Of all the movies released over the National Day holiday, the only one left that could compete with Space Alliance was Haunted Manor, which had by far the highest level of public interest.
Most of the others were low-budget productions with limited promotional funds and little in the way of gimmicks to draw attention. They simply weren’t being discussed very much.
Haunted Manor had certainly sparked plenty of controversy. Eighty percent of viewers believed it was an undeniably awful movie—the first major failure of Best Actor Xie’s career.
But the public’s interest in it was genuine. Naturally, it couldn’t compare with a behemoth like Space Alliance, yet if one had to name the film that had left the strongest impression this holiday season apart from Space Alliance, Haunted Manor was unquestionably it.
But now Space Alliance had pulled out. The behemoth had fallen.
Its screening slots suddenly became available. The announcement had come so abruptly that many films originally brimming with ambition and deliberately avoiding the National Day competition in favor of the Spring Festival season hadn’t even had time to react. The turnaround was simply too short.
As a result, when it came to choosing a movie over the National Day holiday, Haunted Manor had once again become the obvious first choice.
People in the industry were practically screaming in disbelief. For a while, they looked at Pei Liang as if she were the biological daughter of heaven itself.
Otherwise, why would she have managed to stumble into a stroke of luck twice in a row this year, with both holiday seasons?
If they had known this woman was blessed with such heaven-defying luck, they would have scheduled their releases right behind her from the start.
Those who had once considered investing in her films, only to back out because Pei Liang insisted on making horror movies, were now kicking themselves blue.
It wasn’t that they had any faith in the film’s quality. It was simply that, with such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, even a pig could fly.
With an investment of only thirty million yuan, and given Haunted Manor’s screening rate, it was guaranteed to make a fortune. Even if the movie was so terrible that audiences cursed it into the ground, it would still turn a huge profit.
Of course, Haunted Manor wasn’t the only noteworthy film in the National Day lineup.
The low-budget literary film Xie Chen had shot during the first half of the year was also scheduled for release over the holiday. However, its audience was bound to be limited; it had clearly been made with awards in mind.
The director’s previous works had all earned critical acclaim without making much money. Even with Xie Chen’s box-office appeal, the film’s performance was expected to fall within a fairly predictable range.
There was also an online comedy. Its production team had become highly popular for the short videos they posted online, using humor to criticize current social issues and comment on the unhealthy trends in today’s film industry and entertainment world. Their satire was sharp but hilarious, and many netizens were looking forward to the movie.
Beyond that, there were several ethical dramas and a few children’s animated films, though hardly anyone was paying attention to them.
The most eye-catching of the lot was a domestic science-fiction film called Space Station.
But everyone knew that China had never produced a true sci-fi blockbuster. Its technology lagged behind, budgets were tight, investment was poorly distributed among production teams, and the general lack of confidence in the industry created one obstacle after another.
It was much like the rise of the traffic-star market. Capital had already mastered a formula that guaranteed profits, so how many people would be willing to pay an enormous price to invest in a film from a fundamentally immature genre—one that might require countless attempts and offer returns so poor that the risks outweighed the rewards?
To produce a sci-fi blockbuster with the same polish as an imported foreign production, the special-effects budget alone would be astronomical. To ensure a reliable box-office base, the casting couldn’t be taken lightly, and the promotional budget would have to be far higher than that of an ordinary genre film.
If the movie flopped, the losses would be devastating. Some smaller investors might even need the profits from several other films just to make up for the loss of a single sci-fi production.
Space Station had already spent two years in production, not counting the even longer period of preparation.
Everyone in the industry knew that the project had been short of money from the very beginning, constantly scrambling to raise funds.
The overall structure of the production team was actually quite strong, and many people had been tempted to get involved. But to create the film they envisioned, the funding gap was simply too large.
Most people had been scared away.
Yet over the past six months or so, Space Station’s financial situation seemed to have improved considerably. The team must have secured a major investment. Still, no one believed anyone would pour several hundred million yuan into a production with such uncertain returns.
Most assumed the team had ultimately been forced to scale back the special effects, cut the grand set pieces, lower the visual quality, and finish the film in a form that could at least recoup its investment.
And yet this domestically produced sci-fi film, widely dismissed by the industry, had somehow received the largest number of screenings—more even than Haunted Manor.
Many assumed this was simply an attempt to fill the genre gap left by Space Alliance’s sudden withdrawal. After all, a horror mystery like Haunted Manor could never become the mainstream choice during a major holiday season such as National Day.
But this attempt to force the film into the spotlight was simply too blatant.
Many people could only shake their heads and sigh at this year’s National Day lineup.
By this point, the film with the loudest calls to win the holiday box office was actually the online movie.
In this frame of mind, countless people walked into cinemas on National Day.
“What should we watch first? There doesn’t seem to be anything good.”
“Come on, come on. Even if Space Alliance hadn’t pulled out, you wouldn’t want to watch it now, would you?”
“I never said I regretted it. Let’s just pick something at random.”
“I’m afraid of horror movies. Let’s watch the comedy. Those short videos online are pretty funny, so the movie should be decent too.”
“The trailer for Space Station looked good. Let’s give it a try! We can support domestic sci-fi while we’re at it.”
With all kinds of expectations and motivations, different people filed into different screening rooms.
Overall, the most popular choices were Space Station, Haunted Manor, and the online movie called The Laughing Forest Chronicles.
Inside the theater showing Haunted Manor, torrential rain and a dark, oppressive visual style drew the audience into a tense atmosphere.
The film opened with a series of incidents: a heavy downpour, a car accident, a stalled vehicle, and other mishaps that brought eleven people together at a manor that looked especially eerie and sinister amid the thunder and lightning of the rainy night.
Only a few minutes into the film, an enormous amount of information had already been presented. Every character had encountered some kind of accident, yet each of those accidents was intricately connected to the others.
The cinematography was polished, and the pacing was tight. It was nothing like the cheap, startle-driven style common in many recent domestic horror films.
Instead, the actors’ performances were restrained and natural. Xie Chen stood out in particular. He played a retired police officer working as a bodyguard, and his character was both melancholic and lost, while retaining the sharp instincts and seasoned cunning of a former detective. It wasn’t one of the most difficult roles of his career, but it was fresh enough to give audiences a pleasant surprise.
One couldn’t help but sigh in admiration: as expected of Xie Chen.
Up until the first minor climax, the film’s overall quality matched the expectations created by its trailer. It wasn’t one of those terrible movies that poured the entire budget into the trailer simply to trick audiences into buying tickets.
Now the real question was whether the story itself could hold up.
After the female celebrity was killed and the criminal escaped, everyone assumed that the hideous murderer was hiding somewhere around the manor, waiting for the chance to hunt down the travelers one by one.
But before long, the criminal was actually captured.
It was completely unlike the usual formula.
And yet this was only the story’s first twist.
For the rest of the film, the audience remained immersed in its tightly paced, thrilling plot, while the film kept leading them around by the nose with one twist and piece of misleading information after another.
Just like the characters on-screen.
By the time everyone realized that all the guests at the hotel shared the same birthday—and that their names followed the same pattern—most of the audience had already been drawn into the convoluted, brain-teasing plot. One after another, they began to wonder whether the reason all these people had appeared in the haunted mansion was because someone was controlling everything from behind the scenes.
But then the bodyguard played by Xie Chen suddenly became dizzy. When he opened his eyes, he was inexplicably back in a room from the beginning of the film, where a group of people had been discussing a criminal’s case file.
At first, when this scene appeared, everyone assumed that the criminal under discussion was simply the prisoner being escorted by the police. After the prisoner died, most people naturally forgot about that scene and its connection to him.
Yet now, the bodyguard played by Xie Chen had appeared in the criminal’s chair. Could it be that the seemingly righteous and upright bodyguard was actually the vicious criminal?
Could everything that had happened in the mansion just now have been a dream—or a replay of his own murder spree?
The audience’s curiosity was at its peak. The entire theater fell silent, with everyone barely daring to breathe.
Then one of the psychologists picked up a mirror and slowly held it up to the bodyguard’s face.
The bodyguard’s handsome features appeared in the mirror, only to transform into the greasy, bloated face of a sinister-looking fat man.
Everyone had been laughing at domestic horror films for having no ghosts—that no matter how they were made, they always ended with mental illness or a bad dream.
But the thrilling plot of the film’s first half had drawn everyone so deeply into the logic the movie wanted them to follow that they had completely forgotten this point.
Ghosts simply weren’t possible in domestic horror films. The “it was schizophrenia all along” twist had been done to death.
And yet, when Xie Chen’s handsome, melancholy face and the oily, vicious-looking fat man appeared on opposite sides of the mirror, everyone was still shaken to the core.
A loud, synchronized gasp swept through the theater.
The dramatic force of Xie Chen’s performance when he saw the “self” in the mirror also left the audience inwardly applauding in awe.
No wonder he was Best Actor Xie.
Everyone had assumed that this was the film’s biggest twist, but near the ending, the prostitute dug up the number card representing death, while the young newcomer’s spine-chilling performance was equally outstanding.
Then came the final stroke of genius. In a matter of seconds, it completely reversed the tone of the entire film, catching everyone off guard. Yet when they looked back over the movie as a whole, they realized that the clues had been there all along.
Many details that had seemed strange simply because the fast pace left no time to think about them were now perfectly connected.
They had never been flaws that were merely outweighed by the film’s strengths. They had been carefully planted clues from the very beginning.
After watching The Haunted Mansion, most audience members did not get up and leave as soon as the credits began to roll, as they usually did with other films.
Instead, they remained seated. Some of them stayed for several minutes before finally remembering to stand and leave.
The people emerging from the theater wore all kinds of expressions. Some were exclaiming in amazement, while others excitedly discussed the film, but almost everyone looked as though they still wanted more.
The moment they came out, they went online to share their experiences:
“Go watch The Haunted Mansion!!!! Just go, trust me. All I want to say is that Xie Chen is incredible. He really doesn’t pick bad movies.”
“Same here. I’m completely stunned. They actually managed to play with that cliché everyone had mocked to death—and do it so brilliantly that all I could shout was, ‘This is freaking awesome!’ Brother Xie is the GOAT.”
“Best Actor Xie is still Best Actor Xie.”
“I apologize for my previous ignorance. Pei Liang hasn’t gotten carried away at all—she’s a freaking genius of a producer.”
“Now that you mention it, I also think she’s the scariest one of all. Her last film, The Missing Bride, did well at the box office, but as a movie, it still had plenty of flaws and was clearly immature. Yet with just one film, she’s already improved to this level. Terrifying!”
“Terrifying indeed +1.”
“Uh, guys, I previously said that if this wasn’t a terrible movie, I’d do a handstand and crap myself. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Here, I’ll sponsor you two squares of toilet paper. That’s all your brother can do for you.”
“I’ll blur your face in the video. That’s all your sister can do for you.”
“Is it really that good? Xie Chen’s paid shills are reacting pretty quickly.”
“Shill your mom. Do you think that just because your idol’s dehydrated, nobody can make sense of the entertainment data? You haven’t even shed your own skin before coming here to trash the film. Talk about shameless clout-chasing.”
“Don’t bother with idiots. Let’s discuss the movie. There are a few details I didn’t understand. Does anyone have a full breakdown?”
“Damn, I haven’t seen it yet. Don’t spoil it!”
“By the end, I realized I’d missed a lot of details earlier. I’m going back for a second viewing.”
“Same, same. This movie is worth watching more than once.”
“Can I ask something quietly? I’m a coward and don’t dare watch horror movies. Is this one suitable for me?”
“There actually aren’t many bloody or frightening scenes. You’ll just keep shouting, ‘What the hell!’ at all the twists. Go watch it!”
As the positive word of mouth continued to spread, The Haunted Mansion’s astonishing performance completely overturned public opinion, sending discussion of the film straight onto the trending lists.
This time, however, it did not enjoy the same overwhelming dominance it had during the May Day holiday. After all, thanks to Xie Chen’s reputation for choosing good films, many people were willing to hold on to at least a little expectation, even if they were skeptical of the subject matter.
They were simply part of the silent majority.
As a result, the early feedback for Space Station and The Secret History of the Laughing Forest also turned out to be far more surprising than anyone had expected.
Space Station’s smooth storytelling, grand scale, expansive world-building, and special effects rivaling those of top-tier science-fiction blockbusters from Country X sent shock waves through the domestic market, which had long been lacking in science-fiction films.
It might still have fallen short of the classic sci-fi productions based on those major international franchises, but by comparison, it would unquestionably rank above average even in Country X.
What was more, its humanistic themes aligned more closely with Huaguo’s values, while its humor and satisfying moments resonated more strongly with domestic audiences.
During the National Day holiday, when The Cosmic Alliance had withdrawn from the release schedule, many people had originally planned to watch some fast-paced, exciting popcorn blockbuster purely for the visual spectacle.
Space Station, a film that no one in the industry had believed in, unexpectedly filled that demand perfectly.
Before long, voices such as “The light of domestic science fiction,” “The rise of domestic sci-fi,” “Space Station’s special effects,” and “Huaguo can make great sci-fi blockbusters too” began pouring in.
Fueled by the explosive word of mouth and countless enthusiastic recommendations from ordinary viewers, more and more people entered theaters because of Space Station.
However, while The Haunted Mansion and Space Station—two films that had initially been widely underestimated—managed to reverse public opinion and emerge as the National Day holiday’s two major hits, The Secret History of the Laughing Forest, which everyone had initially been confident about, failed to live up to expectations.
The problems caused by its inexperienced online-video production team were exposed one after another. They might have been capable of making short videos lasting a few minutes, but this was their first time producing a full-length film.
What made matters worse was that many of these problems were precisely the kinds of issues they had once mocked in their own videos.
That is not to say the film had no redeeming qualities. It was just that the creators had forced a theme onto a story that could not support it, the jokes were painfully awkward, and the sets, cinematography, and acting were even worse.
The movie used the same cast as the web series, but while those actors had been passable on the small screen, their amateurish inexperience was laid bare on the big screen.
As a result, the film fell far short of audience expectations and left viewers bitterly disappointed.
As for The Haunted Hotel, which had shamelessly piggybacked on The Haunted Mansion for publicity, its initial number of screenings was pitifully low.
Even mid-sized cinemas showed it only three times a day at most, and always during the least popular time slots.
Some viewers had bought the wrong tickets, some had come merely to compare the two films, and others had shown up solely to see their former pure-hearted goddess in a steamy sex scene.
After leaving the theater, they tore the movie apart—
“Seriously? It has the nerve to ride on The Haunted Mansion’s coattails? Is it even worthy?”
“I’ve seen more bad movies than I can count, but The Haunted Hotel easily makes my top three.”
“First Love Goddess, stick to photoshoots and music videos. When you screamed, your hands flailed around like ghost claws.”
“For a moment, I thought she was about to shove one into her nostril.”
“I came for the sex scene, and—First Love Goddess, when you were lying down, how did the camera manage to capture your double chin and giant nostrils so clearly? Did the cinematographer study excavation?”
“Hahahaha! Was the movie so terrible they couldn’t even hire a professional cinematographer?”
The internet was flooded with ridicule. Many viewers walked out before the movie ended, and even with its already limited screenings, attendance was pitifully low.
The Haunted Hotel had spent so much effort stirring up publicity, arriving with the intention of tearing down The Haunted Mansion. Little had anyone expected that the latter would rewrite the history of domestic horror films and become a bona fide classic.
If both movies had been equally bad, that would have been one thing. But when the two were nowhere near the same level, every scheme and dirty trick became utterly meaningless.
And so, after struggling on for a few days, The Haunted Hotel hurriedly pulled out of theaters, leaving the market with a box office total of less than two million yuan.
Its panicked defeat delighted Cui Ying’s fans, who had been hounding First Love relentlessly.
Every day, they swarmed the Weibo post she had published to promote the film, dragging it back up to mock her.
First Love had been holding in her anger for far too long, and she finally exploded. She had repeatedly cooperated with President Chen on the Pei Liang side, but none of it had worked. Didn’t she have plenty of dirt on Cui Ying?
Now that the movie had flopped and her own career was on the verge of collapse, she decided that rather than sit around and wait to fade away, she might as well seize her last chance and make a scene. At the very least, she could not disappear from the public eye so easily.
With Li Jian and Zhu Wen both under arrest, First Love was no longer subject to any powerful restraints. She immediately released the dirt Cui Ying had exposed during their relationship.
There was irrefutable evidence of plastic surgery, violent tendencies, and the contrast between Cui Ying’s outward image of gentleness, modesty, and refinement and her private habit of cursing and belittling women. She had called fans with low spending power “losers” and had cheated during their relationship.
Every accusation was backed by evidence, and Cui Ying—whose popularity had already declined considerably—was driven even further into the abyss.
The wave of publicity did bring First Love a number of new opportunities. However, Cui Ying fought back, and aside from her carefully crafted persona, First Love was only average as a singer and performer, while her acting was awkward as well.
Her variety-show appearances had always amounted to little more than playing a mascot. With no real talent and no further resources, both women gradually vanished into an entertainment industry crowded with ever more newcomers.
But that was all in the future.
The Haunted Hotel was not the only thing mocked alongside The Haunted Mansion. Xie Chen’s agency was ridiculed as well.
Before the film’s release, the agency had issued a deliberately ambiguous statement that looked suspiciously like an attempt to shift the blame. Many people took it to mean that even Xie Chen’s own agency believed the film was terrible.
Once the reviews and box office results came in, reality slapped them squarely in the face.
“What can your agency actually bring Xie Chen? Resources? He doesn’t need them. Good judgment? You clearly don’t have any. Public relations? You were too busy shifting blame to even figure out what was going on. Then the movie became a hit, and people dug up your statement. A lot of them thought Xie Chen had been trying to distance himself from the film in advance. You represent Xie Chen’s position, so use your brains before you speak.”
“Inside information: the agency strongly opposed Xie Chen taking this film at first because they thought Miss Pei’s fee was too low. But the contract Miss Pei offered actually included a share of the box office.”
“My God, hasn’t the box office already passed one billion yuan? The investment was only thirty million. How much is Xie Chen going to make from that profit?”
“Unless the lead actor is also an investor, domestic productions rarely offer actors a share of the profits. Pei Liang’s offer was astonishingly generous. I imagine some of it was out of gratitude to Xie Chen for the previous film. Honestly, it must be a pleasure working with a boss that decent.”
“Xie Chen clearly had better foresight. If he’d listened to his agency’s short-sightedness, he would have missed out not only on another iconic film, but also on a huge amount of money.”
“Investors aren’t there for you to dump the blame on whenever you feel like it. If you can’t help, then at least manage your client’s relationships properly. Otherwise, what are you taking a cut for?”
“Do your jobs properly and stop causing trouble for Xie Chen.”
The agency was utterly screwed. After that whole fiasco, it was condemned from every direction.
Still, the film’s success brought in real money, so a little abuse was hardly painful.
Xie Chen had two starring films in this year’s National Day holiday release period. As expected, the literary film’s box office performance was somewhat mediocre under the pressure of two formidable competitors, Space Station and The Haunted Mansion.
However, it had already received excellent feedback from the major film festivals to which it had been submitted before release. Barring any surprises, it would not perform poorly.
Pei Liang had also submitted The Haunted Mansion for awards. The domestic market currently had a glaring lack of outstanding films in this genre, which gave it a strong competitive advantage. On top of that, both Xie Chen and Gao Jun had delivered commendable performances.
International awards might be a long shot, but it had a real chance of winning several domestic prizes.
Gao Jun in particular stood a chance of competing for Best Newcomer. With so few high-quality films released this year, it was not an unrealistic possibility.
By the time the National Day holiday was drawing to a close, The Haunted Mansion had already taken in 1.4 billion yuan at the box office, slightly behind The Missing Bride.
The subject matter inevitably limited its audience. Minors and families with elderly people or young children would not choose it for a group outing, and some people were simply too afraid to watch.
Even so, for a horror-thriller, that box office total was nothing short of phenomenal.
The biggest box-office winner of the National Day holiday was still Space Station.
Its current box office was approaching three billion yuan, and it continued to show remarkable staying power. Reaching four billion was well within reach.
According to projections, it might even break the domestic box-office record. This year’s annual box-office champion was practically guaranteed to be Space Station.
President Chen and the others had originally done everything they could to sabotage The Haunted Mansion. Although the dismal performance of The Haunted Hotel had sent a huge amount of their marketing budget down the drain, Space Station’s surprise success had prevented The Haunted Mansion from monopolizing the National Day holiday market and harvesting all the profits.
By rights, they should have been relieved.
But the first and most prominent production-company logo shown before Space Station was exactly the same as the one for The Haunted Mansion.
Although the company was young and had released only a handful of films—few enough to count on one hand—they knew it all too well.
Because that was the film production company Pei Liang had founded.
In other words, the two blockbuster films whose box offices were making everyone green with envy—combined, they were practically guaranteed to rake in sixty or seventy billion during the holiday season—had both been financed by Pei Liang.
Every last cent.
When President Chen learned this, his vision went black. His throat turned sweet with blood, and he nearly passed out.
No wonder the Space Station production team had suddenly become flush with funds, and the producer and director no longer had to swallow their pride and beg everyone they knew for money. As far as he knew, the film had been short by more than two hundred million.
And the profits Pei Liang had made from The Missing Bride made a mere two hundred million nothing to worry about.
But how had she dared? Two hundred million was no small sum. Any film required careful consideration before making an investment of that size. Where had she gotten the nerve?
What was more, when she had invested, the holiday season’s reigning champion had already been claimed by Cosmic Alliance. To be honest, if Cosmic Alliance had not withdrawn from the schedule, then even if Space Station had continued to receive good reviews and carried the reputation of being the light of domestic science-fiction cinema, it could never have achieved its current box-office performance.
Cosmic Alliance carried the nostalgia of countless people, and its quality ranked among the very best in the science-fiction blockbuster genre. In comparison, Space Station’s disadvantages would never have been so readily overlooked.
So how had Pei Liang dared?
President Chen could not make sense of it. Then a thought suddenly struck him.
Could it be that, while she was in Las Vegas, she had already learned about the producer and director’s political positions through Xie Chen and set this whole trap in motion?
Just like when she had sabotaged the May Day holiday release schedule, everything about her suggested that she had come prepared for the National Day holiday.
But the next second, he dismissed the idea. After all, the foreign media outlet that had exposed the scandal was beyond Pei Liang’s reach.
Besides, to be honest, there were plenty of those arrogant white people who had looked down on Huaguo in the past. Every one of them would fall apart under close scrutiny.
When such scandals were dug up, their impact was usually limited, based on past experience.
But this time, by sheer coincidence, it had happened during the sensitive National Day period. The producer and director had let their mouths run in private, offending an Asian journalist. Even after the journalist protested, they had continued to insult him.
If past scandals could be excused as outdated views that Huaguo had already changed their minds about, then their current attitudes had exposed the truth: they wanted to make money from Huaguo audiences while insulting and looking down on them. Surely no proud nation could tolerate that.
Naturally, President Chen could not simply stand by and watch Pei Liang succeed at every turn.
They already had a deep-seated grudge between them. Even setting himself aside, Pei Liang had probably known perfectly well who was behind the previous schemes against the Pei family.
If he allowed her to rise completely and become an immovable behemoth, there would certainly be no place left for him.
So, on the second day after the National Day holiday began, President Chen had only just recovered from Cosmic Alliance’s withdrawal—and realized that Pei Liang had not made a bad film and would become the biggest winner—when he began arranging for people to spread rumors online.
They claimed that Xie Chen had known long ago about the Cosmic Alliance production team’s political views, but had pretended not to know in order to avoid offending the film industry and its connections in Country X.
They suggested that, if he had won the competition, he would probably have taken the role anyway, showing no regard for the dignity of his fellow countrymen.
Their goal was to tie the Cosmic Alliance crew’s insults toward Huaguo to Xie Chen.
But Xie Chen’s fans were no pushovers. How could they slander him over merely auditioning for a film?
Still, with paid posters and trolls fanning the flames, the internet descended into chaos for a while.
What President Chen had never expected, however, was that Xie Chen had not lost the competition at all. He had already been preparing to sign the contract when he voluntarily gave up the role.
His agency had handled the matter poorly at first, but they did not hesitate when it came to this issue.
They directly produced the preliminary letter of intent that Xie Chen had signed with the Cosmic Alliance production team before the Korean actor. All that remained was to sign the detailed contract.
Xie Chen also posted a statement on his Weibo account. He explained that after passing the audition, he had wanted to learn more about the director’s past style, so he asked a friend to look into his background. After discovering that their political positions were incompatible, he had chosen to withdraw from the collaboration.
As for the other party’s remarks and conduct before the National Day holiday, he had never expected them to be so offensively outspoken in public. It was truly infuriating.
[Xie Chen actually passed the audition?]
[Not surprising, right? I would have been surprised if he hadn’t been chosen. Whether it’s his looks, physique, acting, screen presence, or box-office appeal, Xie Chen crushes that Korean actor.]
[Who exactly was trying to mess with him? There are plenty of film industry people in Country X who discriminate against our country, and very few of them are genuinely friendly. Normally, no one cares about this kind of thing, and there are plenty of people willing to whitewash it. Xie Chen’s love for the Cosmic Alliance franchise is common knowledge among his fans. To firmly give up a dream he’d pursued for years and an opportunity he’d fought so hard to obtain—that’s more than manly enough.]
[He could apply to join the Party right now. What more do you want from him? Someone here has been desperately licking Country X’s boots for a supporting role in one of their films—a domestically exclusive version that gets cut entirely from overseas releases—and yet those shameless people haven’t been dragged out and publicly flogged. Why should Xie Chen take responsibility for some idiot insulting Huaguo?]
[Exactly. You can’t dredge up old remarks forever. Isn’t the current policy at home to eliminate prejudice and encourage active cooperation? If Xie Chen had come back shouting about it, people would probably have accused him of losing the competition and using the controversy to promote himself.]
[It’s so hard for him!]
The failed scheme drove President Chen’s eyes bloodshot. He had clearly prepared everything thoroughly. According to his original plan, neither the Pei family, Pei Liang, nor Xie Chen would have escaped unscathed.
But in the end, he had nearly landed himself in prison. Money had poured out like water, yet he had not harmed them in the slightest. He had even helped Xie Chen establish himself as an actor with an unbreakable backbone and patriotic spirit.
President Chen was in the middle of raging in his office when his assistant hurried in.
“President Chen, the shareholders have arrived.”
President Chen snapped impatiently, “What are they here for? Nothing’s happened lately.”
His position had previously been hanging by a thread, but he had stabilized things for the time being. Why would the shareholders come looking for him after such a short time?
The assistant struggled to speak. “They… want to replace the company’s management.”
Wasn’t that him?
President Chen’s expression darkened, and he quickly rose to his feet. “Where are they?”
“They’re already on their way to the conference room.”
President Chen hurried out and rushed to the conference-room floor.
He had no idea why the shareholders had suddenly joined forces to make a move against him when everything had been calm these past two days.
When he reached the door, he forced a smile onto his face. But the moment his assistant opened the door and he stepped inside, that smile froze.
At the enormous oval conference table, all the shareholders were already seated.
And sitting in the very center was none other than Pei Liang—the woman he hated so much that he ground his teeth at the thought of her.
President Chen’s emotions churned. He was no fool. Someone unrelated to the company would never appear alongside the shareholders at a meeting like this.
Yet he acted as though he knew nothing, attempting to assert his authority.
“Since all of you have come to see me today, I assume there’s something important to discuss. This is a place of commercial confidentiality. Anyone who isn’t involved should please leave.”
Pei Liang smiled. “President Chen, although we’ve never met in person, we’ve been in each other’s orbit for quite some time this year. You could even say we’ve become quite familiar. Hearing you speak so formally makes me feel hurt.”
President Chen sneered. “So it’s Miss Pei. I knew you looked familiar. Miss Pei, now that your films are doing so well at the box office, shouldn’t you be staying home counting your money? What brings you to my humble company?”
Pei Liang got straight to the point. “As a producer, I’ve been fortunate enough to receive the kindness and forbearance of President Chen and everyone else in the industry, giving me a promising start.”
“But I’m also well aware of the disadvantages of trying to go it alone in this business.”
“If I want to produce quality work, I need a fully established team of my own—one that’s experienced and mature. Unfortunately, I have little experience, few connections, and am, by any measure, a complete newcomer to the industry. Starting from scratch would be incredibly difficult. President Chen, you’ve worked your way up step by step, so I’m sure you understand.”
President Chen had a bad feeling about where this was going. He replied, “Then let me wish Miss Pei every success.”
“I’ll take that as a blessing. But besides that, I’ll need to ask President Chen for a little help.”
President Chen glared at her grimly. Just as he expected, Pei Liang continued, “Huiyuan is one of the industry’s giants, with mature operations in every related field.”
“I’ve given it some thought. Rather than building a structure from the ground up and feeling my way forward, wouldn’t it be better to take over an established company? What do you think, President Chen?”
The flesh on President Chen’s face began to tremble. He shot Pei Liang a venomous look and spat out, “You can forget about it!”
Then he shouted to his assistant, “Get security up here and remove the irrelevant people.”
But the moment the words left his mouth, one of the shareholders with a sizable stake spoke up. “That’s enough, Old Chen. Since all the shareholders are here, stop beating around the bush.”
“The company’s been poorly managed these past few years. Profits have fallen year after year, and this year we’ve suffered one loss after another. On top of that, we’ve been dragged into scandal after scandal.”
“Ordinary investment losses would be one thing, but you used company assets to reward your young mistress and nearly went to prison, causing enormous damage to the company’s image. Those two things alone prove that you’ve abandoned your responsibilities as a manager and trampled the shareholders’ interests and trust into the dirt.”
“And besides, you’re getting older. Someone young like President Pei is better suited to today’s online environment and more in touch with what consumers want. This is for everyone’s sake—and for yours. Step down. Isn’t your younger son about to turn one? Go home and enjoy some family time with him.”
President Chen had always considered himself to be in his prime, still young and vigorous. How could he possibly accept being forced into retirement?
He exploded at once. “Forget it! I’m the largest shareholder. Where are President Fang and President Qiu? Even if the board votes, you don’t have the advantage. You think you can just replace me like this?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the other two major shareholders who had previously supported him, President Fang and President Qiu, walked in.
A triumphant smile was just forming on President Chen’s face when he saw the complicated looks the two men exchanged with him.
With a sigh, they said, “Old Chen, it’s not that we’re being disloyal. President Pei approached us before this, but we turned her down because of our friendship with you.”
“But running a company isn’t a matter of personal loyalty. With this year’s National Day release, President Pei has already shown through her actions that she’s more qualified than you to lead us.”
The smile on President Chen’s face froze. His heart sank into icy despair.
