Chapter Forty-Eight: Negotiating Terms

"Hello, I'm Lu Chuan."

Inside a small conference room at the China Film office building, Gu Zhi and Liu Qi met the director Han Sanping had chosen for them.

Lu Chuan had graduated two years ago from the directing program at the Beijing Film Academy with a master's degree, making him a classically trained director. Alongside Ning Hao and Jia Zhangke, he was considered a representative of China's sixth generation of filmmakers.

In later years, Ning Hao would become a successful commercial film director, Jia Zhangke would stick to his artistic path, but Lu Chuan's works wandered between art and commerce, never quite settling on either.

In his previous life, Gu Zhi had attended the premieres of "Kekexili" and "Nanjing, Nanjing," and Lu Chuan had left a deep impression on him.

He seemed pretentious, yet in reality he was exactly as he appeared—Lu Chuan's manner of speech and demeanor gave Gu Zhi the same impression as the messages his films sent to their audiences: first, affected; second, artificial; third, insincere.

His films could be summed up in four words: great ambitions, limited talent.

Originally, his first work was "The Missing Gun," starring Jiang Wen, and it was also his best film. Jiang Wen, having been penalized by the film bureau and banned from directing for five years after making "Devils on the Doorstep," starred in this film. Although it was credited as Lu Chuan's directorial effort, Jiang Wen dominated the entire production.

The script was written by Lu Chuan himself, but Jiang Wen's "help" was overwhelming; every aspect had to be done according to Jiang Wen's wishes. One could say that Lu Chuan wasn't even in charge in his own house.

The reason "The Missing Gun" was Lu Chuan's best film was that eighty percent of the credit belonged to Jiang Wen.

"Having someone like this direct my film is just perfect!"

The moment Gu Zhi saw Lu Chuan, he decided to hire him.

Scenes from "My Sassy Girl" were already etched in Gu Zhi's mind, and he had even completed most of the storyboard. The director's job was simply to film each scene as laid out.

His main worry was that a director with too strong a personal vision would insist on filming according to his own ideas, which would be a complete waste of Gu Zhi's time.

Lu Chuan, however, fit Gu Zhi's requirements perfectly.

He had graduated from the Beijing Film Academy two years ago. Last year, he worked as a screenwriter for the TV series "Black Hole," which aired nationwide, but had yet to direct his own project.

Now, with a chance to direct his first film, he certainly wouldn't want to pass it up, and there was no need to question his attitude towards investors.

Moreover, Gu Zhi was well aware of what happened during the filming of "The Missing Gun." For a first self-written, self-directed project to be completely dominated by Jiang Wen, Lu Chuan's inherent pliability was self-evident.

Such a director was practically made to be guided by capital.

Otherwise, Lu Chuan wouldn't have been able to produce something like "Chronicles of the Ghostly Tribe," a film so irresponsibly altered and distorted from the original that even the author sued him for exceeding the legal bounds of adaptation.

Of course, only Gu Zhi, reborn, knew all this; Liu Qi did not. She was frowning at Lu Chuan's résumé, shaking her head repeatedly.

"Mr. Lu, I admire your screenwriting skills. I follow 'Black Hole' every night. It's a classic anti-corruption drama."

"However, you don't seem to have much experience directing films, which makes it hard for us to trust in your abilities."

Liu Qi was blunt and direct, not leaving Lu Chuan any face.

Sister Qi, this guy was introduced by Master Han, after all. At least show him some courtesy.

Gu Zhi silently grumbled to himself, though his expression remained pleasant.

Lu Chuan's background was actually quite impressive. His father, Lu Tianming, was a renowned writer and a first-class national screenwriter, whose works had won numerous state awards. As a distinguished young and middle-aged expert, he received special government stipends.

As a fellow writer, Lu Tianming was Gu Zhi's senior, and his influence in the cultural sphere was significant.

With such a formidable father backing him, it was no surprise that Han Sanping would recommend Lu Chuan.

Upon hearing Liu Qi's words, Lu Chuan's expression remained calm, a confident smile curling at his lips, exuding the air of a refined gentleman.

To be honest, seeing him act this way, Gu Zhi found him rather off-putting—such a show-off.

"As for my directing ability, I don't think you need to doubt it. With a master's degree from the Beijing Film Academy, I dare say my directing fundamentals are on par with any director in the country."

"Moreover, I've shot quite a few DV features during university, and I've spent this year on the set of 'Black Hole,' learning a great deal about on-site production. Directing a film won't be a problem for me."

After he finished, Liu Qi fell silent for a moment, then glanced thoughtfully at Gu Zhi, who hadn't spoken a word.

"Well? What do you think, Gu? I still feel something's lacking, but Master Han does speak highly of him."

Liu Qi spoke frankly in front of Lu Chuan, not worried about offending him. Gu Zhi almost wanted to remind her to be more tactful.

Maybe it's because it's her first time as a bona fide producer—she was getting a little carried away.

As soon as Liu Qi finished, Lu Chuan's expression darkened slightly, though he quickly composed himself.

He then focused his gaze on Gu Zhi, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes.

Of course, he knew who Gu Zhi was. After "The Butterfly Effect," the biggest breakout star wasn't the actors or the director, but this writer and screenwriter—he was impossible to ignore.

As a fellow screenwriter, Lu Chuan believed himself no less talented than Gu Zhi, and even looked down on him when it came to writing.

Lu Tianming, a stalwart of traditional literature, openly despised youth authors like Gu Zhi and Han Shao. In the coming "Han-Bai literary wars," Lu Tianming would be a key player. Having grown up under his father's literary influence, Lu Chuan's opinion of Gu Zhi was no better.

In his view, this group of so-called youth authors would never truly make it—they were nothing compared to his father.

But why was this producer from China Film specifically asking for Gu Zhi's opinion? Wasn't he just a screenwriter? What did the choice of director have to do with him?

Just then, Gu Zhi spoke. "I trust Master Han's judgment. Mr. Lu is a graduate of the Beijing Film Academy. My last film's director, Ning Hao, was also a student there. I have great faith in the technical skills of Beijing Film Academy directors. Hao was still a student, yet his directing was top-notch. Mr. Lu has a master's degree—his skill must be even better."

Gu Zhi wasn't trying to flatter Lu Chuan. Directors with proper academic backgrounds couldn't possibly fall short. Even if he didn't like Lu Chuan's films, he couldn't deny his professional expertise.

Lu Chuan promptly thanked him, his goodwill towards Gu Zhi skyrocketing.

But Gu Zhi's next words instantly extinguished his enthusiasm.

"I'm willing to have Mr. Lu direct 'My Sassy Girl,' but on one condition."

"What condition?"

"During filming, you must follow my completed storyboards. All shots must be based on my vision. If there are differing opinions, we can discuss them, but the director is absolutely not allowed to make changes unilaterally."

"This film has a simple plot. I plan to finish shooting in a month, so unless absolutely necessary, there should be no delays caused by disputes over the storyline."

Gu Zhi didn't want to wait until filming started to bring this up—that would feel like tricking Lu Chuan into joining the crew. It was better to lay everything out in the open, so Lu Chuan wouldn't backtrack mid-shoot and waste everyone's time and energy.

"This..."

For a moment, Lu Chuan couldn't utter a word. He turned to Liu Qi, giving her a look through his black-rimmed glasses that seemed to say, "Is this guy out of his mind???"