Chapter Forty-Nine: The Temptation of Money

Liu Qi ignored Lu Chuan’s expression of surprise and nodded directly.

“He’s the main investor, the screenwriter, and also the producer of this film. Third Master said he believes in Gu’s abilities, and the film will be entirely under his charge. As the producer from the China Film side, I have no objections to this plan.”

In truth, Han Sanping had never said anything like “Gu Zhi will have full authority,” but Liu Qi personally trusted Gu Zhi’s capabilities and stood by him without hesitation.

A strange silence fell over the conference room. Lu Chuan looked at Liu Qi, then at Gu Zhi, deeply doubting his own hearing.

What kind of situation was this?

“If I direct, but have to follow his orders, wouldn’t I just be a puppet? What kind of nonsense is this!”

Lu Chuan didn’t speak out loud, but his mind was in utter turmoil.

Gu Zhi was in no hurry; he simply stared silently into Lu Chuan’s eyes, waiting for his final decision.

Most of the time, Lu Chuan would immediately avert his gaze, instinctively avoiding eye contact. He didn’t want to look Gu Zhi or Liu Qi in the eyes.

Time ticked by. After a long while, Lu Chuan raised his right hand to push his glasses up his nose and said slowly, “According to what you said, why don’t you just direct the film yourself? Why come looking for me?”

Gu Zhi chuckled softly, raised his right index finger, and waved it side to side.

“First, I didn’t come looking for you—you came to me.”

“Second, professional matters should be handled by professionals. There’s no question about your directing skills, Mr. Lu; I’m still far behind. When we’re on set, I’ll only tell you what kind of shot I want. As for how to achieve that, that’s your job.”

“In other words, I tell you the result I want, and it’s up to you to achieve it.”

Gu Zhi deliberately made his tone more assertive, and his unwavering gaze exerted an unexpected pressure on Lu Chuan.

Lu Chuan was still hesitant, his reluctance evident. He kept pushing his glasses, though they couldn’t go any higher, trying to hide his emotions.

So Gu Zhi played his final card.

“A fee of one hundred thousand.”

At those words, Lu Chuan’s hand, midway through adjusting his glasses, suddenly froze. He couldn’t help swallowing hard; from Gu Zhi’s perspective, his Adam’s apple was clearly visible as it moved.

“One hundred thousand...”

Even Liu Qi was stunned for a moment at that number.

After all, when Zhang Yimou shot “Happy Times” this year, his fee was only three hundred thousand. A few years ago, when Feng Xiaogang made “The Dream Factory,” his base fee was also just three hundred thousand.

These two were almost the most famous directors in Chinese cinema. Zhang Yimou had yet to switch to commercial films, but every one of his works had won awards, making him the most formidable director in the country. As for Feng Xiaogang, he was the face of New Year’s comedies and currently held the highest cumulative box office record in China, the pillar of the film giant Huayi.

Both could only command three hundred thousand, yet Gu Zhi was offering a third of that to hire a master’s graduate with no directing experience—a generous sum indeed.

Ning Hao’s fee for his last film was only seventy thousand. Gu Zhi couldn’t believe one hundred thousand wouldn’t tempt Lu Chuan.

If Lu Chuan truly didn’t care for that sum...

Then there was nothing Gu Zhi could do but look for someone else. He wasn’t going to keep raising the price—not because there wasn’t enough funding, but because Lu Chuan was simply worth that much right now. In fact, one hundred thousand was already a windfall for him.

To shoot or not to shoot—for anyone, the lure of such profit made the choice an easy one, let alone for Lu Chuan, a novice screenwriter fresh out of school.

“Alright. I accept. I’ll film everything according to your instructions.”

Lu Chuan nodded, stood up, and took the initiative to shake hands with Gu Zhi and Liu Qi. Both parties had formally agreed to cooperate; once Liu Qi prepared the contract, they could sign it.

With everything settled, Lu Chuan left China Film. Before he departed, there was one thing he didn’t say aloud.

“Fine, I’ll shoot it. It’s not my money on the line if it fails, anyway.”

As Lu Chuan’s figure faded from view, Liu Qi finally voiced the question she’d been holding back.

“Isn’t one hundred thousand a bit too much? We haven’t even started shooting and we’re already spending this much. Is Lu Chuan really worth it?”

Gu Zhi nodded without hesitation.

“He is.”

“Forget one hundred thousand—even if it were three hundred thousand, once the film is released, China Film will earn much more. Don’t worry.”

Liu Qi really had no idea where his confidence came from and rolled her eyes at him in exasperation.

She had already read the script for “My Sassy Girl.” She liked it a lot herself, but she wasn’t nearly as confident in the box office as Gu Zhi was.

If the film didn’t perform well or win any awards, as a novice producer, she’d have a hard time establishing herself at China Film in the short term.

But there was nothing else to do but focus on her own work and hope Gu Zhi’s judgment was right.

Fortunately, the success of the last film still gave Liu Qi some confidence—both in herself and in Gu Zhi.

With the director in place, only the actors remained, especially the crucial female lead.

As soon as Lu Chuan left, Liu Qi brought a pile of profiles of actresses into the meeting room, ready to sift through them with Gu Zhi.

Among those not yet well-known were Yao Chen, Yu Nan, Hai Qing, Dong Xuan, Guan Yue, Qin Hailu, Ma Yili, Xue Jialing, Hao Lei, and others. Their qualities were mediocre, and they were quickly eliminated.

There were also the artistically inclined Yuan Quan, the slightly sturdier Ning Jing, as well as Li Bingbing and Fan Bingbing. Without exception, none of them fit the image requirements for Song Mingxi.

Casting those aside, Liu Qi brought out another batch.

This year, the media had specially selected the “Four New Actresses” from the mainland: Zhou Xun, Zhang Ziyi, Zhao Wei, and Xu Jinglei.

Both Gu Zhi and Liu Qi gave these some thought. Liu Qi’s first choice was Zhao Wei.

Zhao Wei had entered Beijing Film Academy in 1996 with the highest score in the country. After four years of training, her acting was beyond question.

Her role as Little Swallow was a household name, and she was actually the most suitable to star in “My Sassy Girl.” In terms of looks and on-screen image, she matched Song Mingxi perfectly.

However, her negative publicity in later years was simply too much. The national flag incident already cost her much of her popularity, and then there was the Dai Liren independence scandal, which completely ruined her image in the eyes of the Chinese public.

The character of Song Mingxi was destined to spark a craze across Asia. One of Gu Zhi’s goals in making this film was to create a new goddess.

In his previous life, Jun Ji-hyun had become a national goddess through this very role. If Zhao Wei starred, wouldn’t someone with questionable values become the new goddess?

Gu Zhi was absolutely unwilling to promote Zhao Wei. Besides, he had many plans for this “goddess” actress in the future. If Zhao Wei took the role, the image would be ruined for good.

In the end, under Gu Zhi’s firm opposition, Liu Qi finally relented and dropped Zhao Wei.

Next was Zhang Ziyi—on this, both were unexpectedly in agreement and passed immediately.

Zhang Ziyi had already won the Hundred Flowers Award and the Berlin Silver Bear. After starring in “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” she had broken into the international market and was now one of the most expensive actresses in China, her acting prowess far above her peers.

If they really wanted her to play Song Mingxi, Gu Zhi was sure she could do the role justice, but it would cost their entire budget just to hire her.

Gu Zhi decided to let it go—perhaps they’d work together in the future.

Then there was Xu Jinglei. Her temperament and looks were too far from what he wanted for Song Mingxi and she was quickly rejected.

Now, among the Four New Actresses, only Zhou Xun remained.