Chapter 193: Forced Conditions

Even Yang Qi couldn’t help but look up at Xiao Ran and ask, “President Xiao, this won’t work. You know our company’s financial resources are not as strong as those of Shadow. Raising production costs so drastically will surely lead to soaring expenses, leaving much less profit margin!”
Zou Wenhui glanced coldly at everyone present. He thought to himself that this was Xiao Ran destroying his own advantages—had he not made such forced demands, Shadow would have taken the leading position. But now that this complication had arisen, he was confident he could replace Xiao Ran and take control of the Film Association.
What was He Guanchang thinking? It was hard to imagine his feelings. Ever since he met Xiao Ran, he had felt that Xiao Ran wasn’t the kind to settle for a backseat role and had great ambitions. Indeed, everything that happened later proved his view correct.
Yet, Xiao Ran’s rapid expansion since founding Shadow also left him in awe. At the same time, he felt both admiration and confusion toward Xiao Ran. He admired him for seeing the benefits of directly controlling distribution rights and for being willing to incur losses to promote newcomers. From what he knew, Shadow had invested at least 200 million last year in experimenting with new talents.
Few people would be willing to suffer a loss of 200 million. Even though Xiao Ran was worth billions, it was still money. He Guanchang knew Xiao Ran truly wanted to make movies, but his confusion stemmed from Xiao Ran’s various strategies and actions. The most typical example was the computer department—when he heard that Shadow had invested billions there, he almost fainted.
He Guanchang wasn’t a fool. He clearly understood that if those billions had been invested in real estate, they could have become several billion in over a decade. But Xiao Ran invested them in the computer department, which puzzled him. Yet he felt that Xiao Ran must have his reasons for doing so—it was his intuition.
Among the four major companies, Pandi Sheng was the least willing to accept this demand. Due to the nature of their projects, Debao spent hardly any money on production costs, mainly investing more in hiring stars. This was essentially forcing Pandi Sheng to sacrifice his own interests.
Still, the four major companies were relatively better off. Without Shadow, Jihe would still be ahead in large-scale productions. But smaller distribution companies like Meiya couldn’t afford it. In the past two years, Shadow had already driven up prices several times, severely squeezing production costs. Now, such conditions would be like swallowing their profits whole.
When it came to profits, who would be willing to compromise? Once again, Li Xingguo suddenly stood up, his expression stern: “President Xiao, your proposal is absolutely unworkable. This will surely wipe out our profits due to the high costs!”
Pandi Sheng remained silent, staring at Xiao Ran, trying to figure out what he was up to. In that moment, he realized and quickly calculated the proportion of actors’ fees and total production costs for “Unfinished Business.” It was a staggering 1:8 ratio—meaning almost all of the production costs went into film production itself.

Besides, his mind was racing even faster—what advantage would this bring to Xiao Ran? In any case, it certainly wouldn’t benefit him. In the short term, it wouldn’t help them either; even fools understand that increased costs inevitably reduce profits.

This was also a risk for Xiao Ran. He had discussed it with Wei Dongling beforehand—whether it was necessary to bring it up now. Wei Dongling could easily be persuaded by Xiao Ran to agree to this ratio, even thinking it should be higher. The reason was simple: Wei Dongling had seen the computer special effects in Terminator 2, which required a budget of 30 million.

Thinking of those 30 million, Wei Dongling couldn’t help but sigh bitterly. He now understood why Xiao Ran insisted on increasing production costs and crew salaries at the expense of profits, and why he gradually raised the investment amount—all for this day, so that the market could more clearly accept the arrival of a new era in cinema.

He could even guess that the so-called 1:4 ratio was just a proposal put forward by Xiao Ran out of fear that everyone wouldn’t be able to accept it all at once. But in reality, a 1:4 ratio was suitable for art films and romance movies, but definitely not for action films and similar genres.

He still didn’t fully understand Xiao Ran’s plans. Xiao Ran aimed to push the highest production cost for his films to over 100 million dollars in three years. Although Hollywood’s strength wasn’t entirely due to large-scale productions, it was definitely the main reason it had become mainstream around the world. If Xiao Ran wanted to surpass Hollywood, he had to undercut them in terms of production costs.

Xiao Ran even considered risking billions of dollars in losses each year just to increase production costs and compete head-on with Hollywood. This was his strategy of losing money to win the market, one of the methods he had thought of to deal with Hollywood.

After all, Phantom controlled the stocks of companies like Dell and Cisco. When it came to money, once Dell’s stock price soared rapidly after 1992, he wouldn’t fear anything. This was the biggest advantage of choosing this strategy—probably only he in the world would do such a foolish thing.

So, for Xiao Ran, time was running out. He had to raise the production costs of Hong Kong films quickly. Higher production costs meant better quality, and high-quality films would naturally succeed in the market. He had to take the risk of proposing this mandatory requirement now. Even if other companies refused, he definitely wouldn’t let them hinder him—he would use Phantom to crush them.

Most importantly, the mainland market needed such Hong Kong films to make an impact and establish a solid foothold, so as to counter Hollywood’s advancement there. Xiao Ran’s overall strategy was quite thorough; all that was needed was execution.

Just as everyone was arguing loudly, Zou Wenhui suddenly sneered, looking extremely cunning and full of mockery: “I really don’t know when Phantom became the Film and Television Bureau, interfering in the operations of major companies. Besides, even the Film and Television Bureau wouldn’t dare to act in such a way!”

Wei Dongling’s heart suddenly tightened—this old fool was clearly trying to stir up trouble. Xiao Ran, on the other hand, remained calm and composed, as if he hadn’t said anything just now, or as if he already had everything under control.

Upon hearing Zou Wenhuai’s sarcastic remarks, He Guanchang realized something was wrong. It was already too late to stop him. Especially when he saw Xiao Ran’s unfazed expression, he felt even more uneasy. He thought Xiao Ran must be very confident in meeting this requirement, but what was his secret weapon?

With Zou Wenhuai’s provocation, Xiao Ran smiled slightly, though his smile carried a hint of menace. Indifferently tapping the table, he said, “This isn’t a negotiation—it’s a notification to you all.”

The room immediately fell silent. Everyone realized they had overlooked his other identities—head of the triad and owner of the most influential film company in Southeast Asia—because of his amiable demeanor.

At that moment, everyone thought of Hai Le’s crushing defeat—a victory achieved by taking big risks. Back then, Xiao Ran had far less financial power than Hai Le, yet he still made Hai Le suffer a disastrous defeat. Now, to deal with them, Xiao Ran needed not even both hands.

Only Xiao Ran’s usual eerie rhythm remained in the conference room, pounding like a drum on everyone’s hearts, making them break into cold sweats. Zou Wenhuai never expected just one sentence to make everyone shut up.

Heavy breathing echoed loudly in the empty room. One of the company owners suddenly stood up. Though thin, he had a fierce temper. Glaring at Xiao Ran, he shouted, “Xiao Ran, don’t think just because Mirage is rich they’re something special. Don’t think money and connections can control everyone. Fuck this! I’ll never agree to this bullshit notification!”

The thin man strode out of the room. Xiao Ran sighed regretfully. He actually liked people with character. Unfortunately, from a broader perspective, he had to use iron-fisted methods to control Hong Kong’s film industry and ensure its safety. So, he had to do some morally questionable things.

“I should have said I’m not here to seek approval, but to give you a notice. Whoever fails to comply is breaking my rules!” Finally, Xiao Ran stopped tapping the table, his heartbeat seemingly in sync with the rhythm. He slowly scanned the room before fixing his gaze on Zou Wenhuai. “Breaking my rules means challenging me. If you want to challenge me, be prepared to be rejected!”

Zou Wenhuai was furious. Xiao Ran was clearly targeting him. Just as he was about to explode, He Guanchang quietly pulled him back, stopping him in his tracks. He Guanchang shook his head slightly at Zou Wenhuai, signaling him to wait and see what Xiao Ran would say next. Only then did Zou Wenhuai realize that his own company, Jiahe, often ended up in such situations because of Xiao Ran.

Unbeknownst to him, thinking this way meant he was already afraid of Xiao Ran. Somehow, Guan Xin and Liang Kun must have used some tactics to bring Hong Kong’s triads under control. Although there was no evidence linking Xiao Ran to them, it was certain these two were his subordinates. With that in mind, even a fool could guess that Xiao Ran was the real boss of the triads.

If the underworld is still considered something unacceptable, then Shadow’s financial power is bound to fill Zou Wenhuai with fear. Having risen to rank 86th on the global rich list just three years after starting his business, such wealth is beyond Jiahe’s ability to withstand.

Moreover, due to Jiahe’s failure to keep up with market rates in terms of payment for actors, many artists and crew members have leaned heavily on Shadow. Although they continue to shoot films for other companies at Shadow’s encouragement, it’s obvious to everyone that they rely on Shadow.

In terms of financial strength, influence, and popularity, Jiahe can’t compare to its peak three years ago. Since last year, its status has plummeted, let alone compete with Shadow. Though people still talk about the “four major companies,” everyone knows that Shadow now dominates the scene, creating a near-monopoly.

Everyone was secretly terrified and regretted what they had said. Unexpectedly, as they regretted it, Wei Dongling burst into laughter and said to Xiao Ran, “Aran, don’t make it sound so terrifying. Everyone, don’t misunderstand Aran’s intentions—he’s giving this notice for everyone’s benefit!”

This act of playing the good guy and the villain was too obvious! Zou Wenhuai thought disdainfully. Wei Dongling smiled gently. He and Xiao Ran hadn’t planned to play such roles; it was just that seeing the awkward atmosphere, he stepped in to explain, even using “Aran” to ease the tension.

Li Xingguo didn’t believe it and thought the act was too deliberate. Yet he couldn’t help but listen carefully to what Wei Dongling would say. Wei Dongling nodded at Xiao Ran, stood up, walked around a few times to loosen his slightly numb legs, then smiled and said, “First, tell me what everyone thinks about the pay for actors and behind-the-scenes staff.”

Leaning back in his chair, Li Xingguo replied loudly, “Their salaries are too high, affecting the film’s profits, and production costs have to be cut!”

“Correct!” Wei Dongling snapped his fingers happily, walked over to Li Xingguo, patted his shoulder, and said to everyone, “Actors get high salaries because they deserve it. Do you think Brother Fa is worth 4.5 million? The answer is obvious. Behind-the-scenes staff are key to a film’s quality; only by giving them sufficient pay can they devote themselves fully to creation.”

Li Xingguo nodded involuntarily. He could understand these points—everyone could. Xiao Ran had already explained the implications clearly last time.

“Tell me, why did Shaw Brothers stop producing films?” Wei Dongling’s performance was vivid as he walked over to Pan Disheng, patted his shoulder, and asked. This made Xiao Ran smile bitterly—after all the fuss, he had ended up playing the villain.

Pan Disheng suddenly wanted to know what kind of explanation Wei Dongling had in mind and immediately replied without hesitation, “Rigid systems, low creativity, loss of talent, insufficient investment…”

One must admire Xiao Ran; after putting on such a performance, he could still secretly think about Shaw Brothers in his heart. Without even mentioning other aspects of Shaw Brothers, just the loss of talent has been the subject of ridicule in the industry for a long time. Bruce Lee, Cheng Long, Hung Jin-bao, and the Hsu brothers—without exaggeration, it was the talents overlooked by Shaw Brothers that helped build Golden Harvest.
Pan Disheng suddenly stopped speaking because he realized he had probably reached the core of the issue. Wei Dongling wore a relaxed smile: “This is the key point—investment. While other film companies were already shooting on location around the world, Shaw Brothers was still setting up sets in studios to save costs…”