Chapter 99: With Money, You Can Be Reckless

Received a positive response.

Li Luo opened the script and read it carefully.

Its core was still the classic trope of enemies falling in love and killing each other, like the movie title “Love Beyond Life”—the male and female leads, bound by hatred, could not love, and both were shot dead beneath a ginkgo tree.

They made a pact to meet again in their next life.

But as time passed, one became a ghost, while the other had already been reborn.

Cold tea can be reheated.

But once a bond is broken, the promise of a past life can never be mended.

Reading through the whole thing was nothing but a tragedy.

The script’s words were lightly sketched, yet they gently told a tale of love between a mortal and a ghost.

The story was good.

But from a commercial standpoint, it had no value.

The thin script was quickly finished.

Li Luo closed it.

“How is it?”

Yu Feihong asked eagerly: “Do you like this story?”

“Mm.”

Li Luo hesitated a moment, then nodded.

But he tapped the script with his finger and frowned: “Is this the one you mentioned before—Ajiu, the bandit, the monk, the ghost?”

“Exactly.”

Yu Feihong, excited, rattled off: “Six years ago I came across this story and fell deeply in love with it, so last year I secured the film adaptation rights.”

“This is the third revised version.”

“When I first met you,”

she pinched Li Luo’s thigh and bit her lip: “I thought you were perfect for it, and later your image became clearer and clearer, so I wanted you to play A Ming.”

“I am Ajiu.”

“Can it be filmed?”

Li Luo flipped through the script again: “If I remember right, ghost stories aren’t allowed, are they?”

Any film of this kind.

Ends up either with someone going insane, or everything being staged.

Ghosts, such powerful things,

aren’t allowed to exist.

“Don’t worry about that.”

Yu Feihong said confidently: “I chose to make it because I’m certain it can be released.”

Huh~

That statement had real backbone.

“Alright.”

Li Luo flipped through a few more pages and nodded: “Since you want to make it, invest two or three million and give it a shot. Let me know ahead of time—I’ll clear my schedule.”

“My salary? Just give me one yuan. That’s enough.”

The man in front of him was not short on money.

His original plan was to establish himself in television first, then find a way to break into commercial cinema.

Though it wasn’t quite what he’d planned,

since Feihong was his close friend, he’d humor her and give it a try.

“One yuan?”

That last line nearly made Yu Feihong drop her jaw.

Not even the lead actor.

Even a background actor would earn more than that in a day.

“Who are we to each other?”

Li Luo winked at her, rubbing his thigh gently: “I’ve already gotten you—why would I take your money? Save the salary and put it into production costs.”

“That way, filming won’t be held back.”

The blunt words made Yu Feihong’s earlobes flush red.

She felt unexpectedly moved.

“Don’t try to save me money—pay me what I’m worth.”

She glanced at Xu Qing, absorbed in her card game, let Li Luo’s hand wander, then added proudly: “Two or three million won’t do anything—I plan to raise thirty to forty million in investment.”

“I’m determined to make a great film.”

“Thirty to forty million?”

Now it was Li Luo’s turn to stare in shock—he reached out and touched her forehead.

Not hot.

Why was she talking nonsense?

“What are you doing?”

The motion drew attention from the others playing cards; Yu Feihong slapped his hand away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

Xu Qing and Jiang Wen both asked in unison.

“Qing-jie.”

Li Luo couldn’t directly criticize Yu Feihong, so he sidestepped: “When we made The Smiling, Proud Wanderer, what was the total budget again?”

Just now reading the script, it was clearly a pure romance.

An art film.

Its commercial value was negligible.

And the domestic market for pure romantic art films is tiny—even spending a few million could mean a loss.

Spending thirty to forty million?

That’s insane!

Most importantly, he’d never heard of this movie before—how could a film with a thirty to forty million budget leave zero impression on him? The box office results were obvious.

It would almost certainly flop spectacularly.

“We’re publicly announcing forty million.”

Xu Qing tapped her mahjong tile on the table, thinking: “Actually, it’s probably around thirty-five million—I’m not sure of the exact figure.”

Li Luo spread his hands toward Yu Feihong at the right moment.

The meaning was clear.

The Smiling, Proud Wanderer had hired many stars, featured grand scenes, and shot on location everywhere—and still cost only thirty million. How could her romantic art film justify spending that much?

Plus, neither she nor he had any box office guarantee.

It was a losing proposition by any calculation.

“You mean Feihong’s movie?” Jiang Wen, smoking a cigar, shrugged: “To get the effect you want, you have to spend money.”

Talking budget with Jiang Wen was pointless.

This guy was always extravagant when making films.

Li Luo remembered a little anecdote: during the filming of Let’s Make a Movie, Jiang Wen loved the red soil of Yunnan, so he had several truckloads shipped all the way from a thousand miles away to lay down in Guangdong.

“Don’t care about the money.”

Yu Feihong shook her head, dismissively: “I just want to bring the story in my heart to life—for those who love it to enjoy.”

“Exactly.”

Jiang Wen gave a thumbs-up: “That’s the right attitude for making films.”

Right.

That’s exactly the attitude.

The kind that made investors bleed for Let the Sun Rise as Usual.

“Feihong-jie.”

Li Luo didn’t want to badmouth Jiang Wen, so he turned back to Yu Feihong: “Why not find a male lead with box office appeal? This isn’t a game—you need to think carefully.”

But he forgot.

The woman in front of him was just as reckless.

“Just say whether you’ll act or not.”

Yu Feihong pouted, speaking sharply: “Don’t talk to me about investment or box office—I just want to make this story. You’re the male lead I chose. That’s all there is to it.”

Everyone knew her personality.

She seemed delicate and gentle.

But she had strong opinions—and the means to waste money.

“I’ll do it.”

Li Luo laughed and sighed, extending his palm: “Do whatever you want—I’m your little brother, what can I do?”

Rich and capricious, this woman was determined to jump into the pit.

What could he do?

Just play along!

“That’s more like it.”

Yu Feihong happily slapped his palm in agreement.

With the matter settled, she unfolded the script again and enthusiastically described scene after scene, insisting on faithfully recreating the atmosphere of the late Qing to Republican era—everything had to be perfected.

Li Luo finally understood why such a massive investment was needed.

Time to start filming.

They were going to squeeze every last detail to death.

Expenses naturally flowed out like water, unstoppable.

Since persuasion was useless,

he could only do his best to act well; the money would almost certainly be lost—just a matter of how much. He’d treat it as buying reputation.

While the two discussed the script, the others nearby shouted and played cards.

Everything felt warm and joyful.

“By the way.”

Li Luo nodded toward the side and asked quietly: “What does Yu Dong do?”

“Bo Na.”

Yu Feihong dismissed it lightly: “He’s in distribution.”

Li Luo finally realized who he was—Yu Dong, the boss of Bo Na, was indeed in distribution now, but would later gradually move into investment and production, growing into an industry giant.

This senior.

He was definitely worth cultivating a good relationship with.

Night fell.

The group headed to the kitchen to make dumplings.

Laughter and chatter echoed throughout the small sihe courtyard.

The online world shifted rapidly.

With wave after wave of momentum, Li Luo’s votes surged past the rest, claiming first place.

Leaving no chance for Huang Haibing’s fans to turn the tide.

Just days later, the production team announced they would contact actors in order of vote count, following the fair, impartial, and public ballot results.

Reporters captured footage of Li Luo and He Qun chatting happily in a café.

They also intercepted him for a brief interview.

“Yes.”

“I really love the character Zhang Danfeng.”

“Master Liang Yusheng portrayed him as vivid and full of life—a true scholar and chivalrous hero. It’s a huge challenge for me, and I naturally hope to have the chance to play Zhang Danfeng.”

“But the final decision rests with them—I have no say.”

“I just hope for the honor!”

“Thank you to all my fans for voting—I won’t let you down.”

“Competitors?”

“There’s no competition—we all want to contribute to domestic dramas. Brother Haibing is a great actor; he puts immense pressure on me, but I still have confidence. That’s the strength my fans have given me.”

“The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber?”

“Yes, yes, yes—the exact air date depends on the producers. I’m also looking forward to seeing the final product.”

“Which female character do you like?”

“I like them all, hahaha—just kidding.”

“The Legend of the Condor Heroes?”

“Master Zhang Zhong is my mentor. I congratulate him on his new drama’s soaring ratings—I’d love to collaborate with him if the chance arises.”

After this article was published,

The Pingsheng Xiaying production team immediately posted an announcement online, stating they would honor the fans’ wishes: Li Luo had been officially chosen to portray Zhang Danfeng, and they hoped to deliver a great show to viewers.

Protests did exist.

But they were quickly drowned out by news releases from every website.

Such backroom dealings—

were harsh and realistic, but that’s life. As the ultimate beneficiary, Li Luo stopped accepting any further interviews about casting.

Getting the role was enough.

No need to go out and show off.

For the next period, he stayed home studying the script and the original novel, carefully analyzing the character’s personality.

With the Thousand Faces skill enhancing him,

he found it easier than ever to distinguish subtle personality traits.

Zhang Danfeng was a scholar-warrior—noble lineage, outstanding looks and talent, free-spirited and unrestrained; when inspired, he’d load a cart full of fine wine and drink heartily with friends.

When moved by emotion, he could weep uncontrollably.

He didn’t care what others thought.

His heart was vast—he could empathize with the people’s suffering and abandon personal vengeance for the sake of the nation.

That poetic, mournful grandeur was hard to portray. He could only amplify the scholarly spirit of Zhang Cuishan and blend in a touch of carefree boldness.

Now, it depended on the director’s needs.

The calendar turned a page.

After bidding farewell to familiar friends, Li Luo packed his bags and headed to Zhuozhou Film Base.

Zhuozhou wasn’t far from Jingcheng—just over four hours by car.

He chartered a taxi directly.

He’d later move to Ningxia for filming; driving himself would be pure trouble.

Though merely a county-level city, Zhuozhou had deep roots—it was said the Yellow Emperor and Chiyou once battled here in Zhuolu, giving the city its name; Liu Bei and Zhang Fei were also natives of Zhuozhou.

A land of outstanding people and fertile soil—no mistake.

The early filming of Pingsheng Xiaying took place here.

Cold winds howled; snowflakes swirled everywhere.

White steam rose from roadside stalls, fragrant aromas filling the air. Li Luo lowered the window: “Driver, slow down—what’s that smell? It’s so good.”

“You’re already in Baoding—what else could it be?”

The Beijing taxi driver added a cheeky remark before continuing: “Donkey meat fire-burn!”

“Try some?”

After hours on the road, Li Luo’s stomach was empty.

And now he smelled that scent.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Even if they reached the hotel soon, he had to taste it first.

“I’m not hungry.”

The driver swallowed hard, pulling the car close to the stall and stopping.

This one trip was worth two days’ normal fare.

Beijing folks had standards—they didn’t do things like eat and steal.

“Driver.”

Li Luo leaned out the window and waved at the vendor: “Is this donkey meat fire-burn?”

“Two yuan each, five yuan for three!” The bald vendor, in an apron, chopped rapidly and shouted: “How many, young man?”

“Two sets of five yuan.”

Li Luo pulled out a bill from his wallet.

A roadside meal usually cost one yuan and fifty cents, but considering it was donkey meat,

the price wasn’t high.

“How many?”

The vendor efficiently packed orders for others.

“Two sets of five yuan,” Li Luo repeated patiently.

“Two yuan each, five yuan for three,” the bald vendor tightened his grip on the knife, staring blankly: “Exactly how many?”

“I want two sets of five yuan.”

Li Luo was confused, and just handed over the money.

“You people talk too much,” the driver couldn’t take it anymore, leaning out to shout: “Just give me two fire-burns—with the meat portion of the five-yuan ones!”

A rapid, Miji chopping sound erupted—clearly tinged with anger.

Li Luo and the driver exchanged glances.

In no time, he stared at the donkey meat pancake in his hand, the crispy, charred bread stuffed full of bright red donkey meat.

There was too much meat, and the bread was too large—he couldn’t fit it all in one bite.

Steam rose thickly.

The rich aroma flooded straight into his nostrils.

“Let’s go.”

He forcibly shoved one into the taxi driver’s hand, who kept refusing; then Li Luo bit into it with a crunch, savoring the sensation of crispness, fragrance, softness, and tenderness.

As the two struggled to eat their way through the food, they soon arrived at the production team’s designated hotel.

After settling the fare, Li Luo pulled out his heavy suitcase.

He was about to walk into the hotel.

At that moment, a black Toyota minivan suddenly roared up the porch and screeched to a halt right before him.

The car’s wind whipped snowflakes against him, pattering loudly.

“How the hell are you driving?!”

Li Luo flinched, his hand trembling; he looked down at the pancake that had fallen to the ground, his face filled with anger.