Chapter 1023: Golden Harvest Cinema

Chatting with Fan Baobao was always a pleasant affair; in fact, it was far more soothing than negotiating with that fellow Zhou Xingxing.

After finally calming Fan Baobao down and promising to bring her a gift when he returned, Zhao Fusheng hung up the phone.

What he had told Fan Baobao was, of course, the truth.

Smart people often converse concisely, which was also the basis for Zhao Fusheng's negotiations with Zhou Xingxing. They opened their hearts, discussed terms and interests, and said not a single superfluous word. Things like personal connections, in their eyes, were merely chips worth zero.

Zhou Xingxing would not charge Zhao Fusheng a penny less because of his ties with Zhang Guorong, nor would Zhao Fusheng pay a penny more out of sympathy for Zhou Xingxing's past experiences or fondness for his films.

The two only wanted to talk about interests, and would only talk about interests—that was business.

As for what came next, since it was business, there were professionals to handle it. If Zhao Fusheng, as the boss, still had to personally haggle over every detail, then Bai Jie and her team might as well pack up and leave.

The next day, Xinghui Company and Future Films began negotiations, while Zhao Fusheng suddenly found himself with free time.

On Xinghui's side, Zhou Xingxing naturally handled the negotiations himself, as he never liked to delegate such matters. On Future Films' side, General Manager Bai Jie finally had a chance to put her skills to use.

Suppressing her urge to ask the person across from her for an autograph, Bai Jie led her team into negotiations with Xinghui Company over the specific terms of the cooperation.

Zhao Fusheng, well, he figured he could take a stroll around Hong Kong Island.

After all, it was March, early spring, with perfect weather for shopping.

In 2004, Hong Kong Island had emerged from the low point of the 1997 Asian financial crisis. Many had lost hope for the future, but as time passed and everything started anew, people gradually began to crave spiritual enjoyment.

“Maybe I should visit Andy Lau?” Zhao Fusheng thought to himself as he walked the streets alone, without any companion.

Originally, Xinghui had planned to arrange a guide for him, but Zhao Fusheng declined, saying he just wanted to wander around on his own.

The weather was pleasant—sunny but not scorching, with a warm breeze carrying a rich fragrance. In the sky not far off, a few lazy white clouds drifted with the wind.

Zhao Fusheng had never been to Hong Kong Island in his previous life, nor was he fond of traveling. He hadn't dealt with people in this field in business either, so naturally, he was full of curiosity about the place.

Though he was unfamiliar with the area, luckily Zhao Fusheng had the foresight to buy a map. With it, he wasn't worried about getting lost.

Xinghui Company was located in Central, one of the most prosperous areas of Hong Kong Island, but to Zhao Fusheng, it held little appeal.

No matter how bustling it was, it couldn't compare to the metropolises of a decade later. Having seen such places, he felt nothing special about Hong Kong Island in 2004.

“Once you've seen the vast ocean, it's hard to be impressed by a stream”—that was probably the idea.

Along the way, his ears were filled with Cantonese. If spoken slowly, Zhao Fusheng could understand a bit; if spoken quickly, it was like listening to a foreign language.

“Dim gai… siu baak jeui… baan haai…” Zhao Fusheng muttered to himself, shaking his head helplessly.

He had to admit, there were things he didn't know.

A man shopping alone was ultimately not very interesting. After wandering for a while, Zhao Fusheng grew bored.

Looking down at his map, he decided to visit the Golden Harvest studio.

In 1970, Asian film moguls Raymond Chow, He Guanchang, and Liang Feng founded Golden Harvest. In 1977, the company opened its first cinema in Hong Kong. In 1992, Golden Harvest opened Asia's first ten-screen multiplex in Singapore. In 1994, it was listed on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange. Internationally renowned film stars like Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, and Maggie Cheung came from Golden Harvest. During the golden age of Hong Kong cinema, Golden Harvest was one of the most influential film distribution companies.

But just as Hong Kong cinema began its decline, Golden Harvest also gradually fell into decay as its two founders left one after another.

Zhao Fusheng vaguely recalled that around the mid-2000s, Golden Harvest was acquired by a mainland entertainment company. He didn't know the details after that, as he had little knowledge of the field; remembering this much was thanks to various social media posts.

In fact, Zhao Fusheng did have some understanding of how Hong Kong cinema declined.

It wasn't that he had studied it, but rather that he had seen a few social media posts and had a general impression.

The Hong Kong film industry entered its golden period in the 1960s and 1970s. Starting in the 1970s, the Hong Kong government required each district to have a certain number of cinema seats based on population. Developers who obtained land had to build cinemas with sufficient seats in their shopping centers and could not convert them to other uses. If they wanted to convert, they had to pay a staggering land premium. Thus, around the 1990s, Hong Kong had over a hundred cinemas. At some point, the government abolished this regulation, and as property prices soared, the once-prohibitive land premiums became relatively cheap. Developers were happy to pay to convert cinemas into more profitable branded shopping malls.

Coupled with rising rents, many film companies could no longer bear the high costs and naturally chose to close their cinemas.

Therefore, no matter how much he loved Hong Kong cinema, Zhao Fusheng never considered investing real money there.

The reason was simple: it was a bottomless pit, a sinking ship. Unless Zhao Fusheng went mad, he wouldn't throw his hard-earned money into it.

Of course, if there was a chance to make a quick profit and leave, he was willing.

After all, there was no need to turn down money.

Golden Harvest Cinema was in Kowloon. To get there from Hong Kong Island, he needed to take a bus. Zhao Fusheng waited a while and boarded a minibus heading to Kowloon.

Interestingly, the location of Golden Harvest Cinema was called Diamond Hill.

Of course, there were no diamonds there.

In the 1980s, Shaw Brothers Studio apparently made a film where the male protagonist was fooled by a fellow villager into believing that Diamond Hill in Hong Kong was covered in diamonds. After enduring countless hardships to find Diamond Hill, he searched the place and was completely dumbfounded—it looked like a small town on the mainland, with no sign of economic prosperity. His mind collapsed, and he fell to his knees, roaring to the sky: “This isn't Diamond Hill, this isn't Diamond Hill…”

Of course, Diamond Hill was quite lively now.

The cinema was at the foot of the hill, and the studio lots were spread across the slope, covering about thirty to forty mu. The buildings were constructed in a terraced layout. Entering through the main gate, one had to walk uphill all the way.

Standing at the entrance, Zhao Fusheng was about to go in when he was stopped.

“Sir, this area is off-limits to visitors.”

The one stopping Zhao Fusheng was, naturally, the security guard here.

Blinking, Zhao Fusheng kept a smile on his face but inwardly cursed those bastard authors who wrote Hong Kong entertainment novels.

Those damned guys could just wander into any studio—Shaw Brothers, TVB, Golden Harvest—as if they owned the place. But when it came to him, he got stopped.

And before that, Zhao Fusheng had actually thought film studios were open to the public.

“Um, I'm from the mainland and would like to take a look inside.” Since the guard was just doing his duty, Zhao Fusheng saw no reason to make trouble. He honestly explained his identity, hoping the guard would make an exception.

“Sorry, they're filming inside. I can't do anything about it,” the guard said politely but still blocked Zhao Fusheng.

Standing there helplessly, Zhao Fusheng suddenly felt a sense of powerlessness.

Even though he had money, the problem was that it wasn't about money.

Just then, a car stopped at the entrance. A fat man with a round head and round face got out. The moment he saw Zhao Fusheng, he was startled.

“Mr. Zhao, what are you doing here?”

The man looked at Zhao Fusheng in shock, clearly never expecting to see him here.

Zhao Fusheng looked up at him. He looked vaguely familiar, but he wasn't a very famous actor.

“You are…”

Hesitating, Zhao Fusheng tried to recall who he was.

“I'm Lam Tze-chung, from Stephen Chow's company. I saw you yesterday,” Lam Tze-chung said respectfully to Zhao Fusheng, not minding that Zhao Fusheng was younger than him.

“It's you!”

Zhao Fusheng finally remembered who he was, but what came to mind was the image of this guy endorsing a certain domestic browser game.

There was no helping it—he wasn't really a famous actor. To Zhao Fusheng, he was just vaguely familiar, and the most vivid impression came from that browser game ad.

“Mr. Zhao remembers me, right? We even had a drink together yesterday,” Lam Tze-chung said very politely.

His status in Hong Kong wasn't high; at best, he was a supporting actor. And since he followed Stephen Chow, who was known for letting his artists fend for themselves, Lam Tze-chung often had to act in various productions.

Moreover, he was one of the earlier Hong Kong supporting actors to enter the mainland market for money. Though most of his roles were minor, he did earn quite a bit.

Lam Tze-chung had heard of Future Films during his time on the mainland, but what really caught his attention was Stephen Chow's attitude toward Zhao Fusheng.

Stephen Chow was notoriously ungenerous. Lam Tze-chung, who started as a screenwriter, had long hoped to direct a film on his own, but Stephen Chow never gave him a chance, which spoke volumes about his character.

But Lam Tze-chung noticed that when dealing with Zhao Fusheng, Stephen Chow was quite enthusiastic.