Chapter 82: Soothing Hearts

Scanning the room, his gaze settled on Liu Qingyun. Xiao Ran nodded at him and said, “Qingyun, you’ll get a role in a while—the leading male role. Are you interested?”
“Really?” Liu Qingyun’s frustration vanished. He had been at Mirage for some time but still hadn’t gotten any roles, not even minor ones like he did at TVB. But then again, most of Xiao Ran’s artists were from TVB. Fortunately, that didn’t matter much—Xiao Ran only asked them to terminate their contracts with TVB as soon as they were up.
“Of course it’s real. Otherwise, why would I joke with you?” Xiao Ran smiled casually. It was interesting to meet such a young person like Qingyun. What was even more interesting was that Liu Qingyun hadn’t had a good time at TVB, having even played the role of “Ruhua” in Liang’s version of *The Legend of the Condor Heroes*.
After thinking further, Xiao Ran decided he should at least give him a script. He quickly looked for Wei Jiahui, waved him over, and after he sat down, asked, “Xiaobao, I have an idea for a horror movie. When you return to the company tomorrow, find a screenwriter to develop it—it has to be good!”
*Horror School* was originally starring Xu Guanying, Xu Guanjie’s brother, and Zhang Xueyou, directed by Liu Zhenwei. It seemed Wang Jiawei wrote the script. Both of them also appeared as police officers in the film—a rare opportunity for the future “King of Sunglasses.”
But since Zhang Xueyou was now part of New Art City, Xiao Ran had no reason to promote him. So promoting Liu Qingyun made sense. After explaining the general plot to Wei Jiahui, he still didn’t trust the current screenwriters and couldn’t help but emphasize, “The idea is roughly like this, but the plot and details must be flawless. I don’t want shoddy work!”
“Don’t worry!” Wei Jiahui chuckled. “Do you really not trust the screenwriters you’ve trained? I bet they’re already very good at this. Of course, not as good as you!”
“Shut up. By the way, how have you been?” Xiao Ran hesitated for a moment, thinking about giving Wei Jiahui a role. “Do you want a role? Just say the word!”
“Better not. I think I need to gain some experience. For now, I’ll focus on the review work here,” Wei Jiahui said frankly, looking at Xiao Ran. “Besides, I’m still tied to TVB and have to share your money with them. It bothers me.”
This rule of TVB was well-known throughout Hong Kong, so it wasn’t surprising. Xiao Ran thought of Zheng Yuling, a great actress, and felt a bit sorry. After further discussion, his attention turned to Zhou Xingchi, who had always longed to act: “Xingzi, there’s a chance you’ll get the leading role in a movie in the second half of the year. Once I give you the script, you must study it carefully. If you want to make a big splash and prove that your dedication to acting is useful, work hard. I believe in you—you’ll become famous!”

The future Stephen Chow was so excited that he couldn’t say a word; he only moved his lips, wishing to say a few words of thanks to Xiao Ran, but nothing came out. Seeing this, Xiao Ran felt deeply moved and kept comforting him, “Xingzai, don’t say thank you. I just hope that when you become famous, you won’t forget the company!”

Looking at the other actors staring at Xiao Ran, he felt frustrated—why did they all seem so eager for roles? Only Wu Junru couldn’t hold back and spoke up, indeed bearing a striking resemblance to her screen image: “Boss, when will you give me a role to act in?”

“I’ll think about it…” Xiao Ran thought for a moment before smiling. “In that movie I mentioned earlier, Zhang Min is the lead actress—you can be the second lead. Don’t worry, you’ll get a role soon!”

After calming the actors, Xiao Ran went over to Lin Qingxia and said cheerfully, “Qingxia, do you think the company’s logo is good?”

“It’s quite good. I didn’t expect it to be done this way. I guess it’s the best logo ever!” Seeing Xiao Ran sit beside her, Lin Qingxia’s heart skipped a beat, followed by pain. She had already suffered from heartbreak twice and didn’t expect to fall into another trap so quickly. “You seem very busy, always talking about this and that!”

“I’m not really that busy. It’s just that I rarely have time to spend with you. That’s true. I’m sorry!” Xiao Ran apologized sincerely. Perhaps only he himself didn’t know what he really felt for Lin Qingxia. “I’ve decided to make this logo the company’s permanent symbol. Do you think that’s good?”

“It doesn’t matter. As long as the company pays me a usage fee!” At that, Lin Qingxia couldn’t help but smile lightly and touch her lips. “Also, I haven’t had a role in a long time. Will you give me one?”

“Well…” Xiao Ran was stunned. He always seemed to easily overlook Lin Qingxia, yet also seemed to care deeply for her. “If you really want one, I guess there shouldn’t be a problem!”

Since Fang Ruoxin wanted to play the lead role, Xiao Ran had been working on a love story—not copied from any existing film, but entirely his own creation. The story revolved around a triangular relationship and was about hurt. It told of a man who had a beautiful and noble older sister who fell in love with him, but he fell in love with another woman who resembled her. Only after getting married did he realize he loved the older sister, not the other woman. Out of fear of societal condemnation and fear of tarnishing the perfect image in his mind, he subconsciously hid his feelings and deceived himself.

The story was simple, even clichéd, but love stories that touch people’s hearts are often clichéd and ordinary. It was a story about hurt—where a wrong choice caused pain to all three of them. Xiao Ran thought it was a good story, at least it was entirely his original work.

Seeing Xiao Ran deep in thought, Lin Qingxia thought he was very troubled and quickly comforted him, “It’s okay, there’s no rush actually!”
“No!” Xiao Ran rubbed his nose awkwardly and explained, then recounted the general plot to Lin Qingxia: “Actually, I think this story has potential, but it still doesn’t have an ending, and I haven’t found the right actors yet… Ah, what’s wrong?”
After hearing Xiao Ran’s unfinished story, Lin Qingxia was instantly stunned. Everything seemed so familiar—wasn’t that older sister herself? Could it be that Xiao Ran… Her eyes instantly filled with tears. Perhaps it was all too easy, too easy to believe.
Staring at Xiao Ran’s concerned gaze, she gradually felt confused—was this story real or fake? Suddenly, she felt as if reality and fiction had merged at that moment. Regaining her composure, she finally asked, “Why doesn’t this story have an ending?”
“An ending?” Xiao Ran shook his head. He had originally intended to make it a tragedy, but there was always a urge to end it with a happy resolution, which wasn’t what he wanted, so he hadn’t written an ending. “I haven’t decided yet. I don’t know how to end this story.”
Lin Qingxia’s heart trembled slightly, her expression pitiable. Biting her lower lip, she really didn’t know what to do, but suddenly heard Xiao Ran muttering to himself, “How about finding someone to help me write the ending?”
That’s right! Why not work together to write the ending? Sometimes, one needs to take initiative. With that thought, the confusion in Lin Qingxia’s eyes faded, and she said softly, “How about I help you write the ending?”
Xiao Ran was stunned! But no one knew how the story would end, not even Xiao Ran himself. He suddenly felt he faced many choices, each of which could change the story’s outcome.
After the banquet, Liang Jiabao arranged an interview with Xiao Ran, and the two talked slowly in a hotel room. Liang Jiabao was the journalist Xiao Ran knew best in the media industry. He spoke without any pretense: “A Ran, why did you think of gambling as the theme? Aren’t you afraid it might corrupt the audience? Do you gamble?”
Xiao Ran smiled. Rubbing his nose, he said, “Actually, I don’t gamble. I always follow the principles of a screenwriter—choosing themes that are innovative. That’s how I thought of gambling. I wondered why gambling couldn’t be expressed through a movie? If it must be expressed, how should it be done?”
“Finally, I thought, why not portray gambling as something very specific, just like the profession of a journalist? Why can’t there be professional gamblers?” Xiao Ran was impressed with himself for making it sound so real. “So, I did some research and found that professional gamblers do exist. This became the core of the film. I wanted to create a legendary character who turns gambling into an art form, and that’s how this movie came about!”

“As for whether it might corrupt the audience, I don’t think there’s any need to worry about that,” Xiao Ran smiled even brighter. “The vast majority of audiences who come to see a movie have self-control and the ability to think for themselves. They have enough judgment to tell what’s real. Just because a movie contains scenes and plots involving murder doesn’t mean we’re encouraging the audience to kill.”
“You’re really amazing!” Liang Jiabao wasn’t sure whether he was admiring Xiao Ran’s screenwriting skills or his composure in dealing with reporters. “But there’s one question I’ve always wanted to ask: Why can you write so many successful movies, none of which have low box office earnings?”
Xiao Ran’s heart skipped a beat. This question needed careful handling. After thinking for a while, he replied, “Actually, the script has always been the most important part of film production, and I’ve just done a bit better at it. I strive to make the audience find the theme interesting and worth watching. Of course, the most important thing is that I work with outstanding directors and filmmakers, which allows a good script to truly shine.”
“What do you feel like when you’re writing a script?” Liang Jiabao suddenly asked a rather strange question.
Xiao Ran pondered for a moment. He hadn’t written many scripts himself, only the prequel to “True Heroes.” It was hard for him to describe the feeling of writing a script. But when he thought of receiving applause and honors in the cinema, he knew the answer: “I think it’s a form of control. It’s as if, at that moment, you’re the god of this world—using your hands to create everything, allowing people to experience joy and sorrow through your creativity!”
“God’s Hand”—this was the term Liang Jiabao used in an article in Ming Pao on the third day to praise Xiao Ran. He mentioned Xiao Ran’s last words in the article, using this highly exaggerated phrase to praise him to the fullest extent possible.
“God’s Hand” quickly surpassed Xiao Ran’s previous title of “20 million-dollar screenwriter” and became widely known. Even within the industry, people gradually started calling Xiao Ran “God’s Hand,” though it was just a nickname. However, Xiao Ran really liked this nickname—it indeed gave him a godlike feeling.
The next day, Xiao Ran asked Wei Dongling to send red envelopes to everyone in the company and those involved in the production of “The God of Gambling” before going to the restaurant to meet with the film producers. In fact, the producers had tried to negotiate to buy the film from Xiao Ran a week earlier, but Xiao Ran wanted to keep them on edge. After a brief discussion, he deliberately delayed things until now.
Actually, this delay was beneficial—everyone could see the box office numbers continuing to rise. This time, he was meeting with a few producers selected by Wei Dongling after investigating their backgrounds, and they had already basically agreed to cooperate.
Lin Guiyun was the producer from Taiwan, another was the general agent for Malaysia, the Philippines, and Singapore, and the third was from South Korea. After greeting the producers, he sat down, ordered drinks, and then slowly walked around the room, saying, “Shadow Company is just starting out. Thanks to all of you for giving us this opportunity. I’m truly sincere in wanting to work with you all!”

Lin Guiyun was ultimately a shrewd man. Seeing Xiao Ran’s completely nonsensical opening remarks, his eyes flickered, but he remained silent. The Philippine film producers, impatiently, asked Xiao Ran through the translator (no need to mention the translator anymore; everyone understands)、“Boss Xiao, let’s talk about purchasing the film rights!”
What does it mean to be mature? Xiao Ran felt he was extremely mature right now; perhaps he should dress younger sometimes. After pondering for a moment, he said to them, “All of you are well-known local film producers. I invited you here today to discuss the details of purchasing the film rights. Please share your ideas…”
*****
The public version might need to adjust its pace going forward. This situation won’t last long, and I hope for everyone’s understanding and support.