Chapter 97: Qin Shubao and Zhang Danfeng

The two men in front agreed.

If the third person didn’t agree, it would be impossible to justify.

Watching Li Si lin scramble to sit down, Li Luo made up his mind: as long as the man’s act wasn’t especially terrible, he’d take it on—this trip had already yielded the unexpected reward of Pingzong Xiaying.

“Brother Li Luo.”

Adjusting his glasses, Li Si lin spoke a bit faster: “Have you ever heard of the figure Qin Shubao?”

“Qin Shubao?”

Li Luo thought for a moment, then nodded: “A famous general of early Tang, one of the Twenty-Four Meritorious Officials of Lingyan Pavilion.”

“Good.”

Li Si lin clinked his cup against Li Luo’s and nodded repeatedly: “Looks like your history is solid—you’re different from them. The next project I’m preparing isn’t a wuxia drama; it’s a historical drama.”

“Adapted from the folk tale Sui-Tang Yanyi.”

“Told primarily from Qin Shubao’s perspective, unfolding the turbulent history from the end of Sui to the beginning of Tang.”

Historical dramas differ from wuxia dramas.

For a wuxia drama, just a name is enough to know roughly what it’s about.

The former is different, so Li Si lin patiently explained to Li Luo what kind of story he planned to shoot—after all, the man needed to be interested for things to move forward.

Li Luo kept nodding, putting on an air of serious attention.

But inside his mind,

waves had already surged.

Based on the timeline and the investment scale described,

there was only one drama it could be!

Just now, Pingzong Xiaying was a well-made drama, receiving plenty of praise, but its ratings were merely passable.

But what Li Si lin described was a super-hit drama.

Despite heavy criticism, especially due to special reasons—the battle scenes were extremely shabby.

Yet its ratings exploded.

How popular was this drama? Pick up the remote and switch any few channels—you’d see Qin Shubao’s figure on screen, topping ratings across multiple provincial stations.

Many characters stood out, but Qin Shubao, as the lead,

was unquestionably the most captivating presence.

If he took this role, next year and the year after, he’d dominate every television channel.

“Mr. Li.”

When Li Si lin finished speaking, Li Luo forced calmness: “I’d like to know—what’s the name of this drama you’re referring to?”

“Heroes of Sui and Tang.”

Li Si lin drank his wine, exhaling alcohol fumes: “I’d like to invite you to play Qin Shubao. Don’t worry—the co-stars aren’t big names, but they’re all highly capable actors.”

“The investment is substantial, the production absolutely top-notch.”

“We’re confident we can make this drama great. What do you say? Interested in joining?”

Adjusting his glasses, he looked at Li Luo with eager anticipation.

If he accepted,

it would essentially guarantee the drama’s ratings.

“Mr. Li is so sincere.”

Li Luo smiled warmly and slowly nodded: “The story of Sui-Tang Yanyi is also very compelling—I’m certainly interested. But what about the schedule and fee?”

“Hahaha.”

Li Si lin patted his thigh self-deprecatingly and quickly added: “My mistake—I forgot to mention the most important thing. The schedule should be around April, with a filming period of three to four months.”

“As for the fee, it’s forty-five thousand per episode.”

“What do you think?”

When Li Si lin and Ma Zhongjun came, they’d already agreed: since schedules didn’t conflict, there was no need to inflate prices to compete for talent.

Everyone’s fee was standardized—just offer a fair price.

“Thank you, Mr. Li, for your trust.”

Li Luo nodded decisively: “I accept the role in Heroes of Sui and Tang!”

This deal

was a mutual windfall.

The two looked at each other, smiling with satisfaction.

“Mr. Li.”

Seeing the deal settled, Wu Dun walked over with his golf club, grinning at Li Si lin: “See? I didn’t lie to you—Li Luo is far more cost-effective than Zhao Wenchao now.”

No matter what price he offered,

it would be far more cost-effective than the originally planned lead actor—Zhao Wenchao’s TV drama fee was absolutely top-tier.

The effect would be nearly identical, yet save tens of thousands in expenses.

“Thank you, Mr. Wu,” Li Si lin laughed loudly, then stood up: “Enough said—tonight’s expenses are on me.”

“That’s not fair!”

Ma Zhongjun also walked over, poking the golf club discontentedly: “Mr. Li is trying to steal my spotlight?”

Both men vied to treat, and Li Luo could only smile and watch.

He wasn’t stingy.

When dining with Baoqiang, he never hesitated to pay.

But now he was out with these film company bosses—he was just an observer. If he stepped forward to offer payment, it would be like slapping their faces.

“Who pays doesn’t matter.”

Wu Dun raised his glass, smiling: “Let’s drink—to a successful collaboration.”

“To a successful collaboration.”

With a crisp clink, they all downed their drinks.

With serious business settled, entertainment followed—the men competed in golf, the club swings echoing loudly.

This sport required real skill.

Wu Dun, immersed in it for years, had the best technique—he could hit exactly where he aimed within a small range. Li Luo had strength, but struggled to control the precise landing point of his golf ball.

Still, good spirits lifted his mood—he swung happily regardless.

He’d already filled next year’s schedule: three dramas lined up, clearly mapping out every month from start to finish.

After an hour of play,

golf ended, and next came golf.

With two thousand yuan in tips, the voluptuous practice partners clustered around the potbellied bosses.

Though someone else was footing the bill,

Li Luo still firmly declined Ma Zhongjun’s offer, despite the expectant gaze of the large-rezi practice partner.

Times change.

That kind of absurd behavior at the nightclub couldn’t happen again.

It would surely bring rewards.

But considering the risk of scandal, he could only watch painfully as the large-rezi partner swayed away with her full hips.

Outsiders couldn’t be touched.

He didn’t want to spend the next few years being viciously attacked by random people who suddenly appeared.

The next day,

Li Luo, having taken leave, arrived at Physician Sunshine as agreed.

The main fee had been settled; now only the contract needed signing. Accompanied by the legal representative, Li Luo reviewed the document and signed it under his studio’s name.

In next year’s Heroes of Sui and Tang, he would portray Qin Shubao.

According to the production plan, the drama would consist of 42 episodes.

As the central protagonist, Qin Shubao had heavy screen time—based on the script, 36 episodes qualified for payment, totaling 1.62 million yuan.

Payment would follow the standard four-installment structure.

On the day of signing, he would receive ten percent upfront—162,000 yuan.

On the first day of filming, when half the scenes were shot, and on the day of wrap.

Each installment would be thirty percent.

This also served as a constraint on the actor—if the full fee were paid upfront, he might slack off; such people weren’t unheard of, and it also eased financial pressure on the investors.

Of course, the contract included other clauses.

For example, maintaining his physique.

After all, he was playing a general—proper bearing and appearance were essential.

Also, promotional duties and confidentiality during production.

These were all standard expectations.

After signing the contract,

Li Luo raised champagne with Physician Sunshine’s executives to celebrate, and took many photos together.

The matter wasn’t over.

Under the staff’s guidance, he cooperated with measurements—height, leg length, waist circumference, head circumference, arm span—all bodily data recorded for costumes and props.

Any production slightly larger than average.

Every main supporting actor goes through this process.

Unlike extras.

Their costumes, weapons, and armor are custom-tailored to their exact measurements; to give the drama a polished feel, every small detail must be perfect.

If the lead’s clothing hangs loose and doesn’t fit right,

the drama’s quality will be severely limited.

After finishing all this, it was already noon.

A banquet was, of course, unavoidable!

Seeing Maotai set on the table, Li Luo was stumped—alcohol culture was rampant then; telling others you feared drunk driving was like telling a joke, since no one even had that concept.

Others might not care, but he wasn’t immune.

Fortunately, he had another excuse—he whispered a few words to Li Si.

Li Si knew Ma Zhongjun was waiting for the contract signing; after all, Shadow of the Wanderer would start filming in less than a month, and showing up drunk to negotiate was simply unseemly.

So he readily stepped in to smooth things over.

The boss had no objections.

His subordinates naturally said nothing.

Li Luo again replaced wine with tea, and the banquet ended with everyone pleased.

He took the acting contract and script home and stored them safely.

He drove his Cherokee to Ciwen Media to discuss his next contract.

Following the secretary into Ma Zhongjun’s office, he saw two bald men sitting beside the coffee table, sipping tea and chatting.

“Manager Ma.”

The female secretary nodded and said: “Mr. Li Luo has arrived.”

“Good afternoon, Manager Ma.”

Li Luo offered a timely greeting.

“Come over quickly,” Ma Zhongjun smiled and waved, then gestured to the bald man wearing glasses: “Old He, your male lead is here—if I remember right, he’s your junior.”

“Oh?”

Old He adjusted his glasses and lifted his head with interest.

“Senior, hello.”

Hearing this, Li Luo naturally climbed the ladder, stepped forward, and extended his hand: “I’m Li Luo, Class of 2001, Performance Department, Beijing Film Academy.”

Xu Qing’s advice had been immensely beneficial.

Even if neither side knew the other,

if they came from the same school, their tone naturally grew warmer.

“You really are a junior.”

The other stood up and lightly shook his hand: “I’m He Qun, Class of 1978, Fine Arts Department.”

Li Luo quickly paid his respects to the senior.

But those were just formalities.

“This senior of yours is a renowned art director—Yellow Earth is his masterpiece,” Ma Zhongjun scratched his bald head and continued: “Shadow of the Wanderer will be directed by Director He.”

“He happened to be here today, so I arranged for you two to meet and talk.”

Yellow Earth—he remembered that film.

He didn’t care why an art director had switched to directing.

He only needed to know the man was a director!

Zhang Yimou started as a cinematographer too—capable people always want to try something new.

Yellow Earth, a landmark film marking the true rise of the Fifth Generation directors and one of the school’s famous alumni’s masterpieces, he had watched multiple times during film screenings.

He immediately showered praise on the art direction.

The school’s textbooks covered all the relevant analysis.

Just picking a few points was enough to hit the right nerve.

In truth, He Qun was somewhat dissatisfied—the online vote was supposed to decide the lead, yet the main investor had secretly chosen the actor.

Though he knew he couldn’t fight the investors, he still felt some irritation.

But now, first, he was a junior,

and second,

he’d praised him just right.

Those negative feelings vanished quickly.

He Qun wasn’t some big director who could drag investors around—he’d never directed a wuxia drama before, and since the investor’s pick had no obvious flaws, he could only accept it.

Life offered no resistance.

Might as well enjoy it.

Seeing Li Luo and He Qun chatting happily, Ma Zhongjun breathed a sigh of relief.

He could force a cow to drink.

But if the cow resisted, it would hurt his own interests.

If they could cooperate smoothly,

it was best for him.

After chatting for over ten minutes, He Qun stood to leave.

The legal representative soon entered with documents, and Li Luo formally finalized his acting contract with Ma Zhongjun.

This kind of negotiation couldn’t be done in front of the director.

After all,

most directors were just employees—they sometimes earned even less than the lead actors, and how much each actor earned was always somewhat confidential.

Sometimes an actor really wanted a role and was willing to cut their fee.

In such cases,

strict secrecy was required.

Otherwise, it would affect future acting rates.

Conversely, some actors would pay for fake reports to inflate their fees—earning only thirty thousand, they’d claim fifty thousand per episode.

It raised their status and saved face.

Maybe some uninformed investors would actually pay that price.

Compared to Heroes of Sui and Tang,

Shadow of the Wanderer had fewer episodes—only thirty-five.

The pay was calculated for thirty episodes.

Total: 1.35 million.

After reading the contract carefully, Li Luo solemnly signed his name—he had, within a single day, secured the role of Zhang Danfeng after Qin Shubao.

Wu Dun’s situation was not counted.

His pre-tax income for next year would already reach 2.97 million.

Never mind the future.

Just today, he’d receive 297,000.

After signing the contract,

he went through the same body-measurement process as in the morning.

At Ciwen Media, Li Luo had barely controlled his emotions, but once back in the car, he grinned so wide he couldn’t close his mouth—when next year’s payment arrived, he’d buy several more houses.

He’d never be poor again.

I’m making money!

Making money!

I don’t even know how to spend it.

With my left hand I’ll buy a Nokia, with my right a Motorola.

Tonight’s drink was unavoidable—he’d take a taxi home for safety. Humming a tune he didn’t even know the name of, Li Luo shook his head and pressed the accelerator, the car speeding toward Beiying Village.