Chapter 550: All Business

"Principal is badass, I'm willing to worship you as my idol!"

"Love Principal to death, what he said was so fired up."

"These days there are more ghosts than people, and the truth gets scarcer by the day."

"Principal is a hero!"

"."

The livestream had tens of millions of viewers; the comments scrolled by so fast no one could read them clearly, but one could see they were all comments supporting the Principal.

And they were all very excited, for no other reason than that the Principal dared to speak—dared to say what they hadn't dared to say, dared to say what they considered "right."

Ordinary people are like this: if someone faces a powerful force and dares to expose its shady dealings, that person becomes their hero, evoking a powerful sense of resonance in their hearts.

Because the Golden Horse Awards and Golden Rooster Awards they had seen were exactly like that.

The on-site guests and audience were the same—their gazes toward the Principal had changed; some felt awe, some felt admiration.

To say such things in public requires tremendous backbone.

Nazha, Zhu Yilong, Cai Wenjing and other stars gazed at the Principal on stage with worship in their eyes; at this moment the Principal shone brilliantly in their hearts.

Even Liu Tianxian wore an adoring look—she hadn't had this mindset before, but now she suddenly did, all because her man never went with the flow, never lost himself.

Not only the on-site and livestream audience were watching—Star TV, Macau Satellite TV, and Movie Channel were all broadcasting this program live.

Star TV and Macau Satellite TV mainly targeted Hong Kong, Macau, and Southeast Asia, with at least a million viewers in those regions.

All watching the Principal's brilliant denunciation.

They used to think the Macau Film Festival was boring and tedious, but this year's festival was especially interesting—Cui Yongyuan's dry, witty, loaded style.

It made them laugh out loud while also revealing some inside stories about certain people in today's entertainment circle, satisfying their curiosity and making them happy.

There were also the stars teasing each other, Liu Tianxian's forceful declaration of ownership—all very much worth watching.

Of course, Movie Channel had to cut away from time to time because some untimely things were said, but the broadcast as a whole went out complete.

An ordinary channel might have cut the feed long ago, but Movie Channel is relatively independent and doesn't have to worry about too much.

And many news outlets take the attitude that the less trouble, the better.

Who has the Principal's kind of force—daring to say anything!

"Today I've said a lot, just like Teacher Cui said—I have a bellyful of words I want to say to everyone. How can you not let people speak? I just have to say it." Fang Hong's words sounded very relaxed, drawing "hehe" laughter from the audience.

"Before the Macau Film Festival existed, ordinary actors whose relatives weren't rich enough or who weren't born beautiful might never win an award in their entire lives.

People say an arm can't twist a thigh, but this time I'm going to twist it—to create the fairest, most just film festival. No matter if you're good-looking or not, no matter if you have powerful relatives or not, as long as you act well, at this Macau Film Festival, right here, you will be the center of attention."

Fang Hong pointed one finger downward at the stage.

"Clap clap clap!" Warm applause erupted throughout the hall; these words couldn't help but make them look at the Macau Film Festival in a new light.

Hearing those words, the director of "Kuiba" was moved inside, unable to wipe the tears from the corner of his eye; "The Coffin in the Mountain" director Xin Yukun's nose twitched and he covered his face.

Tao Zeru's eyes also welled with tears; he knew that without the Macau Film Festival, he would never have won an award in his entire life.

Because he had no background, no capital to buy one for him, and he wasn't good-looking or popular—that was all there was to it.

The livestream audience, hearing the Principal's words, also gained a different impression of this film festival, feeling it was a notch above the others, feeling it had a certain authority.

"I'm already annoying enough as it is; I reckon you're even more annoying than me." Cui Yongyuan quipped humorously.

"I don't have the ability to change the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers Awards, Golden Horse Awards, or Huabiao Awards Awards, but I do have the ability to make them feel uncomfortable, to make them feel miserable." Fang Hong's words drew another wave of laughter from the audience, and the applause was just as warm.

The Principal really doesn't hold back at all when he speaks, naming names directly—just how much resentment does he have toward those film festival awards?

They never noticed the Principal having any dissatisfaction with those film festivals before?

Cui Yongyuan looked at the Principal with full admiration—another person who dares to act and dares to do; this society needs people like that.

"The Principal has the courage to treat every edition of the film festival as if it were his last. There aren't many people like that left in this circle. He's willing to throw away his face, using those people as negative examples to teach a lesson—which恰恰 proves the Principal is a man of conscience. Let's give the Principal a round of applause."

"Clap clap clap!" Applause rang through the hall once again.

He said again: "I don't know if you've noticed a detail—the Macau Film Festival has no volunteers. This is almost unheard of at other film festivals. Whether it's a film festival or any other event ceremony, there are always tons of volunteers, right?"

The guests instinctively nodded along—at the other film festivals they'd attended, and at all kinds of events, there were volunteers of every sort: airport pickup volunteers, meal arrangement volunteers.

The labor was almost free, no money involved, but the Macau Film Festival has none of that—everything costs real money.

That's also why the other film festivals don't spend much money—tens of millions is already a lot, and it's basically resource sponsorship: you hold your ceremony here, they arrange volunteers for you, open up the venue for you—all free.

And the money earned just vanishes into thin air. Film festivals make money. Take the Oscars for example—one edition pulls in over a hundred million US dollars in ad revenue alone, with the red carpet alone bringing in over twenty million dollars.

The Cannes Film Festival, through sponsorship and ticket sales, brings in several million euros every year, not counting ad revenue.

The Golden Rooster Awards has over thirty sponsoring brands every year, all big corporations—Wuliangye, Huawei, Hennessy, Guomao, and so on.

Five million each and that's 150 million—do you think they're not making money?

And that's not even counting shady income—capital buying awards and the like. Bona has done this kind of thing; outsiders might not know, but it's basically an open secret in the industry.

So Fang Hong doesn't do that kind of thing. Any ceremony or awards ceremony has commercial attributes to it—all that talk about doing this for that, giving you work experience, just listen and forget about it, it's all bullshit.

Weibo Night also makes money—for one thing, a ticket near the stars costs over six thousand yuan.

And stars get paid to appear. Take Huang Jiaozhu for example—appearing once costs about two million. Don't think those stars attend events and ceremonies for free. Winning an award is secondary; getting paid to appear is the real deal. After winning an award you have the reputation, you have the money—why not?

That's also why in his previous life Sina had Weibo Night; Tencent had the Star Awards; Baidu had the Entertainment Person of the Year Award; Douyin had Star Night.

You really think they're charities handing out awards to stars? They're making money!

"Collecting hefty ad fees and sponsorship fees, using the venues and volunteers provided by the locals, and still afraid of letting people know they're making money—I just don't know, what are they afraid of? What's there to be afraid of?" Cui Yongyuan, infected by Fang Hong, also dared to speak up.

He stripped those awards ceremonies and event ceremonies bare for all to see.

The guests were fine—they knew in their hearts what was going on, they just didn't speak, because speaking would offend people. But the livestream audience was stunned by what they heard, their perceptions truly overturned.

They'd always thought these were, how to put it, public-spirited in nature—they never expected they were still businesses.

Mainly because no one had ever said these ceremonies made money, and no one had ever heard that the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers Awards, Golden Horse Awards, and Huabiao Awards Awards were also making money.

"You've completely exposed my hand—how am I supposed to make money in the future?" Fang Hong laughed.

"I don't envy you making money—you deserve to earn it, because you'll give it away to those who need it.

Do you know? The prize money for this film festival is double that of other festivals—if you win at other festivals, you get two million, but here you get four million. Of course, I don't know if there's any corruption; I'm not on the judging panel." Cui Yongyuan then changed the subject.

"If you discover any corruption, if anyone asks you for a bribe, tell Teacher Cui—he'll come yell at me."

"That's right, I've got a foul mouth, and I'm willing to be the watchdog."

Their words triggered loud "hahaha" laughter from the audience, followed by enthusiastic applause.

These two played off each other in jest, exposing the cruel reality of the entertainment industry while livening up the atmosphere—they were truly masters.

When the applause subsided, Fang Hong grew serious: "On this occasion, I also want to tell some filmmakers in the industry, including young people still struggling within it: don't shut yourselves off, don't always seek out dark, miserable characters to make films."

"You think this is how young filmmakers understand society? No! That's not true."

I once read an article published by Director Zhang Hongsen—rich in style and eloquence—and it mentioned something."

"The true political correctness in film is the perfect presentation of art; a political correctness that is crude and disrespectful to art is the most incorrect thing for film."

"You've seen Forrest Gump, right? You've seen The Shawshank Redemption, right? You've seen The Truman Show? These are all deeply inspiring films, perfect artistic expressions, and forms of political correctness."

"No matter what country you're in, it has its dark side—whether it's small people or suffering—but you must let people see hope. Films without hope are colorless."

"Clap, clap, clap!" The applause continued.

Below the stage, Zhang Hongsen sighed: the former principal, once prone to complaints and reckless disregard for consequences, was gone—replaced by maturity.

Of course, his stubbornness remained—he still dared to challenge what others feared to touch.

Online viewers enjoyed hearing little-known behind-the-scenes truths; they realized the world worked this way, something they never knew before.

Thank you, Principal, thank you, Cui Yongyuan—you're heroes!

"Let's continue with the awards," Fang Hong decided he'd said enough; he couldn't delay the ceremony.

He took an envelope from his hand and opened it.

The guests and audience below also grew serious.

On the large screen behind, clips from the films most likely to win Best Film were playing.

Films competing for this award included Black Coal, Thin Ice, Coming Home, Song of the Phoenix, The Golden Era, Silent Witness, and The Four Days.

This was the biggest prize—everyone had a chance to win it.

The filmmakers and directors below stared fixedly at the principal, who was slowly and calmly opening the envelope.

He wasn't in a hurry, but they were.

Fang Hong opened the envelope, pulled out the card, then frowned and held it high, feigning surprise: "Huh? There's no writing on it?"

"Is that so? Let me see," Cui Yongyuan stepped closer, tilting his head and pretending to scrutinize it too.

This left the audience below utterly confused—was there really no text, or was it fake?

Only Liu Tianxian understood her man—she knew he was up to his old tricks again.

"The characters are too small, almost hidden, barely visible—I can't read them," Fang Hong held the card closer.

"Looks like it. Even someone as learned as me can't make them out—too hard to decipher. But we only need to recognize one character to know which film won; each film's title has different characters," Cui Yongyuan played his part well.

Their back-and-forth made the audience below exchange glances—some looked baffled, others chuckled knowingly, realizing the two were faking it.

Liu Tianxian smiled, arms crossed, quietly watching their performance; she didn't understand others, but she understood her man.

Even online viewers commented: "These two are acting way too fake."

"Hahaha, they're so cute."

The camera zoomed in frequently, giving viewers clearer views.

But distant audience members couldn't see clearly—some actually believed there was no text.

Nazha's little face was utterly confused; she asked her companion: "Is it real or fake?"

"Of course fake—it's obvious they're acting!"

(End of Chapter)