Chapter 268: Deciding the Future

The next day, Xiao Ran led his team back in triumph, only to face the “enthusiastic welcome” of reporters at the airport—needless to say. This time was truly a huge success; several films produced by Phantom Investment won awards at Cannes. If it could be called Phantom’s year, it wouldn’t be wrong at all.
Another layer of glory was added to Phantom’s Hall of Honor and Wall of Honor. It was even possible they might win awards at next year’s Golden Horse Awards. At least no one dared deny that Phantom was one of the most famous and influential film companies in the world.
This time, however, the reporters finally stopped hiding their doubts and put their questions to the world through newspapers: “Can Phantom challenge the seven major Hollywood studios? And can Hong Kong cinema challenge Hollywood?”
The preview for “True Colors” was set to take place that evening, but Xiao Ran didn’t have the energy to think about those things. He was currently reviewing the project decision reports submitted by the planning department, which listed many films. One of them was a war film about the Anti-Japanese War, and there were even two science fiction films.
To Xiao Ran’s delight, “Midnight Horror” finally found the right director—Zheng Baorui. He was a talented young director who excelled in horror and thriller genres. His stylish film “The Big Head Baby” had no terrifying visuals yet still created a sense of fear, showing great skill in building atmosphere.
In Hong Kong, there weren’t many directors skilled in horror and ghost stories. The Pang brothers were outstanding examples, while Zheng Baorui was better at creating terror through logic and thought. Besides them, Ye Weixin, who was currently working as an assistant director, could barely be considered one—his early work “Rotting Corpse” was quite good. However, Ye Weixin was more skilled at using various themes to express emotions. For example, the theme of “Five Boys Who Scare Ghosts” was family affection, and that rollercoaster-like scene was filmed in a very creative way.
As Xiao Ran looked at Zheng Baorui’s name, he suddenly remembered something. He vaguely recalled having appreciated a highly experimental film directed by this guy. That film had no actual content—just things swaying around.
Zheng Baorui wasn’t only good at thrillers but also excelled in social ethics themes. His early film “Luminous Stones” had fascinated Xiao Ran for a while. But to set an example for thrillers, Xiao Ran had no choice but to choose Zheng Baorui. Next were two animated films: “The Lion King 2” and “Mulan.” Xiao Ran approved them without hesitation.
Only after dealing with these matters did Xiao Ran have time to consider other issues. Mainland China and Hollywood—Mainland’s main problem was the censorship system. Xiao Ran didn’t dare hope to criticize the government like Hollywood did, but he just wanted a rating system. With a rating system, censorship issues could be addressed to the greatest extent possible. Historically, the mainland government had refused to implement a rating system precisely for this reason.

Xiao Ran went to the window and, as usual, stared outside. He always felt that such a broad view was beneficial for his thinking. He crossed his arms, his fingers twitching continuously as he thought rapidly.

On the mainland side… Xiao Ran pondered quietly. He was well aware that, both in practice and in theory, the Chinese government needed influential films like those from Hong Kong. This meant the better Hong Kong performed, the more eager the Chinese government became.

Xiao Ran was familiar with the Chinese tradition of valuing face above everything else. One could give up anything but not face. Films were a form of face, and it should not be forgotten that films were also a means of promoting culture. Therefore, there was no reason for the Chinese government to reject Hong Kong’s film industry.

In fact, it was obvious what benefits such a huge influence from Hong Kong films could bring to China, so it was impossible to refuse them. Thus, Xiao Ran believed the Chinese government would not reject them due to certain changes in Hong Kong’s film industry, as it had in the past.

The question was how much time it would take to accept this. Xiao Ran couldn’t wait indefinitely. He had already decided that if the government did not give a definite answer by 1995, he would take charge of transforming Hong Kong’s film industry himself, increasing the production of foreign-language films to about one-third. By then, Hong Kong’s film industry could transform into a “United Nations” of locally produced films.

This was one of the paths Xiao Ran envisioned for Hong Kong films. Undoubtedly, Hong Kong’s film industry already had a well-established film production cycle, Mirage had one of the largest distribution networks in the world, and it had the largest pool of talent outside Hollywood. This allowed Hong Kong films to rely on talent, capital, equipment, and technology to produce films in other languages, even though locally produced films would still be necessary.

This was the only way to ensure the continued growth of Hong Kong’s film industry, at least after losing the mainland market. However, Xiao Ran had only made preparations and had not yet started implementing them. In his view, there was a great chance the censorship system would be relaxed.

The only missing link now was the censorship system. Whether in distribution or production, Hong Kong films had already successfully entered the market. Once Hong Kong returned, it could become fully privately owned.

Was it time to exert pressure to achieve the goal? Xiao Ran pondered quietly. This was clearly not an easy matter to handle. If not controlled properly, it could easily give the impression of something going wrong, which the government could hardly tolerate.

Xiao Ran had not overlooked this. On the contrary, he chose to enter Hollywood last year partly because it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and partly because he wanted to send a message to the Chinese government. He wanted to show them that after Mirage acquired Universal, it could either advance or retreat, and it wasn’t necessarily necessary to develop the mainland market.

It was hard to tell whether the fingers were moving in rhythm with his thoughts or his thoughts were following the movement of his fingers. Xiao Ran closed his eyes slightly and sighed. He never expected that entering his own country would be such a difficult task.

Calculating based on the timing, it should be around the time when the British Queen confers titles—his name will surely be on the list. What an exciting prospect! Xiao Ran stood quietly, thinking from the government’s perspective. He believed the government must realize his intention was to exert pressure, but he had to admit it was indeed a quite thrilling situation.

If Xiao Ran wanted to go further, he could even threaten the government that Phantom’s hundreds of billions in funds would be gradually withdrawn from the mainland within three to five years—this might achieve his goal. But threatening the Chinese government? Not only did he doubt he would dare to do so, but he himself would never want to embarrass himself in front of foreigners.

Therefore, an agreement had to be reached privately—under no circumstances could it be exposed. Perhaps there was another political asset that could be utilized: Russia’s oil fields, which could be controlled. Without even considering selling them to petrochemical companies, just having Phantom invest in pipelines to transport oil to China would already represent a tremendous asset.

With this in mind, Xiao Ran’s fingers stopped moving abruptly, and a smile gradually appeared on his face. He thought that, if nothing went wrong, the hierarchical system could be resolved this year—it would depend on his tactics and strategies.

It was now Hollywood’s turn to think. Xiao Ran felt the most challenging issue still lay in the mainland. Once he secured the mainland market, his task would be largely complete. Still, he planned to give Hollywood a taste of its own medicine.

The key lay in what Xiao Ran intended to do. Did he want to completely crush Hollywood, just as in his initial unrealistic ideal, and monopolize the global film market? It was a consideration, though it seemed like an utterly impossible task.

Next, he wanted Chinese-language movies to gain a significant market in North America, truly defeating the “Big Seven” studios, not just the “Big Six.” Further still, he envisioned Hong Kong and Hollywood ruling separately, each controlling one half of the world.

“Defeating” and “crushing” were vastly different—the former meant overcoming them in strength, while the latter meant bringing them completely down, leaving them unable to fight back. The planning department had once submitted a report to Xiao Ran, suggesting that even if all seven Hollywood studios collapsed and American cinema failed for some reason, it could still function and thrive because of its complete and mature film industry system.

Thus, completely crushing Hollywood was an unrealistic fantasy. Unless the U.S. economy and finance collapsed completely, it was impossible to achieve! At this thought, Xiao Ran suddenly felt that attacking the U.S. economy wasn’t a bad idea. However, Phantom certainly didn’t have such strength. Unless it could mobilize one trillion dollars in a very short time, it couldn’t throw the U.S. economy into chaos—even Fang Xiaoqiang, known as Asia’s top strategist, wouldn’t be able to do it.

As for sharing dominance with Hollywood, that was also something Xiao Ran wasn’t willing to choose. If that were all there was to it, he could simply withdraw and live the life he wanted, without constantly plotting schemes. This would only be a last resort if the mainland market was unavailable or if Phantom faced serious problems—it was also Xiao Ran’s bottom line.

Among the three plans proposed by Xiao Ran, the most appropriate one is to defeat these companies. Relatively speaking, it’s highly feasible. What Phantom needs to do is very simple: just defeat the six major companies, seize some of their distribution rights, and then target Hollywood films globally. As a symbol of Phantom within Hollywood, Universal will play a decisive role. Once those six companies are defeated, their distribution networks can be taken over, and combined with Hong Kong’s strong production capabilities, it’s possible to capture Hollywood’s overseas markets in a short time. This would lead to the ultimate victory in Xiao Ran’s strategic vision.

Murdoch is also a troublesome figure, causing Xiao Ran to frown. Murdoch’s News Corporation grew rapidly in the mid-to-late 1990s and would inevitably become a major rival to Shuxiang Media. Moreover, don’t forget—he also controls Fox. Defeating him is equivalent to taking care of Fox as well. Dealing with this old man isn’t easy, but opportunities certainly exist. Xiao Ran and Wei Dongling discussed how to eliminate News Corporation last year, both agreeing that it would continue to grow rapidly. The downside of such rapid growth is a shortage of funds, which is an exploitable weakness.

Since News Corporation belongs to Murdoch, it’s fair to call him a dictator. On the positive side, if News Corporation is put in trouble, Murdoch will surely suffer as well. Another issue is Soros. That damned guy is tricky. Hong Kong’s decades of rapid development have now led to many problems, and a financial crisis is only a matter of time. So why not trigger it early and resolve it under one’s own control? With this in mind, Xiao Ran initially set 1997 as the time to bring Soros to launch an attack. If his plan didn’t have fatal flaws, he would be able to resolve all problems by 1997 and withdraw unscathed.

As he pondered his plan, Han Yun’s voice came over the phone: “President Xiao, Mr. Huang from Beijing wants to see you!” Huang Qun? That was the first thought that crossed Xiao Ran’s mind—sure enough, it was Huang Qun. He looked much thinner than when they met last year, appearing even more capable. After shaking hands warmly and sitting down, Xiao Ran joked with a smile, “Old Huang, you seem to have lost quite a bit of weight!”

“How could I not? I’m so busy with exchanges between Return to Life and film studios, as well as film-related issues, that I’m practically exhausted!” Huang Qun smiled bitterly. In front of Xiao Ran, he could still express some of his true feelings.

Xiao Ran smiled leisurely. He already knew quite a bit about this situation. After the Return to Life incident last year, something extremely funny happened—a film studio refused to take Return to Life, claiming that the characters were too spoiled in Hong Kong and would be difficult to manage. Among those rejected was Wei Changqing, a young director famous both in Hong Kong and internationally. When Xiao Ran heard about it, he was stunned. Refusing someone like Wei Changqing—what else could this be but bureaucracy? What can we expect from mainland cinema?