Chapter 272: The King of Commerce

It’s hard to imagine what exactly led to this—perhaps it was Xiao Ran’s fame, or the various reviews in newspapers and magazines. The film “True Colors” was always sold out at the eight art houses where it was shown. Interestingly, very few people could truly appreciate everything about it while watching it in the theater.
It’s a strange feeling—one that many audiences have experienced. We know the plot and understand it clearly, yet there’s always something that makes us want to reflect on it. Once we grasp it, watching it again gives us a completely different experience, as if we’ve reached a new level of appreciation for the film.
What’s even more interesting is that thanks to “Dark Flowers,” Xiao Ran sparked audiences’ ability to think critically while watching movies. With “True Colors,” he elevated them further, allowing them to appreciate films from a higher perspective—this is the difference brought about by differing levels of skill.
It was only years later that Xiao Ran realized that “True Colors” helped him achieve a balance between commerce and art. For the general public, the film was highly entertaining. But for those with a higher level of appreciation, they could discern another layer of meaning—thus achieving a balance between commerce and art.
After the film was released overseas, occasional unnoticed reviews appeared around the world. For example, the famous European film critic Davis wrote in a highly peculiar tone that before watching the film, one could never imagine how genius it was; beyond stunning, there was no better description. “Praise God for giving me this.”
The North American critic Max also used a very strange tone: Watching this film felt like being completely immersed in a living event, with a strong sense of depth. This time, Xiao Ran didn’t give us what we wanted—he imposed his own vision on us. He’s a genius favored by God, capable of creating such a film.
After its official premiere, the film was shown in eight theaters for 30 days, earning over 10 million in box office revenue. Since the theaters remained constantly full, the film studios and Phantom Company decided to split the profits and eventually expanded the number of theaters showing it.
However, this expansion wasn’t sudden—it happened gradually. It wasn’t until half a month later that the number increased to about 60 theaters, excluding the art houses. Strangely enough, even when shown in over 60 theaters, the film still maintained a 90% attendance rate.
As Li Zhuotao commented, Xiao Ran had taken commercial entertainment to another level—one closer to art. By day 60, this subtle film had earned 60 million in box office revenue across Hong Kong alone. Yet it didn’t stop there. As the number of theaters decreased to 20 by day 90, it still generated 500,000 in revenue per day.

In the end, due to the release of countless other films, the cinemas were forced to return it to art houses after 90 days. This film, which continuously plundered audiences’ wallets for a full 120 days, ultimately surpassed the terrifying record set by “Ghost” with box office earnings of 91 million. It must be admitted that inflation played a significant role in this. However, according to Phantom’s planning department, this film was only slightly behind “Ghost” in terms of audience attendance, so in a sense, “Ghost” was the true record holder. What made the distribution, planning departments, as well as the film companies and Basic Film Company laugh until their teeth ached was that Xiao Ran’s new film had already covered its production costs and profits through sponsorships and advertisements even before filming began. This meant that no matter how much it sold for, it was all profit. Strictly speaking, “True Colors” didn’t have any major hype, and the marketing department hardly did anything for it. It’s no exaggeration to say that aside from a few ordinary advertisements, there were virtually no other promotions. Achieving such box office figures can only be described as a miracle. What shocked all departments at Phantom even more was that this film not only became the highest-grossing film in Hong Kong’s history but also performed exceptionally well in Asia, Europe, and North America. Especially in Europe and North America, its performance was on par with or even slightly better than “Ghost,” second only to “The Fast and the Furious,” with global box office earnings of 2.5 billion Hong Kong dollars. With a current split of 8%, Xiao Ran alone ended up earning 60 million in commissions from this film. Who says acting isn’t a path to success? It’s hard not to succeed at Xiao Ran’s level. Nevertheless, it’s worth noting that after this film, his net worth soared to 13 million, and even Hollywood companies were willing to pay 10 million dollars to hire him as a director. This lesson clearly showed all employees at Phantom that it’s not necessarily only big-budget films that can be successful. But it’s true that this film did earn Phantom a lot of money. Of course, all of this happened later. After the film was released, Xiao Ran rushed to North America to handle some global affairs before returning. It wasn’t time to target Hollywood yet; he needed to focus on capturing the mainland market first. Shortly after returning, while he was in his office, Yu Jiayu suddenly showed up along with that kid Qiu Yu. Xiao Ran really appreciated this disciple of his. Normally, he had two assistant directors and an assistant director, all promising newcomers who could be considered his disciples. Xiao Ran was eager to help these newcomers succeed by teaching them as much as possible, so he always went all out to teach them. It must be admitted that out of the six disciples he trained, only three have become famous, while the others are still trying out their own experimental films.

Yu Yayu was one of those who hadn’t yet become famous. Xiao Ran had seen his earlier experimental films and found them very similar to his own work—capable of conveying a grand atmosphere despite being low-budget and featuring small-scale scenes. Yu Yayu was also quite amusing; he had now married Daisy. Xiao Ran knew he had enough ability and had originally planned to assign him to the North American branch. But the guy insisted on becoming a director.

Qiu Yu was frustrated. Although he had been part of the Phantom Writers Group for years, he hadn’t produced any particularly outstanding scripts. Various ideas kept swirling in his mind, just missing that one breakthrough opportunity. Meanwhile, those who joined later had even won Academy Awards.

“Brother Ran, Qiu Yu has a script now, and I want to direct it!” Since Yu Yayu had been with Xiao Ran for so long, there was no need for unnecessary talk. He quickly explained his intention: “This script is the one you asked Qiu Yu to write before!”

Really? Xiao Ran was slightly surprised before recalling that since Qiu Yu was good at writing scripts with a grand scale, he had tasked him with collaborating with others on a script about an ancient war. But then he remembered—the scriptwriting team had already submitted their work and it had been reviewed. Facing this, Qiu Yu scratched his head awkwardly: “Brother Ran, it’s like this—I planned to handle it myself. That’s why, after researching and consulting experts, it took me so long to finish this script!”

Qiu Yu really hoped his script would be a box office hit; winning an award was beyond his expectations. After all, it wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say there were many talented people—just the scriptwriting team alone consisted of twenty or thirty top-notch professionals.

If the film could earn over a billion Hong Kong dollars at the global box office, his worth would likely soar to three million. Currently, the highest-paid scriptwriters were the two apprentices Xiao Ran had trained personally, You Hai and Tan Shixin, both worth six million. And anyone who made it into the Phantom Writers Group, even if they hadn’t directed a single film, had a minimum worth of one million.

Moreover, it wasn’t just scriptwriters—anyone signed by Phantom, even if they hadn’t filmed a movie yet, had a guaranteed high value. Being chosen by Phantom was a symbol of talent; simply saying, “I’m a Phantom-signed scriptwriter or director,” would immediately earn them respect.

Xiao Ran felt both amused and exasperated. He had been planning a historical war epic for a long time but hadn’t found the right person yet. Additionally, the special effects weren’t up to the level of “The Lord of the Rings,” and he himself didn’t have the time, so he had to put it on hold for now.

Perhaps because of Xiao Ran’s delay, computer graphics technology had advanced significantly. Now, Infinite Vision had plenty of staff, with various talents joining every year. They were currently working on the film “Comet Hits Earth.”

Taking the script for Qiu Yu, he admired it—it was a story set during the reign of Emperor Wu of Han, the one about defeating the Xiongnu in battle. Qiu Yu had done an excellent job with this script, crafting both the overall structure and the details with great skill. Xiao Ran closed his eyes and thought for a moment: if these clever details were combined with Ruo Yuyu’s ability to convey intense killing intent and grand scenes, this film would likely have a strong chance of winning an Academy Award.

However, could such a top-notch script really be handled by Ruo Yuyu, who had never directed large-scale productions before? Even Xiao Ran doubted it. In his experience, this film could only be shot on the mainland, with military assistance and extensive computer graphics work required. With two top-tier stars, the budget would likely reach at least 120 million.

Xiao Ran wasn’t worried about military assistance. Since 1992, the military had been cooperating with Hong Kong’s film industry. In fact, he would be receiving a military guest in a few days. Shooting in the north also didn’t concern him, as the Shadow Cinema in the north had already completed its first phase.

The only concern was whether Ruo Yuyu could manage such a large-scale production. It wasn’t simple—many factors needed to be considered. Since Ruo Yuyu came from a production background, that shouldn’t be a problem. Suddenly, Xiao Ran remembered that many producers had switched to directing, such as Miao Yu, who had now become a famous female director in Hong Kong.

After thinking for a while, Xiao Ran smiled at Ruo Yuyu and said, “Go give it a try in the planning department. This script will definitely get approved. Qiu Yu insists on you directing it, so I think there won’t be any issues! Wait, I’ll have my secretary call them!”

There was no doubt that Ruo Yuyu had leadership skills—Xiao Ran, who had trained him personally, knew this well. Moreover, he really needed an epic film to impact the market and shock Hollywood, so he agreed.

A few days later, the military guest arrived—a young civilian colonel. Due to his status, Xiao Ran chose to discuss things at his home, inviting the three big bosses as well. This time, they were there to discuss business matters, nothing secretive.

Although the colonel was a civilian, he seemed quite bold, walking with a posture straighter than most soldiers. Judging by his appearance, he seemed like an honest person.

Once everyone was present, Xiao Ran introduced them. The colonel’s name was He Zhishan. Xiao Ran wondered if the name meant “aspiring to rule the land.” After taking a sip of water, He Zhishan glanced at the four big bosses of Hong Kong’s film industry and said, “We’ve considered the suggestions Mr. Xiao put forward last time, and we think they are feasible!”

Xiao Ran’s suggestion to the military was simple: he hoped the military could assist in film production at certain times by providing military experts and arms specialists to enhance the realism of the plot.

He mainly suggested that the military establish specialized departments, similar to the U.S. Army Public Affairs and Navy Public Affairs offices, to assist in film production.

Xiao Ran was well aware that movies and politics were always intricately linked, and it was impossible to completely separate them—Hollywood seemed like a stronghold of the left. However, the relationship between them should be one of cooperation, or perhaps better said, mutual exploitation. Just like in the United States, movies use the military to provide weapons and information, while the military uses movies to promote itself.

Why are there no war movies in Hong Kong films? The reason is simple: where would they get fighter jets and tanks? Take the infamous rank error in “Domestic Zero Zero Paint” as an example. If military personnel provided more accurate information, such a basic mistake would never have occurred. Even a slight understanding of the mainland military would have prevented such errors.

Therefore, it is urgent to address such issues. If Hong Kong films are to gain a more solid position, war movies are an essential genre, and even ordinary action films require military assistance.

“Our military can provide fighter jets and various weapons, of course, at a cost,” He Zhishan said with a serious expression. “But the amount might not be something you’d agree to.”

Xiao Ran was stunned. It couldn’t be that sending a Su-27 cost tens of millions, right? In that case, it would be better for him to just pay Russia directly! Seeing Xiao Ran’s reaction, He Zhishan finally showed a slight smile. “President Xiao, the pricing you gave me for the U.S. military’s services isn’t suitable for us. It would be unreasonable to send a Su-27 just for a few hundred thousand.”

At this point, He Zhishan’s expression turned serious again. “Moreover, we have one more condition: the plots of future films must not slander the People’s Liberation Army!”