After Transmigrated as a Black-Hearted Entertainment Boss [Transmigration] - Chapter 36

Zhou Fanghong gazed at the sketchbook in Tao Zui’s hands, his eyes filled with nostalgia. “My mother wasn’t the only female director among China’s ‘Sixth Generation’ directors, but she was the most distinctive. Unlike other female directors who leaned toward subtle, tender storytelling, she loved Cult films and was crazily obsessed with Hong Kong zombie movies.

“These preferences, which were so different from the mainstream, made her career in the Chinese film industry incredibly difficult. For a long time, she could only rely on shooting commercials to make a living. Her only truly proper work was Cat Alley, which starred Wang Minda.”

Cat Alley? Tao Zui strained his memory, but realized this work was never mentioned in the original novel. Actually, that wasn’t strange at all—the original novel hadn’t even featured a character named Zhou Fanghong!

Zhou Fanghong let out a soft laugh. “Don’t bother. It’s a work from over twenty years ago. It would be strange if you had seen it.”

He paused, then continued: “However, no matter how harsh and demanding the environment was, she never abandoned her dreams. This notebook is filled with her storyboards. Even in the final days of her life, she never stopped imagining. The initial idea for The Afterlife came precisely from watching this painting.”

Tao Zui nodded and handed the sketchbook back to Zhou Fanghong. “So, you decided to return to the country to prep and film The Afterlife solely to fulfill your mother’s final wish?”

“You could say that,” Zhou Fanghong said after tucking the sketchbook away. “But as you can see from reading the draft, what I want to make is vastly different from my mother’s original vision. I don’t even know if she’ll haunt my dreams to beat me up after it hits the theaters.”

Watching the smile on Zhou Fanghong’s face—a mix of nostalgia and a hint of melancholy—Tao Zui lowered his head to ponder for a while before finally speaking: “Director Zhou, we’ve worked together for so long that we know each other’s roots. I’ll dispense with the flowery pleasantries. You mentioned your family runs a cinema chain and is involved in film production. That means you must have distribution channels; I have no doubts about that.

“But judging by how you were hunting for movie investment everywhere, it seems your family wasn’t involved in your film. For a budget of nearly four hundred million yuan, you’d rather shoulder it yourself than ask your family for help. Why do you feel they’ll be willing to help you with everything once the film is finished?”

Zhou Fanghong gave a wry smile. “Nothing escapes your eyes, does it… Honestly, it’s not that my family wouldn’t help, but that I never opened my mouth from start to finish. And if you really count it up, they did help—otherwise, where would I have scraped together the three hundred million for the initial investment?”

Zhou Fanghong sighed. “To film The Afterlife, I sold two properties. One was in North City—an inheritance left by my maternal grandparents. The other was a condo my father bought me when I went to study in the States. There were also cars, watches, and all sorts of miscellaneous items, most of which were birthday gifts from my father. He didn’t directly invest in The Afterlife, but he indirectly supported the entire project.

“The reason I didn’t ask my father for money is twofold: firstly, I don’t want to be constrained by the company. With such a massive investment, the board members wouldn’t ignore it. But the subject matter alone signals a massive risk… cough, cough.”

Zhou Fanghong cleared his throat uncomfortably before continuing: “Secondly, I don’t want to start a conflict with my older brother. He views inheriting Ocean Film Industry as his life’s goal. He was already extremely dissatisfied when I went abroad to study directing and production, believing I wanted to snatch the inheritance from him. If my father had truly invested in my movie, he would certainly have used his position as General Manager to obstruct me in every way possible.”

After hearing this, instead of a sudden flash of enlightenment, Tao Zui felt his brow furrow slightly. “Since your brother misunderstands you so deeply, why do you think he won’t put a spoke in your wheel when the film is finished and ready for release?”

Zhou Fanghong offered a cunning smile. “Because he is only the General Manager, while my father is the Chairman. As long as the film passes the board’s review, Zhou Fangwei alone cannot influence the big picture. I’ve already decided: once the film is finished, I will invite the board of directors for an internal screening and promise to hand over all profits—excluding yours and Gu Nan’s box office share—to the company, in exchange for them taking over the film’s distribution.”

As the largest investor after Zhou Fanghong, Tao Zui enjoyed a percentage of the box office share according to the contract. Calculated against the current fifty million, he held fourteen percent of the production side’s box office share.

Gu Nan’s salary had also been converted into a box office share by Tao Zui. If the movie turned a profit, Gu Nan would receive one percent of the production side’s box office share.

The primary reason for signing such a contract was that the crew was so short on cash they wanted to split a single cent in two. Even the male lead’s salary was a measly hundred thousand, and even that was squeezed out with difficulty. Tao Zui figured since he’d already gambled big, he wasn’t afraid to go bigger, so he simply converted Gu Nan’s salary into a box office share to lighten the burden on the crew.

Normally, the distributor could take ten percent of the net box office, while the cinema chain took fifty-seven percent. If Zhou Fanghong gave up his share, it was equivalent to paying three hundred million in wages while working for free.

“All the profits?” Tao Zui couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Are you willing to do that?”

Zhou Fanghong scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be willing? Setting aside the possibility of a flop—even if The Afterlife becomes a massive, explosive hit, I won’t be losing money.”

“You put in three hundred million. How is that not losing money?” Tao Zui laughed.

“What’s three hundred million? As long as The Afterlife turns a profit on top of that, I’m only gaining, never losing!” Zhou Fanghong said decisively.

Tao Zui pondered it carefully and immediately grasped the meaning behind Zhou Fanghong’s words.

Hundreds of films were released in China every year, but fewer than one percent were profitable. If The Afterlife could turn a profit, Zhou Fanghong would not only cement his reputation as a commercial film director, but he would also establish a firm footing within Ocean Film Industry, gaining maximum leverage. From then on, he would never have to worry about the issue of investment again.

This was what they called “track record” in the industry. Perhaps his father would even offer him something else in recognition of this achievement.

With that thought, Tao Zui slapped his thigh and stood up. “Since you’ve already figured it all out, I won’t be wishy-washy either. Old Zhou, don’t worry about the money. As long as you ensure the quality of the final cut, I’ll invest whatever you need.”

Zhou Fanghong’s eyes lit up. He stood up, grabbed Tao Zui’s hand, and shook it vigorously. “Great… great! Rest assured, Old Tao, I will definitely live up to your expectations!”

Just as they were standing there hand-in-hand, gazing at each other with teary eyes, a knock on the door suddenly rang out. Zhou Fanghong froze, releasing Tao Zui’s hand as he muttered while walking toward the door.

“Who is it? At such a touching moment…”

The moment the door opened, an unexpected person appeared outside.

“Gu Nan?” Zhou Fanghong was stunned. “Why are you here? Are you here to discuss the character? But I remember you don’t have any scenes tomorrow, do you?”

The indoor shooting scenes for the main cast had already wrapped up. Tomorrow’s shoot was entirely comprised of scenes for extras and prominent supporting roles—he had deliberately given the leads a day off.

For the past two months, Gu Nan had frequently come to his room to participate in storyboard meetings and often sought him out specifically to discuss scenes whenever there was a dispute over the following day’s shoot.

But with no work tomorrow and no storyboard meeting scheduled, Zhou Fanghong truly couldn’t fathom why Gu Nan was here.

To his surprise, the next second, Gu Nan provided the answer: “Director Zhou, I’m here for Young CEO Tao.”

Hearing this, Tao Zui walked to the doorway, looking past Zhou Fanghong at Gu Nan. “Looking for me? What for?”

Gu Nan smiled. “Didn’t we agree to stroll around Qing City together tomorrow? What time should we meet up? How are we getting there? Where are we going? Aren’t you going to discuss it with us?”

Since the day The Afterlife began filming, Gu Nan had lived a life of shuttling back and forth between the hotel and the industrial park. He had been in Qing City for two months and hadn’t visited a single tourist attraction. The three younger boys were even more extreme; they buried their heads in songwriting the moment they arrived. Aside from one trip to the filming site, they had stayed locked away in the hotel ever since.

Earlier at dinner, Tao Zui had mentioned that since tomorrow was a rare day off, he was going to take them out to look around no matter what.

Hearing Tao Zui say this, Gu Nan returned to his room after dinner to look up travel guides for Qing City. Finding way too many things to do, he wanted to consult with him.

As it turned out, he couldn’t find Tao Zui in his room, and Diwu Zou and the others weren’t there either. He waited by the doorway for a long while before seeing the three younger boys returning to their room; only then did he find out they had gone to Zhou Fanghong’s room.

He had originally assumed Tao Zui and Director Zhou wouldn’t be chatting for long, so Gu Nan waited in the younger boys’ room. But the wait dragged on for two hours! It was nearly eleven o’clock!

What else could he be doing? To hell with whatever he’s doing! What time is it! What could possibly require chatting for this long?

For reasons unknown, Tao Zui felt a twinge of guilt under Gu Nan’s stare. He hurriedly squeezed past Zhou Fanghong and walked out the door. “Nearly forgot… Old Zhou, let’s consider the matter settled! Let’s go, Gu Nan. Head to my room. Are Diwu Zou and the others asleep?”

“No, they’re waiting for us downstairs.”

Tao Zui walked two steps, then suddenly turned around to look at Zhou Fanghong, asking a question that came entirely out of left field: “By the way, Old Zhou, there’s one thing I want to ask.”

Zhou Fanghong still hadn’t recovered from the shock of Gu Nan showing up to “claim” his person, asking with a dazed expression: “What?”

“If I hadn’t come to Qing City back then… what would you have done?” Tao Zui carefully weighed his phrasing, trying to keep the question from sounding too abrupt.

However, his efforts were clearly in vain. Never mind Zhou Fanghong, even Gu Nan looked at him with surprise, clearly failing to understand his motivation for asking such a question.

Tao Zui looked at the two of them, offering an awkward laugh. “Curious. Just curious, nothing else meant by it. Forget it, just pretend I never asked…”

“Actually, the set was mostly finished back then, and the crew team was mostly assembled, so I would have filmed it even if I had to grit my teeth…” Zhou Fanghong stroked his chin, wearing an expression of someone finding the past too painful to look back on.

“If push came to shove, even if I was incredibly reluctant, I probably would have gone home to ask for money, filmed the movie amidst chaos, and held on until the release… and then declared bankruptcy, rolled back to the States to work for others.”

Zhou Fanghong wasn’t being alarmist. Plenty of production companies went bankrupt from filming movies, to say nothing of individuals. If it weren’t for Tao Zui’s timely injection of capital, The Afterlife wouldn’t just have lacked money for special effects—whether it could even have started filming would have been up in the air.

He could now pat his chest and say he would convince the board of Ocean Film Industry to take over the distribution of The Afterlife using the final cut, only because he had Tao Zui’s support, allowing him to film according to his own vision and achieve the absolute best result—only with such a final cut would he have the confidence to convince the board.

But if there were no final cut, trying to secure investment based solely on the set and script would have been as difficult as ascending to heaven. After all, imagination varied from person to person; it lacked the persuasive power of something seen with one’s own eyes.

Hearing this, Tao Zui nodded thoughtfully. “Alright, I understand. I guarantee everything will be in place before we head to Chongqing. See you!”

Watching the two disappear around the corner of the hallway, Zhou Fanghong closed his door. While feeling a wave of relief, he also found it somewhat perplexing—

Even though he treats Old Tao like an older brother, isn’t Gu Nan a bit too clingy?