After reading this post, Yu Xiaoyu’s worldview was greatly shaken.
She was an avid movie enthusiast, and her own work was also somewhat related to the film and television industry, so she considered herself to be quite familiar with this field. Although she was not entirely clear about the intricate details, she had a general understanding.
The director’s profession might seem prestigious, and they were indeed the leaders who controlled the entire crew on set, the objects of constant flattery from actors and crew members. However, if you think that directors are carefree and wealthy, swimming in money, you would be gravely mistaken.
Based on the information Yu Xiaoyu gathered, most directors in the industry were actually far less well-off than the public perceives, except for a few exceptional top-tier directors. The lower-ranking directors have an increasingly difficult time making a living.
Due to her work, Yu Xiaoyu witnessed a moderately famous director groveling and smiling obsequiously in front of investors to secure funding. This was a director with some reputation and works to his name. For ordinary directors, they may have to beg and plead but still fail to secure investment for their projects. Such occurrences were all too common.
Furthermore, when it came to actors, if you hired relatively unknown small-time actors, they wouldn’t cause much trouble. However, if you attempted to collaborate with even slightly famous actors, you would have to deal with their temperaments. If they had a good attitude, it was manageable, but if they were difficult, it was like welcoming an ancestor into your home.
This was the case when you hired them yourself. If the investors insisted that you include a certain actor, it was even worse. Even if the actor was just a vase, lacking any real talent or ability but with a difficult personality, you still had to coax and pamper them to keep them satisfied.
Although Ye Zhou had two decent works in his hands, with respectable box office performances, in the director’s profession, this merely gave him a stronger bargaining chip when negotiating with investors. As for his treatment and compensation, Yu Xiaoyu was well aware that ordinary directors did not have the privilege of participating in box office revenue sharing. Not just small-time directors, even those with moderate fame were in the same boat – you’re essentially just a high-level employee being paid to do a job.
Apart from the fixed salary agreed upon before the film’s production, if the box office was a huge success and the investors were generous, the director may receive a small bonus as a reward. However, once the film was released, the box office performance had nothing to do with the director’s earnings.
In such cases, even though Ye Zhou’s previous film “A Farce” raked in nearly three billion during the National Day golden week, and the recently concluded “Chasing the Light” earned close to a billion, Yu Xiaoyu wouldn’t naively think Ye Zhou could get much from it.
Based on the standard revenue-sharing model, and considering Ye Zhou’s current qualifications, he’d be lucky to receive a few million at most.
Therefore, in Yu Xiaoyu’s eyes, her family’s Director Ye might not be poor, but he certainly wasn’t wealthy. She never expected…
You turned out to be this kind, Director Ye!!
Look at this, look at what director Ye invested in – an e-sports team, and not just any e-sports, but the currently hottest e-sports, “Devour”. Not only did he invest, but he directly invested in the championship team!
Yu Xiaoyu held it in as long as she could, but she couldn’t resist searching online for information about the Chenzhou e-sports team. Amid the flood of championship news coverage, she successfully found the team’s introduction. Discovering that this team was only established last year and this was their first competition, Yu Xiaoyu couldn’t help but curse in shock.
What kind of luck is this!
But this wasn’t even the end of it. When Yu Xiaoyu searched for “Starlight Youth”, she was already too stunned to feel any further shock. Now she was just calm, more calm than ever before.
Even if someone were to expose right now that Ye Zhou was actually the son of a wealthy tycoon, Yu Xiaoyu would be able to accept it calmly.
Of course, this is impossible, as Ye Zhou’s background had already been thoroughly investigated by the media after his surprise hit “A Farce”.
However… although he didn’t have a tycoon father, perhaps in the near future, he might just have a tycoon boyfriend!
Who knows whether she would be able to maintain this calm disposition if she were to learn of this news someday.
As for the protagonist of the post, Ye Zhou, what has he been up to these past few days?
These past few days, Ye Zhou had not been idle. Apart from finalizing the clarification plan with Boss Jiang regarding the several top streamers signed under Zhaixing, Ye Zhou had been busy with Zhaixing, working tirelessly.
After everything was fully prepared by the 8th, Ye Zhou, who had been working nonstop for several days, finally found some time to rest. But before he could even think about resting, he received an unexpected phone call.
This phone call instantly dispelled Ye Zhou’s previous fatigue. The reason was very simple. The caller was named Ren Zi’an, who was once a popular top-tier scriptwriter within the industry.
Ren Zi’an was known as a “money-making machine”. Almost every work that came from him was practically guaranteed to be a huge hit, and the quality of the scripts was of the highest quality.
But why use the past tense “was”? The story goes back a few years, when the State Administration of Radio, Film, and Television suddenly issued a ban, decisively prohibiting a whole series of subject matters.
Unfortunately, the topics this scriptwriter specialized in… were mostly among those that got banned.
This incident dealt a huge blow to Ren Zi’an, transforming him from being heavily pursued by numerous investors and directors in the industry to being completely overlooked. It’s not that he hadn’t tried to adapt, but transitioning was much easier said than done.
After several failed attempts, he finally started to see some improvement. Though his recent works were nowhere near the caliber of his past successes, they were still recognized by investors and directors and praised by the audience.
However, at the end of last year, with the official implementation of the film rating system in China, the restrictions on subject matters were significantly loosened. Topics that had been confined to the “black room” of censorship were finally able to see the light of day again.
“When I learned that the film rating system had finally been implemented in China, I immediately tore up the half-written script!” He said this with an impassioned expression. “Screw romance scripts, what I want is freedom! Passion!”
Ye Zhou quietly listened to him, almost as if venting. After he finished speaking, Ye Zhou promptly poured him a glass of water and pushed it toward him.
“Thank you.” The man took the glass and drained it, flashing Ye Zhou a grateful smile that held a hint of pleasing. “Director Ye, I’ve seen your films, and I’m very impressed by your skills. I look forward to the opportunity to collaborate with you.”
Ye Zhou gave a slight nod but did not rush to respond. In a measured tone, he said, “Since Scriptwriter Ren has seen my films, you should know that the pacing in my current works is rather slow, and they don’t have the style you excel in.”
The man sitting before Ye Zhou, with his disheveled hair and pale, sallow skin from lack of sunlight, was the once renowned and sought-after scriptwriter, Ren Zi’an, whose physique now appeared frail and unkempt.
Ye Zhou didn’t need to finish his statement for Ren Zi’an to understand the implication.
Ren Zi’an was not one to hide his temper; on the contrary, he had a fiery personality and couldn’t keep his emotions in check. So even though Ye Zhou hadn’t said anything outright, after being scrutinized for a while, Ren Zi’an’s gaze started to shift uncomfortably.
Seeing this, Ye Zhou did not press him further. He picked up the coffee on the table and took a sip, sitting calmly in his seat, unfazed.
He didn’t speak for a long time, and the atmosphere between the two became somewhat awkward in the prolonged silence.
In contrast to Ye Zhou’s composure, Ren Zi’an’s former arrogance had been gradually worn down by the successive blows he had endured over the years. Now, with the policy restrictions just beginning to relax, and uncertain whether his works would even be able to be smoothly released, he truly had no strong bargaining chips.
Such silence was torture for Ren Zi’an.
He gritted his teeth and decided to simply lay out his thoughts to Ye Zhou, though he did try to use some more pleasant-sounding words to embellish certain sensitive areas in the hopes of increasing his chances of convincing him.
“This work is the script I wrote after ‘Asura’. At the time, due to the ban, I had to stop writing halfway through. After the restrictions were lifted last year, I continued writing, and it took nearly a year to extensively revise the previous plot.”
After saying this, Ren Zi’an scratched his head. Meeting Ye Zhou’s gaze, which seemed to see through everything, his mouth felt dry. He poured himself another glass of water and drank it down in one gulp, slamming the glass down on the table.
“I’m not one for beating around the bush, so I’ll just tell you straight. This work is my life’s blood. Before the ban, my works generally achieved very good results, and I believe this one can do the same. If it performs well, this project could even be developed into an independent IP, becoming a full-fledged franchise.”
This was quite an enticing proposition, and everything he said was indeed true. Before the ban, the films adapted from his scripts had performed very well at the box office, with one even being regarded as a classic by fans of that genre, who would revisit it from time to time.
Now that the ban was lifted, he returned to his old trade. Even if Ye Zhou was unwilling to direct it, there would surely be others who would be interested in doing so.
For an ordinary small-time director, just seeing this grand plan laid out might have made them unable to sit still, and even if they didn’t necessarily want to direct it, their attitude towards Ren Zi’an would be much more enthusiastic.
After all, even if they didn’t collaborate this time, if the project were to become a hit in the future, it would be better to maintain a good connection rather than offend him.
Yet, Ye Zhou remained calm and unperturbed.
Seeing this, Ren Zi’an’s glimmer of hope was completely extinguished, and he sighed. Deciding to no longer conceal the truth, he admitted, “However, the budget for this film might be slightly… higher than usual.”
Hearing this, Ye Zhou was torn between laughter and tears. He had considered all sorts of possible reasons for Ren Zi’an’s visit, but this was the last thing he expected.
So, it seemed the budget was too high, and other directors were too afraid to take it on, so he was treating Ye Zhou as the sucker to take it off his hands.
But wait, something didn’t quite seem right here.
Ye Zhou’s recent two films had earned him some money, but this information was highly private, only known to insiders, and not publicly disclosed.
So, how did Ren Zi’an know that Ye Zhou had money?
Thinking this through, Ye Zhou decided to simply ask him directly.
Ren Zi’an gave Ye Zhou a once-over, then slowly took out his phone, fiddled with it for a moment, and then handed it to Ye Zhou.
Ye Zhou took the phone, and when he saw the content on the screen, his expression was truly… indescribable.
The post on the “Chasing the Light” forum had somehow been discovered by the media and turned into a sensational news expose.
Not only were the details about the e-sports team and the talent show mentioned in the post, but the media had also even captured photos of Ye Zhou entering and exiting the Zhaixing livestreaming company. While they didn’t have definitive proof yet, the public had already guessed the truth with near certainty.
Now, the entire internet knew that Ye Zhou was truly quite wealthy!
Ye Zhou handed the phone back, just about to say something to Ren Zi’an, when his own phone in his pocket started vibrating.
Picking up the phone, he saw an unfamiliar number calling. Ye Zhou hesitated a bit. After his two recent hits, he generally didn’t answer calls from unknown numbers on his personal line anymore. Work-related matters would go to his work phone, and his personal line was usually only used by friends and Boss Jiang.
Ye Zhou didn’t answer the call, but the caller persisted, seeming determined to keep calling until he picked up. When the phone rang for the fifth time, Ye Zhou finally answered.
As soon as he connected the call, a strange yet vaguely familiar voice spoke from the other end.
“Ye Qiuze has returned to the country.”
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