Chapter 0630: Crying Wine and Selling Vinegar

Sensing Zhao Fusheng's displeasure, Yu Feihong quickly ended her conversation with Wang Zhonglei and came over to him, asking softly, "What's wrong? Not feeling well?"

She thought Zhao Fusheng was ill, which explained his bad expression.

Facing her, Zhao Fusheng forced a smile and shook his head gently: "It's nothing, sis. I'm fine."

After a moment's thought, he lowered his voice and said, "Sis, Little Wang is a decent friend, but he's too much of a playboy."

He didn't finish the rest, but he believed that with Yu Feihong's intelligence, she would understand his meaning.

Yu Feihong was taken aback, then burst into laughter. She reached out and tapped Zhao Fusheng on the head, saying playfully, "You little rascal, wise beyond your years!"

Then she winked: "Don't worry, I know what to do. You don't need to fret over me, you brat."

Zhao Fusheng chuckled wryly, then felt relieved. After all, Yu Feihong had been in this circle for quite some time. Some things he thought she didn't know, she actually did.

Sensing his disappointment, Yu Feihong smiled and whispered to him, "Thank you, you little brat. At least you care about your sister."

Good intentions, after all, need encouragement.

Hearing her words, Zhao Fusheng shrugged and said nothing, but his mood brightened considerably.

Wang Zhonglei had come because he received an invitation from Ye Jing.

As one of the big shots in the Beijing circle, Ye Jing might not be as wealthy as the Wang brothers, but a person's value isn't always measured in money. At least in Zhao Fusheng's view, even if the Wang brothers had ten times the courage, they wouldn't dare offend these bigwigs in the Beijing circle.

The reason was simple: the Wang brothers might have money, but they couldn't force these big stars to make movies for them.

Did they think it was still the 1980s and 1990s in Hong Kong, where bullets were delivered to your door and guns were held to your head? This was mainland China.

As the great designer once said, there is no organized crime in China, so there won't be any.

Using power to pressure others or forcing them to work for you with authority was one thing, but if you dared to play gangster or get involved in organized crime, you were stepping into the darkest realm of the dye vat, and you couldn't expect to come out glorious and pristine.

"Fusheng, I didn't expect you to quietly cook up a surprise for me," Wang Zhonglei said, squinting and smiling at Zhao Fusheng.

Zhao Fusheng shook his head: "President Wang, you're too kind. This surprise isn't for you. Friendship is friendship, business is business. I'll lay my cards on the table first to avoid hurting our relationship."

Hearing this, Wang Zhonglei was momentarily stunned, then laughed and nodded: "Right, business is business, friendship is friendship."

He was a shrewd man too. Zhao Fusheng's words conveyed a clear confidence: this time, Huayi wouldn't get all the benefits from the movie script.

But Wang Zhonglei still didn't understand where Zhao Fusheng got the confidence that his script would be a box office hit. After all, this year's Spring Festival season would feature many foreign blockbusters and works by renowned domestic directors. Was it so easy for a comedy script put together by a few people to break through?

If Zhao Fusheng knew what Wang Zhonglei was thinking, he would have laughed heartily and told him to get lost.

What a joke. Did he think he was Director Guo of "Ancestor Nineteen"? Foolishly charging into the Spring Festival season only to be utterly defeated.

This was the year 2000, and what he was offering was the masterpiece of the former king of New Year's films.

He couldn't guarantee much, but with an investment of a few million, he was confident of earning back twenty or thirty million at the box office.

Of course, he wouldn't say these things to anyone. After all, some things were best kept to oneself.

"I'm not much of a businessman, so let's speak plainly," Zhao Fusheng said, glancing at Wang Zhonglei without further ado. "I've convinced Future Advertising to invest some money. Brother Ye and I plan to put in some, and the rest—how much can Huayi contribute?"

"You and the others?"

Wang Zhonglei was taken aback, staring at Zhao Fusheng in surprise, then swept his gaze over Jiang Wen and Yu Feihong. He knew Ye Jing was involved, but the fact that Jiang Wen and Yu Feihong were also participating caught him off guard.

As for Zhao Fusheng convincing Future Advertising, he didn't find that unusual. If he were Zheng Yao, as long as Zhao Fusheng didn't propose leaving, he would agree to anything.

"Yes, I plan to take a share," Jiang Wen said with a smile.

Yu Feihong also nodded: "Yeah, what if it makes money?"

Wang Zhonglei almost laughed at their words. Did these people think investing in a movie was a joke? Throwing in a little money casually—did they think just investing would guarantee profits?

Of course, he wouldn't say that out loud. Zhao Fusheng had already said business is business, friendship is friendship. If they wanted to invest their own money, Wang Zhonglei had no right to criticize their decisions.

Besides, Wang Zhonglei himself was optimistic about this film, otherwise why would he be here?

"What's the budget?" Wang Zhonglei asked Zhao Fusheng after a moment's thought.

Zhao Fusheng shook his head: "I don't know. You'll have to ask Old Jiang."

"Old Jiang?" Wang Zhonglei looked at Jiang Wen suspiciously. He didn't understand what Jiang Wen, an actor and at most an investor, had to do with this.

Jiang Wen chuckled: "Let me introduce myself. I'm the producer of this film."

"Huh?"

Wang Zhonglei was dumbfounded by this statement.

Then he quickly caught on to what game was being played. Pointing at Zhao Fusheng and Jiang Wen in surprise, he said, "You..."

He wasn't stupid. Anyone in the industry could see through the trick Zhao Fusheng and Jiang Wen were pulling. Jiang Wen was ostensibly the producer, but in reality, he would be doing the director's work.

The problem was that even though everyone knew what was going on, no one could point out any wrongdoing. Because Jiang Wen indeed wasn't the director; even if he did the director's work, it was just him overstepping his bounds.

The higher-ups have policies, the lower levels have countermeasures—that probably described the scene now.

Seeing Wang Zhonglei's stunned expression, Zhao Fusheng chuckled softly. He felt that this Little President Wang was quite different from the business tycoon he would later know. It seemed that everyone was like that—the people he knew from TV, newspapers, and the internet were always slightly different from their current selves.

But that was fine. Their current selves were more vivid and more pleasing to the eye.