Chapter 218: Self-Reflection

Well said! Xiao Ran couldn’t help but applaud in his heart. If he had spoken on his own, his argument would have lacked credibility, but now that both of them had spoken, it was impossible for others not to take it seriously.
The estimates for the mainland market weren’t arbitrary guesses but the result of meticulous calculations. In the United States, around one billion people go to the movies each year, a figure determined by the U.S. economy.
The mainland’s economy is far inferior to that of the U.S., but one thing remains unchanged: both American and Chinese audiences have similar viewing habits, preferring mainstream blockbusters as their first choice, which makes it easy to succeed at the box office.
Excluding the eight hundred million people in rural areas, there are three to four hundred million people living in cities on the mainland. If small towns are taken into account, this figure is likely to be around two hundred million. At least 30% of these two hundred million are young people, who constitute the core audience for movies. Even if we assume only 30 million regular viewers go to the movies once a month, that still amounts to at least 300 million viewers.
Currently, Hong Kong sees only 30 to 40 million moviegoers per year. Based on these figures, the mainland market holds great potential. Moreover, remember that after years of reform and opening up, more and more people from rural areas will move to cities, meaning even more audiences can be attracted.
Therefore, after thorough research, Xiao Ran and Wei Dongling concluded that with close cooperation in areas such as cinemas and distribution, the expected targets could definitely be achieved. Most importantly, the goal was to win over the hearts of mainland audiences and solidify Hong Kong movies’ entrenched position.
Yet just thinking about this filled Xiao Ran with distress. The greatest benefit of his trip to Beijing was learning from his superiors how to view problems fundamentally and to broaden one’s perspective when reflecting on oneself.
After undergoing this modest transformation, he gradually realized that the future competition with Hollywood would likely revolve around the clash between Eastern and Western cultures. Over the years of reform and opening up, people had lost their sense of identity, neglecting their own culture in favor of admiring Western and Hollywood culture—a problem that truly troubled Xiao Ran.
Without solving this issue, it would be impossible to defeat Hollywood… As he was thinking, he suddenly heard Lei Kaitai waving his hand excitedly and shouting, “I want to make money, so I agree to cooperate with the mainland.”
Li Xingguo didn’t hesitate much. He mainly dealt in video tape distribution, and gaining access to the mainland market would be far better than selling locally. Besides, it was just cooperation—nothing life-threatening.
Many shared his thoughts. At that moment, Jiang Shang from Yindu cleared his throat, stood up, glanced around, and said with a smile, “Actually, I shouldn’t speak now, but I really want to say something. I know what everyone is worried about, but look at Yindu, as well as Great Wall and Phoenix before it—both have been steadily developing in Hong Kong. I think this is sufficient proof of the central government’s emphasis on the film industry.”

Jiang Shang’s words stirred people’s hearts. Whether they valued the film industry or not wasn’t really that important. Yet, the distribution rights in the mainland had always been something they envied. Although the connection with the mainland through “Shadow” allowed many films from local production companies to be shown there, reducing their envy somewhat, it was clearly a huge source of profit.

By now, almost no one had any doubts left; they simply asked happily about the specifics. Xiao Ran chuckled. This was exactly the situation he had hoped for. Clearing his throat, he said, “Our leader asks me to convey to everyone that cinema is an art form that requires everyone of us to create. Of course, the mainland will do its best to provide us with favorable policies. Over the next two or three years, it will gradually relax censorship rules and distribution regulations, ensuring that Hong Kong films are treated on par with domestic films, fully supporting Hong Kong in becoming the ‘Hollywood of the East’!”

“Actually, it’s not just limited to films. The mainland has always seen Hong Kong as one of its windows to the outside world. In a sense, we can set an example,” Xiao Ran said with a smile, scanning the room before fixing his gaze on Fang Yihua. “It’s the same in the cultural industry. I believe Sister Fang wouldn’t object to cooperating with the mainland!”

Fang Yihua was not only the confidante of the elderly Shao but also his most capable assistant. Without her, TVB might not have been able to achieve its dominance over the years, nor would it be able to compete with ATV, whose various shows and dramas were all performing well.

Fang Yihua nodded without hesitation. She had thought it through earlier. It was well-known that the elderly Shao himself favored the mainland, so he certainly wouldn’t object to such terms.

While listening quietly to the attendees expressing their opinions, Xiao Ran gradually fell into deep thought. Currently, apart from “Shadow,” which had a complete distribution network in Europe and Asia, Leikai Tai and Yang Qi were also very efficient. In Southeast Asia, aside from Japan, they had managed to gain a foothold everywhere else. Pandisheng was a bit slower, but it was still in progress.

Metropolitan once had a certain distribution capability, but its reach was limited. It had only inherited an incomplete portion of Shaw Brothers’ business, and it produced no more than five or six films per year, making it far less competitive. As for companies like Meiya, they mainly focused on collecting various films.

The current situation was that “Shadow” was in the lead, with the other three companies closely following, basically forming the pattern Xiao Ran desired. However, apart from “Shadow,” the distribution methods of the other three companies differed from that of “Shadow.”

“Shadow” directly acquired theaters in various regions and negotiated with other theaters to obtain distribution rights—a highly efficient method. The other three companies, in most regions, only had distribution rights. Although they hesitated to compete with “Shadow’s” growing influence and avoided negotiating distribution rights with theaters there, they often still had to rely on “Shadow” for distribution.

Xiao Ran had made aggressive investments in Debao and Tianluo, forcing them to grow stronger. Otherwise, if they couldn’t repay the debts in the future, those two companies would also belong to “Shadow.” Or if they failed to pay in cash, “Shadow” would have every reason to take over parts of Debao and Tianluo’s operations.

This was precisely why Yang Qi and Pan Disheng had hesitated for so long even in the face of such a favorable opportunity. If Xiao Ran truly intended to take on De Bao and Tian Luo in the future, these billions would become the greatest asset. As long as Xiao Ran could make proper arrangements, it wouldn’t be difficult to seize or even destroy these two companies.

Yang Qi and Pan Disheng naturally saw this, but they had no choice but to pursue development. Moreover, they had no intention of becoming enemies with Xiao Ran, so even if they understood this, they had little to complain about. After all, since Xiao Ran was funding their development, a portion of the profits from the two companies had to be shared to match their equity stakes. Although there was some risk involved, Xiao Ran offered excellent other benefits, making it well worth it.

Regardless of the fact that Yang Qi and Pan Disheng originally planned to follow Xiao Ran’s lead, even if they wanted to take on Shadow, it would be very difficult for De Bao and Tian Luo to do so. By doing this, Xiao Ran indirectly established an unchallengeable behind-the-scenes reason for the alliance between himself and the two companies. Of course, as long as Shadow didn’t interfere in the operations of the two companies, Xiao Ran’s control would be based on overall strategy rather than handling everything personally.

After the meeting, the three giants caught up with Xiao Ran. In the elevator, Yang Qi and the others exchanged a knowing look before asking, “A Ran, what are your plans?”

What plans? Xiao Ran glanced at the strangely smiling trio and then realized what they meant—how to develop business on the mainland. He couldn’t help but smile lightly and say, “It’s simple. Do whatever we do in Hong Kong on the mainland, as long as the policies allow it.”

While the three were stunned, Xiao Ran laughed heartily and left the elevator. Though he seemed happy on the surface, his mind was on other things. The mainland’s support for Hong Kong-produced films was not limited to the market alone; it also represented a breakthrough in terms of themes.

Two years ago, he would have consulted Wei Dongling about this, but now Wei Dongling was handling more important tasks and didn’t have time to deal with movies. Now, it was Xiao Ran who was in charge of movies, a field he was skilled in, allowing him to fully utilize his abilities.

When he returned home, Xiao Han hadn’t come back yet, which relieved Xiao Ran. He didn’t want to be disturbed while thinking. On the balcony, he lay in an antique wicker chair, enjoying the greenery around the house and the sea breeze, lost in thought.

Themes were indeed crucial. Throughout Hong Kong cinema’s history, there had been few science fiction or historical films, let alone war films. Perhaps “Bloody Streets” could barely be considered Hong Kong’s only war film.

However, Hong Kong screenwriters and directors were definitely not good at creating films with grand scale. Directors were still okay—after all, they could be trained, and not everyone struggled with large-scale scenes.

The core issue was that Hong Kong screenwriters were likely unable to write such grand themes, whether historical or war-related. It wasn’t a matter of insufficient talent but rather due to Hong Kong’s geography and mindset.

Hong Kong people look down on the mainland, but they also dislike Britons and have a strong sense of identity. Asking them to write history and war stories is simply asking for trouble. Yet without a script, nothing can be done. Xiao Ran thought he might need to find a way to secure some outstanding screenwriters from the mainland.

One of his greatest gains from this trip to Beijing wasn’t the deal finalized by the assistant sent by Wei Dongling, but rather the personal guarantee he received from the leader. The leader assured him that after 1997, Hong Kong-produced films would enjoy the same treatment as domestic films.

Moreover, from the leader’s tone, it was clear that Hong Kong cinema was seen as a pioneer of Chinese-language cinema. This was definitely a good sign, proving that Xiao Ran’s previous assumptions were correct—the government had indeed intended to support Hong Kong-produced films, but likely decided to suppress them after the Hong Kong film industry repeatedly used its films to attack the mainland and deliberately smear it.

Actually, there was nothing much to prove—bringing Hong Kong cinema under control was undoubtedly a highly beneficial move for the mainland government. Beyond that, Xiao Ran believed the censorship system was particularly crucial. The leader promised that the censorship system would gradually be relaxed to give the film industry more freedom and space for creativity.

Xiao Ran had always thought that relaxing the censorship system was an impossible task, as the mainland controlled such media outlets through the Film Bureau and censorship regulations—a fact well-known to everyone.

Yet the leader truly lived up to being the only national leader after the founding of the country, aside from the president and prime minister, who could be called a great man. After listening to Xiao Ran’s detailed explanation of the severe harm caused by strict censorship, the leader quickly agreed with him.

That is, commercialization of films was inevitable and the only way to gain competitiveness. Since commercialization was necessary, creative space had to be relaxed. The leader promised that after 1997, the censorship system would be largely relaxed, serving as a form of public oversight.

Of course, there were limits—films could not attack the Party or the state. Even so, this filled Xiao Ran with excitement. Now, there was no need to worry about creativity being stifled. Moreover, the leader agreed to use Hong Kong as a base and vanguard for Chinese-language cinema and offered some policy incentives. This trip to Beijing was by far his greatest achievement.

1997—he began looking forward to that day of universal celebration! But before that, he wanted to reflect on what he had done wrong in the past. First, he had clearly underestimated Hollywood films. Although Hong Kong films held a dominant position in Southeast Asia, they still hadn’t managed to fully challenge Hollywood’s dominance. For the future battle against Hollywood, he realized he needed to rethink his strategy.

Second, he had been too conservative. Refusing to invest billions in projects like “Phantom” was a foolish decision. Wei Dongling had discussed this with him before, but Xiao Ran believed many companies collapsed due to rapid expansion and funding shortages, so he had rejected numerous investments. He thought there was room for improvement in this regard.

Thirdly, after gaining a quasi-monopoly over Hong Kong’s film industry, although he remained the same around friends, he became somewhat domineering and arrogant when dealing with other film companies. Benevolence may not be enough to rule the world, but it is absolutely essential. In the past, to establish his authority, he needed means to do so; now, he should adopt a more equitable and equal attitude toward other companies.
His mindset really is such! Xiao Ran had to admit that he sometimes became overconfident. Moreover, due to changes in history, he had also become more aggressive. What’s most important now is not to rush into a war with Hollywood, but to expand the markets for “Mysterious Shadow” and Hong Kong films. He realized that his deliberate efforts to support other companies were somewhat like forcing growth by pulling up seedlings prematurely; by setting an example, countless others would naturally follow, which is better than supporting companies lacking competitiveness.