Inspired by True Events from the 2008 Sichuan Earthquake

FADE IN:

EXT. WENCHUAN COUNTY TOWN - DAY

MAY 12, 2008 flashes across the screen. We see peaceful streets.

Cherry blossoms drift along quiet sidewalks.

CUT TO

INT. LI WEN’S APARTMENT - DAY

Wide shot of a bedroom. We see golden sunlight filter through

gauzy curtains. In the background, we hear the kitchen hum

softly, pots simmering, wind chimes swaying in the breeze. LI

 WEN, a 28 year old mother, hums softly as LIANG, her 3 month old

 baby, kicks his tiny legs. We see a mobile made of carved birds

 spin slowly above him.

LI WEN

Who's Mama’s little emperor today? Such noisy

 feet! What a racket from such tiny toes.

LIANG giggles. The sound of a phone buzzing. She reads the

 message that has just come through on it. Smiles. Presses the

 phone gently to her baby’s cheek.

LI WEN (CONT’D)

It’s Baba. He says he dreams of your smile.

From outside the bedroom we hear the sounds of a TV on.

WEATHER MAN (V.O.)

Another day of beautiful, clear skies for Wenchuan. Temperatures today are expected to be perfect…

FADE OUT

FADE IN:

INT. LI WEN’S APARTMENT - SAME DAY LATER

A quiet afternoon warmth fills the baby’s bedroom. The curtains stir. A faint breeze through the windows. Suddenly: a low, rumbling vibration, like distant thunder, but growing, grinding, closer. We hear the sound of the porcelain spoon clatter into the sink. The hanging light fixture begins to sway wildly, casting erratic shadows across the walls.

LI WEN

(beat) What…?

LIANG lets out a shrill, startled wail from his crib. The floor quivers beneath them. LI WEN rushes to scoop him up. 

LI WEN(CONT’D)

It’s just thunder, xiǎo bǎo…it’s just thunder…

(in English: xiǎo bǎo = precious one.)

We hear a deafening, otherworldly roar rip through the apartment. We see the windows explode inward with a blast of glass and wind. Dishes leap from cabinets. The walls ripple. LI WEN moves on instinct, shields LIANG with her body, and runs toward the doorway. We see the floor underneath LI WEN buckle violently, sending her sprawling. A beam crashes down. We see the ceiling begin to collapse, plaster and steel raining from above.

LI WEN

Hold on!

Camera screen shatters. We hear a final crack, like a snapped spine. BLACKOUT.

We can hear a cacophony of sounds. Concrete groaning like an animal in pain. Glass shatters, dishes crunch. A far off scream, then closer ones, then nothing. Just the hissing of dust. Then, a baby’s faint whimper beneath the weight of silence.

INT. LI WEN’S APARTMENT - EVENING

We hear a low, groaning rumble. A faint cry cuts through the dark, helpless. We see a narrow light flicker. Tilted shot of the buried world takes form. Splintered wood. A single fractured phone screen flickering blue. LI WEN is pinned beneath a slab of concrete, blood trailing from her temple. Her legs are crushed. Curved protectively over LIANG, her arms form a fragile shield. LIANG   stirs softly against her chest, still breathing.

LI WEN

…xiǎo bǎo… 

LI WEN blinks hard, trying to clear her vision. Her breath is ragged. Pain claws up her spine, but her arms tighten protectively.

LI WEN

I’ve got you. Mama’s here. Still. Forever. 

She tries to rock slightly, instinctively, though her body can barely move. Her shirt is damp with blood. She winces, holding LIANG with shaking hands. LIANG whimpers again, nuzzling blindly toward the familiar swell, hunger working in small, helpless motions. Half-humming. She tilts her body and lifts her shirt with one hand, skin slick with ash and blood.

LI WEN

Yī shǎn yī shǎn liàng jīng jīng, mǎn tiān dōu shì xiǎo xīng xīng…

(in English: Twinkle, twinkle, shining bright... a sky full of little lights…)

Her voice breaks. She tries again, quieter. The tune is barely there.

LI WEN

You’re such a strong boy.

That’s right. Drink. Mama’s body knows what to do. Even

 now. Even… now.

She laughs once, bitter, breathless. Her eyes flutter, fighting back tears.

LI WEN

Remember when I worried I’d fail you?

Couldn’t swaddle right, couldn’t sleep… And

now look.

She leans her head back. Her lips are pale. She looks up at the darkness.

LI WEN

If anyone’s listening, he’s still alive. 

He’s still alive.

We hear another tremor roll through. LI WEN cries out sharply, her spine arching in pain. She cradles LIANG tightly.

LI WEN

No. No, not yet. You don’t get to take me 

yet.

There is a strange and unnerving silence that settles on the scene. It is interminable. She exhales slowly, deliberately. Her gaze drops to LIANG’s face. She strokes his cheek, whispering into his ear.

LI WEN

One day you’ll go to school… Maybe you’ll 

play soccer like your uncle. Maybe you’ll be 

shy around girls, or loud and full of 

mischief. That’s okay. Just… be kind. Be 

kind, and be brave.

She closes her eyes. Then she reopens them with effort. She pulls the phone from her pocket. Her hands tremble. The screen flickers on, cracked but glowing. She squints at the light, flinching. Blood smears the keys. Typing painfully slowly, she murmurs each word aloud.

LI WEN

Dear… baby… if you live… remember… Mama… 

loved… you.

She slips the phone into LIANG’s swaddle, resting it against his back as if it were a second heartbeat within her own chest. Another cough racks her. She shudders, holding him tighter. Her voice is quieter now, like slipping underwater.

LI WEN

You’ll grow up. And I won’t be there to 

scold you when you steal extra dumplings. Or 

walk you home from school in the rain. Or 

tell you when to stay and when to run. But 

you’ll have this. These arms. This warmth. 

This message.

Tears streak through dust on her cheeks. Her breathing slows.

LI WEN

And when you cry… I hope someone hears you. 

I hope they find you in time. I hope you 

live, xiǎo bǎo. Live. Breathe. Keep going. 

Even if I can’t be there, you must survive.

There is a return to that interminable silence. She leans her head close to his. Their foreheads touch. It’s almost like prayer. Her eyes begin to close. Her body stills. Yet her arms remain wrapped around him, steady and perfect.

We hear the faint sound of gentle suckling. The soft, steady sound of a baby drinking. LIANG lives. In darkness, he lives.

FADE TO BLACK

EXT. EARTHQUAKE RUINS OF WENCHUAN - NIGHT

A vast sea of blue disaster tents covers the broken hillside. The air is thick with dust; rescue crews work without machinery - no excavators or heavy tools yet. They dig by hand, by shovel - some even by hand, prying through debris. The only sounds: shovels digging, subdued commands, labored breathing.

SERGEANT GUO, age 42, a stoic leader of the rescue unit, moves through the ruins with purposeful steps, each careful, scanning every fractured beam and cracked slab. PRIVATE YANG, 19 years old and the youngest member of the team, exhausted but alert, sweeps a handheld light over the wreckage.

PRIVATE YANG

Sir… there - right here!

Our view shifts and we now see flashlights converge on a hand, frozen mid-embrace under a slab. Rescue workers flinch at the sight, but begin digging furiously, scraping earth and concrete with gloved hands. DOCTOR WU, age 35, a pediatrician, walks forward.

DOCTOR WU

Careful, there might be someone else.

They unearth the body of LI WEN, curled protectively around something. Beneath her chest, just visible in the dim light, is LIANG, blinking, lips still glistening with milk, wrapped in a blue blanket. Angle on LI WEN’S shirt,damp circles still warm around the nipples.

SERGEANT GUO’s expression is a mix of both shock, grief, and marvel.

SERGEANT GUO

She held on… even in death.

DOCTOR WU moves closer, checking LIANG’s airway and heartbeat.

DOCTOR WU

Breathing… stable. No fractures, no dehydration.

DOCTOR WU (CONT’D)

But… his mother… she’s cold. No pulse. No breath. She didn’t last.

PRIVATE YANG looks away, swallowing hard.

PRIVATE YANG

God... she's still -

DOCTOR WU

Postmortem lactation. Hormones keeping milk flowing... even after…

DOCTOR WU (CONT’D)

Even after… it stopped beating.

SERGEANT GUO

I know. The army’s on its way, but right now, we’re all this child has.

He kneels beside LI WEN, gently brushing grit from her cheek. His calloused fingers brush against LIANG’s blanket. They bump something hard beneath the fabric. He lifts the edge to reveal the cracked phone, its screen still glowing faintly through dust.

SERGEANT GUO

Look at this.

Camera angled in on SERGEANT GUO’S hand as he opens the phone. There is a message illuminated. It was unsent: “Dear baby, if you live, remember Mama loved you.”

Silence falls. The workers freeze around him.

SERGEANT GUO (CONT’D)

She didn’t just shield him from rubble. She shielded him with her love. And even after she died… her body carried him.

SERGEANT GUO lifts his helmet with unsteady hands. His voice is choked. Camera pans to LIANG. LIANG's tiny hand curls around DOCTOR WU’S thumb. A distant DOG barks at the rescue perimeter. The phone buzzes weakly - battery dying. Concrete dust trickling somewhere.

SERGEANT GUO (CONT’D)

Let’s carry her too. We will learn his name. We will tell his story. He won’t just survive. He’ll thrive. Because of her.

Around them, WORKERS on the hill continue to dig. Shovels scratch stone. Hands claw through dust - but now with renewed purpose. Our focus pulls back to reveal the vast destruction caused by the earthquake. The rescue site stretches into darkness, dotted with blue tents like islands in a concrete sea as we pull further and further away.

FADE OUT

INT. ORPHANAGE NURSERY - NIGHT

Rows of cribs, all identical, all waiting. A few are occupied. LIANG’s, by the window. Close on LIANG: his breath is steady. His small fingers lift, searching the air. Angle on the mobile. A paper crane spins slowly, its wings catching the light, shadows flutter across his face.

DOCTOR WU stands nearby. She holds a phone, dried blood crusted around the home button. SERGEANT GUO enters. The quiet thud of boots against the ground. He approaches the crib, pauses as if not to disturb the stillness.

SERGEANT GUO

Found her like that. Curved around him. Like parentheses.

DOCTOR WU

She wrote him a sentence. He just doesn’t know how to read it yet.

She opens a small box. Inside we see: the phone, a torn, milk-stained scrap of LI WEN’S blouse and a slip of paper with LIANG’s name, handwritten. She places it gently beside him.

DOCTOR WU

Something to help him remember before he knows what memory is.

SERGEANT GUO looks to the rows of empty cribs. Outside, faint cries of new arrivals carry down the hallway.

SERGEANT GUO

They’ll keep coming. Some with names. Most without.

DOCTOR WU, turning towards LIANG.

DOCTOR WU

You’re not alone, little one. You were never alone. She made sure of that.

The camera holds. LIANG’s hand brushes the edge of the box.

FADE TO:

EXT. ORPHANAGE - NIGHT

We see through the window, silhouettes: DOCTOR WU and SERGEANT GUO walk the corridor between two rows of cribs marked “UNIDENTIFIED”. Their shadows stretch behind them.

FADE OUT

FADE IN: “MAY 12, 2025” slowly appears on the screen against a

black background.

EXT. SICHUAN MEMORIAL - DAY

We see a soft breeze stir the flower petals scattered on the ground. Spring leaves shimmer, new and tender, on the trees lining the memorial. In the distance: a town reborn. Rebuilt homes catch the sun, their windows bright, their rooftops calm. The camera slowly glides across engraved names, etched into black stone. Rows upon rows, hundreds deep. Offerings sit at their bases: incense stubs, folded notes, photographs faded under glass.

LIANG, now seventeen, stands at the edge.

He wears a neat school uniform. A quiet determination settles in his posture. In one hand: a bundle of white chrysanthemums, wrapped in paper with careful folds.

LIANG steps forward, shoes crunching softly on the gravel.

He stops before a glass case embedded in stone.

Inside: The cracked phone, its screen frozen mid-message. A slip of cloth, barely visible.

Below the display, a plaque:

“Li Wen (1979-2008) - For love that outlives ruin.”

LIANG

I didn’t forget.

LIANG kneels. Gently, he lays the chrysanthemums before the case. His fingers lift hovering, not touching over the glass. He traces the glass, following the same strokes his mother once made:

a character for peace.

a character for child.

a character for home.

He closes his eyes.

Then, he leans forward and presses his forehead against the glass, as if listening for a heartbeat that’s no longer there but somehow never left.

From the nearby tree, a single paper crane, long weathered but intact, detaches from a low branch.

It drifts down slowly, turning in the sunlight, its wings catching the light. It lands beside the flowers, its shadow briefly brushing LIANG’S hand.

He looks up.

The camera pulls back. The town beyond glows softly in the morning haze.

Bicycles pass in the distance. A child’s kite dances over a rooftop. Life continues. But the quiet here holds.

FADE TO BLACK.

We hear a baby’s laugh. Faint. Pure. As if carried by the wind, or rising from the stone.

TEXT APPEARS ON SCREEN:

“In the 2008 earthquake in Wenchuan County, Sichuan Province, China, 69,227 lives were lost, 17,923 remain missing, and over 8,000 children were orphaned. This story is for their unbroken love, and for the survivors who carry their love forward.”

SCRIPT ENDS.