It was a news excerpt from South Africa, detailing the background and aftermath of Martin's takedown, along with the various crimes unearthed in the process. The people, of course, welcomed the cleansing of such a malignant force and were more than happy to see it happen. Meanwhile, Martin's former rivals were all keeping their heads down, trying their best to disappear, terrified they'd be next on the government's hit list.
"I just wanted to see how it all ended," Laila said, putting down the report and picking up her teacup. "That place isn't so bad—aside from the inconvenience, the environment was pretty nice."
Roy chuckled and shook his head. "It's easy to tolerate when you're only living there for a few months. You wouldn't be saying that if you had to spend your whole life there."
Though he hadn't grown up with much warmth from his family, he still felt lucky to have been born in this country. If not for the people who had helped him early on, he might have starved or ended up in jail long before he ever met Laila.
Laila laughed as well. "You're right. The smooth progress of this shoot—I think I owe it to the weather there." If she remembered correctly, when Blood Diamond was originally filmed by director Edward Zwick, they'd run into torrential rains, one of the harshest rainy seasons in recent history. It was a miracle they'd managed to finish filming at all.
Her shoot, by comparison, had been much luckier. It did rain, but only within manageable limits.
"You call that smooth?" Roy rubbed his forehead. "If that's your idea of smooth, I don't know what it would take for you to call something a mess." Getting kidnapped by Martin aside, even calming Leo's emotional breakdown had taken serious effort. Then there was the pile of logistical coordination—it was a miracle they got through it.
"I think as long as I got all the footage I needed, it counts as smooth. If I'd worked that hard and still couldn't get what I wanted, then that would be called a mess." Was that so hard to understand?
Roy gave up. "Alright, alright, you're always so convincing. So, Miss Laila, would you honor me by joining me for a fine lunch at the restaurant?"
"Of course. It would be my pleasure." Laila smiled and accepted.
As far as she was concerned, the Martin matter was officially over. Just like Xiao Ye said: even if Martin did survive his twenty-plus-year sentence, he'd be in his sixties by the time he got out, with no money and no connections. There was no way a man like that could ever pose a threat to someone like her living in America.
But for old Mr. Moran—someone fiercely protective of his family—a simple prison sentence wasn't nearly enough.
So, not long after Martin entered prison, he was stabbed in a prison brawl—right in a fatal spot. He bled out on the way to the infirmary. The scene had been so chaotic that no one could even determine who delivered the fatal blow, and the case was quietly shelved.
Xiao Ye informed Laila of Martin's death as soon as he heard. Laila didn't react much. She'd seen enough similar plotlines in American dramas that she was unfazed. But Xiao Ye, after hearing more through his contacts, understood one thing for sure: someone had pulled strings behind the scenes. Who exactly—whether Martin's old enemies or someone else—they couldn't be certain.
Only old Mr. Moran knew the truth. Laila was still young; there were many things she didn't need to know, but the necessary actions still had to be taken. Whether it was covertly dealing with Daoud or removing a potential threat like Martin, those responsibilities were his to carry. His granddaughter was like an angel—her eyes should only see the light.
Back at work, Laila threw herself headfirst into the editing room. Everyone who knew her understood—this was a time when she absolutely should not be disturbed. That otherwise gentle and approachable boss could unleash a thunderous roar that would traumatize you for life.
She had always placed great importance on editing. She'd won her first Oscar not for directing, but for editing.
As a director who could edit her films, Laila felt incredibly fortunate—and she never took that for granted. She poured all her energy into memorizing every shot, selecting the most satisfying moments, and stitching them together into a finished film.
Sifting through all that raw footage to find the right pieces was a massive job in itself. It wasn't as simple as following the script scene by scene. You had to consider mood, setting, and atmosphere—each shot's length had to be carefully chosen.
For example, a single gaze—how long or short it lasted—could convey completely different meanings. A glance might seem casual or indifferent, while a lingering stare could make the audience feel the weight of the emotion behind it.
One of Laila's most common sayings was: Never underestimate the power of editing. That went not just for her work, but also for the young talents she mentored in the Rising Stars program.
Those kids were all talented and capable; all they lacked were opportunities and experience.
She could provide them with time and funding. But as for how they shaped their films, she couldn't teach every detail. All she could do was share insights she'd accumulated over two lifetimes, and hope they could grasp the essence.
How much they truly absorbed, how well they internalized those lessons—that was up to their own effort.
One thing was certain: for Laila, editing was both pain and pleasure. She loved that she could take full control of this part of the process—unlike many other directors who had to hand their work over to someone else, only to watch it come back unrecognizable.
What she hated was how mind-numbingly tedious it was. Frame by frame, she had to think. It wasn't like a puzzle where you simply put the right pieces in the right spots. And not every shot could be used—each had to be carefully trimmed, extended, or discarded depending on its purpose. It was a task that demanded intense mental energy.
For Laila, editing was a painful joy.
For everyone else in the company, it was just pain.
Whenever Laila was holed up in the editing room, the entire staff would automatically start tiptoeing past that hallway. Even though they knew the room was soundproofed, they still couldn't help themselves.
They all knew: Don't disturb her right now. If you broke her flow and caused a billion-dollar film to become a hundred-million-dollar flop, the guilt might kill you.
Of course, such a thing was unlikely to happen. But with Laila increasingly exuding the aura of a CEO, even the new hires didn't dare meet her eyes. Just a single glance from her could leave them rattled for half a day.