Chapter Six: Confirming the Investment and Production

"This really is a script I wrote myself. I’ve been working on it for a while now," Yan Xu continued.

"Well, I have to see it for myself. I had no idea you could write scripts," said Strong Baldy, eyeing Yan Xu as if seeing him for the first time—his look of surprise was no different from seeing an alien.

"Rainy Night Butcher?" He picked up the script and immediately saw the bold title on the cover. Just those four words were enough to grab Strong Baldy’s attention. What had been the hottest topic in Hong Kong lately? Was it not precisely those words? The title alone was sensational enough.

Strong Baldy read quickly. In less than half an hour, he had finished the entire script. Although he didn’t know much about these things, the story in the script left him unsettled, yet the plot drew him in irresistibly. He was certain this was an excellent script, and filming it would require very little funding.

"Boss, Director Liu’s Lustful Scheme has wrapped shooting and gone into editing," just as Strong Baldy was absorbed in the script, the door was suddenly pushed open and Chicken Feather and Ghost Dong walked in.

"Jiu Ri, you’re here too? You’ve been missing for days—don’t tell me you snuck off to Macau without inviting us? That’s not cool," Chicken Feather said, clapping Yan Xu on the shoulder.

"You’ve been hiding to avoid treating us, haven’t you?" Ghost Dong sat down on the other side of Yan Xu.

"You two are just in time. Here’s another script—see what you think?" Without waiting for Yan Xu to speak, Strong Baldy handed the script to them.

"Nice! Well written—this will be a hit on screen," the two amateurs put their heads together, studying the script closely. They both agreed on its merits, though, like Strong Baldy, what impressed them was the story itself. As for technicalities like shot breakdowns, those were pure fantasy to them.

"Jiu Ri, no wonder you’ve been missing. Turns out you were off finding such a good script. If we film this, we could sell it for at least several hundred thousand, maybe even a million," Chicken Feather said, looking at Yan Xu.

"Yeah," Ghost Dong nodded in agreement, his words always few.

"This script was written by Ah Xu," Strong Baldy dropped his bombshell, leaving the two of them stunned.

"He wrote it?" Chicken Feather and Ghost Dong exclaimed in unison.

"This is really your work?" The shock hit them even harder than it did Strong Baldy. They’d grown up together—they knew each other’s secrets down to the last detail. For Yan Xu to suddenly produce a script was harder to believe than someone telling them Jesus was a woman.

"Yes," Yan Xu nodded. "I’ve been busy with this the past few days."

"How did you learn to write scripts?" Ghost Dong asked.

"Don’t you remember? Back in school, one summer break, I worked for a film crew for a while. You two came with me, but you found it too tiring and left to work at the icehouse," Yan Xu replied, having already rehearsed his answer. Thankfully, he still had that memory in his mind.

"You only stayed one extra week," Chicken Feather retorted, giving Yan Xu the finger.

"A week is enough to learn a lot!" Yan Xu returned the gesture, a little smugly.

"Hey, what do you guys think of this script? Is there any potential?" Strong Baldy cut off their banter.

"Of course there is! It’ll definitely make money. The whole of Hong Kong is talking about this case—people will be eager to watch," Chicken Feather said.

"Exactly. And there aren’t many locations, just a few places, so the investment won’t be high," Ghost Dong added.

"I don’t think we even need to put this in the midnight slot. If it’s filmed well, it could be shown at any time," Chicken Feather mused.

"Ah Xu, the company will take this script. I’ll give you thirty thousand for it," Strong Baldy said, looking at Yan Xu. Thirty thousand was a high price for a rookie screenwriter—major studios rarely offered more, and most scripts fetched ten to twenty thousand. Even top writers rarely got fifty thousand per script, and the rare million-dollar screenwriters wouldn’t appear for another twenty years.

Film is a comprehensive art form; screenwriters ought to be especially respected. After all, the script is the foundation—the beginning of any film. Yet in Hong Kong, screenwriters had long been denied fair treatment and status. In the 1980s, Hong Kong favored collective scriptwriting; a director would lead a pack of writers, working assembly-line style, everyone doing their own part. This system kept screenwriters from standing out—many eventually switched to directing or producing.

"Boss, I’m not selling this script," Yan Xu said, looking at Strong Baldy. For a simple sale, the price offered was generous, but Yan Xu wasn't satisfied. He knew full well how much profit and what kind of success this film could bring if it succeeded.

"Ah Xu, thirty thousand is already a lot. You won’t get that from another company," Strong Baldy said, surprised.

"You misunderstood, Boss. I’m not giving this script to another company. It’s for our own company, and I won’t take any money for it," Yan Xu’s next words shocked not only Strong Baldy but Chicken Feather and Ghost Dong as well.

"But I have one condition," Yan Xu continued, "I want to direct this film myself!"

"You want to direct?" This was even more unbelievable than before.

"You haven’t gone crazy, have you?" Chicken Feather reached out to feel Yan Xu’s forehead.

"You know, directing isn’t easy. Not everyone can do it. Are you sure you can handle it?" Seeing the determination in Yan Xu’s eyes, Strong Baldy realized he was serious.

"I can," Yan Xu nodded. "Every shot is already etched in my mind. I may lack experience, but I saw enough during my time working with the crew. Trust me, Boss—I’ll make this film a success."

Strong Baldy had never seen Yan Xu so confident before. The script was excellent, and with any experienced director, it would make money. But letting Yan Xu, who had no experience at all, direct? That made Strong Baldy uneasy. But Yan Xu had been with him for three years—they were brothers now.

"Alright!" Strong Baldy slapped the table and nodded. "You can direct, but you know the company has only three hundred thousand left. That was meant to fund several films. If I hired an experienced director for your script, I’d risk all three hundred thousand. But since you want to direct, I can only give you a hundred thousand."

A hundred thousand—that was as much as Strong Baldy could possibly offer. If not for their brotherhood, he wouldn’t risk even a cent, given how clueless Yan Xu was about directing. This hundred thousand might well go down the drain. If so, he’d have to cover the loss himself—in effect, he was lending Yan Xu the money.

"Thank you, Boss," Yan Xu knew Strong Baldy had made a tough decision.