Chapter 441: Filming Really Wears a Person Out

In the previous chapter, the shareholder profit split has been revised—40% is set aside for distribution.

For now, Yutu Company will implement the stock options this way; if there are problems, we'll fix them; if not, no need to bother.

The system must change with the market—it's not set in stone.

The dividend takes 40% of the profits. Fang Hong holds the most shares, so by this calculation he can get a little over 100 million.

This money will be set aside for now, saved for marriage—no way to let someone surnamed Liu keep walking around with a pull-tab, that would look bad.

Of course, this is also the first time Fang Hong is taking money out of Yutu; before, he always reinvested it directly. Now that things are on track, it's time to take a share.

Few shareholders means a bigger cut per person—no need to give a little to everyone.

The remaining 60%, which is 538.2 million, will be used for further development. This is the cash currently on Yutu's company books. After donating 50 million to Beijing Film Academy, there's still nearly 480 million or so left.

All debts have been paid off—he doesn't owe anyone money.

Of course, funds keep flowing in continuously—licensing fees, box office, variety show ads, and so on.

For example, the box office of the two films released during last year's New Year Slot doesn't count toward last year, because the box office revenue is only settled this year—same with the licensing fees.

So Yutu's books show far more than just this money; a lot hasn't been tallied yet and will have to wait until year-end, meaning next year's settlement.

And the funds Yutu can actually deploy far exceed 500 million—doubling that is possible.

This money will be used for investment and expansion, to handle any potential crises in the future. A company must always have the ability to bear risk—that's its moat.

Without a moat, if someone strikes at your home base all at once, you'd be far too fragile—just like Huayi.

The 50 million donated to Beijing Film Academy naturally needs a ceremony too. Isn't donating just for the name—a certificate hung on the company's wall of honor?

On March 3rd, Beijing Film Academy reopened. On the LED screen behind the Grand Auditorium, red background with yellow characters, it read: Yutu Scholarship Donation Ceremony.

On the red stage of the Grand Auditorium, the school's leaders were all present: Principal Zhang Huijun, Vice Principal Sun Lijun, Vice Dean Xie Xiaojing, Secretary-General Yu Jianhong, Director Tong Qifu, Secretary Xu Jiandong, and other leaders.

On stage, Fang Hong and the school leaders shook hands with one another, exchanging thanks and regards.

Fang Hong expressed gratitude for the school's nurturing and said he would, as always, continue to strive for the film and television industry; the school expressed thanks for his donation.

With money, the treatment is different.

The audience seats were filled with outstanding students from every department. Among the currently popular stars present were Zhou Dongyu, Guli Nazha, Yang Caiyu, and others—they graduate in the second half of the year.

Also present were Meng Ziyi, Zhang Wanyi, Chen Yao, Song Yiren, Sun Yi, and other future stars about to become famous.

They gazed admiringly at that warm, touching scene on stage, and that man stirred something in their hearts—only because he was a man with a kind heart.

Yet their hands kept applauding; neat applause rang through the auditorium, as if they had rehearsed it.

Zhang Huijun, gripping Fang Hong's hand, said: "Thank you to Yutu for the scholarship love you've shown."

For a school like Beijing Film Academy, 50 million is no small sum—their annual administrative costs don't even reach 50 million.

They could build another campus with it. Fang Hong is still very generous, still very much knows how to be grateful.

Very few entertainment companies donate to Beijing Film Academy—Yutu, being part of the family, is still different. Unlike Bona, who claims to be Beijing Film Academy's own but won't part with a single cent.

Always hanging out with those Hong Kong guys.

"It's only right. I hope Beijing Film Academy keeps getting better, and I hope we can help students learn more advanced knowledge in a better environment." Fang Hong spoke beautifully.

"Clap clap clap!"

Warm applause rang through the auditorium once again.

Seeing the Principal so loving and responsible, their admiration was plain on their faces—only because this was legend, this was an idol.

Seeing the real person for the first time, and in such a moving occasion, their hearts couldn't help but stir.

"It seems Xiao Fang has always cared deeply about the students' studies, and about Beijing Film Academy's teaching environment too," said Sun Lijun.

"Yes, I walked out from here. Giving back here is my hope that every student can achieve academic success." Fang Hong spoke even more beautifully.

"Clap clap clap!"

Warm applause rang through the auditorium once again—once again.

Some girls' cheeks flushed. Who could not love such a kind-hearted man? A girl in the audience shifted slightly, touched her bottom—it seemed wet.

Mainly because the Principal had moved her!

Next, Fang Hong stood among the Beijing Film Academy leaders, holding a red certificate in his hands, inscribed: Donation Certificate.

This moment was frozen by the camera!

This was just a formality; once it was over, everyone dispersed. The students drifted out of the auditorium in twos and threes, chatting—still talking about the Principal, of course.

No one said anything bad about him; most praised him—because he was really donating money, and they felt it firsthand.

After Fang Hong finished his business, the school leaders saw him out, which also drew a crowd of students watching and following along the way.

Even those who hadn't entered the auditorium came running. They'd be working in the entertainment circle in the future—maybe they'd be Yutu's artists, maybe they'd work at Yutu—so they followed partly out of curiosity.

"Take care, come back to visit often," said Zhang Huijun and the group of school leaders.

By then they had reached the school gate, where the school leaders saw him off. Fang Hong said: "I will. Beijing Film Academy is my second home."

"Hahaha."

The school leaders all laughed, waved, and parted.

Fang Hong was about to get in the car when several girls suddenly rushed out, shyly saying: "Prin-Principal, could you give us an autograph?"

"Sure." Fang Hong turned his head.

The ones who came were Meng Ziyi, Chen Yao, Wang Yifei, and others—all from the same class. Looking at their faces—shy, awed—did he really make people that nervous?

But they were all youthful and pretty, very fresh.

Beside them, most of the other students were still watching.

Meng Ziyi timidly held out a notebook to Fang Hong: "Just sign right here."

Fang Hong took it and wrote four big characters on it: A Smooth Path to Stardom!

"Thank you!" Meng Ziyi looked at the bold, flourishing characters, her face carrying a girl's special bashfulness.

The other girls also one by one held out their notebooks or books to Fang Hong, asking him to sign them.

When Fang Hong signed, he noticed the girls' books and notebooks still bore elegant handwriting, some even carried a faint, pleasant fragrance.

Girls' books were just different from boys'.

As he signed each one, the girls occasionally stole glances at him, watching him sign earnestly, their hearts filled with admiration and a sudden urge to kiss him.

How wonderful it would be if he were my man—capable, deeply cultured, and kind-hearted.

Thinking of this, some girls blushed slightly.

"Alright, I'm off. Goodbye, everyone." Fang Hong signed the last one, raised his hand in farewell, then stepped into a business car.

As the Principal's car vanished into the distance, the students of Beijing Film Academy dispersed. Meng Ziyi clutched her notebook to her chest, cherishing it, and sighed: "If only the Principal didn't have a girlfriend."

"Even if he didn't, it wouldn't be you, you fool," Wang Yifei teased.

"Who's the fool? Try me!" Meng Ziyi's face turned bright red.

"The Principal is so young and talented—who wouldn't love him? But who can even get close to him? Let's stop dreaming."

Hearing this, Meng Ziyi's lovely face darkened.

In March, Swan Castle officially reclaimed Ubisoft's agency rights for Hero Glory globally; the contract expired and was not renewed.

Ubisoft could only express regret, with no other options—during negotiations, all the data had been in Swan Castle's hands; they never controlled it.

Data from global players across Europe, the Americas, and beyond all resided with Swan Castle.

They had anticipated this scenario!

So the reclamation came as no surprise; moreover, Ubisoft had earned substantial profits these past two years—70% of the share went to them; they should be satisfied.

A year ago, Swan Castle had already begun deploying servers globally and establishing offices.

North American servers were located in Los Angeles and Chicago, serving players in North and South America;

Western European servers were in Amsterdam, Netherlands; Northeastern European servers in Stockholm, Sweden; other European servers included Moscow, Russia; Turkey; France;

Oceania servers were in Sydney, Australia; South Korea was handled by an agent; Japan had its own servers.

Southeast Asia also had agents, but Hero Glory seemed unpopular there; this year, Swan Castle would reclaim the Southeast Asia agency rights and operate it themselves.

After all, it's not far—it's right next door.

The reclamation of Hero Glory caused Swan Castle's revenue to surge overnight; monthly revenue jumped from just over twenty to thirty million dollars to $78.83 million—equivalent to 551 million RMB—with daily income reaching 18.39 million.

This represented a 370% increase over previous revenue—truly terrifying.

Operating it ourselves was so much better—no need to split profits.

Of course, this success relied on Ubisoft having opened global channels; without Ubisoft, Chang'e Technology alone could never have broken Hero Glory into the global market.

This revenue outpaced second-place CrossFire at $74.75 million, third-place DN at $74.25 million, fourth-place World of Warcraft, and fifth-place World of Tanks.

This was due to Hero Glory's sustained surge in popularity, with over 27 million daily active users globally and over 67 million monthly active users.

Unlike movies, where the terminal is controlled by others, with a server and Data Center and exposure channels, you can operate it yourself.

Players download the client and play.

Of course, this revenue still pales next to Tencent's—daily revenue of 130 million; Swan Castle is only one-tenth of that.

But Hero Glory's momentum in esports, live streaming, and peripheral licensing—those are areas Tencent can't match.

Yet this segment hasn't matured yet; the Hero Glory IPs lack sufficient fame and influence—it's too early, needs time to accumulate.

If this could be partnered with major companies in the future, it could be developed and leveraged.

For example, partnering with Disney—this game's licensing rights could generate at least hundreds of millions in revenue annually.

Disney is the best company at licensing management.

Right now, only the global servers are set up; if this game continues to be operated well, with foundational investments completed, another golden age is possible.

Of course, Hero Glory's profits must be remitted; aside from necessary reserves, monthly profits must be paid to Chang'e Technology.

Profit margins for PC games can reach 70% to 80%; mature games can hit 90%, since major development costs are gone and promotional spending is no longer needed.

The only costs are maintaining the operations and design team, and data maintenance—meaning, excluding non-essential expenses, at minimum levels.

Hero Glory generates at least $55.18 million in profit monthly—386 million RMB.

At the mid-level 80% margin, monthly profit reaches $63.06 million—equivalent to 550 million RMB—enough to fund Bilibili and Chang'e Video.

Remember, 5.5 billion RMB annually equals 66 billion RMB.

Games really are money-making machines; Fang Hong felt all his years of grueling work in film were less rewarding than one month's effort from this game.

If only he'd known, he should've had his mother send him to study game development, then come back to life and make games—he wouldn't have wasted five years; he could've achieved financial freedom and reached the peak of his life in a single month.

Movies are exhausting!

(End of Chapter)