Chapter 237: Ling’er, My Precious One

Huang Qun was extremely surprised. He never expected Xiao Ran to reveal such a fact. But it wasn’t over yet. With an indifferent expression, Xiao Ran calmly said, “Last year, a total of six English-language films and four Japanese-language films were produced in Hong Kong, all by local companies. If this continues, the only way out for Hong Kong cinema is to become part of the United Nations, eventually losing its status as a leader in Chinese-language films.”
Yang Qi and Pan Dishi, as Xiao Ran’s friends, quickly understood his meaning and solemnly told Huang Qun, “Right now, we mainly rely on big-budget films to cover losses from other movies, so the profits aren’t very high. If things go on like this, what President Xiao pointed out is very likely to happen.”
“Do you know why I haven’t dared to talk about salaries again this year? Because the more we ask for, the greater the investment and the bigger the losses.” Xiao Ran wasn’t speaking to Huang Qun but to Yang Qi and the others. Only then did he look at Huang Qun and say, “It’s all because we don’t have the mainland market as a support. I think you understand!”
“I understand, of course I do!” Huang Qun also forced a bitter smile, just like Xiao Ran. Xiao Ran had made things so clear—if he still didn’t understand, he deserved to die.
Without good treatment, talent would drain away. Hollywood had already approached Wu Yusen, hoping he would go there to act. The worst part was that even with good treatment, it was extremely difficult to recoup costs in Hong Kong itself. If they could access the mainland market, Xiao Ran would definitely be willing to increase the average investment to 40 million, or even more. With such a huge market available, failing to recoup costs would only be one’s own fault.
However, Yang Qi and the others knew well that things weren’t as exaggerated as Xiao Ran said. Indeed, many films struggled to be distributed overseas each year, but distribution in Taiwan was generally no problem. In fact, no fewer than sixty Hong Kong films were released in small countries and regions in Southeast Asia every year.
The rest were art films, independent films, and some low-budget productions. There were indeed many films that couldn’t be released, and some failed to recoup costs. But it must not be forgotten that video tape distribution and television broadcast rights could bring significant returns to films.
Especially in terms of video tape distribution, the mainland market had opened up this avenue last year alone, and video tape sales alone had already allowed several big companies to make huge profits. Yet, Xiao Ran wasn’t exaggerating—he was referring to a situation that was absolutely possible, though it wouldn’t lead to such a crisis in the short term.
But Xiao Ran also knew that in another two years, piracy would become rampant. Those involved in piracy in Hong Kong were mostly from the underworld, and he believed there wouldn’t be any problems. But he couldn’t control piracy on the mainland, and the only solution was to crush it at its roots through law.

Before that, if Hong Kong films couldn’t gain access to the mainland theater market, they would be doomed to decline, just as history has shown. Of course, extinction is unlikely—technologically, Hong Kong’s film industry is now on par with Hollywood in many areas. Yet decline is inevitable, as Xiao Ran mentioned earlier: profits from big-budget films are needed to cover the gaps left by smaller productions.

Xiao Ran fully understood why Hong Kong films had declined over the years. There were many reasons, but two were inevitable: first, their technology couldn’t keep up with Hollywood, making it impossible to compete with large-scale investments; second, they were helpless without access to the mainland market.

He now felt the same helplessness. If the authorities insisted on these strict rules, he would rather give up the market than stifle cinematic creativity. The only solution then would be to increase the production of foreign-language films.

Silence persisted for a long time until Lin Qingxia sent the guests away and came to Xiao Ran with the crying Xiao Ling in her arms, breaking the silence. Seeing that everyone was silent, Lin Qingxia asked curiously, handing Xiao Ling to Xiao Ran, “Weren’t you discussing something? Why isn’t anyone talking?”

“It’s fine. Sit down and rest!” Xiao Ran took Xiao Ling, who immediately stopped crying and stared at her father with her big eyes, seemingly lost in thought—quite strange. Looking at his chubby daughter, Xiao Ran’s mood improved, and he instinctively stroked her nose with his finger. Xiao Ling giggled, pure and adorable.

Now, Xiao Ran had largely overturned his previous views—having a child was truly wonderful. Isn’t it? Looking at the child, he realized she would carry on his life in another way. Perhaps this was why the Chinese, who valued immortality, placed such importance on children.

He playfully teased Xiao Ling, who was plump and had a rosy face, looking perfectly healthy. Seeing her fiddle with his beard, Xiao Ran couldn’t help but smile happily and lowered his head, letting her play with it.

With a child, a family became complete, providing a buffer between spouses. Xiao Ran now fully understood why Lin Qingxia loved children—because he loved them too. However, his affection for Xiao Ling far exceeded his for Lin Qingxia.

“Your child? Let me see!” Huang Qun’s mood also brightened with the arrival of little Xiao Ling. It seemed that children could indeed be the best mood lifters, though that might be an exaggeration. Huang Qun took the child, teased her with his fingers, then looked up and said, “Is it a boy or a girl? What’s her name? How old is she?”

“It’s a girl. She just turned two months old. Her name is Xiao Ling. There’s also a boy who’s already asleep!” Lin Qingxia replied smilingly. She didn’t understand what they were talking about, but she could tell their conversation had hit a snag—otherwise, why would she bring Xiao Ling to ease the tension?

“She’s so cute; she’ll be beautiful when she grows up!” Huang Qun’s smile was truly sincere. After teasing her a bit more, Xiao Ling suddenly blinked rapidly, seemingly not liking this uncle at all, and immediately started crying. No amount of comforting from Huang Qun worked, so he quickly handed her to Xiao Ran.

Something strange happened again. As soon as Xiao Ran took her in his arms, Xiao Ling stopped crying and instead smiled happily at him, holding his thumb in her mouth. Huang Qun was stunned and couldn’t help but burst into laughter: “Your daughter really knows who to cling to! Amazing!”

“Minister Huang, you’re just too unused to such things!” Yang Qi said irritably, staring at the little girl. After glancing at Pan Disheng and Lei Kaitai, he couldn’t help but laugh: “It’s not just you; we’ve all had the same experience. Her daughter only clings to him.”

“Really? That’s true!” Huang Qun was greatly surprised. He exhaled softly and said, “Xiao Ran, you’re lucky to have such a beautiful and virtuous wife and such a cute child. Unlike my own daughter, who’s always too lively—her extroversion is really evident in her.”

At that point, Huang Qun couldn’t resist taking another look at the little girl, his fondness evident on his face: “If you don’t mind, I’d like to adopt her as my goddaughter. What do you think?”

Before he could finish speaking, Yang Qi burst into laughter. Xiao Ran and Lin Qingxia also couldn’t hold back their smiles. Xiao Ling was truly endearing. Yang Qi had wanted to adopt her as his goddaughter the first time he saw her, but he gave up because of Wei Dongling already being her godfather.

“What’s the matter?” Huang Qun was confused. After asking, he suddenly understood—Xiao Ran already had many people willing to be her godfathers. Waving his hand, he said, “It doesn’t matter even if she already has godfathers. Who said there can only be one? Let’s settle this!”

“Minister Huang is right!” Yang Qi started clapping loudly. But Pan Disheng and the others could tell he had ulterior motives. Sure enough, Yang Qi immediately peeked at Xiao Ran and his wife: “Well, since Little Ling already has two godfathers, it doesn’t hurt to add me, right?”

Xiao Ran and Lin Qingxia weren’t sure whether to be happy or worried. With a political figure like Huang Qun as Xiao Ling’s godfather, she would have no trouble in the future. But if that were the case, with three godfathers doting on her, it would be hard for them to discipline her.

“If Minister Huang likes Little Ling, it’s an honor for her. There’s no reason to refuse!” It seemed awkward for Xiao Ran to speak at this moment, otherwise it might seem like collusion between officials and businessmen. Lin Qingxia immediately realized Xiao Ran’s difficulty and replied, then glared sharply at Yang Qi, who was trying to meddle: “Aqi, I agree, but you’re not allowed to spoil her from now on.”

Yang Qi chuckled. He was really jealous of the child. Xiao Ran coughed lightly, stood up, and said to Huang Qun, “Old Huang, since you’re Little Ling’s godfather, I’ll speak plainly. China is the most civilized and artistic country in the world, and the same should apply to cinema. But it’s impossible to expect a horse to run fast if you don’t give it grass to eat!”

Huang Qun felt a hint of bitterness. He understood Xiao Ran’s point—higher-ups indeed, as Xiao Ran had predicted, wanted Hong Kong films to become the most important part of Chinese cinema. But on this issue, there were clearly many differences between the two sides. To make good films, one would inevitably hit their limits. Judging from Xiao Ran’s attitude, compromise seemed unlikely, and it was equally unlikely that the government would yield!

“Anyway, I’ll try my best to convey these messages to them!” Huang Qun sighed and said to Xiao Ran, “Also, regarding the piracy issue you mentioned last time, higher-ups are taking it seriously and have decided to prevent it from happening. But as for penalties, it’s probably hard to meet your demands!”

The piracy issue was something Xiao Ran had previously brought up to the authorities, as he clearly explained the harms of piracy, so they paid considerable attention to it. What Xiao Ran proposed was simple yet highly effective.

Xiao Ran wanted severe legal penalties and the addition of several new crimes, so that multiple offenses could be combined and even the death penalty imposed. He didn’t think this would solve the problem fundamentally, nor did he believe the government would agree. Being a businessman himself, he understood well the profit-driven mindset of speculators.

The key was that Xiao Ran wanted the fines to be high enough to ruin pirates for the rest of their lives. This might not eradicate piracy completely, but it would certainly make it less rampant. People might risk death for piracy, but not necessarily bankruptcy. If the money they made from piracy wasn’t enough to cover the fines, it would serve as a deterrent.

In short, after government agencies caught and prosecuted them, the pirated companies still had the right to file lawsuits in return, with each company able to claim compensation of up to one billion (the law is unclear—don’t delve too deep). Of course, a figure of one billion was absolutely unfeasible; even one hundred million seemed unlikely.

After thinking for a while, Huang Qun told him the result: “Considering the damage piracy causes to cinema, we agree to your request, but we have some objections regarding the amount. We think the figure you proposed is absurd, so we’ll calculate the penalty accordingly! And we’ll definitely intensify investigations in this area.”

Xiao Ran showed a faint smile. He was satisfied if he could achieve this goal. As for penalty calculations—which piracy company would only pirate one company’s works? If several companies sued together, bankruptcy would be inevitable.

As for software like Microsoft products, let them pirate whatever they wanted. After all, this law applied only to the film industry and had nothing to do with electronic products or software.

After seeing Huang Qun and the others leave, Lin Qingxia watched their retreating figures and said with a smile, “It seems it’s time to enter the mainland now. I can tell you’re itching to go!”

Xiao Ran, holding the soundly sleeping Xiao Ling, smiled bitterly. “It’s not that easy. It’s very difficult, extremely difficult.” It really was hard—neither side was willing to give in on their bottom lines. What was there left to discuss? Xiao Ran had made up his mind: even if it meant giving up the mainland market, he would never stifle creativity, or else he would be a sinner.

After recounting everything that had happened, Lin Qingxia gasped in shock, her expression showing concern: “If that’s really the case, then local films won’t have much room for development—they’re basically at an end!”
“Not necessarily!” Xiao Ran sneered. If it weren’t for balancing the market, filmmakers could even earn twice as much. By focusing profits on big-budget movies—twenty such films a year—it would be enough to sustain Hong Kong’s film industry. But then, his dream would truly be shattered, as Hong Kong movies would no longer be able to dominate the world.
After saying goodbye to their parents, the two went back to their room. Xiao Ran gently placed Little Ling, who was sucking her thumb, in the crib before teasingly saying, “I wonder if you didn’t feed her enough milk—Little Ling keeps putting her fingers in her mouth!”
“Shut up! Stop talking nonsense!” Lin Qingxia blushed slightly and lightly tapped Xiao Ran. “We’re married now—still saying such flirtatious things. Aren’t you ashamed?”
“What’s there to be ashamed of? I’m talking to my wife, not outsiders!” Xiao Ran looked at Lin Qingxia with a smile in his eyes as he approached their small bed, where the little one was also sleeping soundly.
Suddenly, Xiao Ran became very enthusiastic. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned closer to her and suddenly lifted her in his arms and headed for the bedroom. Lin Qingxia was embarrassed by his absurd behavior, but Xiao Ran said smilingly, “I didn’t expect that having a child would make your figure even more perfect!”
After releasing the passion he had suppressed for so long, Lin Qingxia lay on Xiao Ran’s chest just as they had when they first met, looking at him sideways and saying, “Since things aren’t going well now, you might as well take the chance to back out. Didn’t you say you wanted to travel around with me? That it would be the most beautiful thing?”
Xiao Ran remained silent for a moment. He certainly wanted to live the life he desired sooner. But he couldn’t give up. Even if the hope of the mainland market vanished, he still couldn’t give up—it was his lifelong dream. And even without the mainland market, there might still be a chance.
“Wait a little longer. Give me a few years!” Xiao Ran held Lin Qingxia tightly, pressing her beautiful face against his, his eyes filled with determination. “Whether I can gain access to the mainland market or not, I need a few years to find a path for Hong Kong films. I absolutely won’t let my dream be shattered…”