Chapter 222: Sense of Responsibility

Under deliberate suppression from above, the fervor quickly died down.

Nothing else—it was ugly and unpleasant to hear.

Besides, Hong Kong people had value in those days; stirring up opposition would be bad.

They were patriotic, after all! Ceng Aizi didn't hold any press conference to deny or struggle—he simply vanished, erased from records.

There was no trace of him online either, though his films weren't taken down—removing them would be too terrifying; he'd acted in hundreds, collaborating with nearly every well-known Hong Kong actor.

That is, if they were removed, most of the great Hong Kong films would have to be pulled, causing too wide an impact—just keeping him from appearing again was enough.

Just retire in peace; you're this rich already, why keep causing trouble?

As for the still-forming "Anti-Principal Alliance," with Ceng Aizi gone, everyone else fell silent and stopped stirring.

They were scared! They could only curse a few times—but Ceng Aizi vanished outright.

They didn't want to end up like Ceng Aizi.

It was too frightening! Many observers in the industry hadn't expected this.

Although the fervor was suppressed, online discussions remained lively, but the entertainment industry fell utterly silent, none daring to speak, terrified of offending someone.

In the same office, Fang Hong leaned back in his chair, head tilted upward toward the ceiling, lost in thought, motionless for a long time.

Even when Chen Zhixi entered, he showed no sign of noticing—no reaction at all.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"Do you think I did something wrong?" Fang Hong asked.

Chen Zhixi sat in the chair across from him, legs crossed, exuding elegance and poise—her demeanor had improved greatly.

She had money now, managed so many people, and produced films under her banner—it was natural her aura had elevated.

She said: "Someone said you did wrong?"

"They say I shouldn't have," Fang Hong replied.

"Indeed, you shouldn't have. With our strength, we could've resolved this in other ways—it would've just taken more time," Chen Zhixi spoke plainly.

With strength gained, there were many ways to silence Ceng Aizi—he didn't need to offend Yutu; it was merely an exchange of resources.

But Fang Hong couldn't wait—he solved the problem with the most brutal method.

Though satisfying, it damaged his reputation—he looked like a tyrant, not a righteous army.

It was equivalent to ancient city-sacking—a deeply immoral act; people feared you, but didn't respect you, and even if you rose, your legitimacy would be flawed.

"You think so too," Fang Hong said, still in the same posture, voice calm.

"There's something I'm not sure whether I should say," Chen Zhixi resorted to her usual tactic.

"Then don't say it," Fang Hong said.

"You tell me not to speak, and I'll speak even more," Chen Zhixi smiled.

"Then why ask me at all? That's pointless," Fang Hong was speechless.

They began bickering—Chen Zhixi knew he was fine, just stuck in a mental blind spot, temporarily unable to turn around.

"Outside people may not know who you are or that you're Yutu's boss, but those above know—they'll judge your behavior and define your identity, define your company's identity."

Chen Zhixi added: "When a company reaches a certain scale, it must have a sense of responsibility. Without responsibility, no matter how successful you are, you'll be discarded—you're acting selfishly."

We came from humble origins; success is one thing, but once you grow large, you must cultivate your image and demonstrate responsibility—only then will those above see you as a positive figure worthy of honor.

Don't underestimate those certificates, those banners of honor—they're what truly protect you, not your wealth.

Others didn't do what you did; others didn't fix their image as you did—you become the face, the indispensable one.

No matter how strong your background or patronage, can it compare to the state's favor toward you?"

Chen Zhixi spoke clearly; Fang Hong listened attentively.

In truth, the issues raised by Liu Tianxian, Zhang Hongsen, and Chen Zhixi were all about Fang Hong's enterprise growing large, his status rising, his visibility increasing—he now had to consider his reputation.

That is, he needed to expand his vision, think long-term, and stop acting like a bandit as he used to.

Even a bandit must eventually become a regular army—do you want to be a bandit your whole life?

Only then will you fly highest and go farthest—Liu Tianxian had always hoped this for him.

But Liu Tianxian spoke directly: she told Fang Hong not to do such things, long ago urging him to act openly and honorably—she never told him to hide, only to act openly and honorably.

Others expressed themselves more subtly, with clear bias.

Zhang Hongsen wanted him to return to the right path and make good films—if he kept this up, even if no one targeted him, those above would let him destroy himself—he ignored advice.

Chen Zhixi thought of the company, wanting it to rise another level, grow bigger and stronger—after all, she was a shareholder.

Liu Tianxian cared about Fang Hong himself—she didn't want him to end up being settled accounts with for bad deeds, because he had too many dark spots.

One can only say Liu Tianxian cared for him—otherwise, she wouldn't have flown into such a rage.

Fang Hong thought for a moment, shifting the topic: "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I'm telling you—'Our Schoolmate' has finished its run; total box office: 431 million, Yutu's revenue: 102 million, Tubiaopiao's revenue reached 12.93 million," Chen Zhixi pulled out the revenue ledger.

The box office was high, exceeding his expectations, yet still reasonable—the film market expanded further this year, with more films reaching 300–500 million.

It wasn't like last year—every year was different! "There's also the film and TV department's revenue—from August last year until now, all movies and TV dramas—take a look," Chen Zhixi added.

Fang Hong took the ledger, opened it, and looked down.

'Those Years' box office: 130 million, revenue: 25.89 million. 'Lost in Love 33 Days' box office: 347 million, revenue: 85 million.

'To Our Youth' box office: 406 million, revenue: 100.2 million.

'Beijing Meets Seattle' box office: 396 million, revenue: 97.81 million.

'The Score' box office: 362 million, revenue: 89.41 million, overseas rights calculated separately.

'Fleetminded Years' box office: 305 million, revenue: 72.28 million—revenue sharing with Tubiaopiao began from here.

'The Outlaws' South Korean exchange: 640 million won, domestic box office: 380 million; ratios differ.

South Korean revenue: 128 million, plus domestic 90.06 million, total revenue: 227.6 million.

"Your Companion" grossed 431 million yuan, with revenue of 102 million yuan.

In just these three years, Yutu Film released eight films, with total box office revenue reaching 800.19 million yuan.

In the film industry, this is already an extremely impressive achievement, placing it in a class of its own.

There is also copyright income; the copyright fees vary, and although "The Genius Girl" had low box office earnings, its copyright was the most valuable.

Yindu paid 20 million yuan, Netflix paid 42 million yuan—of course, these are time-limited; after two years, the copyright reverts, and payment is required again to retain it.

Domestic TV and streaming platforms paid around 30 million yuan; total copyright income so far is 92 million yuan, exceeding box office revenue.

This film was not released on DVD; piracy is rampant in Asia, making DVD distribution impossible, and Western companies showed little confidence in it.

Releasing DVDs incurs costs—production of discs, distribution channels, and other expenses.

Copyright laws in Europe and America are strict; non-Hollywood Asian films risk losses on DVD sales.

Primarily due to the impact of streaming platforms; people now watch films and TV shows on streaming services worldwide, and all distribution companies are transitioning to streaming—that's the trend.

As for other films' copyrights, fees ranged from a few million to 20 million yuan; in 2010, copyright fees were not high, unlike today in 2012.

However, the copyrights sold earlier are nearly expired and can be resold.

Excluding "The Genius Girl," the seven other films generated 75 million yuan in copyright income—still less than what "The Genius Girl" earned alone.

This proves that box office is not absolute.

A good film with strong influence generates high copyright income; a bad film may have high box office but fails to create impact, so its copyright income may still be low.

Although box office can be estimated, audience opinion and preferences also emerge.

Some people avoid watching bad films; some viewers won't watch them twice because they're terrible.

A good film is watched once, then again; even ten years later, it remains enjoyable—that's the charm of art films.

This is what distinguishes them from commercial films.

Commercial films are one-time transactions; art films generate steady, long-term returns.

For example, last year's "The Genius Girl" still influenced Liu Tianxian's career this year, elevating her status and increasing her activity opportunities.

She was even invited by the Shanghai International Film Festival to serve as an overseas promotional ambassador.

The film festival takes place on June 16; even before it begins, Liu Tianxian has already been confirmed as the promotional ambassador.

She is currently filming promotional videos and promotional photos.

Over the past two years, Liu Tianxian is the only actress whose film has achieved overseas critical acclaim, creating both box office and reputation success, with ongoing international discussion.

No other actress currently matches her—most lack sufficient heat, work quality, or image.

She has an excellent image and demeanor, certified by the Shanghai International Film Festival as positive energy.

For example, Guoji Zhang's scandals—the foul language incident, the nude run, the fake donation scandal, the ink-splashing incident, the fire-spitting incident, the beach incident—are already exhausted.

This wave of attention also boosted "The Four Great Constables."

However, from two years ago to now, Yutu Film's total revenue reached 967 million yuan; adding the TV series "Beijing Love Story," which generated over 100 million yuan in income.

Thus, Yutu's total revenue over these three years exceeded one billion yuan—this is revenue, not profit; expenses such as film investments, administrative costs, interest, and taxes have not yet been accounted for.

Taxes alone amount to one or two hundred million yuan, even after Yutu applied for high-tech enterprise status to secure partial exemptions.

Fang Hong closed the books; he roughly knew Yutu likely owed two or three hundred million yuan, but it had tens of millions of dollars in overseas deposits—he wasn't worried.

Because "Split" has been in theaters for over a month, with global box office of 278 million yuan, or 69.5 million dollars, and 486 million yuan in revenue.

As long as overseas income covers domestic liabilities, it's fine.

Fang Hong has always known that domestic film currently cannot generate huge profits—this is why major directors and stars always say not to use your own money to make films.

Because it could easily result in losses, with high risk.

Think about it: so many professionals, so much money, immense effort, an entire year's time—all resulting in data on a hard drive.

Is that data valuable? You'd probably feel uncertain. Not everyone has Fang Hong's prophetic ability, nor does everyone have Hollywood's Big Data computing power and global market backing.

Many markets move forward in uncertainty.

Even though domestic film continues to lose money, Fang Hong has never abandoned pursuing film industrialization—who says he lacks responsibility?

His goal has never changed.

He aims to build a large content system and enhance the production capabilities of Best Special Effects, Animation Department, and production.

To reach Hollywood's advanced level.

(End of Chapter)