Chapter Seventeen: Using Others’ Money to Serve One’s Own Interests

Magical City.
A private club.

The familiar formula, the familiar taste—only the main characters have changed.

“Hello, Mr. Wu, Miss Jiang.”

Xu Ming shook hands with Wu Kebo and gently clasped Jiang Yiyan’s hand beside him.

What’s with these big shots in the entertainment industry always carrying a cup of green tea when they go out for business?

Today’s dinner was arranged by people from Sohu Entertainment. They also saw Orange Sky Entertainment as a promising partner, but the specifics needed Xu Ming, the project initiator, to negotiate directly.

“Haha, I heard about your conflict with Wang Zhongjun. Don’t worry, working with us means Huayi’s reach won’t extend here. While others might fear those two brothers, I don’t.” Wu Kebo laughed heartily.

His confidence went beyond mere fearlessness—Orange Sky Entertainment had built its foundation on poaching from Huayi.

Back then, Wang Jinghua led a large group of artists in defecting from Huayi to Orange Sky Entertainment, nearly crippling the then-flourishing Huayi.

If it weren’t for Feng Xiaogang’s New Year films holding the fort, Huayi might not have survived.

Rumors say that when Li Bingbing’s contract expired in 2007, Orange Sky Entertainment approached her and used that leverage to force Wang Zhongjun into a costly deal—an 80 million yuan contract over three years.

Their relationship could no longer be described as rivalry; it was outright hatred.

Yet, Orange Sky Entertainment’s momentum now rivaled Huayi’s. In 2007, they acquired Jiahua, establishing a foothold in Hong Kong, and even enlisted Wu Baige to direct the epic “Red Cliff” series.

Though it resulted in huge losses, it built a grand reputation.

If it weren’t for Wang Jinghua once again breaking away last July with her artists to start anew, Orange Sky Entertainment might have outshone Huayi.

“I believe your vision far surpasses that of the Wang family. Just by showing up here today, Orange Sky Entertainment displays a much grander scope than Huayi.”

“Partners like you are exactly what we need.”

Xu Ming praised Wu Kebo while subtly taking a jab at Wang Zhongjun, showering him with unreserved compliments.

The smile that spread across Wu Kebo’s face showed he was buying into it.

“You’re quite the smooth talker—more so than a stand-up comedian—and I like it.” Wu Kebo said with a smile.

“When I apprenticed under my master, I performed stand-up. My master still thinks it was solo comic talk,” Xu Ming replied casually, following the flow of conversation.

Normally, businessmen from Beijing build rapport over drinks before discussing deals, while Shanghai businessmen separate business from socializing, discussing matters in tea rooms.

It’s a kind of north-south business culture difference.

But between Huayi and Orange Sky, it seemed reversed.

His thoughts circled around until he understood.

It wasn’t that Wu Kebo and Wang Zhongjun had changed, but rather their regard for him had.

The online hit “Loser Male 2,” especially with its still substantial metrics, made many reassess Xu Ming’s value.

Before web dramas, an artist’s commercial worth was measured by TV ratings or box office returns.

Now, with “Loser Male 2” pioneering the online video track, clicks and views became another testament to commercial value.

Realizing this, Xu Ming felt less rushed and chatted comfortably with Wu Kebo about stand-up comedy.

Wu Kebo, a returnee and a Shanghai businessman, was naturally familiar with stand-up and was intrigued by Xu Ming, a Northeasterner, knowing it so well.

Xu Ming even performed a short segment on the spot, making Jiang Yiyan laugh and cling to Wu Kebo.

Damn, look at the treatment they’re getting.

Xu Ming deeply realized the vastness of the world—his current status might be a dream for small artists, but in the entertainment industry, he was just a slightly bigger shrimp.

When the time was right, he brought up the main subject: “Mr. Wu, I have great faith in the film project ‘Love Lost for 33 Days,’ and I’ve staked my entire fortune on it.”

“The male lead continues the effeminate image I had in ‘No Money Worries,’ allowing the audience to relate without discomfort...”

He was about to elaborate on the project’s strengths, like a startup founder pitching to investors with a PowerPoint.

Wu Kebo waved his hand dismissively.

That gesture sank Xu Ming’s heart.

“I glanced over the project proposal from Sohu. Total budget is only seven million yuan. You all decide how much to invest; Orange Sky will cover the rest.” Wu Kebo said casually.

Every movement radiated the aura of a tycoon. Behind him stood capital from the Japanese investment sector, aiming to use Jiahua’s shell company to go public this year, becoming China’s first listed media conglomerate.

To put it in perspective, their recent film investments—“Red Cliff,” “The Warlords,” “Wind and Cloud 2”—were blockbusters costing hundreds of millions.

A few million was mere pocket change to him.

“Mr. Wu, you’re very generous.”

Xu Ming immediately gave a thumbs-up and downed his wine glass in one gulp. “I toast you.”

Their smooth, fluid gestures left the two onlookers stunned.

Wu Kebo laughed, eyes gleaming with admiration. “Xu, little brother, if you ever get tired of Benshan Media, our doors at Orange Sky Entertainment will always be open.”

He lacked talent like Xu Ming—someone who could act and create.

He envied Huayi’s Feng Xiaogang and New Picture’s Zhang Weiping with his master Zhang Guoshi.

As for him, investing in Hong Kong and Taiwanese directors only made him a naive sucker.

Can you believe a prop straw hat in “The Warlords” cost $100,000?

“If that day ever comes, Orange Sky will be my first choice.” Xu Ming painted a hopeful picture for him.

Just kidding. After all his hard work, he wasn’t about to be anyone’s lackey.

He aimed to always be the man standing behind others in the industry,

Not crawling in front...

The negotiation ended happily. With Wu Kebo’s preliminary approval, Orange Sky Entertainment moved quickly.

Xu Ming gathered Sohu Entertainment and Orange Sky Entertainment to sign a four-party investment agreement at Benshan Media.

Sohu put in two million, Orange Sky three million, and the remaining two million was split evenly between Xu Ming and Benshan Media.

Xu Ming’s acting fee was set at one million. After discussing with his mentor, they decided to count that within the investment shares, meaning Xu Ming only needed to pay 500,000.

But even that 500,000, Xu Ming had no intention of paying out of pocket.

Please, who shoots a film with their own money? If you don’t fool the investors, can you even call yourself a filmmaker?

The key was always using other people’s money to do your own projects.

With 5.5 million yuan deposited into the account, the first thing Xu Ming did was use company funds to buy himself a new wardrobe and purchase a phone, a laptop, and other electronics, all recorded as production office expenses.

That was considered quite meticulous compared to the coal barons paying their dues when entering the industry.

A film project not only pays the director mistress’s upkeep, rent, and bags, but shamelessly also sleeps with the financiers’ mistresses.