Chapter 12

The sun shone brightly, spring warmed and flowers bloomed; the sunlight falling on the two carried a touch of warmth and quiet peace.

The surroundings were beautiful, but the atmosphere between the two was anything but.

Liu Tianxian glanced at the man across from her and said, "Give me your bank account number—I'll transfer you the money anytime."

Fang Hong was finally satisfied; he pushed the IOU over and said, "Keep it safe—don't lose it, or I won't pay you back."

"Don't worry, even if I lose everything else, I won't lose this IOU," Liu Tianxian said.

Fang Hong smiled. This girl was actually quite likable. He changed the subject: "Will you play the female lead? If not, I'll find someone else."

"Who's the male lead in this drama?" Liu Tianxian asked.

"Far away? No—it's right in front of you," Fang Hong said.

If he played the lead himself, he wouldn't need to pay anyone a salary, saving the most money possible—and his age fit perfectly, and his acting was decent enough.

Most importantly, with Liu Tianxian on board, he wouldn't need to hire any famous actors—this girl came with her own heat.

"You?!" Liu Tianxian sized him up, skeptical. "Can you even do it?"

"Can you stop undermining me all the time? Just give me a little encouragement, okay?" Fang Hong sighed.

"My bad."

Liu Tianxian smiled awkwardly.

She didn't know why she kept undermining this man—maybe because he seemed too capable, and she just wanted to knock him down a bit. She added, "I have a drama to shoot in the second half of the year. How long will your project take?"

She meant A Chinese Ghost Story! "At most two months—it won't interfere with your other drama," Fang Hong said.

Actually, if the team cooperated well, they could finish in just one month.

But it probably wouldn't go that smoothly, so the timeline couldn't be set too rigidly.

Liu Tianxian thought it over: it was April now, so two months later would be June, and A Chinese Ghost Story was scheduled for July—times could be staggered.

"Fine. Since you're being so sincere, I'll take it," she agreed.

She had no idea how she'd sensed Fang Hong's sincerity—he'd already planned to just drag someone random from Beijing Film Academy to play the lead.

Now that both leads were confirmed, the cast and crew for Those Years were essentially complete.

Fang Hong had revised the budget for this drama: total investment six million, with a two-million shortfall remaining.

Actually, they could start shooting with this much—but the follow-up funding hadn't been secured yet, so they dared not rush into production.

This gap could only be filled by seeking support from the school's Support Fund; other avenues were nearly impossible to open.

After all, they were students, and April and May were precisely when university seniors were about to graduate—making the Youth Director Entrepreneurship Support Fund highly targeted.

But Yu Xian came back to say the Youth League committee teacher thought the application was too ambitious and had rejected it.

The message was simple: students making a movie? That's a joke! They'd always been rejected for this exact reason before!

Fang Hong followed Yu Xian to the administration building and stopped before an office door. He glanced at the plaque outside: Deputy Secretary of the Beijing Film Academy Youth League Committee, Xu Jiandong.

"Knock knock knock!"

Inside the office, Yu Xian glanced at Fang Hong, seeing he wasn't speaking, so he had to greet first: "Teacher Xu, sorry to bother you again."

Fang Hong stayed silent because he was quietly observing everything around him.

The room was a single-person office, small in size, with potted plants placed inside. Along one wall stood a row of filing cabinets, all filled with documents.

The plants were slightly withered; dust coated the filing cabinets.

The desk, however, was clean, holding standard office supplies, and in one corner sat an ashtray, packed with crushed cigarette butts.

"Why are you back? Didn't I already say your application doesn't comply with regulations or procedures—it's too ambitious. Go learn to walk before you try to run."

Xu Jiandong glanced up only once, then returned to his writing, treating the two as if they were invisible. Most students started with short films or low-budget art films—they, on the other hand, jumped straight into a commercial youth campus drama.

They even made it look professional, with such a detailed shooting plan—who knows which adult in their family is pushing them too hard.

He didn't believe a student could have put together this plan. Some things the school never teaches—where would they even learn them?

Only seasoned veterans who'd spent years on film sets knew such details.

Like shooting content, schedule, locations, props, equipment—some of these things students had never even seen, how could they possibly know them all?

Too detailed—implausibly detailed! Fang Hong studied the man: mid-40s, wearing black-rimmed glasses; perhaps due to years dealing with students, he carried an air of authority.

He glanced at the man's right hand—his index finger was yellowed, clearly a lifelong smoker.

"Teacher Xu, we're seriously trying to start a film company—we're not cutting corners, and students from other departments are involved too. This isn't as unrealistic as you say," Yu Xian explained.

Xu Jiandong acted as if he hadn't heard, still not looking up: "I know. The school has its rules. It's not enough to say a few words or have many students involved—you must follow procedure."

Again with the rules. Yu Xian felt deflated. He'd written the application as Fang Hong instructed, found a faculty advisor—but it was stuck here, immovable as a mountain.

And with this indifferent attitude.

Even before leaving campus, they'd already felt the chill of human indifference and the harshness of the world.

Fang Hong placed his hand on Yu Xian's shoulder to comfort him, then said to Xu Jiandong: "Secretary Xu, thank you for your time—we'll be going now."

"Wait, this—"

Yu Xian wanted to say more, but Fang Hong pulled him out and shut the door. The man wasn't even bothering to respond—what was there left to say?

Yet as the two left, Xu Jiandong lifted his head, watching their retreating backs.

Just because of that one phrase—"Secretary Xu"—it had felt good, struck right to his heart.

Usually, students only called him "Teacher." They were blind—they couldn't see the two big characters: "Secretary."

In the hallway, Yu Xian was confused: "Aren't you here to get money? Are you just giving up now?"

"Who said I gave up? I just can't ask this way—I need a roundabout strategy," Fang Hong said.

"What strategy?" Yu Xian asked.

"Appeal to his interests," Fang Hong said.

"Wait—you mean you're going to bribe him?" Yu Xian interpreted it as this.

In this era, in their eyes, people in power were all corrupt.

"What bribery? If we bribe, we'll die even worse," Fang Hong said.

There's no relationship at all—would you dare give a bribe to a teacher, and would the teacher dare take it? Even though this isn't the self-media era, the internet still isn't strictly monitored; exposure would still damage one's reputation.

Who would throw away their future over something so trivial? If they rashly offered gifts, Fang Hong guaranteed they'd at best be reprimanded, at worst face direct punishment, while the teacher could still maintain a spotless, upright image.

Since it's not bribery, Yu Xian was deeply curious and asked, "Then how are you going to do it?"

"Don't worry about it yet—I don't even know if it'll work."

Fang Hong extended his hand. "Give me your application materials. I'll try my method and see what happens."

Yu Xian handed the documents over to him.

"Go check the storyboard I gave you. I'll notify you if there's progress."

After speaking, Fang Hong paid him no more attention and quickly went downstairs, heading straight for the off-campus store.

(End of Chapter)