Chapter Thirty-Nine: Surplus Light

Sina News: “Last night, young director Chen Ling and popular starlet Liu Yifei had dinner together late into the night, and the two were suspected of drinking alcohol.”

NetEase Film News: “Liu Yifei is rumored to star in Chen Ling’s new movie. As of this morning’s publication, neither party’s company nor the individuals themselves have responded.”

Sohu News: “No clear statement has been issued by Chen Ling Films regarding the audition schedule for Chen Ling’s new movie.”

Third-rate tabloids: “Starlet Liu Yifei and Chen Ling, a sophomore at Beijing Film Academy, rendezvoused late at night, drank and made merry, and left the restaurant with their clothes in disarray.”

Early in the morning, news about the pair’s dinner from the previous night appeared in film media, accompanied by a photo of them making silly peace signs. Though the picture was somewhat blurry, it was clear they’d had more than a few drinks.

Most of the media coverage was fairly decent, except for a couple of tabloids trying to attract attention with wild rumors. Before Chen Ling could respond, his fans had already rushed in to report these sensationalist headlines.

After the fans had finished reporting the clickbait articles, followers of Chen Ling and Liu Yifei, drawn by the commotion, flocked to their Weibo accounts.

“Director Chen’s new movie—is Liu Yifei really going to be in it? Can’t wait!”

“Our goddess has had too rough a time these past years. She badly needs a good film to bounce back. Director Chen, you must bring out her best!”

“The media says it’s a comedy? Can Liu Yifei really pull off a comedic role?”

“Womanizer! Last film he targeted Da Sweet, now he’s after Liu Yifei. He’s been exposed as a scoundrel!”

“To the person above, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Regarding the media inquiries and calls to the company, Chen Ling instructed not to respond yet, letting the press report for a while—as a form of early buzz for the new film. Commercial films always prioritize hype.

At this point, Liu Yifei hadn’t suffered a total flop, and her fans weren’t yet despairing over her involvement in the project. Their fighting spirit remained strong, and it would be a shame not to harness their enthusiasm to add some heat to the film.

...

While the outside world clamored, the contract for the “Heart’s Journey” project was due to be signed today. China Film, Wanda, and Enlight had been urging for ages.

The script had passed review, the filming permit was granted, the main cast confirmed, and the budget compiled.

If they didn’t sign soon, some partners might start having second thoughts. Chen Ling was a hot commodity now; an early contract would spare them sleepless nights.

When Chen Ling arrived at China Film, the representatives from Wanda and Enlight were already present. Wanda had sent not Lu Zheng this time, but a manager known as Brother Song, whom Chen Ling had met at the “Love Is Not Blind” celebration party.

Chen Ling remembered Brother Song well—he’d later become a major figure after leaving Wanda, founding Jingxi Culture and producing the “Investiture of the Gods” series, though the films had left something to be desired.

Enlight was represented by boss Wang Changtian himself. Among the producers, Enlight was somewhat redundant; the other two had their own theaters and distribution networks, both equal to Enlight. If Chen Ling hadn’t personally requested, Enlight wouldn’t have had a chance to participate.

At this point, neither Wanda nor Enlight had fully taken off; otherwise, it would have been difficult to get both big shots together for a project like Chen Ling’s.

At Wanda’s peak, Old Wang had famously stated that he wouldn’t invest in projects under thirty million, and wouldn’t even touch them. “Heart’s Journey” barely qualified to make it onto Wanda’s desk.

Yet who could have predicted that, just a few years later, Old Wang would sell off all of Wanda’s film assets, including its theaters, and that the person leading the acquisition would be none other than Chen Zhixi, who had just recently recommended herself as a producer to Chen Ling. It just goes to show—the entertainment industry doesn’t just see rapid turnover among stars, but capital as well.

All the terms had been negotiated; all that remained was to sign the contract and make it official. The group gathered in the conference room, signed the papers, and the deal was sealed.

This time, Chen Ling wasn’t starring for zero pay like last time; he’d set fees for both directing and acting.

Director’s fee: two million; actor’s fee: two million; a total of four million. With Liu Yifei and Xu Guangtou, the three leads’ combined fees amounted to eight million. The supporting cast wouldn’t cost much more.

All told, the actors’ fees amounted to just over a third of the total investment—not excessive. Most of the funds would go into the film itself, unlike years later when a single lead’s fee could swallow half the budget, making it impossible to produce quality movies.

Given Chen Ling’s recent box office success, earning three hundred million, his rates were entirely within market norms—neither inflated nor discounted. No one objected; Chen Ling was worth every cent.

With the contracts signed, the rest of the filmmaking was handed over to Chen Ling. According to the agreement, the partners had no right to interfere; they just needed to pay on time.

Once filming was finished and the movie entered promotion and release, everyone would contribute as per the contract.

Seeing the contracts completed, Wang Changtian spoke up, “Director Chen, when will auditions for the remaining roles begin? Enlight has a few artists—could you give them a chance to audition?”

Enlight also operated as an agency. Wang Changtian had read the script for “Heart’s Journey,” and noted that several supporting roles were quite prominent. Landing a part would be a great opportunity for their artists.

“Sure, auditions are fine.”

Offering auditions was a courtesy; if a candidate was suitable, all things being equal, he’d choose a partner’s artist—no reason to let outsiders benefit, and it was only proper business etiquette.

“The auditions are scheduled for next week. I’ll notify you in advance.”

Noticing Brother Song’s hesitation, Chen Ling continued, “If Wanda has any recommendations, they’re welcome to audition as well.”

Brother Song represented Wanda Film, an influential figure. Future collaborations would inevitably involve him, so building a good relationship could only help. If Wanda wanted to recommend someone, Chen Ling would treat them like any other candidate.

Of course, Wanda didn’t have an agency business yet; any recommendations would likely be based on personal connections.

Speaking of agency business, Chen Ling planned to venture into it after this film. By then, he’d have the capital. For future company-produced films and TV series, he couldn’t let all resources flow outward—at least some should remain in-house. As for whom to sign, was there any question?

“Thanks, I’ll look through and see if there’s anyone suitable.” Brother Song adjusted his glasses with a friendly smile.

“China Film doesn’t have anyone to recommend,” Han Sanping interjected as the others discussed casting. Then, as if remembering something, he added,

“Since Mr. Song is here, let me mention something. The Venice Film Festival is about to close. The overseas copyright for ‘Love Is Not Blind’ is nearly settled. If you have time, you can send someone over; if not, just write an authorization letter. Before the festival closes, let’s sell the rights quickly.”

Fair enough—the matter of selling rights at the festival was something Han Sanping had discussed with Chen Ling at the beginning of the month. They’d agreed to let China Film handle it entirely, and Chen Ling, busy as he was, had almost forgotten.