There wasn't much time on the road, just enough for her to skim through some key parts of the script. But after years of reading and selecting scripts, Chen Shufen had developed a keen eye. Even just from the bits she had skimmed, she was convinced—this was a film worth being part of.
"If Laila wants to make this movie, then there's something unique about it," Leslie Cheung said with a soft smile, the corners of his lips gently lifting at the mention of that remarkable girl.
If Laila had seen him at that moment, she'd surely have exclaimed—"Such beauty and grace, unmatched in the world."
"Exactly! Hollywood has only produced one Laila Moran," Chen Shufen chimed in quickly, afraid he might turn down the offer.
"Not to mention, her eye for scripts is unparalleled. We're not even talking about the ones she wrote herself—just look at the ones she picked. Which one hasn't won awards? I asked some of my friends in the U.S., and they say Moran is invested in this one. Do you remember what happened in South Africa, when she was shooting Blood Diamond and got kidnapped? The local gang leader wanted her to make a movie for him—and that's how she came across this script. She ended up loving it so much that she brought the screenwriter back to Hollywood with her!"
That story had spread like wildfire in the West, though it hadn't made as many waves in the East, what with the Atlantic Ocean between them. But the tale carried a certain mythic quality. If they used it in promotional material, just the backstory alone would be enough to stir up tons of publicity.
Even without Laila's name attached, this was a script worth accepting.
Leslie Cheung gave a slight nod. He wasn't moved to ecstasy, nor did he show overwhelming excitement—his expression remained calm, as always.
He genuinely liked Director Laila Moran. She was down-to-earth and possessed incredible talent behind the camera.
If she had simply asked him to cameo in a small role, he wouldn't have turned her down—not for the role, but for the sake of friendship.
But this—this was a different matter. She had chosen a far more formal approach in reaching out to him, meaning the script held significant importance to her, and the role was more than just a supporting character. She wasn't relying on emotional appeal; she was letting the material speak for itself.
To some, this might feel distant. An Eastern filmmaker would likely handle it with a more friendly, roundabout approach. But he didn't mind this directness. It was a kind of respect.
Without another word, he opened the script.
By this stage, the script had undergone a complete transformation from what Laila had initially received.
First, the structure and pacing had been refined to better suit audience expectations. Then, she made substantial edits to the storyline—cutting unnecessary parts and adding more conflict, tension, and deeper emotional beats.
Typically, once a script was purchased, the original writer wouldn't be involved in revisions unless invited. Whatever the final version became, it would bear their name, but they usually had no say in the process. At most, if the film got a screenwriting nomination, they might be invited to the awards ceremony as the credited writer.
But Laila didn't do things that way. She used this opportunity to evaluate Buddy's long-term potential—to see whether he had poured all his creative energy into that one script, or whether his imagination still had room to grow and flourish.
The results were impressive. In their brainstorming sessions, Buddy consistently came up with revisions that aligned with her vision. If she pointed out that a scene didn't work or a line of dialogue felt flat, he would suggest alternatives—maybe a clever line, a humorous moment, or a visual cue that achieved the same goal more effectively.
Their collaboration had been nothing short of joyful.
Laila had never claimed to be an Oscar-caliber screenwriter. Her strength was in adaptation, not original writing. And Buddy—he was like a gift from the universe, the perfect partner to bring her ideas to life. No matter what she envisioned, he could keep up and help her craft something even better.
So the version now sitting in Leslie Cheung's hands was essentially the finalized draft—one brimming with depth and refinement.
Chen Shufen sat quietly across from him, watching him flip through the pages at a steady pace. She was practically vibrating with impatience, wishing she could help him flip faster.
Time seemed to flow differently between them. For her, it rushed forward like a roaring waterfall, surging ahead without hesitation. For him, it was a gentle stream, slow and deliberate, reluctant to leave even the faintest trace on him.
She was anxious, but she didn't dare interrupt him. All she could do was cradle her cup of tea and let her mind drift to Laila Moran… to Hollywood… to the Golden Globes, the Oscars… to the dream of seeing "Gor Gor" on that dazzling stage, becoming the first Eastern actor to win a major Western acting award.
A film script isn't usually very long. If you're skimming, one to two hours is plenty.
But Leslie Cheung spent an entire day on it.
He didn't just give it a cursory read—he read it four or five times.
After the first read-through, he didn't say whether he'd take the role. He also didn't keep Chen Shufen waiting around. Instead, he told her he'd give her an answer the next day.
Then came the second read… the third…
He forgot to eat, forgot to rest—completely immersed in the story. If Chen Shufen had seen him in that state, she probably would've freaked out and rushed him to the hospital, terrified his depression had returned.
But the truth was—he was hooked.
This was a script with real depth—conflicts of race, emotional entanglements, psychological struggles, and a brutal critique of human nature. With the right direction, it could rival the tone and power of The Shawshank Redemption.
But Laila hadn't taken that route. She had chosen to tell the story through a lighter, more emotionally resonant lens. You could see it in the dynamic between the two male leads, in their evolving bond and subtle interactions.
What made the story unforgettable was its ending. Even after four or five reads, the final scene still left his chest tight, filled with an urge to shout—to release something. The ending transformed the film from a clever, adventurous action story into a deeply thought-provoking classic.
And with Laila's masterful direction, there was no doubt—this film would become a timeless classic among classics.