on, and everyone heard.

"My name is Su Heng. I am her older brother."

The silence in the room became a different kind of silence. It was a silence with a sound-the quiet hum of the air itself when two thousand people held their breath at once, two thousand hearts skipped half a beat at once, two thousand pairs of eyes turned in the same direction at once, and two thousand minds tried and failed to process the same piece of information at once.

He didn't look at the audience. He only gazed deeply at her.

"There is only one girl in our family's generation. I searched for her for twenty years, and just as I was about to give up, she blossomed before the world. It was her brilliance that brought us together again.

"Her name is Su Jin. Jin, as in brocade. You are our most beloved brocade."

His voice trembled, but every word was clear. Tears slipped from his eyes and fell onto his black suit. He didn't wipe them away, letting them flow.

He released the Silver Palm, and Su Jin held it steadily. She watched him quietly for a long time. At some point, her eyes had turned red too.

So this is family...? Looking into Su Heng's eyes, she felt an uncontrollable urge to cry deep inside.

Did this mean... she had someone to back her up too?

Two thousand people sat in the dark. No one applauded, no one spoke, no one turned a page of the program.

They simply sat there, watching the two people onstage-one in a black suit, tears streaming down his face; the other in a long blush-pink dress, smiling at her older brother.

They stood before the cameras of the whole world, on the stage at Cannes, at opposite ends of a Silver Palm.

Su Jin lowered her head and looked at the trophy in her hands. The leaves of the Silver Palm gleamed cold white under the lights, their veins etched at varying depths.

Suddenly, Su Jin felt at peace. Facing the whole world, she blossomed into a radiant smile, brighter than the lights.

"I have an older brother. He searched for me for twenty years. Today he found me."

She raised the Silver Palm before the cameras of the whole world, and a clear tear slowly fell.

"This trophy belongs to Lin. But this moment is mine."

Thunderous applause filled the room.

Two thousand people rose to their feet at once, applauding and cheering. Some were crying, some were laughing, some held up their phones to film, and some forgot to press the shutter.

Anderson stood in the third row, tears streaming down his face. The producer stood beside him, clutching his fifth crushed paper cup.

Su Jin stood in the center of the stage. At her collarbone, an emerald eye flashed before the cameras of the whole world, like a lamp that had been lit, its light visible to all.

She turned to look at Su Heng. He stood beside her, the corners of his mouth lifting as he said, "Come home."

Su Jin looked at him. She neither agreed nor refused.

Her eyes narrowed with her smile.

"Let's take it slowly."

Su Heng looked at her, the corners of his mouth curving up. "All right. Slowly."

Su Jin walked down from the stage at an unhurried pace.

Her skirt trailed over the steps, the beadwork scraping their edges with a sound as delicate as rain striking glass. She walked to the third row, sat down, and placed the Silver Palm at her feet, leaning it beside the best art direction trophy.

She opened her clutch a crack and glanced at the dark-blue business card inside. The gold-stamped lettering was invisible in the dark, but she knew it was there.

Anderson watched her from beside her, started to say something, then swallowed it back. The producer stuffed a sixth paper cup into the gap beneath his seat, wiped his forehead, and said, "President Su, just now onstage, the whole world was watching you."

Su Jin leaned back in her chair and looked at the stage. Su Heng had already come down, and the presenter was reading the nominations for the next award.

The lights were still on, and the ceremony continued. She sat.

There was the faintest curve at the corners of her mouth. It wasn't a smile, but something more lasting than one.

In truth, it wasn't that person who had found her. She had found that person.