Chapter 217: Apologizing in Public

“What kind of person is the leader?” Lin Qingxia was very curious. Having grown up in the Kuomintang’s territory, she didn’t know much about the mainland. Now that Xiao Ran had met the top leader, she naturally wanted to learn more. They were talking by the family swimming pool; Xiao Ran had just returned from the mainland.
“He’s very kind yet authoritative, with sharp insight. He’s a wise old man. I believe under his leadership, the mainland will surely take on a new look,” Xiao Ran said with a calm smile.
The leader was indeed an extraordinary figure—known not only by the Chinese but probably by people all over the world. Someone who could propose the “one country, two systems” policy surely wasn’t ordinary. His subsequent conversation with the leader was fascinating; he mentioned many things related to movies, which might be useful in the future.
Most importantly, he learned something from this leader—things he hadn’t seen before. He realized he had indeed taken some wrong paths before and had to admit that he had sometimes been too eager for quick success.
But everyone makes mistakes. As long as one corrects them before things go wrong, it’s all tolerable. For Xiao Ran, it was still not too late to make amends. Moreover, he felt he was already quite happy and didn’t need to constantly think about achieving his goals quickly to enjoy a life together.
Perhaps it was for this reason that he was so eager to fulfill his dreams. But some things really couldn’t be rushed. With a complete distribution network in Asia and Europe, Mirage didn’t need to expand further in the film industry but rather solidify its own market.
“What are you thinking about?” Lin Qingxia waved an apple with the skin removed in front of Xiao Ran. “If that’s the case, won’t your plan to enter the mainland be realized soon? Is this all you gained from your trip to Beijing?”
“There’s certainly a lot to gain, like lifting restrictions on co-produced films and the film censorship system!” Especially that damned censorship system, which had been cursed by countless Hong Kong film fans. Xiao Ran smiled easily, took the apple, and took a bite. “And I also closed a few deals. In the next few years, the mainland’s development will be rapid—it’s time to get involved in the infrastructure industry!”
The next morning, Xiao Ran invited the bosses of three major companies over and clearly explained everything he had gained from his trip to Beijing. Lei Kaitai frowned and thought for a long time. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Xiao Ran, but rather the mainland’s policies. If those policies changed, they would all be in trouble.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Lei Kaitai sold all his stocks and focused entirely on the film industry. Of course, while doing films, he also made some other investments to earn money.
“There’s nothing wrong with it. The leader has guaranteed that the policies won’t change. Don’t you trust him?” Xiao Ran certainly understood their concerns. But if he didn’t know what the future held, from a businessman’s perspective, he probably wouldn’t take such risks either.

“It’s not easy, really not easy. Constant changes in policies—how can we bear it?” Pandi Sheng couldn’t help but sigh. He and Yang Qi had both considered entering the mainland market and knew that entering now would surely yield the greatest rewards. However, with the situation currently so favorable, it wasn’t easy for them to open their hearts right away.

Xiao Ran felt both amused and exasperated. It was only about lifting restrictions on co-produced films; it wasn’t as if the market was being opened up to them immediately. Was there really need to consider so much? After hesitating for a moment, he said, “I think everyone knows that we shouldn’t forget everything just because the situation is good now. We need a solid backing. Think about why Shadow could enter South Korea so easily back then, while it takes you so much effort now?”

It was simple—when Shadow first entered South Korea, there were no laws protecting national films, but that’s different now. Not long ago, the three major companies barely managed to jointly acquire another South Korean distribution company.

“To put it simply, it’s only cooperation at the moment; it’s not time to open up yet,” Xiao Ran said, looking around. Seeing Lei Kaitai and Yang Qi looking thoughtful and Pandi Sheng hesitating, he continued, “I believe it will gradually open up in two or three years. During this time, we can just observe how the mainland performs.”

“Alright, let’s take a chance. If we win, we’ll become rich!” Lei Kaitai gritted his teeth. “But this might cause some problems for Taiwan…”

“Haven’t you gotten enough yet?” Xiao Ran laughed heartily. Lei Kaitai already had an asset of over two billion and still didn’t consider himself rich—what about others? “Taiwan has already relaxed its policies; it’s not like before. Those in the film industry don’t necessarily need to take a political stance, let alone get involved in politics!”

In the afternoon, Xiao Ran proposed holding a meeting of the Film Association. This time, all the bosses of film companies in Hong Kong were gathered, with even Yin Du attending. After the Film Association chairman, Wu Siyuan, said a few polite words, it was Xiao Ran’s turn. Standing up and scanning the room, he felt full of confidence, though his goals hadn’t been achieved yet—revolution was not yet complete, and comrades still needed to work hard.

Currently, there were 31 film companies in Hong Kong, of which 9 had distribution capabilities. That meant, aside from the four giants, there were five smaller distribution companies. The rest were mostly production companies. Shadow invested in as many as eight of these production companies, though Shadow Images and the newly established Crescent, which focused on art films, were the most prominent.

The gathering was quite impressive. Xiao Ran looked around seriously and said, “First of all, I want to apologize to everyone here. I apologize for forcing a certain ratio for production costs last time. I was too eager for quick success. Please forgive me!”

Li Xingguo stood up laughing and said, “It’s no big deal, President Xiao. Actually, when you proposed that idea, everyone’s production costs were already at that ratio. Besides, I think everyone understands that President Xiao did this for everyone’s benefit!”

“Anyway, I always need to apologize,” Xiao Ran said with a faint smile. He realized this only after meeting with the leader. The leader told him that since they were going toward a market-oriented approach, such things should be avoided. Moreover, Xiao Ran realized that after becoming successful, his thoughts had sometimes been too domineering. This was his greatest gain from meeting the leader—he understood where his mistakes lay!

Seeing Xiao Ran’s sincere apology, Li Xingguo and the others were slightly moved. It was truly rare to find someone in Xiao Ran’s position who could still show such sincerity. Besides, Xiao Ran hadn’t done anything wrong initially; it was just his attitude and methods that were flawed.

At first, they also had some dissatisfaction, but the improvements in quality due to subsidies from Shadow Distribution and increased production funds were obvious. In fact, given the current standard of Hong Kong films, even if given 100 million, it would be hard to know how to spend it all.

Just taking “Mechanical Warrior” as an example, Shadow Distribution used a significant portion of its funds on special effects, which cost 80 million. After Xiao Ran set limits on the budget ratio, film companies that had previously relied on old cameras and film to cut costs found that they couldn’t spend the budget without investing in the best cameras and film.

Once they did so, Shadow Distribution, which had previously dismissed them, became willing to buy the distribution rights—clearly a highly profitable deal. In fact, Xiao Ran’s restriction on the budget ratio was not aimed at the four major companies but rather at those companies that were reluctant to increase costs.

This created an environment that gradually moved toward a positive cycle, which was exactly what Xiao Ran wanted. In any case, he realized that he had been too hasty and domineering in handling certain matters in the past. People constantly improve themselves through right and wrong, and Xiao Ran was no exception.

In the first few years after arriving in this era, Xiao Ran avoided mistakes by accurately grasping the future. But as history slipped out of his control and his strength grew, even gods might struggle to avoid making mistakes. The fact that he could wake up in time was already quite fortunate.

Seeing that everyone said it was okay, Xiao Ran relaxed. He didn’t want his mistakes to lead to betrayal from his own people when dealing with Hollywood in the future. Unity is strength—a phrase that is far more than just a slogan.

“Thank you all!” Xiao Ran took a deep breath before continuing with today’s topic: “The reason I’ve gathered everyone here is clear. A few days ago, I went to the capital to meet with the leader. The leader told me that the mainland government welcomes us to invest in film production. As long as we handle certain aspects properly, we can enjoy the same treatment as domestic films!”

The entire room fell silent, and Liu Chun, the head of Shadow Image, also kept his mouth tightly closed. They were all pondering the meaning of these words—the phrase “certain aspects” was indeed intriguing. But what exactly were those aspects?

Seeing that no one spoke, Li Xingguo couldn’t help but stand up and ask, “President Xiao, do you think we should go? Besides, this ‘some place’ is too vague. Why don’t you give us a detailed explanation? Anyway, everyone trusts you!”
To say they fully trusted him would be a lie. Xiao Ran also knew that while there was trust, there was also fear. With a further shift in mindset, he easily saw his previous shortcomings. Yet he had to admit that sometimes harsh tactics were necessary—like in the case of Huang Yinglong, where he believed he handled it well, causing no harm while firmly establishing his authority.
After thinking for a moment, he glanced around and saw the smiles on Lei Kaitai and the others’ faces, so he smiled lightly and said, “It’s simple—just try not to involve politics. But that’s not the bottom line. The real bottom line is not to attack the government!”
The people present were all discussing it, thinking the condition wasn’t too strict. Yet Xiao Ran also knew that Hong Kong people generally didn’t have a clear political stance and were often very targeted in their political views.
A typical example was the film *Lovers, Comrades*, starring Liu Hua and Zhong Chuhong, which was shot in Vietnam. It was said that the government provided assistance only after agreeing not to slander Vietnam during the application process. Yet later, the film mostly depicted the Vietnamese government as brutal. As a result, more than a decade later, Liu Hua was denied entry to the Asia-Pacific Film Festival held in Vietnam.
In fact, such cases were not rare. Precisely because Hong Kong people lacked a clear political stance and were proud of it, they often used harsh satire or exaggeration to criticize the politics and policies of certain countries or regions. This led to Hong Kong films being denied location shooting in many countries.
Another example was the film *Dear Cousin*, which portrayed mainlanders as ignorant country folks who only knew how to shout “Long live Chairman Mao” without any verification. Historically, Mai Dangxiong’s *The Underground Passage of the Provincial-Hong Kong Flag Troops* went even further, harshly criticizing both the Hong Kong and mainland governments while portraying pro-democracy activists as heroes.
Of course, Xiao Ran also knew that it was impossible for movies to avoid politics. In a sense, politics is a theme in movies, and movies are a means to promote political views—the two rely on each other.
But he also knew that it would be difficult for these people to accept the mainland government right away. However, through cooperation, they would eventually understand and be forced to join this cause. So all he wanted was for them not to attack the mainland in their movies, which wasn’t that difficult.
“I’ll say a few words…” Lei Kaitai tapped the table, and the others gradually quieted down. Then he spoke out loudly, “From a profit perspective, I have no choice. President Xiao gave me a figure—he believes that if we can tap into one-third of the mainland market, the annual sales from the film industry alone could reach at least 5 billion.”

Pandi, who had usually been indifferent, also stood up and glanced at Xiao Ran before smiling and saying, “We make movies, but we also pursue profits. From this perspective, we have no reason to reject such a huge market as the mainland; even taking certain risks is worth it. Moreover, according to surveys, the average peak market size in Hong Kong is only between eight and ten billion. As more people get into film production, local profits will surely be diluted, so we need to find new sources of profit.”