Chapter 50: Everything Awaits Restoration

With people and money in hand, what should be done next? Of course, it’s to plan a startup project. Xiao Ran already had a plan: the project didn’t need to win awards, but box office performance was non-negotiable. Moreover, to avoid accelerating the rise of Hong Kong cinema, they could only choose films from the next two to three years as targets for plagiarism.
Given so many constraints, what could be chosen? Naturally, it had to be *The God of Gamblers*. Although there had been gambling-themed films before, none had achieved success—only *The God of Gamblers* truly pioneered this genre. Of course, Wang Jing, the gambling film tycoon, couldn’t possibly imagine that Xiao Ran would plagiarize his own future concept.
*The God of Gamblers* was originally released in 1989. After just over thirty days, its box office revenue soared to 36 million, breaking another record and surpassing Stephen Chow’s *Miracle* to become the top-grossing film of the year. This film is absolutely a classic, with many believing that Wang Jing only made one truly great movie in his life.
It was also another classic role for Chow Yun-Fat. Although Xiao Ran wanted to play this role more than anyone else, he was aware of his acting skills and knew that aside from Chow, no one in Hong Kong could portray such a domineering kingly presence. It was also because of this film that Chow truly established his undisputed status as a king in Hong Kong cinema.
With such a wonderful theme, Xiao Ran certainly had no reason to pass it up. Moreover, *The God of Gamblers II* could further boost Zhou Xingchi’s fame—why not go for it? Yet, his plans were clearly not limited to this.
Soon, the first important meeting of Meiyin Company took place. Unfortunately, only Xiao Ran and Wei Dongling attended, and the meeting wasn’t held at the company but at Xiaoyaowo. They held the meeting in a casual conversation style. Wei Dongling asked straightforwardly, “A Ran, do you have any film-making plans?”
“I think we shouldn’t take too many risks in the first year!” Xiao Ran hesitated slightly, having thought this through carefully. “According to the contract, we must produce more than ten films each year. I suggest setting this year’s goal at ten to twelve films!”
Ten films per year—even large companies produce only slightly more than that. But Wei Dongling wasn’t worried about failing to meet the target. Since Xiao Ran had signed such a contract with Fang Ruohai, it meant he was confident.
According to the division of labor between Xiao Ran and Wei Dongling, Xiao Ran was in charge of film production and also served as the boss, while Wei Dongling handled the company’s operations and management. In short, Wei Dongling was the CEO of Meiyin. This was power granted to Wei Dongling by Xiao Ran, allowing him to exercise full authority.
In reality, Meiyin Company’s structure wasn’t even fully formed—there was hardly a rudimentary framework, and it resembled a shell company. This was because Xiao Ran and Wei Dongling agreed to restructure the company in a year to create a true large-scale enterprise. For now, they lacked both the strength and reputation.

Money! Ten million is definitely not enough! After sighing for a while, Xiao Ran quickly decided on this year’s filming plan: “Here’s my thinking—out of these ten to twelve films, two must be of the artistic genre, two should be action films. As for comedies, we can’t compete with New Art City right now, so let’s set that at two as well. The remaining four can be police and crime or gangster films! The last two spots can be left flexible for adjustments based on different genres.”

Wei Dongling listened and felt somewhat stunned. He had been in Jiahe for quite some time but had never heard of such an annual production plan there. After hesitating, he scratched his head and asked, “Why do you need to plan everything so in detail?”

Xiao Ran couldn’t help but laugh. He had forgotten that such explicit annual plans weren’t common in this era. That annual production plan was actually the conclusion he had reached after studying Hollywood’s approach.

Hollywood produces many films every year, but all the studios seem to have an unspoken agreement to maintain a certain balance of various genres in the market. Even if epic films are popular in a given year, they still ensure that all genres remain well-represented.

Xiao Ran admired this approach. He believed it could help cultivate talent deeply and foster innovation across different genres. It provided audiences with enough choices, helped them develop rational viewing habits, and might even be beneficial for the future of Hong Kong cinema. Otherwise, if Hong Kong films kept making urban comedies like in the 21st century, it would only disappoint audiences.

Wei Dongling immediately objected, “That’s impossible. Gangs are so rampant these days. I often hear about film crews being asked for protection money while shooting in Jiahe. If we make gangster films, isn’t that helping the villains?”

“You’re wrong. While movies can influence certain ways of thinking among audiences, many things aren’t necessarily right just because they’re shown in movies,” Xiao Ran said with a smile. He rubbed his nose before continuing, “Films showing people shooting and killing doesn’t mean we’re encouraging murder or crime. The choice and judgment lie with the audience.”

“But many of the people who go to the cinema are students who lack sufficient judgment. In that case, I’m worried…” Wei Dongling remained concerned.

Suddenly, Xiao Ran understood why *A Hero’s Heart* was called a heroic film rather than a gangster film in this era. Smiling, he replied again, “A film rating system is inevitable. The rise of gangster films could accelerate its establishment. And don’t forget—there are as many gangsters in Hong Kong as there are audiences for gangster films!”

After thinking for a while, Wei Dongling agreed with Xiao Ran. Xiao Ran smiled in relief. Wei Dongling had indeed lived up to his expectations, clearly understanding that it’s people who should take the initiative to drive things forward, rather than events forcing people to react.

“By the way, how’s the hiring situation going?” After resolving Wei Dongling’s concern, Xiao Ran asked happily, “I certainly don’t want to be left without anyone to work with when we reorganize in a year!”

Xiao Ran was referring to the plan he had spent a long time devising. He wanted Wei Dongling to recruit as many talents as possible and provide them with highly specialized training. For example, in terms of producers, Hong Kong had never had such an effective system proven by Hollywood!
The key role of a Hollywood producer is to be a strict selector. If they see a script or an idea with great potential, they can buy it, then hire professional screenwriters to develop or refine the plot, and they handle everything from securing funding to choosing directors.
Many classic Hollywood films owe their success to such producers, who are able to uncover talented individuals and excellent themes. Hong Kong certainly has no shortage of film production talent, but it lacks sufficient backup talent and screenwriting skills—and that’s exactly what Xiao Ran wanted.
“It’s going smoothly. Other companies don’t quite understand why we need to keep so many idle people around and train them too!” Wei Dongling thought for a moment, looking hesitant. “But your training materials seem a bit too professional! And there aren’t enough excellent instructors!”
“It doesn’t matter. This kind of skill can’t be taught; it has to be developed through practical experience and training!” Xiao Ran smiled lightly. Insight isn’t something that just appears; it requires understanding market trends and audience preferences to analyze.
“As for the screenwriting class, Wei Jiahui has been teaching here for some time now.” Wei Dongling’s expression became extremely funny—his nose and eyebrows crowded together in a comical look. “But he says he has nothing more to teach. And… he says the best screenwriter in Hong Kong now isn’t him, but… a guy named Xiao Ran!”
Well, that’s interesting! Xiao Ran found it really amusing that the future king of screenwriters in Hong Kong gave him such high praise. He didn’t mind Wei Dongling’s disrespectful tone—after all, they were friends, so there was no need to take it personally.
After thinking it over, under Wei Dongling’s pleading gaze, Xiao Ran reluctantly touched his nose and gave him a definite answer: “No problem. I’ll attend a class someday!”
In fact, Xiao Ran didn’t think it was necessary for him to teach screenwriters. He always believed that cinema is an art of creation—whether it’s cinematography, lighting, or props, it’s all about creativity, a collision of thought, passion, and skill.
And art can’t be taught. What’s taught can only produce craftsmen, not masters. But he overlooked the fact that masters aren’t born that way either. Any art form requires experience accumulation; only when one reaches a certain level can they develop their own artistic style. Moreover, even geniuses can avoid many detours with proper guidance.

To ensure Phantom could achieve sufficient success in its first year, Xiao Ran racked his brains calculating strategies. Box office revenue was the main source of income for a company, something everyone pursued. Awards, on the other hand, were a source of reputation and also a form of honor—just like when we think of “The Heroic Spirit,” we inevitably think of Xu Ke’s film studio. So while box office revenue couldn’t be ignored, awards shouldn’t be neglected either. But right now, Phantom was so busy accelerating production that it wouldn’t even be able to qualify for the 6th Golden Horse Awards. Even if it did, it would most likely be defeated by the highly anticipated “The Heroic Spirit.”

Xiao Ran thought for a long time to determine his goals. If he remembered correctly, the most notable films at the 7th Golden Horse Awards would be “A Fairy Tale in Autumn,” “Dragon and Tiger,” and “Prison Storm.” There were also two films directed by Tan Jiaming, starring Xu Ke and Zeng Zhiwei: “The Final Victory” and Xu Anhua’s “The Romance of Sword and Sword.” “Dragon and Tiger” was out of the question—Lin Lingdong was still filming it. As for “Prison Storm,” Xiao Ran could consider it, though he wasn’t sure if New Art City would allow their staff to leave. But he was certain about “A Fairy Tale in Autumn.”

“A Fairy Tale in Autumn” won Best Film at the 7th Golden Horse Awards, and this success would surely boost Phantom’s reputation. There was another film Xiao Ran was very interested in: “The Ghost Story of the Beauty.” Xu Ke probably hadn’t thought of this idea yet; otherwise, he would have hired a screenwriter right away. But without Xu Ke, that damned “The Ghost Story of the Beauty” would surely fail—Xiao Ran was 100% sure of that. No one but that old madman Xu could direct such a film. And since Xu Ke was now the owner of a film studio, there was no reason for him to hire Xu to direct it, right?

Perhaps it was worth a try, Xiao Ran thought. With that idea in mind, he smirked darkly, as Cheng Xiaodong, one of the future top three action directors, was already under his control. But just a second after feeling proud, he slapped himself hard in the face. He had overlooked Yuan Jia Ban! Realizing this, he broke into sweat. Yuan Jia Ban was one of the famous action director teams in Hong Kong, with Yuan Heping, known as the best action director in the world, among them. How else could he relieve his frustration except by slapping himself?

He quickly checked what Yuan Jia Ban was up to, which somewhat comforted him. Next, he needed to call Xu Ke right away: “Old Xu, I have a great idea. Are you interested in coming to Phantom as a director?”

(After this chapter, the VIP version will be officially released. During the first week of VIP updates, I’ll try my best to revise the previous chapters. If you’re interested, you might want to take a look.)

(Just a note: My books are never published officially. So if you want to support me, I hope you’ll subscribe to VIP. The update frequency for VIP won’t disappoint you—under normal circumstances, three chapters per day can be guaranteed, with a maximum of six chapters per day.)

*****
Novel title — Shi Tian
Real name — Shi Tian

Occupation: Film company owner, actor
Shi Tian was one of the three giants at the beginning of New Art City’s establishment, and he was also one of the first to leave. Compared to the other two talented giants at New Art City, Shi Tian was better at acting, and he starred in many of the comedy films produced during that period. His performance as the Fourth Uncle in “Heroic Spirit 2” was particularly impressive, showcasing his superb acting skills. However, in 1985, his insistence on directing the New Year’s film “Good Luck” led to New Art City losing its first box office victory. In 1991, despite the opposition of the other giants, he insisted on spending a large amount of money on producing “Uncle Fortune Conquers All,” which was a complete failure. Disheartened, Shi Tian left the film industry to pursue business.
Works: “I Love Night-blooming Flowers,” “Family Portrait,” “Brothers in Trouble,” “Heroic Spirit 2,” and others