未完待续

剧情 · 爱情 · 成长长片 · 95–105 pages 4K + 16mm + MiniDV

Ongoing Ending

这样能留得久一点——
虽然，它再也不会开了。

It lasts longer this way —
even though it never blooms again.

编剧／导演 · Written & Directed by 刘瑞宏 · Katherine Ruihong Liu

01 — 一句话故事

Logline

One Sentence

三十岁那年的春天，她一个人到了戛纳。抽屉里那块硬盘，搁了四年没敢碰。这一回，她终于按下播放——重庆的雨，一个夏天，一个再没去找过的人。一帧一帧看完，她才懂：她的结尾，不在那个夏天里。在四年之后，她重新提起笔，写下第一行字的那一刻。

The spring she turns thirty, a woman flies alone to Cannes and opens a hard drive she has not been able to look at — footage from a summer in Chongqing, and a man she never went back to. Watching it, she comes to understand that her ending was never inside that summer. It was in the line she had the courage, finally, to write afterwards.

一代人的安静心碎——
爱情、出身、青春，撞上梦想的边界，
所有热烈，开始显出它的脆弱。

A generation's quiet heartbreak —
when love, origin, and youth collide with the limits of ambition, all that was once ardent begins to show its fragility.

02 — 形式装置

为什么从戛纳开场

The Formal Device — Why this film begins in Cannes

这不是一段线性的爱情故事。是一个三十岁的女人，独自到了戛纳，打开一块搁了四年的硬盘。我们看到的整部片，是她在脑子里、在剪辑时间轴上，正在重新剪出来的那个版本。

这是 Aftersun《日丽》的形式装置——挪到华人离散的色温里。电影第一个镜头不是上海，是戛纳。一间普通的出租公寓。三十岁的她，把硬盘插进笔电。文件夹上是她自己写的字：Chongqing 2026 — raw.

犹豫。差点关掉。没有。按下播放。画面亮起来。我们进入那个夏天。

故事大致顺着时序走。但有七次，会回到三十岁的她——戛纳公寓，笔电前。有时按暂停，有时让画面继续跑。她不开口，没有旁白。这几次回返，只是在诚实地告诉观众：你看到的，不是「过去本身」，是过去被回望的样子。

结尾——海边，她写下 FADE IN.——观众这才懂：那卷素材，她刚看完。她现在要写的，就是我们刚刚看完的这部电影。

This film is not, structurally, the chronological story of 芮 and 亮. It is the story of a thirty-year-old woman in Cannes, four years on, opening a hard drive of MiniDV footage she has not been able to look at — and the film we watch is the film she is editing in real time, in her head, as she watches.

This is the Aftersun device, adapted to a Chinese diasporic palette. The first image of the film is not Shanghai. It is 芮 at thirty, in a Cannes rental apartment, plugging in an external drive labeled in her own handwriting: Chongqing 2026 — raw.

She hesitates. She presses play. The footage warms up. We are inside the summer.

The film then plays mostly chronologically, with seven brief returns to thirty-year-old 芮 in Cannes — sometimes pausing on a frame, sometimes letting the playback run. These returns are not voice-over. They are silent. They are simply the truth of the film's vantage: this is the past being looked at, not the past as it happened.

The closing image — 芮 on the beach at Cannes, writing FADE IN. — is therefore the moment we finally understand: she has just finished watching the footage. The screenplay we have been inside is the screenplay she is about to write.

这个装置让电影同时是一段恋爱，也是一场哀悼。让影像语言诚实地分层——MiniDV／16mm 是她的过去，数位是她的现在。中间那个交会点——第四幕湖边的双重曝光——正是这部电影终于承认自己一直是回忆的那个瞬间。

This device allows the film to be both a love story and an act of mourning, simultaneously. It also allows the visual grammar to split honestly: the MiniDV / 16mm passages are her past; the digital passages are her present; and the meeting place between them — the lake-in-memory of Act IV — is the place the film admits it has been a memory all along.

03 — 主要人物

人物

Principal Characters · 角色名皆为单字，无姓氏 · first names only, by design

芮

Rae

女 · 26 → 30 · 重庆 → 上海 → 旧金山 → 戛纳

重庆人。独生女。父母都是读书人。爱她的方式，是把她瞄准远方。二十二岁，宾大毕业。二十六岁，在上海一家咨询公司熬到凌晨两点。同一年，收到美国 MBA 录取信。

她从小学会一件事——被爱，是一种被衡量。可以在三种职业语言之间切换，却从来没有真正说出过「我想要什么」。那句话总要先翻译成「我应该想要什么」，才肯出口。

她偷偷想拍电影。出国前那个夏天，写了一个短片剧本——关于爱能不能改命。在那个剧组，遇见了亮。

Raised in Chongqing — only child of an educated family who loved her by aiming her forward. By twenty-two she had a Penn degree, by twenty-six a consulting job in Shanghai that ended at 2 a.m. and an MBA admission letter that promised more.

The kind of woman who learned, very young, that being loved is a form of being measured. Fluent in three professional registers and has never quite said what she wants without first translating it into what she is supposed to want.

亮

Liang

男 · 27 → 31 · 安徽乡下 → 重庆

安徽人。生在一个小村庄。父母常年在外打工——母亲是清洁工，父亲开卡车。哥哥成绩好，是「全家的希望」。亮从小一个人。学会在小学后面的山坡上看落日。也学会，不开口，比开口安全。

大学里第一次接触电影。那是他第一次相信，自己也可以「做出一个真正属于自己的东西」。二十七岁，在重庆接婚礼录影、企业宣传片。

他像是 Close《亲密》里那个男孩，长大之后的版本——不挽留，不追，不开口。乍看像胆怯。后来才看得清，那是一种长在伤口上的尊严。

Born in a village in Anhui, raised at a distance by parents who worked in cities — his mother a cleaner, his father a long-haul driver. His older brother was the family's hope; 亮 was the quiet one, the one who learned to be alone on the hill behind the elementary school.

By twenty-seven he is shooting corporate videos and weddings in Chongqing. He is Close's Léo grown up — a young man whose feelings have been bigger than his vocabulary since boyhood, and who has built an entire adult identity around keeping them contained.

Mei

美

女 · 三十上下 · 旧金山

ABC，眼神犀利，善良不啰嗦。在科技公司做产品。是芮在旧金山的「地板」——她快塌的时候，地板还在。这段关系没有恋爱，没有大吵，没有崩溃大哭。是另一种东西——一个一个小小的「我来了」、「我在」、「不必跟我解释」。

Sharp-eyed, kind without ceremony, fluent in English and the survival grammar of being a woman of color in tech. Mei is structurally what saves 芮 from disappearing in San Francisco. No romance, no big fights, no breakdowns — just small, steady acts: I'm here. I came. You don't have to explain.

芮的母亲

Rae's mother

五十多岁 · 重庆

温柔。警觉。独生子女政策那一代典型的母亲——坚信机会不能浪费。跟芮的对话，几乎都发生在微信语音里，总在错的时间响起。这条线最像 Lady Bird：一个母亲的爱，跟她的「指令」，分不开。

Loving, watchful, formed by the one-child generation's belief that opportunity must not be wasted. The Lady Bird comp is most active here: a mother whose love is inseparable from her instructions.

亮的母亲

Liang's mother

六十出头 · 安徽

替别人擦了二十年地板的乡下女人。对小儿子的爱安静、实际，带着操心。希望他娶一个能在同一个屋檐下吃饭的人。第四幕影展那场戏，镜头停在她的脸上，比停在儿子脸上还要久——她不懂他在看什么，但完全懂得，是他做出来的。

A village woman who has spent twenty years cleaning other people's apartments. She loves her younger son with a quiet, practical worry, and would prefer he marry someone she could see in the same room. In Act IV's festival scene, the camera holds on her face longer than on her son's — she does not understand what he is watching, but she understands, completely, that he made it.

亮的哥哥

Liang's brother

三十多岁 · 上海

有编制。有老婆。有小孩。淡淡地不赞同。逢年过节打电话，建议他考公务员。不是反派——是一个按吩咐长大的人。

Stable, salaried, married with kids, faintly disapproving. Lives in Shanghai, calls during major holidays, suggests the civil service exam. Not a villain — a man doing what he was told.

03.5 — 人物弧线

他们要什么·需要什么·相信什么·终于看见什么

Character Arcs · The Four Pillars

每个主角都有四根柱子：他们以为自己想要什么（WANT），他们其实需要什么（NEED），他们一直骗自己相信的谎言（LIE），还有他们终于敢看见的那个真相（TRUTH）。

到第四幕，两个人某些信念已经互换了——相信爱能改命的女人，终于接受了改不了。一直以为自己不配做梦的男人，终于敢继续拍下去。这场旋转，是这部电影最深的论点。

Each protagonist has four pillars: what they think they want, what they actually need, the lie they have been telling themselves, and the truth they have to face. By Act IV, the two have functionally swapped some beliefs — the woman who believed love could change fate has accepted that it can't; the man who believed cinema was a luxury he couldn't afford has finally given himself permission to want it anyway. This rotation is the film's deepest argument.

芮 · Rae

WANT · 想要

做出来。被看见。证明那个被父母举高的女儿，没有辜负他们倾注的人生。

To make it. To prove that the daughter she was raised to be was worth the life her parents poured into her.

NEED · 需要

允许自己做一个私人的人——想一些没办法在简报里讲出来的东西。允许去爱，也被爱，而不必同时是一份成绩。

Permission to be a private person — to want things she cannot defend in a slide deck. To love and be loved without it being also an achievement.

LIE · 谎言

只要爱得够用力，撑得够久，我就可以把所有都拥有：事业、那个人、那座城、那个让所有人骄傲的自己。

If I love hard enough and work hard enough, I can have everything: the career, the man, the city, the version of myself everyone is proud of.

TRUTH · 真相

我没法都拥有。但我可以有一个自己——一个不需要演给谁看的、单独的自己——这个自己，能在失去他之后，活下来。

I cannot have everything. But I can have a self — a single, unauditioned self — and that self can survive losing him.

亮 · Liang

WANT · 想要

把这场爱情扛到尾声。给她他能给的所有——时间、注意力、一份他自己也几乎不敢相信的温柔——而不去要她为此付任何代价。

To carry this love to its end. To give her everything he has — time, attention, a tenderness he barely permits himself — without asking her to pay anything for it.

NEED · 需要

允许自己想他想的，不必先靠「往上爬」去赎回这份资格。被爱，是因为他这个人，不是他将来会变成的那个人。

Permission to want what he wants without first earning it through class mobility. To be loved as the man he is, not the man he is supposed to become.

LIE · 谎言

电影是一种奢侈。我这种人，没资格想她那种人想的。爱她，是借了一段我永远还不起的人生。

Cinema is a luxury. People like me don't get to want what people like her want. Loving her is borrowing a life I cannot pay back.

TRUTH · 真相

我有资格想我想的。我不必先赢，才有权下场。我以为我在守护的尊严，从来不是爱的敌人——它是爱的入场券。

I am allowed to want what I want. I do not have to win in order to play. The dignity I was protecting was not love's enemy — it was love's price of admission.

第一幕 · ACT ONE · pp. 4–28

光之夏

The Summer of Light

重庆 · 2026 · MiniDV / 16mm · 4:3 → 1.85:1

「这样能留得久一点。虽然，它再也不会开了。」 "It lasts longer this way. Even though it never blooms again." — 亮 · Liang · Act I

1.1上海 · 凌晨两点 / Shanghai, 2 a.m.

她决定离开的那一夜

The night she decides to leave

上海。凌晨两点。整层办公室，只剩她那盏台灯。她把一份标题写着「市场策略 Q4 更新」的简报关掉。那封录取信，这一礼拜看了第七遍。辞职信写了又删，第三次按下「发送」。

电影里的上海，只有三页。不会再回来。她从这个版本的自己逃出去——是引信，不是故事。故事，从那班开往重庆的火车开始。

画幅在这里从 1.85:1 切到 4:3——我们进入了 MiniDV 素材本体。

Shanghai. 2 a.m. The office floor is empty except for her desk lamp. 芮 closes a deck titled MARKET STRATEGY — Q4 UPDATE. She has read the same admissions email seven times this week. She drafts and deletes a resignation message three times before sending it.

The Shanghai we see lasts perhaps three pages. We will not return — 芮's escape from this version of herself is the catalytic act, but it is not the story. The story begins on the train into Chongqing.

Aspect ratio shifts from 1.85:1 to 4:3 — we are entering the MiniDV footage proper.

1.2重庆 · 渝中 / Chongqing, Yuzhong

那间出租公寓．那台借来的相机

The rented apartment · the borrowed camera

她在渝中区顶楼租了一间，能看见嘉陵江。从一个微信群里凑了五个电影学院的学生。借了一台 DV。第一天开机，构图怎么调都不对。百叶窗的光打进来，太烫，太条纹。

亮在角落理线。比所有人都早到一个小时。看了她一会儿，没说话。等她又试了一次，又一次。然后走过去——轻得像一个练了一辈子「不要占地方」的人——挪了挪三脚架，差不多三公分。

「你再看看。」

她从观景窗看出去。画面稳了。她抬头。他已经跨过半个房间，蹲在电源插座旁边，假装什么都没做。

芮 has rented a top-floor walk-up in Yuzhong with a view of the Yangtze. She has hired five film-school students from a WeChat group. She has the borrowed DV camera. On the first morning, she cannot get the frame. The light through the blinds is too hot, too striped.

亮 is checking cables in the corner. He has been there an hour longer than anyone. He watches her, then walks over softly — like someone who has spent a lifetime trying not to take up too much space — and adjusts the legs of the tripod by perhaps three centimeters.

"Try now."

She looks through the viewfinder. The frame steadies. She looks up. He is already across the room, kneeling next to a power strip, pretending he has not done anything.

1.3重庆 · 屋顶 / Rooftop

王家卫式的重庆

Wong Kar-wai's Chongqing

收工以后，屋顶上，冰咖啡。脚下是嗡嗡的城市。聊电影。他喜欢贾樟柯。她喜欢王家卫。两个人很温柔地辩论——风格到底有没有道德。

有一晚，她问：

「你小时候最快乐是什么时候？」

他想了一下。

「在小学后面那个山坡。看落日。那时候没人问我以后要不要买房、要不要结婚。一个人挺好的。」

她笑了，很轻。听得出来他说的是真话。也听得出来，这真话不是真话的全部。

戛纳回返之一 · 三十岁的她，在出租公寓里，脸被回放的光照着。把这一段倒回去，重看一次。她这一次看的不是当年的自己，而是——他，正在听。

After wrap, on the rooftop, with cans of cold coffee and the city humming below them, they talk about cinema. He likes Jia Zhangke. She likes Wong Kar-wai. They argue, gently, about whether style is moral.

She asks him, one of those nights:

"What was the happiest you ever were, as a kid?"

He thinks about it.

"On the hill behind my elementary school. Watching the sun go down. Nobody asked me yet whether I was going to buy a house, or get married. I was just by myself. It was fine."

She laughs, quietly, because she can hear that he is telling the truth, and that the truth is not the whole truth.

First Cannes return · 芮 at thirty rewinds this scene. She is looking, this time, not at her younger self, but at him, listening.

1.4安徽 · 村子 / Anhui village

淑女鸟式的回家

Lady Bird in Anhui

拍到一半，亮临时起意，带她回村子。火车慢慢开进安徽内陆。雾落在稻田上。亮的母亲在院子里的水龙头下洗韭菜，把手往围裙上一擦，看了她一眼——那一眼里有一种不太能读的客气。

傍晚，他们躺在稻田里。光是干草的那种金。

「这里的星星不像城里那么累。」
「我没看过这样的地方。像一个不存在的世界。」
「你不是想拍电影？这里就是你的电影。」

她没接话。这地方比她以后拍的任何一部电影都真。可这份真，恰恰是这世界不会让她留下的那种。

Halfway through the shoot, on a whim, 亮 takes her to his village. They take a slow train into the interior of Anhui. Mist on the rice. His mother washes chives at the spigot in the courtyard, drying her hands on her apron, looking at 芮 with an unreadable politeness.

They lie in a rice paddy, late afternoon. The light is the gold of dry hay.

"The stars here aren't tired. They're not like the city ones."
"I've never seen a place like this. It's like a place that doesn't exist."
"You wanted to make a film. This is your film."

She does not answer. She is thinking — though she will not admit it for years — that this place is more real than any film she will ever make.

1.5重庆 · 出租屋 / The rented room

倒挂的玫瑰

The upside-down rose

飞旧金山的前一晚。亮送她一束小小的玫瑰。花已经在谢了。他用一根绳子绑住花茎，倒挂在她那间出租屋的窗边。

「这样能留得久一点。虽然，它再也不会开了。」

她看着那束花在风里微微转。当时还没懂——他在描述的，其实就是它们。他已经用一个卖花人的安静的精准，替他们的爱情，提前命名。

On her last night in Chongqing, before the flight to San Francisco, he gives her a small bouquet of roses. The flowers are already going. He has tied a string to the stems and hung them upside down by the window of her rented apartment.

"It lasts longer this way. Even though it never blooms again."

She watches them turn slowly in the breeze. She does not yet understand that he is describing them. That he has already named, with a florist's quiet precision, what their love will become.

1.6那一夜 / That night

离别

Departure

那一夜下了大雨。两人都睡不着。雨打在窗上。霓虹一明一灭，把他的脸染成不同的颜色。

「你会想我吗。」
「会。」
「那你为什么不挽留我。」

他沉默了很久。

「我怎么挽留你。你要去的地方，我去不了。」

第二天早上，桌上有一份他改完的剧本。其中一句台词旁边，他用钢笔写了一行小字：「太理想主义了。现实里的人不会这样说话。」

她笑了。差一点哭。要过好多年她才懂——这是她这辈子收到的，最真的一封情书。

That night the rain comes hard. They lie awake. The rain on the window. The neon from the street painting his face one color, then another.

"Will you miss me?" / "Yes." / "Then why aren't you asking me to stay?"

He is quiet for a long time.

"How could I ask you to stay? You're going somewhere I can't go."

In the morning she finds a page of his handwritten notes on her short film. He has marked one line of dialogue: "Too idealistic. Real people don't talk like this."

She laughs and almost cries at the same time. She will not understand for years that this is the truest love letter she will ever receive.

第二幕 · ACT TWO · pp. 29–58

两条轨道

Two Orbits Apart

旧金山／重庆 · 2026–2028 · 4K Digital · 1.85:1

「你要是真爱我，为什么不留下来？」 "If you really loved me, why won't you stay?" — 亮 · Liang · Act II

2.1旧金山 · 落地 / SF arrivals

光太亮，太硬

Bright, hard light

玻璃。Uber 在 101 上滑行的那种柔顺的安静。她落脚在 Mission 边缘，分租的一个小屋，窗户关不严。她拆行李。跟妈妈微信视讯。把那束干玫瑰挂在窗边。没哭。她决定不哭。

日子被填满：上课、组队作业、实习面试、商学院特有的那种「自我介绍」的仪式。她做得很好。她整辈子都在为这件事做准备。她在 SoMa 一家科技公司接了个兼职。说 vision，说 execution，说 runway。有一晚，她开始用英文做梦。

画幅切回 1.85:1。格式切回 4K 数位。我们离开了 MiniDV。

Bright, hard light. Glass. The smooth hush of an Uber on the 101. 芮's first apartment is a sublet on the edge of the Mission with a window that does not close all the way. She unpacks, hangs the dry roses by the window. She does not cry. She has decided not to.

Her days fill: classes, group projects, internship interviews. She is good at it. She wears the right clothes. She says vision and execution and runway. She begins to dream, occasionally, in English.

Aspect ratio shifts back to 1.85:1; format shifts to 4K digital — we are out of the MiniDV.

2.2旧金山 · Mei

她底下那块地板

The floor under her

Mei，那个同事。ABC，三十上下。在旧金山，第一个用全副注意力看着芮的人。第一次见面在公司茶水间。Mei 看了一眼她疲倦的脸。

「真正的咖啡。对面那家。我请。」

芮去了。没告诉 Mei 她在经历什么。Mei 没问。Mei 这条线，是芮整个旧金山段落底下的地板──小、不戏剧化、就是「在」。

Mei, the coworker. ABC, late 20s. The first person in San Francisco who looks at 芮 with full attention. They meet over the kombucha tap. Mei, observing 芮's tired face:

"Real coffee. Across the street. On me."

芮 goes. She does not tell Mei what is happening. Mei does not ask. The Mei relationship is the entire San Francisco floor of the film — small, undramatic, present.

2.3太平洋两端 / Pacific apart

半夜的视讯

The midnight calls

旧金山的每一个午夜，她打开笔电。重庆那头是下午三点。亮在他那间小小的出租屋里。她看得见他身后墙上挂着楼下饺子店送的褪色月历。

「吃了吗。」「刚吃。」
「今天拍什么。」「婚礼。」
「你最讨厌婚礼。」

一阵停顿。「客户满意就行。」然后是那种沉默——一种太礼貌的沉默——两个曾经能用彼此填满任何沉默的人，现在不行了。

戛纳回返之三 · 三十岁的她，把这一段倒回去。看那一阵沉默。再倒一次。沉默，就是她来戛纳要写的东西。

Every night at midnight her time, 芮 opens her laptop. It is three in the afternoon in Chongqing. 亮 is in his small rented room. She can see, behind him, the faded calendar from the dumpling shop downstairs.

"Did you eat?" / "Just finished." / "What are you shooting today?" / "A wedding." / "You hate weddings."

A pause. "The client is happy. That's what matters." Then the silence. The terrible, polite silence of two people who used to be able to fill any silence with each other and now cannot.

Third Cannes return · 芮 at thirty rewinds this exact moment. Watches the silence, then watches it again. The silence is what she has come to Cannes to write.

2.4重庆 · 一个人 / 亮 alone

Close 的调子

The Close register

亮的哥哥从上海来看他。在哥哥家吃饭。哥哥递过来一个文件夹——公务员考试的复习材料。妈妈在厨房的扩音里。谁都没多说。

那夜，亮在笔记本上写了一行字。镜头推近：

「电影要钱。但梦想要命。」

他报了名。没告诉芮。这就是 Close 的调子——亮有一个感受，亮说不出来。「说不出来」本身，变成了动作。

亮's brother visits from Shanghai. They have dinner at the brother's apartment. The brother gives him a folder of study materials for the civil service exam. The mother is on the speakerphone in the kitchen, not saying much.

That night, 亮 opens his notebook and writes one line:

"Cinema costs money. But dreams cost more."

He registers for the exam. He does not tell 芮. This is the Close register. 亮 has a feeling. 亮 cannot say the feeling. The not-saying becomes the action.

2.5重庆 · 那十天 / The ten days

那个泡泡

The bubble

六个月后。她存够了钱。飞回去。直接去他那里。他煮了饭。在一个玻璃杯里插了一枝花。有十天，他们像活在一个泡泡里。去菜市场。在桥下那家小面摊吃饭。把笔电架在凳子上看老电影。

有个下午下雨。他载她，骑小电驴过江。雨打在她脸上。他在红绿灯停下，回头看她。

「停！我要拍！」

她举起手机。他转身。雨水把他的颧骨打亮。那张照片——接下来四年都会留在她桌面某个文件夹里的那一张——就在这一瞬间拍下。

Six months in. 芮 flies back. She goes straight to his apartment. He has cooked. He has put a single flower in a glass. For ten days they live in a bubble. They go to the wet market. They eat from the small noodle stand under the bridge. They watch old movies on a laptop balanced on a stool.

One afternoon the rain comes and they ride his electric scooter across the river. The rain hits her face. He turns to look at her at a stoplight.

"Stop! I want to take a picture!"

She raises her phone. He turns. The rain has lit his cheekbones. The picture, the one she will keep for four years, is taken in this instant.

2.6重庆 · 沙发 / The couch

结束他们的，那一段对话

The conversation that ends them

飞回去的前一晚。这句话她准备了几天，一开口，带着那种简报式的勉强光亮：

「你跟我来吧。就一年。语言慢慢学。我们可以——」

他打断她。不是生气。比她听过的任何时候，都更温柔。

「我不想去当你生活里的客人。你去过你该过的生活。我留在我该待的地方。」

她低下头。手指捏紧了沙发的毛边。她听懂了。懂得很疼。他不是在拒绝她。他是在拒绝「她那种爱的形状」。因为那个形状，是斜的。

It is the night before her flight back. With the false brightness of someone presenting a slide deck:

"What if you came? Just for a year. The language is fine, you'll pick it up. We can —"

He cuts her off. He is not angry. He is more tender than she has ever heard him.

"I don't want to be a guest in your life. You go live the life you're supposed to live. I'll stay where I'm supposed to stay."

She looks down. She understands, with an awful precision, what he has said. He is not refusing her. He is refusing the shape of the love she is offering. Because the shape is uneven.

2.7重庆 · 路灯下 / Streetlight

路灯下

The streetlight scene

最后一次散步。雨。路边小吃摊的霓虹被摊成一条一条的光。他停下来。看她。那句从她落地那天起就一直在等他开口的话：

「你要是真爱我，为什么不留下来？」

她想说：因为我从小被教着要往前走。因为爸妈会心碎。因为我熬了十年，才换到这张机票。

她说：「我不知道。」

一辆卡车从他们之间呼啸而过。等车开远，两人站的位置已经不一样了。

Their last walk. Rain. The neon of the food stalls smeared into long streaks on the pavement. He stops. Looks at her. The line that has been waiting for him since she landed:

"If you really loved me, why won't you stay?"

She wants to say: because I was raised to keep going. Because my parents will be heartbroken. Because I worked for ten years to earn the right to leave. She says: "I don't know."

A truck passes between them. By the time it has gone, they are already standing differently.

2.8旧金山 · 茶水间 / SF break room

最后一封讯息

The last message

飞回旧金山两周后。茶水间。手机震动。一条长讯息。我们听见亮的画外音——平稳，近乎随意：

「我们都是普通人。会痛，也会变。这正是生活迷人的地方。看到你的照片，旧金山的阳光应该很好，风会吹过你的脸。用力去感受吧，生活很美好。我也会痛苦一阵子。然后，去面对那个我多年没敢面对的自己。」

她站在康普茶水龙头前面读完。手没抖。Mei 看到她的脸，没问，递了一杯水过来。

Two weeks after she lands back in San Francisco, in the office break room, her phone vibrates. A long message. We hear 亮 in voice-over — calm, almost casual:

"We're both ordinary people. We hurt, we change — that's what makes life beautiful. The San Francisco light looks good on you. Let it. Feel it. Life is good. I'll be in pain for a while. And then I'll go face the version of myself I've been avoiding for years."

She reads it standing in front of the kombucha tap. Her hands do not shake. Mei sees her face. Does not ask. Brings her water.

第三幕 · ACT THREE · pp. 59–82

留下的幽影

The Ghosts That Stay

旧金山 · 2028–2029 · 4K Digital · 1.85:1 + 2.39:1

「它干了，就不会坏了。」 "It's dry now. So it won't decay." — 芮 · Rae · Act III

3.1幻觉 · 旧金山 / Hauntings

王家卫式的反复

Wong Kar-wai's repetitions

她开始看见他。不完全是幻觉。比较像一种视觉的习惯。穿着那件外套的男人，在斑马线上。酒吧里某个对的肩膀。

第一次在自己厨房看见他的那夜。她正在煮泡面。他坐在她的小折叠桌对面，拿起她的相机，皱着眉看设定。

「你的 ISO 开太高了。」「我知道。」她平静地说。
「明天穿厚点。风起来了。」

她看了一眼窗外。没有风。回头看那把椅子，是空的。她笑了。那不太算是一个笑。

She begins to see him. Not as a hallucination, exactly. More like a habit of vision. A man at a crosswalk in the right jacket. A back at the bar in the right shape.

The first night she sees him in her own kitchen, she is making instant noodles. He sits across from her at the small fold-out table, picking up her camera, frowning at the settings.

"Your ISO is too high." / "I know," she says. Calmly. / "Wear something warmer tomorrow. The wind's picking up."

She glances at the window. There is no wind. When she looks back at the chair, it is empty. She laughs. It is not quite a laugh.

3.2角落 · 行李箱 / The corner

没打开的行李箱

The unopened suitcase

她从重庆带回来的那个行李箱，已经在卧室角落放了四个月。没打开过。里面是亮帮她叠好的衣服。那束干玫瑰，用报纸包着。一份印出来的短片剧本，边上是他的钢笔字。她知道里面有什么。她不能打开。打开，就是承认他不会回来。

有一夜，凌晨三点，睡不着。她打开了它。坐在卧室的地板上。把每一样东西拿出来看一遍。没有哭。把那束干玫瑰握在手里很久。然后，大概照原样，把所有东西放回去。

第二天早上，她在 Mission 一家社区电影学校，报名了一个纪录片入门班。

Her suitcase from the last visit has been sitting in the corner of her bedroom for four months. She has not opened it. Inside it: her clothes from his apartment, folded the way he folded everything. The dried roses, wrapped in newspaper. A printed copy of her short film script with his handwriting in the margins. She knows what is inside. She cannot open it. To open it would be to admit he is not coming back.

One night, three a.m., unable to sleep, she opens it. She sits on the floor and goes through every item. She does not cry. She holds the dry roses for a long time. In the morning, she signs up for a documentary class at a community film school in the Mission.

3.3Mei · 那一夜 / The night

她终于哭的那一夜

The night she finally cries

六个月后。她把固定周二的晚餐取消了三次。第四次，Mei 带着外卖直接出现在她公寓门口。两人小小地吵了一下。Mei 说：

「你不需要把自己翻译给我听。」

她哭了。整部电影里第一次。不是为了亮。是为了——终于，被一个没有要求她表演的人，看见。

Six months later. 芮 has cancelled their standing dinner three times. The fourth time, Mei shows up at her apartment with takeout. They argue, briefly. Mei says,

"You don't have to translate yourself for me."

芮 cries — for the first time in the film. Not about 亮. About being, finally, seen by someone who is not asking her to perform.

3.4梦 · 湖边 / The dream

湖边的梦．La La Land 式的尾声

The dream of the lake · La La Land's epilogue

她梦到了他。梦里是村子的金色版本。雾在做一些它在现实里从来没做过的事。

画幅在这里撑成 2.39:1 变形宽银幕。光是高度提炼的金。

她赤脚走在湿草地上。他坐在湖边不远处，DV 对着她。

「你看镜头。」「别动。」
「这里，没有压力。」「这里，没有世界。」
「我们又在拍片吗。」「不是。这次只是活着。」

然后风停了。颜色开始离开。他从很远很远的地方，温柔地看着她。

「梦会醒。」

她伸手要抓他。他已经是光。醒来时，眼角是干的。

She dreams of him. The dream is the gold version of the village. The mist is doing something it never quite did in real life.

Aspect ratio widens to 2.39:1 anamorphic. Heightened, magical-realist gold.

She is walking barefoot in wet grass. He is sitting near the lake with the DV trained on her.

"Look at the lens." / "Don't move." / "Here, there's no pressure." / "Here, there's no world." / "Are we shooting again?" / "No. This time we're just alive."

Then the wind stops. The colors begin to leave. He looks at her, gently, from very far away.

"Dreams end."

She reaches for him. He is already light. The film, like La La Land and Past Lives, uses this once and never again.

3.5慢慢的 / Slowly

一点一点重建

The slow rebuild

接下来几个月，她做了一些不算大的事：领养了一只原本没打算养的猫。早上沿着 Embarcadero 跑步。周二跟 Mei 固定吃饭。一个电影夜校。一个读书会。一篇短文，投给一本小小的网络杂志，被刊登了。她第一次看见自己的名字，印在某个真正属于她的东西上面。

她开始——非常慢地——重新走进电影院。第一次，整个试片时间都紧抓着座位扶手。灯暗下来那一刻，那个房间的形状，跟她当年在重庆第一次跟他一起看电影的房间，是一样的。她没有起身。她看完了那部电影。她走出电影院。

Over months: a cat she did not plan to adopt. Morning runs along the Embarcadero. A standing dinner Tuesdays with Mei. A film studies night class. A reading group. A short essay submitted to a small online magazine, accepted, published; the first time she sees her own name on something that is hers.

She begins, very slowly, to enter a movie theater again. The first time, she grips the seat through the trailers. The lights go down and the room is the same shape as the room in Chongqing where she first watched a film with him. She does not get up. She watches the movie. She walks out.

3.6那通电话 / The call

那通电话

The phone call

一个安静的周二，她拨了他的电话。一年多没拨过了。第三声，他接了。背景里有一台电风扇的声音。

「你还在拍电影吗。」

一阵停顿。然后他笑了一下，很轻。

「能拍就拍。不能拍，也没事。」
「你变了。」「哪里。」
「以前你不会说『没事』。」「可能是长大了。」

她不知道下一句要说什么。也不需要说。两人之间的这一阵沉默，第一次不是悲伤的沉默——是两个人各自从某段路的另一端走出来了，那种沉默。

On a quiet Tuesday she dials his number. She has not called in over a year. He picks up on the third ring. There is the faint sound of an electric fan.

"Are you still making films?"

A pause. Then he laughs, a small soft laugh.

"I make them when I can. And when I can't, that's also fine." / "You've changed." / "How?" / "You wouldn't have said 'fine,' before." / "Maybe I grew up."

She does not know what to say next. She does not need to. The silence between them is, for the first time, not a silence of grief, but of two people who have arrived, separately, at the other side of something.

第四幕 · ACT FOUR · pp. 83–100

未完待续

Ongoing Ending

重庆 → 戛纳 · 2030 · 16mm + 4K · 2.39:1 → 1.85:1

「这就是我想要的结尾。」 "That's perfect. That's my ending." — 芮 · Rae · Act IV

4.1重庆 · 片场 / On set

导演椅上

In the director's chair

她坐在导演椅上。不再是二十六岁。头发绑起来。她看着回放屏幕。屏幕里：两个恋人在一个门口。中间有雾。男演员——高，微微驼背，穿一件褪色的工装外套——是被从背后拍的。有那么整整一个瞬间，那个演员后脑勺的弧度、肩膀的倾斜、手垂在身侧的方式，跟亮，几乎没有分别。

她没有躲开。她看着。那场戏演完。她温柔地说：

「再来一条。」

她助理看了她一眼，意外——那一条已经拍得很完美。

「有时候，要拍十遍，只因为还没准备好放手。」

这一次，男演员走开的时候，女演员也没有躲开。她看着监视器里的自己，看着这场戏。

「卡。完美。这就是我想要的结尾。」

芮 sits in a director's chair. She is no longer twenty-six. Her hair is tied back. On the monitor: two lovers in a doorway. Mist between them. The actor — tall, slightly stooped, in a faded work jacket — is shot from behind. For a single long moment, the back of the actor's head is indistinguishable from 亮's.

芮 does not flinch. She watches. The scene plays out. 芮 says, gently:

"One more."

Her assistant looks at her, surprised — the take was perfect.

"Sometimes you have to shoot it ten times. Just because you weren't ready to let it go."

They reset. They shoot it again. This time, when the actor walks away, the actress does not flinch either.

"Cut. That's perfect. That's my ending."

4.2重庆 · 影展 / Festival

影展上的微笑

The festival smile

剪到亮。在重庆。他坐在一个社区影展的观众席。我们不知道银幕上在放什么。我们看到的是他的脸。仰着。被放映机的光照亮。一个很小、很真的微笑。一个花了四年才长出来的微笑。

观众席后面几排：他的母亲。她搭了两班火车一班巴士来这里。她不懂他在看什么。她完全懂得，她的儿子做了这个东西。镜头停在她的脸，比停在他脸上更久。

Cut, briefly, to 亮 in Chongqing. He is in the audience of a small community film festival. We do not see what is on the screen. We see his face, tilted up, lit by the projector. The very small, very real smile of a man who finally understands he is allowed to be there.

In the audience, a few rows behind him: his mother. She has taken two trains and a bus to be there. She does not understand what he is watching. She understands, completely, that her son made it. Hold on her face longer than on his.

4.3安徽 · 湖边 / The lake

湖边的双重曝光

The double-exposure of the lake — the film's largest gesture

第四幕的后半，电影回到安徽那座湖。同一个场景，前后出现两次。

第一次：记忆版本。变形宽银幕 2.39:1。16mm。蜂蜜色的光。亮穿着干净的白衬衫。她的头发被风吹开。湖面在闪。世界缩到只剩他们两个。配乐涌上来。时间被托住。

然后，没有预警地，剪。同一个场景，同一座湖——这一次，手持，1.85:1，数位，冷。湖边的草地上散着塑料瓶、烟蒂、一只破凉鞋。湖水是灰的。亮穿着褪色的工装。他蹲在湖边，用手舀水洗脸。

「能拍就拍。不能拍，也没事。」

她看着他。懂了一件她四年来都还没准备好懂的事——那道金色，是她自己的。是她自己叠上去的滤镜。她爱过他，是真的。但她同样炽烈地，爱着那个「相信只要爱他，世界就能改变」的自己。

Late in Act IV the film returns to the lake in Anhui — the film's single largest formal gesture. We see it twice in succession.

First: the memory version. Anamorphic 2.39:1. 16mm. Honey light. 亮 in a clean white shirt. The wind in her hair. The lake glittering. The score swells. Time is held.

Then, without warning, the cut. The same scene, only this time — handheld, 1.85:1, digital, cold. The grass at the lake's edge littered with plastic bottles, cigarette butts, a broken sandal. 亮 in a faded work jacket, his shirt yellowed at the collar. He crouches at the lake's edge and washes his face.

"I'll shoot when I can. When I can't, it's fine."

She understands, watching him, what she has not been ready to understand for four years: that the gold she remembered was hers. She had laid it over him. She had loved him, yes — but she had loved, with equal intensity, the version of herself that believed loving him would change the world.

4.4戛纳 · 海边 / Cannes beach

黄昏的海边

The beach at dusk

戛纳。出租公寓。她坐在笔电前。自序章以来，我们第一次回到现在式。她屏幕上开着的，是雨中亮在小电驴上的那张照片。光打在他的颧骨上。

她合上笔电。拿起这两个礼拜一直没能写下去的笔记本。走出公寓。下楼。穿过 Croisette。走到沙滩上。地中海正在玩它的金色把戏。但这一次，不是借来的光，不是记忆的滤镜。是真正的太阳，落在真正的海上。

她坐在沙滩上，穿一件柔软的灰色衬衫。身旁：一本笔记本，一支笔，一束新鲜的红玫瑰——这一束是活的，这一束会开。

她翻开笔记本。握着笔。新的一页，第一行，她自己的字迹：

FADE IN.

Cannes. The rental apartment. 芮 at the laptop. We are back in the present tense for the first time since the prologue. On her screen: the photograph of 亮 in the rain on the scooter. The light on his cheekbones.

She closes the laptop. She picks up the notebook she has been not-quite-writing in for two weeks. She walks out of the apartment, across the Croisette, onto the beach. The Mediterranean is doing the gold trick — but it is not borrowed light this time, not memory's filter. It is the actual sun on the actual sea.

She sits on the sand in a soft gray shirt. Beside her: a notebook, a pen, a small bouquet of fresh red roses — these ones are alive, these ones will bloom.

She opens the notebook. On the first line of the new page, in her own handwriting:

FADE IN.

未完待续．

Ongoing Ending.

04 — 影像语言

三种格式，三种语法

Three Formats · Three Grammars

4:3 · ~480p · soft, grainy

MiniDV

记忆的物质

她当年在重庆用 DV 拍下的素材。手持。软焦。颗粒粗。电影开场按下播放键的那一格，从这个画幅开始。

Footage 芮 herself shot in Chongqing 2026 — handheld, soft-focus, grain as memory device. The film opens in this aspect ratio.

1.85:1 / 2.39:1 · Vintage Cooke S4i

16mm

柯达 Vision3 · 过去

过去的其他段落。暖。微微扩散。人物落在高光区。第四幕「湖边记忆版本」撑成变形宽银幕——是这部电影承认自己一直是回忆的瞬间。

The rest of the past — warm, slightly diffused, character-in-highlights. Anamorphic widening for the lake-in-memory of Act IV.

1.85:1 · Alexa Mini LF · Zeiss Supreme

4K Digital

所有现在式

戛纳框架、分手后的旧金山、第四幕片场。干净，宽容度高，太锐——世界，正是她被训练成要表演的那种亮。

芮's present-tense — Cannes framing, post-breakup San Francisco, Act IV set. Clean, high-latitude, exactly as bright as she has trained herself to perform inside it.

04.1 — 五片风景

五片风景

Five Landscapes

戛纳

Cannes · Present

框住整部片的风景。一间普通的出租公寓，一台借来的笔电，从窗口看得见海。地中海的光，但用得很日常。不是红毯的戛纳——是一个亚洲女人，试图写一点诚实东西的戛纳。

The framing landscape. Mediterranean light, but mundane — laundry on a balcony, sandwich wrappers on a table. Not the Cannes of red carpets.

重庆

Chongqing · Memory

一座建在雾上的城。立体，潮湿，从下方打光。霓虹倒在湿的人行道上。是那种一对恋人会在某段楼梯间掉进爱里，却不知道自己掉到第几层的城市。

A city built on fog. Vertical, humid, lit from below. Neon reflected in wet pavement.

安徽乡村

Anhui · Memory & Reckoning

亮的家。本片最温柔的风景。最后，也是最幻灭的风景。稻田，雾，柴火。刻意拍两遍：先是记忆里的金色，后是现实里的冷光。

The film's tenderest landscape and, eventually, its most disillusioned. Shot two ways: gold of memory, then cold light of reality.

旧金山

San Francisco · Competence

玻璃高楼，Embarcadero 那种又长又直的光，中午从 Twin Peaks 散开的雾。干净，数位，偏冷的灰蓝。她在这座城里慢慢学会「一个人」。

Glass towers, the long straight light of the Embarcadero. The city where 芮 becomes good at being alone — first a wound, then a practice, finally a self.

上海

Shanghai · Prologue

电影开场的城市——她凌晨两点独坐办公室。亮的哥哥也住在这里。上海是「已经出人头地」的城。但他们俩，最后都不属于那里。

The city of having made it, briefly — 芮 at her desk at 2 a.m., 亮's brother lives here. Neither of them, finally, fits.

04.2 — 镜头表选粹

已经想象过的几个镜头

Shot List · Images We've Already Imagined

第一幕

百叶窗的光，和那只手

特写。她的手在三脚架云台上调位置。百叶窗的光条，一道一道横过她的脸。匹配剪到亮的手——同一个云台，他的手低三公分。

ECU on her hands adjusting a tripod head. The slats of a window blind moving across her face. Match-cut to 亮's hands, three centimeters lower on the same tripod head.

第一幕

雨里的电驴

主观镜头——她的视角。把手，他的背，雨打在路过那班公交的挡风上。然后两拍：他湿淋淋的颧骨大特写。这一格里，观众必须爱上他——爱不上，整部片就站不住。

POV from her — handlebar, his back, rain on the windshield of a bus passing. Then two beats: a full close-up on his rain-lit cheekbones. The audience must fall in love with him here, or the rest of the film does not work.

第一幕

倒挂的玫瑰

微距。差不多是静物。空调一吹，花瓣轻轻颤。这一格在全片回返三次，每次换一颗镜头。

Macro insert, almost still life. Petals trembling in a breath of A/C. We return to this insert three times across the film, each with a different lens.

第二幕

午夜的视频窗口

严格的过肩镜头：她看着笔电屏幕里他被卡住的脸。再切反打——他在重庆，看着她被卡住的脸。这画面，时不时要让她失望。

Strict OTS of 芮 watching 亮's frozen face on her laptop. Cut to the reverse: him in Chongqing, watching her frozen face on his. The image should occasionally fail her.

第二幕

那条卡车开过

双人镜头，霓虹打底，雨。一辆卡车从两人之间呼啸而过——把整个画面盖白。等卡车开远，他们站的位置已经不一样了。我们不重新构图。

Two-shot, neon practicals, rain. A passing truck blanks them mid-scene. When the truck has passed, they are standing differently. We never reset the framing.

第二幕

Mei 把那杯水放下

静止中景。她站在康普茶水龙头前面读手机。我们不切到手机屏。Mei 从画面后侧入画，把一杯水搁在旁边的桌上，出画。她没动。

Static medium of 芮 reading her phone in the break room. We do not cut to the phone. Mei enters frame at a back angle, sets a glass of water down off to the side, exits frame. 芮 has not moved.

第三幕

他坐在她的厨房

静止中景，锁死。他坐在折叠桌的对面，拿起她的相机：「你 ISO 开太高了。」她扭头看窗外——切。椅子是空的。同一个构图。我们不动。

Static medium, locked off. He sits across from her, picks up her camera. "Your ISO is too high." She glances at the window. Cut. The chair is empty. Same composition. We do not move.

第三幕

湖边的梦

穿过稻田的跟拍。变形宽银幕。金色。亮在小坡上，DV 对着她。他朝她走来。她朝他走去。镜头穿过两个人，从另一边出来，停在空荡荡的稻田。

Tracking shot through the rice. Anamorphic. Gold. 亮 on a low rise with the DV pointed at her. He walks toward her. She walks toward him. The camera moves through both of them, comes out the other side, holds on the empty rice.

第四幕

湖边·记忆版本／现实版本

第一遍：变形宽银幕，云台，蜂蜜色光，干净白衬衫。硬切。第二遍：手持，1.85:1，褪色工装，水溅到镜头上。我们不擦。位置、走位、台词，必须完全一样。变的，是其他一切。

First take: anamorphic, gimbal, gold, white shirt. Hard cut. Second take: handheld, 1.85:1, faded work jacket, water on the lens — we do not wipe. Geography, blocking, dialogue must be identical. Everything else differs.

第四幕

FADE IN.

极特写。她的手。那支笔。第一行字：

FADE IN.

一个停顿。一阵风把那一页吹起来。我们切黑。

ECU. Her hand. The pen. The first line: FADE IN. Beat. The wind takes the page. We cut to black.

04.3 — 声音设计

三种声音，互相对话

Sound & Score · Three Voices in Conversation

钢琴与弦乐

Piano + strings · the present

现在式的单一调色板。稀薄、克制，Aftersun《日丽》底下那种留白的语气。芮在戛纳、芮在旧金山——只有她一个人的时候，这套乐器会出现。

A single piano-and-strings palette for the present. Sparse, Aftersun-influenced. Heard only in 芮's solitary moments — Cannes, San Francisco.

亮的歌

"亮's song" · a recurring motif

第一次出现，是亮的收音机里播过去的。整部片回来三次，每次重新编曲，每次更幽灵化。最后一次，几乎只剩骨架。

A recurring motif — call it 亮's song — heard first on his radio in Act I. Returns in three arrangements across the film, each more spectral than the last.

III

环境的小声音

Ambient · the small details

雨打在雨棚。荧光灯的嗡嗡。水壶将开未开。这种小细节侯孝贤跟王家卫都把它当配乐用。我们也这么用。

Rain on awnings, the buzz of fluorescents, a kettle reaching its threshold — the small ambient sound details that Hou Hsiao-hsien and Wong Kar-wai both treat as music.

04.4 — 镜头选择

镜头与选片

Lensing

第一幕、第四幕（记忆）：古董 Cooke S4i 或重镶过的 Lomo 变形镜头。柔焦尾缘，人物落在高光区，淡淡渐晕。光圈尽量开到 T2。

第二幕、第三幕（现在）：Zeiss Supreme Primes，要锐。世界太清楚了。世界，正是芮被训练成要表演的那种亮。

反复出现的微距插入：倒挂的玫瑰、干掉的花瓣、剧本边上的钢笔字、第四幕道具玫瑰上的灰尘。Tilt-shift 或 100mm 微距。这些插入，是这部电影的标点符号。

Acts I and IV (memory): vintage Cooke S4i or rehoused Lomo anamorphics. Soft falloff, character in the highlights, gentle vignetting. Open up to T2 wherever possible.

Acts II and III (present): Zeiss Supreme Primes for clarity. The world is too sharp. The world is exactly as bright as 芮 has trained herself to perform inside it.

Macro inserts (recurring): the upside-down rose, the dried petals, the handwritten margins of the script, the dust on the prop rose in Act IV. Tilt-shift or 100mm macro. These inserts are the film's punctuation.

05 — 四个母题

这部电影，到底在说什么

Four Working Themes

《未完待续》说的，是一道缝。养我们长大的世界，跟我们要走进去的世界，中间那道缝。两个人都在说真话。但真话，对不上。这时候，爱是什么样子。

也是一个快三十岁的女人，终于明白——她最爱的那个自己，原来是爱着他的时候那个自己。然后她问：可不可以，继续做那个自己。一个人，也行。

Ongoing Ending is about the gap between the world that raises us and the world we try to walk into. It is about what love looks like when both people are telling the truth and the truth doesn't match.

It is about the particular grief of a woman in her late twenties who realizes that the version of herself she most loved was the one that loved him — and that releasing him means deciding, alone, whether that self can survive without its mirror.

成长，与世界之间的距离

The distance between upbringing and the world

她的「自由」，是建在一块她自己看不见的地基上的。直到亮出现，她才从「他没有」里头，第一次看见「她有」的那些。她的野心，是被父母稳定的工作、城市的中产公寓、不必讨价还价的学费，一块一块撑起来的。亮的每一个选择，都被「活下去」三个字往下压。电影不演道德。它演物理。

芮's freedom rests on a foundation she cannot see, until 亮 makes it visible by not having one. The film does not stage this as a moral failure on either side. It stages it as physics.

两种社会期待，与性别

Social expectation and gender, on both sides of the strait

她是独生女政策下被举高的女儿。从小被教着要有抱负——那曾经是只有儿子才被允许的抱负。亮在另一套更老的设定里长大：男人要成家，要扛得住一个屋顶。两个人，都对养他们长大的那一套，忠心耿耿。只是，他们忠的方向，相反。

芮 is a daughter of the one-child generation, raised to be exceptional in a way that might once have been the prerogative of sons. 亮 grew up under an older settlement. Both are loyal to the people who taught them. Both move, faithfully, in opposite directions.

III

理想主义的最后一章

Love and growth — the last chapter of idealism

她相信，爱可以改命。亮从小就知道，命改不了。电影一路看着这两种信念，慢慢换位。到结尾——知道命运不能争辩的，是她。终于敢相信自己「还可以继续做梦」的，反而是亮。

芮 believes love can rewrite fate. 亮 has known, since boyhood, that fate does not bend. The film follows the slow exchange of these two beliefs — until, by the end, the woman knows fate cannot be argued with, and the man has learned that he is allowed to keep dreaming anyway.

拍电影，作为爱的隐喻

Filmmaking as a metaphor for love

他们因为电影遇见。最后，也因为电影，看清了彼此。两个人都曾以为，电影会让人自由。后来才知道——拍电影跟爱一样：要钱，要时间，要关系，要那一整套不是人人都分得到的、生活的脚手架。做出一个东西来，是我们之中某些人活下来的方式。

They meet through cinema, and through cinema they finally see each other clearly. Both believed film would set them free. Both come to see that creation, like love, requires the scaffolding of a life that not everyone is given. The act of making something is how some of us survive what we cannot keep.

06 — 参考片目

关于六部参考片

On the Comparables · 每一页背后都站着六部电影

— I —

Past Lives

Celine Song · 2023

跨文化的思念，在多年里慢慢长出来的那种结构——以及 Greta Lee 那种特殊的安静。哀伤可以靠姿势撑住，不必靠眼泪。

The architecture of cross-cultural longing across years, and Greta Lee's specific stillness — the way grief can be carried in posture rather than tears.

— II —

Lady Bird

Greta Gerwig · 2017

家乡的质地。一个地方被拍得这么具体，这么疼。重庆之于这部电影，就是 Sacramento 之于《淑女鸟》。

The texture of a hometown rendered with such loving specificity that the audience understands what it costs to leave. Chongqing is this film's Sacramento.

— III —

La La Land

Damien Chazelle · 2016

两个追梦的人，因为梦想本身而走散的辛酸逻辑——还有，用一个被高度提炼的段落，去演一遍那个没有发生的爱情。整部片就用这一次，不再用第二次。

The bittersweet logic of two artists whose ambitions cannot survive each other, and the use of a single heightened sequence to stage the love that did not happen.

— IV —

Aftersun

Charlotte Wells · 2022

形式的母题。这部电影不是线性的悲剧，而是回望这个动作本身。重庆 2026 那卷 MiniDV，被四年后在戛纳的她重新打开——这是整部电影最根本的姿势。

The formal frame. This film is an act of looking back, not a chronological tragedy. Its grief, like Aftersun's, emerges retroactively, in the editing.

— V —

Close

Lukas Dhont · 2022

年轻男人的沉默，怎么会变成伤害。亮的退缩，不是因为不爱，是因为从来没人教过他，要怎么把感受说出来。「说不出来」这件事本身的代价，是这部电影底下安静运转的引擎。

The devastation specific to a young man's silence. The cost of wordlessness is the film's quiet engine.

— VI —

Wong Kar-wai

王家卫 · the cinema of

整体的基调。克制，是欲望。时间，是材料。重复，是记忆。食物，是亲密。楼梯与走廊，是建筑化的思念。《花样年华》是这部电影的祖父，《重庆森林》是更近的一个亲戚。

The entire register. Restraint as eroticism. Time as material. Repetition as memory. In the Mood for Love is the grandparent; Chungking Express is its closer cousin.

07 — 导演自述

写在前面

Director's Statement

我在两个世界之间长大。一个教我做梦。一个提醒我有边界。

这部电影，从那道夹缝里长出来——爱与责任之间。自由与归属之间。东方与西方之间。从小被训练要去追的那种抱负，与从来没人教过我要怎么留住的那种亲密，之间。

亮和芮，都是我自己。不同的年纪，不同的位置，但都是我。这段感情，是我亲手活过的。这本剧本，是我替自己写的、迟到太久的一封信。

他从内陆来，肩上压着家与生存。她从读书人家来，从小被瞄准「更好的生活」。两个人，没有谁不善良。是现实，最后逼他们在彼此与「自己被塑造成想要的那种人生」之间，挑一个。

透过芮，电影替我问那个我每天都在问自己的问题——现实一遍一遍要我们妥协，我们还能不能，对自己的热爱诚实？

这不是失恋重生。这是接受。接受那些改不了的事，跟它们住在同一个屋檐下。在疲惫里找力气。在爱已经不再是手上的材料之后，继续做东西——电影，友谊，早晨。

这部电影，也是我自己的一次和解：跟我父母那一代，是他们教我离开的；跟我自己这一代，离开了，还在找路回家的；跟我曾经那个相信「光靠爱就能改命」的自己；跟我现在这个知道改不了、还是选择继续爱下去的自己。

结尾，从来都不是终点。电影像爱，能同时容下真与幻。

我们继续活。
继续爱。
继续拍电影。

I grew up between two worlds: the one that taught me to dream, and the one that reminded me of limits.

This film was born inside that tension — between love and duty, freedom and belonging, East and West, the ambition I was raised to chase and the intimacy I was never quite taught to keep.

亮 and 芮 are both me. At different ages, in different positions — but always me. This is a love I lived myself. This screenplay is a letter, badly overdue, that I am writing to myself.

He came from a small inland town, anchored by survival and family. She came from an educated home, raised to chase a better life. Neither of them was unkind. It was reality, in the end, that asked them to choose between each other and the lives they had been formed to want.

Through 芮, the film asks the question I keep asking myself: how do we stay loyal to passion when reality keeps requiring compromise?

This is not a film about heartbreak. It is a film about acceptance. About learning to live with what cannot be changed. About finding strength inside fatigue. About continuing to make things — films, friendships, mornings — even after love has stopped being one of the materials.

Making this film is my own reconciliation. With my parents' generation, who taught me to leave. With my own generation, who left and is still trying to find a way home. With the version of myself who believed love alone could change fate, and the version of myself, now, who knows it cannot — and who chooses, anyway, to keep loving.

Endings, I have come to believe, are never absolute. Cinema, like love, can hold both truth and illusion at once.

We must keep living.
We must keep loving.
We must keep making films.

— yours, 刘瑞宏 · Katherine Ruihong Liu

08 — 为何此刻

为何此刻

Why Now

这个年代，年轻人可以自由地跨国，却越来越说不清「我到底属于哪里」。《未完待续》拍的，正是这一代人——卡在「无限可能」与「身心俱疲」之间的那个状态。

中国也好，西方也好，「抱负」已经悄悄取代了「亲密」，成为这一代人生存的语言。我们学会了优化、人脉、搬城市——但没人教过我们，怎么留下。对许多三十上下的女人来说，「独立」早已不等于「自由」。它越来越意味着——学会一个人活，按自己的方式。

这部电影想填的，是当代电影里一处安静的空白：一个女人，怎么活下去——当她失去的，是一个还活着的人。亮没死。也不冷酷。他只是，去过他自己的人生了。她的悲伤，不是灾难式的悲伤，是更慢、更诚实的那种。

Past Lives 打开了这个对话。这部电影，用中文的语气，把华人离散的女人放在中央，继续说下去。

In a moment when young people move freely across borders and yet feel less and less certain where they belong, this film captures a generation suspended between possibility and exhaustion.

Across both China and the West, ambition has quietly replaced intimacy as the dominant language of survival. For many women in their late twenties and thirties, independence no longer guarantees freedom. Increasingly, it means learning how to live alone, on one's own terms.

This film fills a particular silence in contemporary cinema: the portrait of how a woman survives the loss of someone who is still alive. 亮 does not die. He is not unkind. He is simply elsewhere. 芮's grief is not the dramatic grief of catastrophe. It is the slower, more honest grief of two people who chose differently.

Past Lives opened this conversation; this film continues it, in a Chinese register, with a Chinese diasporic woman at the center.

09 — 制作路线图

下一步

Production Roadmap

大纲与提案简报Treatment & pitch deck

故事大纲（本文件）与双语提案简报。

Treatment (this document) and bilingual pitch deck.

已完成 · done

剧本前置文件包Pre-screenplay reference

人物弧线（Save the Cat 改编）、影像参考与镜头表、大陆联合制片用简体场次表。

Character arcs (Save the Cat-adapted), visual references and shot list, Mandarin scene list for mainland co-pro pitching.

已完成 · done

III

剧本首稿Screenplay first draft

英语与中文同步进行──不是翻译，而是各写一稿。预计八到十周完成首稿。每版约 95–105 页。

English and Mandarin Chinese drafted in parallel — not as translation, but as separately written native-language passes. ~8–10 weeks for first complete draft.

进行中 · active

剧本围读与修订Table read & revisions

与双语读者及顾问群进行剧本围读。修订。锁定拍摄稿。

Workshop draft with bilingual readers and select advisors. Revise. Lock production draft.

下一步 · next

影展策略Festival strategy

Sundance Screenwriters Lab · Cannes Cinéfondation Résidence · IFP / Gotham Week · Tribeca Untold Stories · 香港亚洲电影投资会（HAF）· 北京国际电影节项目创投。

下一步 · next