Chapter 427: Of One Mind

The singing voice was melodious and lingering, like a young girl whispering softly in your ear, reminiscing about youth—truly lovely to hear.

The theater was quiet; everyone's gaze was fixed on the girl singing up ahead—some gently clapping, some with eyes tender as water.

To many people this girl was quite unfamiliar; just appearing on a few Variety shows doesn't make you well-known—many people didn't recognize her.

She still needed someone to push her, and Fang Hong was deliberately promoting her, to deepen the impression she left in people's hearts.

"This song's pretty nice—what's it called?" a girl whispered to her companion beside her.

"I don't know," her companion replied.

There were soft murmurs in the venue; some asked who the singer was, and the answer—Yao Beina—spread from one to ten, ten to a hundred, until everyone knew.

"This little song, 'A Little Happiness,' is for all of you—thank you." After Yao Beina finished singing, she bowed to the audience in gratitude.

And from today onward, this song would be released in the form of a Propaganda Department clip.

It was simply edited footage from the film, then released—of course Yao Beina also appeared on screen.

"Clap clap clap!"

Applause broke out in the venue; Liu Tianxian was also clapping, and gave Yao Beina a thumbs-up.

Yao Beina smiled, then returned to her seat—the song was merely an opening amuse-bouche.

Then came the familiar opening, the Chang'e Holding Rabbit logo appearing, same as always—unchanged for years.

The audience fell quiet once more.

The scene opened on the year 2010, a café, warm yellow lighting, the spreading aroma of coffee—some couples sat stiffly upright, others could barely contain their fluttering hearts.

From the start there was a warm, cozy tone; the male and female leads met in just such a setting.

Actually this film was very plain, with no great conflict, so early on the audience had no particular reaction—it was quite quiet.

The reaction would only come later.

"Hey, the shares you transferred to me—don't you need to inform your Shareholder or anything? They have no objections?" Liu Tianxian watched the film, tilted her head, and thought of this matter.

She was afraid of causing her man any trouble.

"No need, why would I need to inform them?" Fang Hong countered.

"Isn't there a Company Law provision that transferring shares must be announced to the Shareholder for their awareness?" Liu Tianxian asked.

"The logic of this share transfer is—Company Law is based on the company's own rules; whatever your company stipulates, Company Law executes according to your company's rules. If your company doesn't have such a rule, Company Law only kicks in when there's a problem. In other words, the company's articles of association take priority in share transfers," Fang Hong explained.

He had consulted people on this matter, so he knew a bit, and continued: "For example, Zhang Yiming as the major Shareholder, having a Xiamen company hold shares on his behalf, also doesn't need to inform the other Shareholders. We operate on a Partner System—as long as the Partner's identity and rights don't change, it doesn't matter who you give the shares to. Unless someone's rights are about to change, that must be notified.

We people are the core of the company—the ones making major decisions are people, not Shareholders. If a Partner's rights are impaired, they must be taken back—that's the rule."

It only protects the Partner's rights; the shares can go to anyone. This is also why he insisted on equal shares and equal rights—no matter what, no one can gather over 50%, simple and clear.

Because once they gather that much, they can change the company's rules.

"Is that how it is?" Liu Tianxian was a bit unclear.

"Company systems on the market are all over the place—AB shares, preferred shares, super AB shares, egalitarianism, special fixed voting rights. Apart from the founders, have you ever seen anyone publish their personal shareholding ratio? Very few publish personal shareholdings; they all publish institutions.

You mention Company Law, but there are also provisions that individuals may withhold their shareholdings to protect personal privacy—this is to prevent other Shareholders or third parties from obtaining that information, avoiding unnecessary attention and trouble, like people trying to buy your shares or banding together to oust the founder.

I'm the founder—mine is public, can't avoid it. You're not, so you don't need to disclose.

For example, has Huawei ever published its Shareholders for anyone to see? When bringing in outside Shareholders, does it need to notify or get permission from anyone?

Those big companies—Tencent, Alibaba—apart from the founders, not a single one publishes individual shareholdings; they all publish institutions."

Fang Hong said this, then looked at her and asked: "Do you know who this is for the convenience of?"

Liu Tianxian shook her head, looking blank.

Fang Hong pointed upward and said softly: "Those who find it inconvenient to show themselves—like some low-key big shots, and of course the old cadres, Red Boy."

"Stop talking." Liu Tianxian patted his thigh—if they went on, it would touch a taboo; they didn't get involved in those things.

Some things were fine as whispers between the two of them; once exposed, they were easily speculated on and misinterpreted.

Actually it had always been this way—at the start, most were personal investments. You put in some money, I put in some money, and we started a business together. Where did so many institutional investments come from? Institutions also had to wait until you'd achieved results.

Later, when you grew big and needed to go public, got more and more impressive, impressive to the heavens, then it was time to transfer—to family, to sons and wives, hiding yourself away.

Otherwise, were those entrepreneurs all fools, all so selfless, not seeking benefits for their families?

Fang Hong was also just seeking benefits for his family. Think about it—if he were to earn tens or hundreds of billions a month later, that would be terrifying.

"So no need to worry—as long as the two of us don't cause any impact, this matter won't make waves. The scariest thing is making trouble ourselves," Fang Hong said.

"Mm, I know." Liu Tianxian nodded—they just needed to be of one mind, not giving others any opening.

Just as the two were chatting, the film kept playing—it talked about the boy and girl's life backgrounds: one was a college student who wasn't good at socializing.

The other was a college girl with niche literary tastes.

Soon the two discovered shared hobbies and habits—their earphone cords would habitually be coiled into a ball; the poetry collections they carried were always their favorites; and they both liked using movie ticket stubs as bookmarks.

Even more coincidentally, they had both missed the same exhibition, and were both wearing the same little white sneakers.

They went from sitting across from each other chatting to sitting knee to knee, happily sharing the fun photos on each other's phones, with whimsical ideas constantly bubbling up in their minds—the feeling was wonderful.

This wonderfulness made the two able to talk about anything.

And Liu Tianxian performed very naturally on the big screen, because she had experienced it, and was still experiencing it—she and Fang Hong could talk about anything.

Though the two didn't share the same habits and hobbies, they had plenty of topics, and like in the film, they'd chat about everything under the sun. In the film, the girl saw the boy's bookshelf, her eyes lit up—the books were the same as hers.

This naturally drew the two hearts closer.

Next, the boy and girl began meeting frequently, rushing from one end of the city to the other; the usually crowded subway car no longer felt unbearable, and ordinary scenery became wonderfully magical.

Perhaps this was what being in love felt like.

The boy confessed to the girl—everything was so natural; a whirlwind romance unfolded.

The film was unremarkable, but the audience in the theater was unusually quiet, as if watching someone else's life, and as if watching their own.

Even Liu Tianxian was drawn in—she felt as if watching her own past; the couple in the film were just like they had been at the beginning.

Just as after the boy and girl confirmed their relationship, they began to enter each other's circles—the girl who disliked socializing got to know many of the boy's friends.

But in the end they still had to face life. After leaving school, the girl kept hitting walls in her job search, her emotions on the verge of collapse. They had such a tacit understanding that even the slightest shift of tone over the phone was enough for each to sense the other's mood.

The boy didn't even bother to get dressed before rushing to where the girl was to comfort her. At moments like this, the boy wanted to take even more meticulous care of her.

So he made a decision: move in together.

Afterwards they found a sun-filled, spacious apartment, pulling up the curtains they had carefully picked out together, laying down the balcony flooring tile by tile together, lighting up their home together.

The bakery downstairs became their favorite spot to check in; even an ordinary piece of bread could taste like the most wonderful thing in the world.

In their leisure time they would watch the same movie, read the same book, and together they raised a little black cat.

This little black cat was a guest appearance by Liu Tianxian's cat.

Winter passed and spring came; they entered the second year of their relationship, and in that year they met each other's parents.

For young people whose love had come unprepared, the parents naturally couldn't offer a hundred-percent blessing — because the parents had all been through it themselves: love isn't only sweetness, it also includes life.

So the pressure of living began to weigh down on both of them.

So job-hunting became the most important stage of their love. The boy cut his hair into an adult style, said goodbye to the girl brimming with confidence, and charged into the workplace.

One interview after another left them no time to breathe; resume after resume had to be polished through the night.

Finally, near the end of that year, the girl landed an accounting job, and the boy became the one chasing after her.

Fortunately, though, the boy also found a job — in the logistics industry.

Although it was only a beginning, they kept cheering each other on, just as back when Liu Tianxian ran into trouble and Fang Hong encouraged her, and when Fang Hong ran into trouble, Liu Tianxian gave him confidence.

Afterwards they got off work together, but their busy jobs kept pushing back the movie they'd been looking forward to for so long, again and again.

The play they'd already booked tickets for in advance — because of weekend overtime, the boy could only apologize to the girl and ask to go next time.

Though disappointed, the girl still comforted the boy.

From then on, the boy's work grew busier and busier. The books the girl had told him to read were tossed aside by him; the once-white sneakers had, without his noticing, been replaced by black ones.

The movies they used to watch together could now only be watched by the girl alone in front of the TV, while the boy, rushing to finish his work, put on headphones to block out all the sound.

This also cut the two of them off into two separate worlds.

When she finally spotted a book she liked in a bookstore and wanted to share it with the boy, he was flipping through a book on success.

Their usual outings lost their laughter and hand-holding.

Just like that, another year passed. One day the boy happened to discover that the girl had quit her accounting job and switched to doing planning work instead.

This left the boy utterly puzzled — why would the girl give up the accounting certificate she'd worked so hard to earn, and quit just like that?

The girl laughed and said it fit her interests.

But work isn't playtime — if you join some messy, chaotic company and can't keep it up later, what then?

The boy anxiously urged the girl to change her mind.

But the rift had already formed. The girl didn't want to do a job she disliked just for the money; she only wanted to live happily, and even if it meant less money, she didn't care.

So the two of them broke into a fierce argument.

"What about marriage? We'll need to live too when we're married," the boy said.

"Are you proposing to me? This isn't at all what I imagined," the girl said through tears.

In the transition from graduates to members of society, disagreement and breaking apart became their new beginning.

Seeing this, the audience in the venue finally reacted, a pang of heartache stirring in them. The earlier part had been too sweet — it made people's hearts full of beauty, yearning for love.

The shift to disagreement here feels natural, because it had long been seeded. Graduates don't carry that much pressure; they only need to fall in love well.

But adults need to support a family, need to work.

"From the sweetness to the disagreement, the transition is well done. The shift from people to objects doesn't feel abrupt; the details are shot very precisely," Cao Baoping said to Xue Xiaolu.

"When we were filming it, we didn't think that much about it either — it was all little Fang directing the shoot on the side," Xue Xiaolu said.

Hearing this, Cao Baoping glanced at Fang Hong and revised his opinion somewhat — the man didn't only know how to shoot commercial films.

Stop obsessing over the share transfer!!!

(End of chapter)