Chapter Twelve: When Did You Ever Dream of Making Movies?

After the master stepped forward to mediate, the rest of the meeting gradually grew dull. It was all trivial matters. Everyone sat as if their seats were nailed down, eager to wrap up and rush off to spread today’s gossip.

The rising star of the media had clashed with the media CEO. Yet, unknowingly, their hearts had already begun to lean toward Xu Ming’s side. It was clear that his proposal balanced both the company’s interests and theirs.

“All right, that’s it for today’s meeting,” Liu Shuangping closed his notebook. “Master Benshan, would you like to say a few words?”

“I have nothing much to say, no special demands. Just follow the media arrangements and don’t cause trouble,” Uncle Benshan waved his hand dismissively.

His authority didn’t need to be established through such a meeting.

One by one, people started to leave. But as they headed out, their footsteps slowed. Xu Ming remained seated, motionless. He had matters to discuss privately with the master.

Each person’s curiosity itched; they wanted to eavesdrop but couldn’t find an excuse.

“What do you want this time?” Uncle Benshan asked impatiently after everyone had left.

Liu Shuangping’s eye twitched at the master’s tone—the rudeness only signaled closeness.

“It’s a personal matter,” Xu Ming smiled and glanced at Zhang Jiahao. “Deputy General Manager Zhang, you’re in charge of performances; no need to hang around eavesdropping, right?”

Damn it, I’m not eavesdropping—standing right here openly.

But facing the newly famous Xu Ming, Zhang bit his tongue and quietly left.

“I’ve always had a dream of making films. You should have seen that from ‘Loser Man’s Show.’ I simply didn’t have the means before, only able to make online videos. Now, there’s hope. I want the media company to support me.”

“I have a film script. I’m willing to act without pay, and the production cost isn’t high—estimated between five to seven million,” Xu Ming said earnestly.

The script he referred to was the future “Love is Not Blind,” though the original author hadn’t yet been struck by heartbreak and hadn’t started writing, so Xu Ming was seizing the opportunity.

The film had been made in 2011 with a budget of nine million. Set in 2009, the cost would naturally be lower—a genuine low-budget film.

“This… is a bit sudden,” Uncle Benshan said, caught off guard despite his mental preparation.

When did you ever have a film dream?

He recalled that when Xu Ming first apprenticed, he talked about revitalizing Northeast folk opera.

Moreover, the domestic film market was sluggish, something his master knew well.

Making films was mostly a losing game—ten out of ten films lost money, and the one that didn’t got censored.

Only a handful of famous directors turned a profit; most filmmakers survived on subsidies and overseas awards selling rights.

Even coal magnates had learned to invest less in films and more in TV dramas—more roles to offer, and sometimes a small profit.

Uncle Benshan hesitated to speak further, but Liu Shuangping was blunt.

“The risk is too great. Besides, you’ve never acted in a film. You’d be better off being practical.”

“I’m about to star in Master Zhang’s film. Riding the wave of its release, I can save a lot on publicity,” Xu Ming said.

After starring in “Three Guns,” not being criticized was already a win. He said this partly to provoke Liu Shuangping’s refusal.

“Heh, if making movies were as easy as you think,” Liu Shuangping scoffed. “Remember Master Benshan’s ‘Falling Leaves Return to Roots’ two years ago? Strong cast—himself and Teacher Dandan in lead roles, plus cameos from Hu Jun, Xia Yu, Liao Fan, Guo Tao. Do you know how much it made at the box office?”

“Less than twenty-five million, with production costs over thirty million. In the end, the producer got at most ten million, resulting in a net loss.”

Uncle Benshan looked a bit embarrassed, clearing his throat. “Liu, you’re right. Having dreams is good, but we have to be realistic…”

“Then I’ll save up and form my own team. I’ll raise the investment myself. Don’t worry, it won’t affect company matters,” Xu Ming insisted. “I have just one small request: master, please help out with a cameo.”

Liu Shuangping instinctively felt something was off. Given Xu Ming’s temper today, when had he become so easy to persuade?

But Uncle Benshan was straightforward. “If you can pull it off, your master will definitely support you. If you’re short by a million, the media company will cover it.”

Honestly, Xu Ming hadn’t expected such an answer from his master.

He had been mentally sparring with imagined opposition, forgetting the master didn’t think that far ahead.

Or rather, while the master was a businessman, he was more of a patriarchal figure.

He was strict when it came to taking your earnings but just as generous when offering help.

The real conflict lay in Xu Ming’s intolerance of such feudal control. If he were unsuccessful, he might have thrived in this system—his master could have ruled over him for life.

“You’re magnanimous, Master. No wonder you’re called a grand master,” Xu Ming flattered, tossing praises to coax the old man’s smile.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll get busy now.”

Not wanting to linger and risk a change of heart, Xu Ming left promptly.

After this moment, knowing his master, even if regret arose, the decision wouldn’t be revoked.

With this decree, the chains binding him loosened slightly, at least allowing some room to maneuver.

Navigating probes from his senior brothers, Xu Ming sent messages to four companies he had contacted yesterday, then found a private room in a nearby teahouse to wait.

Soon, someone from Sohu Entertainment knocked and entered.

“Hello, Teacher Xu. Glad to discuss this cooperation with you.”

“You’re a bit too eager. Have a seat first.”

Xu Ming motioned for the stiff-faced visitor to sit.

Shortly after, representatives from Tudou and Youku arrived. The three exchanged glances, sensing competition.

“Sorry, I’m late…”

A middle-aged man entered, apologized, then froze upon seeing the others.

Clap, clap!

Xu Ming clapped his hands, drawing all four companies’ attention to himself.

“Well, Sohu, Sina, Tudou, Youku—half of China’s major video sites are here. Let’s get straight to the point: I’ve invited you all to negotiate the exclusive premiere rights for ‘Loser Man’s Show 2.’”

Xu Ming knew his approach wasn’t by the book, but this was a seller’s market. Had the advantage been theirs, they wouldn’t show mercy either.

At least half of the investment for “Love is Not Blind” depended on them.