After Transmigrated as a Black-Hearted Entertainment Boss [Transmigration] - Chapter 40

The production crew of The Afterlife shot in Chongqing for about ten days, successfully wrapping up filming on September 10th.

Because the early wrap-up saved a significant amount of money, both Tao Zui and Zhou Fanghong were in high spirits. They booked out the most famous local cuisine restaurant in Chongqing and treated the crew to a hearty, all-you-can-eat feast.

The day after the celebration, everyone went their separate ways. Some returned to North City, others to Qing City, and some headed home, leaving the set nearly deserted in no time.

However, as the director, even if Zhou Fanghong wanted to rush back to start the editing, he had to see the equipment onto the planes first, leaving him as the very last one to leave.

As he sent Tao Zui and Gu Nan off, he gripped Tao Zui’s hand tightly. His eyes, buried beneath his beard, shone like stars. “Rest assured, Old Tao, I will edit this film with the utmost care. After I finish the cut, and before I invite the board of Ocean Film Industry to watch it, I will screen it internally for you first. If you have any suggestions, feel free to raise them—I absolutely will not refute a single word!”

Tao Zui laughed. “Having your word on that is enough, Old Zhou. Thank you in advance. But I don’t know the first thing about film editing, so I probably won’t have any effective suggestions. There’s just one thing I hope we can agree on beforehand.”

“Pah, don’t talk about ‘agreeing’—if you have any requirements, just state them!” Zhou Fanghong shook their joined hands, looking like he was ready to grant any wish.

One couldn’t blame him for acting this way. The originally agreed-upon eighty million yuan for special effects had ballooned to ninety million and was likely to climb even higher. Since all subsequent funding depended on Tao Zui, how could he dare to utter a word of dissent?

Tao Zui didn’t stand on ceremony and spoke directly: “Alright, then I’ll state it. I want you to keep the runtime of The Afterlife under two hours; one hundred and forty minutes at the absolute longest.”

Generally, films hovered around the two-hour mark. This duration had been market-tested and was the optimal length for viewing. Any shorter and it was difficult to explain the story clearly; any longer and the audience’s attention tended to wander due to various distractions. Two hours allowed the audience to be immersed without missing plot highlights because of an urgent need for a bathroom break.

Put simply, if a movie had “bathroom break” points, no amount of length could retain the audience.

Admittedly, some three-hour films had gone down in cinematic history, but clearly, a newcomer director’s debut wasn’t going to make audiences sit through three hours without a second thought. Thus, two hours and twenty minutes was the absolute limit.

Zhou Fanghong’s shaking arm froze. He clearly hadn’t expected Tao Zui to bring up the runtime. His eyes flickered instantly.

As a creator, a work was like one’s own child—who wouldn’t want their baby to be complete? Who could bear to cruelly hack off their child’s limbs? While creation inevitably involved trade-offs, making the decision yourself and being forced by someone else were two entirely different things.

Seeing Zhou Fanghong’s hesitant eyes, Tao Zui squeezed his hand tightly, his voice dropping slightly. “Old Zhou, please, you must accomplish this.”

Didn’t you just say we were going to discuss it! How did it become ‘you must’? You change your face way too fast! Zhou Fanghong’s hand ached from the squeeze. He wanted to pull away, but Tao Zui wouldn’t let go. Seeing the other’s firm stance, he ultimately compromised.

“……Fine! I guarantee the runtime will not exceed one hundred and forty minutes!”

Tao Zui smiled faintly and released his hand. “Then I shall await the good news. If you need anything, feel free to contact me at any time.”

Zhou Fanghong was busy rubbing his hand to get the blood flowing again. Upon hearing this, he forgot the pain and grabbed Tao Zui’s hand once more, beaming like a blooming flower. “For sure, for sure! Old Tao, you really are something else…”

Before he could finish, a familiar voice suddenly cut in from the side.

“If you two keep shaking hands, you’re going to miss your flight.”

They both looked toward the source of the voice. Gu Nan stood beside a taxi with his assistant, Li Shengping, pulling his suitcase with an unhappy expression.

Noticing Gu Nan’s gaze landing on their joined hands, Zhou Fanghong reflexively pulled away, laughing awkwardly. “Got a bit carried away and forgot… well, Old Tao, see you in North City!”

Tao Zui nodded at him. “See you in North City.”

With that goodbye, The Afterlife project came to a temporary pause. While Tao Zui let out a sigh of relief, his attention naturally shifted to the company’s other artists.

The three younger boys had already started school, and their careers were progressing quite smoothly. Aside from the Blueberry Music Festival in early October, Zhang Ling had negotiated a spot for them on a music program called Songs of the Years on Yangtao Video as guest stars for one episode.

This show was a self-produced variety program by Yangtao Video. Every season, they invited singers from three age groups—elder, middle-aged, and young—as resident guests to discuss music and share their musical philosophies with the guest stars, occasionally performing on stage.

Tao Zui originally hadn’t intended to take this notice.

For one, filming was scheduled for November in the island city of Nanshi, which was too far away. The back-and-forth travel time plus recording made a two-day trip extremely tight. Secondly, Songs of the Years was a tepid, lukewarm show, and whether Infinite would even get a chance to perform on stage as guest stars was a big question mark.

But after learning who the resident guests were, he agreed without a second thought.

To outsiders, most of these resident guests were washed up, nowhere near as popular as those singers of viral hits on short-video platforms. However, these musicians, who had walked the path from cassettes and records to the streaming era, each possessed a wealth of life experience and networking resources. Even just getting a cameo in front of them was an incredible opportunity.

As for Su Jiqiu’s side, things weren’t going as smoothly, though the main problem didn’t originate from his crew.

When filming in a studio lot, venues were rented by the date. The management center scheduled each crew’s arrival and departure clearly. Logically speaking, unless some unexpected mishap occurred, the fact that one crew was filming in the morning should never hinder another crew from moving in during the afternoon.

However, some crews had progress that was a total disaster, leading to delays for every crew that followed.

The transfer of scenes for The Case Files of Dali Temple wasn’t frequent. To avoid wasting time on transfers, the director, Yao Qiang, had meticulously arranged the schedule around the transitions. Who could have foreseen that a problem would arise at the very last transfer? The previous crew, delayed by their own poor progress, stubbornly refused to vacate the venue, forcing The Case Files of Dali Temple to halt filming temporarily.

Yao Qiang ranted furiously over the phone about how unethical that crew was, threatening to make them pay for the crew’s losses. But Tao Zui knew that was just talk. Everyone was in the same circle; no one would burn bridges entirely. In the end, they could only swallow the grievance themselves.

His only worry now was whether The Case Files of Dali Temple‘s capital could withstand such a prolonged stalemate.

“We have to hold on, even if we can’t,” Yao Qiang sighed heavily. “We’ve filmed this much; we can’t just throw away all our hard work, right? I’ve already told the company that no matter what, we have to finish the film. The company is also terrified of their initial investment going down the drain. If things get truly desperate, they’ll definitely inject more capital. Don’t worry about that.”

Hearing this, Tao Zui swallowed his impulse to advance the funds, merely offering a reminder: “Good. Contact me if anything comes up. Don’t try to carry everything alone if you run into difficulties. If we, as brothers, put our heads together, we’ll get through it.”

“Alright, rest assured! It’s not just you; I’m counting on this drama to revitalize my career too!” After leaving Taoli Entertainment, although Yao Qiang’s career couldn’t be described as sliding downhill, being a variety show director instead of a “proper” drama director still left a bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn’t that he looked down on variety directing, but everyone had their dreams—everyone had things they were passionate about.

After chatting with Yao Qiang a bit more and pinning down the date for a set visit, Tao Zui hung up the phone and turned his gaze toward the folder in front of him.

This folder contained IP rights organized by Zhang Ling. Most had already been sold off, while the few that hadn’t didn’t have very impressive data. For those sold-off IPs, it wouldn’t be difficult for Taoli to get involved; joint-production was a standard practice in the industry to share risk.

The problem was that if they went for joint-production, the casting situation would be unpredictable. Besides, the money he had on hand wasn’t enough to fund a multi-million yuan investment.

Tao Zui put down the folder, leaned back in his chair, and began tallying his capital.

The money from selling his luxury flat had been almost entirely sunk into The Afterlife; the remaining ten million was hanging by a thread, and he couldn’t even guarantee that would be enough. The company’s account balance was nearing empty, barely able to cover wages and overhead. The suburban villa had indeed been under negotiation—he’d expected to offload it quickly—but the buyer had changed their mind at the last second, letting the duck fly away. This wasn’t entirely unexpected; after all, the location was far from downtown and the price was steep. Anyone would hesitate, and if some other matter cropped up halfway, the deal was likely to sour.

Tao Zui accepted this outcome gracefully. He had known the villa was hard to sell from the start; getting to the negotiation stage in four or five months had already exceeded his expectations. As for the lack of money—weren’t there still six other commercial properties? They weren’t huge in terms of square footage, but they were well-located, easy to sell, and commanded high prices. A single unit could easily pull in ten or fifteen million.

With that thought, Tao Zui took the file containing the lease agreements from the drawer. After considering the size and location, he selected two smaller units. Both were currently leased; selling them would likely net around fifteen million. The lease agreements could be transferred to the buyer, or he could forfeit the deposits and terminate the leases—both were easy solutions.

However, using this little money to fund a drama of his own was unlikely. At most, he could buy in as a partner, and if The Afterlife went over budget, even this bit might not be safe.

Tao Zui rubbed his temples, suddenly feeling a hint of regret.

Had he invested too heavily in The Afterlife? Even if it truly became an alternate-universe version of Blade Runner, it couldn’t change the fate of nearly dragging his production company into bankruptcy!

Fortunately, the three younger boys had taken their first step and unexpectedly become the only artists currently generating revenue for Taoli Entertainment. It was just that their income was truly negligible—let alone saving the company from fire and water, they couldn’t even cover the wages of the few staff members remaining.

He must find some more work for Gu Nan and Su Jiqiu. Even if he didn’t consider the company’s expenses, he had to think about their career planning. If everything went according to plan for The Afterlife, it should be released by next summer, with The Case Files of Dali Temple around the same time. Regardless of the outcome, it would at least help them gather some fans. If he just sat back and waited for the verdict after the works were released, what would they have to solidify their fan base?

Just as Tao Zui made up his mind to plunge into the ocean of projects, an unexpected call came in.