Chapter 35: The Copyright of "Love is Not Blind"

March 2, 2010. The results of the preliminary auditions for the Central Academy of Drama would not be released until tomorrow.

Today was essentially a day off, but Su Wanyu dragged Chen Jin out of bed first thing in the morning.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"..."

Chen Jin had been "working" all night and was clearly exhausted, slumped over and yawning incessantly. This state made Su Wanyu deeply suspicious of what exactly the boy had been up to last night. It was 8:30 AM; they had gone to bed at 10:00 PM the night before, and ten and a half hours of sleep still wasn't enough?

"Did you stay up playing on your phone while I was sleeping?"

"Chen Jin, did I buy you that phone just for you to play with?"

Su Wanyu snatched the phone away from him and checked the battery level; she knew exactly what kind of mischief he was up to. With the evidence plain to see, Chen Jin had no way to explain himself and simply bolted into the bathroom.

Sometimes, it wasn't that children didn't want to live with their parents; it was just that conflicts in communication, understanding, and perspectives were inevitable. Seeing each other occasionally was often best, but being together every day made Chen Jin too lazy to even argue with Su Wanyu. However, he was alone in the Imperial Capital, and Su Wanyu certainly couldn't rest easy.

Seeing Chen Jin’s silence, Su Wanyu felt quite strange. She had expected him to be as he always was, stubbornly retorting with, "Can't I play with a new phone?"

There was nothing to do today, and Su Wanyu had originally intended to take Chen Jin to climb the Great Wall. But Chen Jin’s unusual behavior made her feel slightly uneasy.

"Oh, forget it, my son is grown up now!"

Playing with a phone wasn't a big deal; it was normal to be fascinated by a new purchase. Su Wanyu consoled herself, while Chen Jin sat on the toilet, looking at a private message on Douban from Bao Jingjing, a faint smile on his face.

Yesterday, Chen Jin hadn't been able to resist the urge to acquire the copyright, so in the middle of the night, he had sent a private message to Bao Jingjing, the original author of the post *Love is Not Blind*. He had even looked her up on an encyclopedia. To his surprise, she was a graduate of the Beijing Film Academy’s Literature Department—technically a future senior of his. Fortunately, she wasn't famous yet. She had graduated last year, hadn't entered the industry circle, and had only published the novel *Love is Not Blind* based on the posts she made on Douban.

"Greetings," Chen Jin had written at 2:00 AM. "May I ask if the film and television rights for *Love is Not Blind* have been sold?"

As a seasoned Douban literature enthusiast and an independent writer by trade, Bao Jingjing’s daily routine was simple: wake up, wash her face, eat, and then turn on her computer. Douban was a site she visited religiously because she chatted with many readers there every day.

Ever since CITIC Press had compiled her serialized Douban posts into a book at the end of the month before last, she had gained a large group of readers, mostly netizens who had followed her posts on the platform. Thus, the site had become a favorite haunt during her downtime after writing.

"No," was her brief, two-word reply.

Chen Jin wasn't the first person to message her about rights. Although Bao Jingjing wanted to sell, she was different from many other independent writers. Being a graduate of the Beijing Film Academy’s literature department, she understood the film and television rights market well. Many people who messaged her had the intention to buy, but most were just looking to pick up a bargain. There were people who specialized in hoarding such rights, offering low prices; many writers, lacking knowledge, would feel they’d made a profit if they were offered a few tens of thousands. In reality, the buyers would flip the rights for a six-figure markup.

She had to ensure the identity of the buyer, the price offered, and whether they would actually produce it. Even though she knew her novel wouldn't sell for a fortune—maybe 500,000 at the absolute top—Bao Jingjing still harbored a dream of being a screenwriter. After all, who from the Beijing Film Academy’s literature department didn't want to be a famous screenwriter?

"Are you considering selling? If you are in the Imperial Capital, we could discuss it in person!" Chen Jin replied quickly.

Bao Jingjing thought it over and didn't refuse. "Are you an individual or a company? Forgive me for asking, but may I know the name of your company?"

"An individual, but I am an actor!"

Well, that counted, didn't it? Chen Jin’s first audition was for Zhang Yimou’s *Under the Hawthorn Tree*. Even though he hadn't landed the role yet, how could that not count? If he became an actor in the future, it would be quite an impressive resume, wouldn't it? He was a man who had once made the legendary Director Zhang laugh out loud—even if it was only for a thirty-minute face-to-face chat! Some actors never even got to meet a director of that caliber in their entire lives; Chen Jin had done so before even entering school, already surpassing many of his peers.

"An actor? Do you want to produce it yourself, or…?"

"Produce it. I am very interested in the novel and would like to invest in the project myself!"

That was the truth. It was a film with a reputation that would eventually gross over 300 million; if he bought the rights, invested in finding a director, and starred in it himself, it might just work! At the very least, the safest bet would be to wait for the future director of the film to come knocking and then collaborate. Investing a bit of his own money would be fine. After all, the news reports suggested that before the film was released, no one expected it to hit 300 million, and even the 30-million-yuan distribution rights hadn't been sold—the market simply didn't favor it.

The investment seemed small; the headlines described it as a "low-budget film." Low budget usually meant under 10 million. Chen Jin had spent half the night researching this, which was why he was so exhausted.

"Are you done yet?" Su Wanyu urged from outside the door.

"Done, coming out now!" Chen Jin replied.

He washed up quickly and stepped out. A message from Bao Jingjing had already arrived: "Are you in the Imperial Capital? We can meet. If it's convenient, could you reveal your name?" She wanted to know which actor it was.

Chen Jin naturally found it inconvenient to reveal his identity. If he had successfully auditioned for *Under the Hawthorn Tree* and it had been announced in the news, it would be fine, but now was clearly not the time. This "senior" was more difficult to deal with than he had imagined, and quite cautious. As expected, a graduate of the Beijing Film Academy was not easily fooled.

Why was it that he couldn't run into a situation like that future autobiography film, where a then-unknown science fiction writer sold a ten-billion-dollar-level copyright for a mere 100,000?

"It's just that my influence isn't enough yet," he thought. "If I were a film company or a well-known actor or director, they probably would have agreed to meet just by hearing my name."

Indeed, buying copyrights wasn't easy. However, Chen Jin hadn't walked away empty-handed; at least it was confirmed that the rights to *Love is Not Blind* were still in Bao Jingjing’s hands, meaning he still had a chance.

"If I land the role in *Under the Hawthorn Tree*, things might be easier to handle!"

As Chen Jin pondered this, Su Wanyu asked from the side, "Son, are we going to the Great Wall?"

"Yes, let's go!"

The Champions League matches were still two days away, so he wasn't in a rush to visit the sports lottery shop. His current priority was preparing for the final auditions at the Beijing Film Academy and the Central Academy of Drama, while waiting for a call from Zhang Yimou’s team.

As for tomorrow’s results, Chen Jin felt quite confident. Even if he didn't take first place, being in the top five shouldn't be a problem, right? The students at the Central Academy of Drama were slightly stronger than those at the Beijing Film Academy, so he would just keep his expectations humble for now!