Chapter 10

"Yes, the script is already written; we just need a little more investment—and you're the one we're missing."

Fang Hong placed his hand on his arm, looking sincere, but his words came without preparation, ignoring the huge gap that still remained.

In his past life, Yu Xian was exceptionally skilled in his field, a top scholar who later passed the entrance exam for a Ph. D.

He was exactly the type of Scholar!

Fang Hong's professional ability was average, but he had over a decade of practical experience—something Yu Xian couldn't match at this stage; his strength was only theoretical.

Yu Xian felt uncomfortable with this man's excessive enthusiasm and pushed back slightly: "I've never directed a film before—I might not be able to do it well."

"It doesn't matter if you can't do it well—I'm not doing this for money, just for my film dream!"

Fang Hong was now fully indulging in deception, convincing him in first, worrying about the rest later.

Mainly because he had no choice—making a film required assembling a team, and at this stage, the only people he could gather were these students; he couldn't assemble professionals—he lacked the ability.

Yu Xian was slightly moved by his words and nodded in agreement: "Alright!"

Seeing it settled, Fang Hong glanced around at the other students, leaned close to his ear, and said: "Tonight I'll take you for a foot massage."

"Ah!" Yu Xian startled, realizing he'd reacted too strongly, muttering under his breath: "That's not right..."

In truth, he very much wanted to go—he just felt embarrassed. Scholars are often reserved and shy; they need to be coaxed and persuaded.

"No problem, I'll treat you."

Fang Hong patted his chest, generous and open, then added: "But I need you to help me with something."

"What kind of help?" Yu Xian asked, puzzled.

"Let's apply for the Youth Director Entrepreneurship Support Plan," Fang Hong said.

Currently, support programs for filmmakers in Neidi were scarce; only after the film and television market boomed and profits poured in did the government begin establishing film support funds.

But Fang Hong couldn't access them—he had no standout work to his name; he didn't meet the threshold.

You can't just hand over a script and sweet-talk your way into funding—there are requirements, and they look at your past achievements.

Before Ning Hao received funding from Liu Tianwang, he had already made several films and won awards—he met the threshold.

If Wang Laoer had agreed to let Fang Hong be listed as a co-director back then, he would've had a track record, making it far easier to attract investment or apply for support funds.

But there was no way!

This Youth Director Entrepreneurship Plan was a fund established by the State Administration of Radio, Film, and Television, in collaboration with universities and major art institutions, aiming to help young directors take their first difficult step.

It sounded good on paper, but actually securing funding was extremely difficult—ten applicants, ten rejections; gradually, no one paid attention anymore.

Many said it was all fake!

Fang Hong was pulling Yu Xian in because of his strong record—he wanted him to help invite a professor to serve as the advisor.

That was required for the application materials.

As for Fang Hong himself, he didn't get along with professors—he had average grades and was too troublesome; professors disliked people like him.

Professors preferred students who excelled academically and behaved obediently—not just at Beijing Film Academy, but nearly all schools across the country.

That's the definition of a good student versus a bad one.

"That's really hard to get—no one has ever succeeded; it's just for show. Think of another way!" Yu Xian advised.

No student today paid attention to it, because no one had ever succeeded from start to finish.

"Just try it—it doesn't matter if you fail," Fang Hong urged.

"But—"

Yu Xian wanted to say more.

Fang Hong had already shoved a bound script and a shooting plan into his arms and whispered: "Tonight I'll take you for a foot massage."

He wanted Yu Xian to go ahead and scout the situation first—mainly because Fang Hong's current options were extremely narrow.

What if they succeeded?

Yu Xian had originally intended to refuse, but hearing Fang Hong mention doing something indescribable, the words died on his lips.

Mainly because he'd never been—he wanted to experience it. He'd heard classmates say it was mysterious, a place every man longed for, but he was too embarrassed to go alone.

His mind was already imagining alluring scenes—he was itching to go.

Fang Hong had completely understood his psychology—no man disliked that place.

Beijing Film Academy could be called a treasure trove of film and television talent—artists for set design, music, sound recording, environmental design—all were there, all carrying dreams, all uncertain about their futures.

The only regret was their lack of practical experience—but that didn't matter; Fang Hong didn't mind at all.

It was just a youth film—it didn't need top-tier talent. If they didn't know something, he could teach them; if they couldn't do it, he could guide them.

He posted recruitment notices on campus and on Xiaonei Network, and with his silver tongue, he recruited many junior and senior classmates, as well as alumni who hadn't found work after graduation.

The phrase "I'm not doing this for money, just for my film dream!" became his catchphrase, quickly drawing in all the "idealistic youths."

He was incredibly easy to deceive!

Making a film was exactly what these students dreamed of—and now here was someone so noble, of course they joined.

Some were so moved they agreed to work for free, asking only for a meal, just to follow him in making a film.

For the dream—making a film was many students' dream, even if they couldn't make one after graduating.

If they had a choice, no one would choose to make mini-series or web dramas—they all wanted to become Lao Mouzi or Chen Daren, to become respected figures.

Just to make their parents proud, to give their friends and relatives something to boast about, to slap the faces of those who looked down on them.

By bringing these students in, Fang Hong had contributed nothing but his words—and he had assembled the entire team.

And he even got them to sign agreements!

This was mandatory—cheap labor was the most unreliable. If someone quit halfway, they could just walk away, and Fang Hong couldn't stop them.

He wouldn't take anyone who refused to sign—even if they were brilliant or had great records. As the leader, he needed consistency—he had to ensure the film was completed.

This was what he truly wanted: personal feelings and relationships had to yield to the fixed goal.

Of course, signing the agreement didn't mean they'd have to pay compensation if something went wrong—it was merely a ritual, a binding formality, nothing more.

He worked until evening, then waited for Yu Xian at the school gate and called Liu Tianxian.

"Hello, Boss Liu, it's Xiao Fang."

When the call connected, Fang Hong adopted a very humble tone—mainly because the money hadn't been paid yet.

On the other end, Liu Tianxian couldn't help but smile at this self-introduction; it was rare to hear him so subservient.

"What do you want?" she said.

"Here's the thing: I've already assembled the team, and all other investments are secured—now I'm just waiting for your three million to arrive," Fang Hong said.

Liu Tianxian was surprised: "So fast?"

She had expected it would take months, maybe half a year, to make any progress; she hadn't imagined he'd get it done in less than a week.

In truth, Fang Hong had just been bluffing both sides.

"It's just a small matter—I think I've been slow already. No need to be shocked," Fang Hong said.

Liu Tianxian snorted; give him an inch and he'd take a mile.

Still, she genuinely respected this man's ability—he had no connections, no capital, yet had assembled a filming crew in such a short time; that was impressive.

"Let's meet tomorrow to talk."

With so much money involved, it had to be settled face to face.

(End of Chapter)