"Captain Mu Enli, in your thirty years of sailing with the Baiyu Cruise, what is the most memorable thing for you?" the director asked.
The old captain in front of the camera looked out at the horizon.
Mu Enli's white beard was tough, unmoved by the sea breeze. But his graying hair was soft; it got messy with just a gust of wind. The old captain didn't answer, as if lost in thought.
But this time, the director didn't mind at all—this kind of nostalgic silence from an elder was priceless footage…
No matter how long the old captain sat there in thought, he wouldn't care. At most, he'd cut down the length in post-production. But the longer the old captain stayed silent, the stronger the emotion would brew.
"Don't miss a single shot!" the director whispered to the cameraman.
...
Morning, nine o'clock. The sunlight wasn't hot yet. But plenty of tourists had already come to the deck to play and take photos.
