Chapter 3: I'm Really Not a Quick Draw

On the night of the 22nd, the wrap party passed in a flash.

Li Wenyu, a newcomer mainland screenwriter, was pinned at the main table and forced to drink a few rounds of toasts. After it ended, Assistant Hu pulled him toward the guest rooms to rest and handed him a red envelope. "Brother Yu, this is from Brother Rong—50,000 Hong Kong dollars."

"No need to refuse. The whole crew got one, but none as much as you and Director Er. By the way, our film 'Tsuen Wan by the Sea' won’t be released this year. It’s aiming for the Berlin Film Festival in February or Cannes in May next year. Even if it doesn’t perform at the box office, we can still sell the distribution rights to European and American theaters."

"We’ll talk about the release later. Brother Rong has to guest star in other crews starting early tomorrow; he’s leaving at five in the morning. Let me pass along that if you’re free in February or May, you should come to the festival with us. He really enjoyed making this film—his condition even improved as filming went on. It’s a big win."

"If you have any new scripts in the future, just call his personal number or email him directly."

Assistant Hu’s excited chatter left Li Wenyu a bit stunned. After making a film, his health improved; all those dark thoughts about life being meaningless or better off dead had vanished.

He had rediscovered the goodness of the world.

For a superstar with plenty of money, handing out red envelopes to the whole crew to celebrate was a trivial matter.

A film can only compete in one of Europe’s top three festivals—either Berlin or Cannes. It depends on Zhang Guorong’s confidence; he had previously attended many Hong Kong, Golden Horse, and Asia-Pacific film festivals.

But he had only been nominated once for Best Actor at Cannes and didn’t win.

After accepting the red envelope and thanking him, Li Wenyu spoke up, “Brother Hu, once Brother Rong is done, could you help me hand over a new script? I want to direct it myself and hope Brother Rong can help with quality control.”

“I’ve been learning from Brother Sheng for over a month now, and I’m itching to try.”

Almost going bankrupt, NetEase was still at a super low price of 50 cents per share. Investing 200,000 Hong Kong dollars now would have been worth 28 million in 2004—a huge profit.

If you could turn 200,000 into several million at the box office, even giving Brother Zhang half the earnings, it would be a success. Otherwise, it could yield hundreds of millions in profits—not impossible if you had the chance at the end of 2001.

Some mainland tycoons had even bought pig farms for millions of dollars and made a fortune.

“If Brother Rong is willing to help, I can give you half the box office and DVD rights income.”

Assistant Hu was stunned for a moment. “A new script already? So soon as a gunslinger?”

Li Wenyu sighed, “Not really so fast—I studied literature at the Beijing Film Academy for two years and only wrote a couple of scripts.”

That pace and efficiency were decent. His new project was “Shark Beach,” mostly featuring one female lead with shark special effects. Hong Kong’s special effects industry was decent now; Xu Ke’s “Legend of Shu Mountain” had good effects regardless of its plot.

Fengyun Films’ effects were also solid.

The only concern was finding a young, beautiful actress with the acting skills needed… His first choice was Fan Bingbing, the “Fat Bing” at twenty years old. Her acting was good enough to shoot “Shark Beach,” definitely more eye-catching than the “Big Secret’s” “Island of Fear.”

“Fat Bing’s acting? Don’t joke—at worst, we spend some time improving her skills. A successful collaboration on ‘Shark Beach’ benefits us both. If Bing bing acts wildly, we take back the points. Even if her next film flops, the public will just think I’m a strong acting coach.”

The film would showcase the beautiful lead in all the scenic shots of Shark Beach, with a great figure…

Mainland China’s box office wasn’t very promising now, and Taiwan had flopped too, but with good marketing—like viral campaigns and internet trolls—there was still a chance to make tens or even hundreds of millions in South Korea and Japan.

Li Wenyu hoped to turn 200,000 into several million. Even if he shared half with Zhang Guorong, it was doable.

Of course, he wasn’t foolish enough to just give points to anyone. Giving Brother Rong points meant the latter had given him top treatment. Nowadays, big-name screenwriters still got deposits first and the remainder after filming.

He considered adding points if Fat Bing’s acting wasn’t good enough. She’d joined Huayi with Wang Jinghua but hadn’t yet become a breakout star or met Hong Jinbao, a major player and evaluator. If a big opportunity came and the other side took the initiative, Li Wenyu wouldn’t be passive.

Having a second chance at life, he was casual about relationships.

Once he did a favor, Fat Bing would repay it tenfold. Having her as a long-term ally was a win-win: she improved her acting, he gained a quality directorial debut and box office success.

Even after the pandemic and its long-lasting effects, he remained a simple man who enjoyed watching young women dance, loyal and devoted for decades. After graduating into the entertainment industry, despite not making it big, he’d seen too much to believe in love anymore.

Who still believed in love?

If true love exists, it’s not to be found in this circle.

…

Do a good deed every day.

Host: Li Wenyu, 20 years old.

Treat every day well; congratulations on living another day, +1 attribute point.

Screenwriter (72/100).

Director (62/100).

Fitness (58/100).

Driving (67/100).

Car handling (65/100).

…

On the evening of August 24th, in a hotel suite.

Zhang Guorong and Er Dongsheng each had a copy of the script. After reading, they exchanged a glance before Er Dongsheng spoke first.

“It’s a pass, even a good popcorn flick. With so much female lead screen time, as long as it’s shot beautifully and the acting is decent, the audience won’t be lacking.”

“The investment cost isn’t high, a classic example of small investment, big return. If you don’t like Rong’s script, I can introduce you to investors. Huazi would be interested once he hears; his company has gone bankrupt and been restructured multiple times.”

“Still on shaky ground financially, but Huazi has the connections to hold the fort.”

Both Zhang Guorong and Er Dongsheng knew that Li Wenyu, a newcomer in the film industry, was offering half of the box office and copyright income because he wanted to leverage their networks.

Without connections, a rookie director can’t even manage the crew’s prop masters, cameramen, makeup artists—teams might collude and waste your million-dollar investment, yielding only a fraction of the expected progress.

With their experience, they could see the quality of the “Shark Beach” script—a popcorn blockbuster from passable to excellent! Most importantly, low investment, fast shooting, and quick release.

Zhang Guorong shook his head with a smile. “Sheng, don’t tease me. Yu, I’ll cover all the costs, including marketing and promotion. You direct and assemble the crew. I’ll pay you 200,000 Hong Kong dollars as director’s fee plus 10% box office share.”

That was a very sincere offer. Before his downfall, Wu Baige got over ten million dollars as director’s fee, but Ang Lee only got one million for “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.”

Zhang Guoshi’s fee rose to ten million this year with “Hero.”

Directors like Xu Ke also earned a lot, but small-budget films with stars earned far less than Guoshi.

For a pure newcomer, 200,000 plus 10% share was a great deal, especially the 10%.

Li Wenyu nodded. “Thanks, Brother Rong. I’ll go back to Beijing and ask for leave from school. If I hadn’t been on the seaside crew learning from Brother Sheng so long, I wouldn’t dare to take the plunge.”

Er Dongsheng smiled even brighter. That statement… He wasn’t exactly a mentor, since Beijing Film Academy was a proper school, but in just over a month, Li Wenyu had rapidly transformed classroom knowledge into real-world directing skills.

Er Dongsheng felt a little involved and spoke a few kind words after reading the script.

Zhang Guorong asked with a smile, “Who do you want for the female lead?”

Li Wenyu was frank. “Fan Bingbing from Huayi, and Jin Suo from ‘My Fair Princess.’ I hope Brother Rong can call her and try to invite her. If I invite directly, she might think I’m a scammer.”

Huayi was currently trying hard to tap into Hong Kong’s resources. With Zhang Guorong’s channels, refusal was unlikely. Even stalled projects would come to cooperate.

A nearly 90-minute film, almost entirely about a female lead surviving alone!

The female lead was the only ticket-selling weapon. Of course, for publicity, cameo roles could be filled by big stars—retired actresses like Zuyan or Amin? Zhang Guorong had that kind of influence now; Li Wenyu would need years of hard work to wield such power.