Chapter 38: The Peerless Sea Journey

Xiao Ran originally thought Zhou Runfa would understand, as far as he knew, the original “Eight Stars Bring Good News” was directed by Du Qifeng. During filming, it was Zhou Runfa himself who suggested portraying the character of the playboy second son as a effeminate man.
But now, Zhou Runfa actually didn’t understand! Xiao Ran was stunned. Under Zhou Runfa’s urging gaze, Xiao Ran finally snapped out of it, rubbed his temples hard, and started thinking of how to resolve this issue.
In fact, he had overlooked one thing: Zhou Runfa had suggested playing the effeminate role because “Eight Stars Bring Good News” was made after his heroic image had become deeply ingrained. Perhaps out of acting considerations or to avoid being stereotyped by audiences, he deliberately portrayed himself in a very feminine way in the film to subvert his heroic image.
Now that the post-production of his own film “True Hero” was complete and it hadn’t even been released yet, he naturally didn’t have such an idea and handled the role according to ordinary actors’ understanding. Realizing this, Xiao Ran quickly thought of a solution—he needed to give Zhou Runfa a solid reason.
Besides that, he might also need to consider whether the film’s box office could reach the expected level. After all, the original “Eight Stars Bring Good News” had attracted audiences largely because of Zhou Runfa’s groundbreaking portrayal, but now that wasn’t the case…
Well, it wasn’t completely absent! Realizing that “True Hero” was about to be released, Xiao Ran felt relieved. In his opinion, the box office wouldn’t be greatly affected. After pondering for a moment, he raised his eyebrows slightly and said to Zhou Runfa, “Brother Fa, it’s precisely because no one has acted like this before that it can create the greatest comedic effect.”
As everyone was surprised by these meaningful words, Xiao Ran left his seat and went to a quieter area, closing his eyes to relax. While the others were confused, Xiao Ran gathered enough emotion, suddenly opened his eyes, flashed a charming look, and adopted a coy expression typical of a woman.
Waving his arms gently, he shaped his fingers into a lotus shape before smiling softly—a smile that sent chills down everyone’s spine. He then twisted his waist and walked a few steps in a strangely eerie manner before suddenly turning around and shouting, “I’ve got you!”
Zhou Runfa suddenly realized that Xiao Ran was demonstrating a scene from the script to dispel his doubts. Of course, he didn’t know that Xiao Ran thought he was afraid of losing popularity by playing an effeminate role. In fact, Zhou Runfa had never thought that way; he just believed such an acting style might not achieve comedic effects.
Seeing Xiao Ran’s performance, Zhou Runfa’s doubts vanished instantly, and everyone present burst into laughter. While the others still considered Xiao Ran’s status as a director, the little rascal Huang Kunxuan laughed so hard he kept pounding the table with his hands.
“I have to admit, Aran, you might really have acting talent!” Huang Baiming laughed heartily at this ridiculous and awkward scene and said to Xiao Ran, “I don’t understand why you didn’t think of playing this role yourself?”

Xiao Ran shrugged amid the laughter that everyone tried to suppress but which was still clearly audible. To him, it wasn’t anything significant. If one didn’t even have the ability to endure such laughter, then living through the 21st century would be utterly pointless.
“Films are a collective effort; teamwork is essential to ensure excellence. The director should do the director’s job, and the actors should do theirs. It gets complicated when those roles get mixed up!” Xiao Ran replied casually to Huang Baiming. His words weren’t just random remarks—they were based on Hollywood’s successful practices. Unfortunately, Huang Baiming clearly didn’t take them seriously.
Fa Ge had no objections. Although Xiao Ran’s acting was still unrefined, his experience allowed him to see the meaning behind it. Of course, Xiao Ran knew Fa Ge could see it. Zhou Runfa had acted in a wide variety of films, trying almost every genre—already an impressive record in itself. If someone couldn’t even understand that, they wouldn’t be Fa Ge.
Before leaving, Fa Ge caught up with Xiao Ran and asked, “A Ran, aren’t you afraid I’m a box office poison? Why choose me this time?”
Xiao Ran turned his head slightly to look at Fa Ge. At that moment, Fa Ge still lacked the dominance he would develop later; he was still handsome enough to make any woman fall in love with him. Xiao Ran smiled faintly and replied without hesitation, “Fa Ge, I’ve always believed you’re the best actor in Hong Kong! In terms of acting skills as well as box office success! I want to prove that to you.”
Indeed, the best actor, the god of acting in the Chinese-speaking world—who else but Fa Ge could qualify? In the future, Leung Chao-wai would undoubtedly win more acting awards than Fa Ge, yet no one would call him the god of acting. It wasn’t because his skills weren’t perfect, but because there was a supreme “divine Fa” above him!
Zhou Runfa was shaken. His steps suddenly became erratic as he stopped in his tracks. He stared intently at Xiao Ran’s retreating figure, his eyes filled with gratitude and the joy of finding a kindred spirit. In fact, he had never lacked roles to act in, but for some reason, his films’ box office performance never improved, even though they usually received excellent reviews. As a result, he remained somewhat obscure. Xiao Ran valued him so much that even an ordinary person would be moved, let alone Fa Ge, who was known for his kindness.
Xiao Ran didn’t realize Fa Ge considered him a confidant; otherwise, he might have gotten so excited that he’d decide to stay in Qingshan forever (What? You don’t know what Qingshan is? Have you ever watched Hong Kong movies?).
He still had to meet a very important person at noon, so he went to a restaurant and searched for a while before spotting Liu Mei. Next to Liu Mei, who was eating frantically without any sense of grace, was a delicate and shy young man, about two or three years younger than Xiao Ran now. This was the important person Xiao Ran wanted to meet—a high-ranking figure.
“Over here!” Liu Mei was indeed sharp—she could spot Xiao Ran even while eating quickly. Her appearance was a bit funny, though. In contrast, the young man’s eating manners were much more refined, creating a striking contrast between his movements and stillness.

Seeing this scene, Xiao Ran smiled and suddenly thought of the movie “Gunfire.” The principles of movement and stillness in that film were somewhat similar to what he was seeing now, though the film’s execution was much more sophisticated. He walked over to the dining table and sat down, then gestured with his hand. Only then did Liu Mei seem to realize what to do and introduced him, “This is my cousin You Hai—he’s the Xiao Ran who’s so interested in you!” Liu Mei deliberately emphasized the word “interested,” as if Xiao Ran had some ulterior motives toward You Hai, which made Xiao Ran glare at her. He didn’t want to give a bad impression of himself to his idol. After asking a few questions, Xiao Ran learned that You Hai had just graduated from Wireless’s director training program. After chatting with You Hai for a while, he didn’t seem any different from others, and Xiao Ran even wondered if he had made a mistake. But then he thought, how many people with the surname You could there be in such a small place as Hong Kong? It was possible that You Zhi and You Hai were related—at least that’s what Xiao Ran had guessed before. Just as they were talking, Wei Jiahui arrived in a hurry. As soon as he saw Xiao Ran, he sat down right away, ordered food first, and then said angrily, “A Ran, what’s the meaning of this? Making me come all this way—must be something urgent!” Xiao Ran chuckled. He had already laid out his plans. The day before, Liu Mei had called him and arranged to bring You Hai over for a talk. Xiao Ran immediately thought of Wei Jiahui. You Hai was Wei Jiahui’s apprentice. In fact, not only You Hai—according to Xiao Ran’s knowledge, every screenwriter at Galaxy Imaging had received guidance from Wei Jiahui, the king of screenwriters. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that any screenwriter from Galaxy Imaging could be considered top-tier, which showed just how great Wei Jiahui was. However, because Du Qifeng had a poor reputation in the industry, the Galaxy Imaging group was often sabotaged at the Golden Horse Awards, which is why they were little known to the public. To put it simply, what Xiao Ran needed to do was quite straightforward: he wanted to hand You Hai over to Wei Jiahui. He wanted Wei Jiahui to teach You Hai all his skills as a screenwriter, helping to cultivate a top-tier writer who could become successful in three to five years. By normal standards, three to five years might not be enough—after all, some directors had worked as assistant directors for over a decade without ever mastering the craft. But Xiao Ran believed that Wei Jiahui and You Hai could definitely do it, and with some time to work on films, You Hai would quickly get the hang of it. To be honest, Xiao Ran was quite envious of You Hai—not because of anything else, but because he got to learn from Wei Jiahui. This was exactly what Xiao Ran had wanted to do since arriving in this era. After all, his approach to writing novels had always been based on Wei Jiahui’s advice. With someone like him to guide him, Xiao Ran wouldn’t need to plagiarize scripts to write good ones. But life rarely turned out perfectly. Since Xiao Ran had become Wei Jiahui’s friend, there was no reason for him to humble himself and learn screenwriting, especially since he didn’t have the time for it.

When he told Wei Jiahui about this, Wei Jiahui immediately tilted his head and stared at Xiao Ran as if Xiao Ran had water in his brain. Finally, Xiao Ran could no longer bear it and spoke first: “Xiaobao, whether you agree or not, you should at least say something!”
Wei Jiahui unconsciously shrugged, then suddenly realized he had imitated Xiao Ran’s gesture: “I have no problem. You should ask Ah Hai too!”
Xiao Ran slapped his own head hard and also shrugged to show his own negligence. Since Wei Jiahui had brought it up, he naturally had to ask: “Ah Hai, you know what I mean—do you want to or not?”
You Hai hadn’t spoken yet. Liu Mei, who had just gulped down a glass of milk, immediately pushed him: “Ah Hai, with such a great opportunity, what are you waiting for? Agree quickly!”
“I’ll agree then. Why did you push me?” A hint of dissatisfaction appeared on You Hai’s delicate face as he glanced at his cousin before turning to Xiao Ran and saying, “Brother Ran, I have a question. Please don’t be offended!”
Xiao Ran was stunned for a moment. Under Wei Jiahui’s strange gaze, he immediately realized he had been too abrupt. No wonder You Hai doubted his intentions. Thinking of this, he quickly racked his brains to come up with a good explanation: “Well, it was my intuition that told me you would become an excellent screenwriter, so that’s why I did it. I hope you don’t mind!”
Although such a vague explanation was unlikely to satisfy You Hai, even a blind person could see that Xiao Ran had no ill intentions toward him. Wei Jiahui, on the other hand, quickly associated it with Xiao Ran’s “perception ability,” though he didn’t reveal that.
After settling things, Wei Jiahui discussed the new project with Xiao Ran. Liu Mei listened from the side, and her eyes soon lit up: “Brother Ran, can you take me to see it? Uh, it would be best if you made me the assistant director. I’m really good at it!”
Xiao Ran and Wei Jiahui stared at Liu Mei, who looked more like a boy than a girl, and burst into laughter…
(I’m so frustrated. Why are there so many people reading books, but so few who collect them? So few that I feel like vomiting. I really don’t understand!)