Chapter 730: There

That money is due to be recovered; recovering it is only to repay Hua Yi's debts, not to help them rise again.

Hua Yi's current debts are extremely high, and the interest alone is substantial; in the days ahead, Hua Yi will grow increasingly difficult to manage, Feng Kuzi will decline further, and without good material, they can only recycle old ideas.

So he will still make Mobile 2, and at that time, Cui Yongyuan will still ruin it.

As for whether Fan Xiaopang will speak carelessly, that remains unknown.

"You've been saying you're helping us communicate, and it's been over half a year—surely there's some progress, some word by now." Wang Zong wanted to pressure him.

"Are you questioning me?" Fang Hong stared directly at him.

"No, I'm not questioning you—it's just that the other side has said something, at least what conditions they need to return the money." Wang Zong explained.

Xiao Wang Zong only dares to whisper behind the Principal's back; when facing the Principal himself, he dare not speak harshly.

Mainly because he's been beaten into submission.

"I said I'll communicate again—since you don't trust me at all, why don't you go ask for it yourselves?" Fang Hong shifted the blame.

"It's not that we don't trust you—look, when you dealt with Wanda, we agreed on it, and haven't we helped you a lot too?" Wang Zong said.

"Are you trying to claim credit from me?" Fang Hong asked.

"No, it's just that our debts are nearly due, and the debt you lent us is also nearly due—we all need to repay, plus project payments—so could you please help by making a phone call?" Wang Zong lowered his stance completely.

There was no choice—they were begging someone else, and if the Principal refused to help, they had no power over him.

"I see."

Fang Hong looked down, thought for a moment, then said to the two men opposite: "It's not that I won't make the call—it's just that I don't speak English. Normally, when I communicate with the Warner president, Xixi is beside me to translate; now she's not here—who among you two speaks English? Maybe one of you can act as the translator."

Lao Zha doesn't speak Chinese like Donna does.

The two Wang Zongs exchanged glances—it was indeed a problem. Xiao Wang Zong said: "Big Brother, don't look at me—you know me, I've always been a poor student. You've been abroad—you should know more."

"I haven't been overseas in twenty or thirty years—who remembers all that?" Wang Zong had once "studied" in America, reportedly delivering pizza there.

His grades were mediocre—he just wanted a diploma to return home, so he could be called a pillar of the nation; everyone used to do it that way.

"Then it's not my fault—I want to call, but you can't translate for me." Fang Hong spread his hands.

"Doesn't your company have any English-speaking talent?" Wang Zong asked.

"Of course we do—but I consider this confidential. Don't you want to let the world know that Hua Yi was swindled for 600 million by Warner?" Fang Hong countered.

Wang Zong fell silent—he really didn't want that. After all, it was a scandal.

Though many outsiders knew Hua Yi had tensions with Warner over investments, it was still framed as a business dispute, not as fraud.

If it became known that Hua Yi had been scammed, the stock price would likely drop further—it's already crashed badly enough.

"Alright then, Principal, we'll wait for your news. We'll come back tomorrow." Wang Zong had now firmly attached himself.

They had learned their lesson—they no longer confronted the Principal directly, only wore him down with soft persistence.

The Principal responded to softness, not hardness.

"Fine then, fine—tomorrow it is." Fang Hong laughed—he knew they were trying to wear him down.

"Then we two brothers will take our leave." Wang Zong bowed.

Fang Hong waved his hand, signaling they could leave.

After the two brothers left, Xiao Wang Zong asked: "Big Brother, do you think the Principal will help us?"

"If he doesn't, we'll keep wearing him down—come every day. With him, if you're hard, he's hard; if you're soft, he has no way to respond." Wang Zong had finally figured him out.

"Big Brother, brilliant!" Xiao Wang Zong gave a thumbs-up.

"These are lessons paid for in blood," Wang Zong sighed.

After fighting with the Principal for so many years, being crushed for so many years, they had to learn something.

Just as Fang Hong was thinking about how to communicate with Lao Zha to recover the money, Guo Fan knocked and entered.

"Principal, here is the project proposal for The Wandering Earth." Guo Fan placed the proposal on the desk and pushed it forward.

This project had been agreed upon long ago and assigned to him, so for the past couple of years, Guo Fan had been busy with it.

"No need to read it—just tell me how much money you need!" Fang Hong gestured for him to sit.

"About three hundred million," Guo Fan said.

"That little?" Fang Hong was surprised, picking up the proposal to flip through it.

"The film didn't hire any stars—only unknown minor actors, so their salaries are low; the highest is just a few hundred thousand."

Guo Fan smiled as he added: "Of course, if the Principal is willing to give more, I won't object."

"I'm not joking—this investment is too low. A visual-effects blockbuster can't be made with less than eighty million U. S. dollars; this project won't work." Fang Hong closed the proposal and tossed it onto the desk.

Eighty million U. S. dollars is about 560 million RMB; in the previous life, this film cost 320 million, but in that life, there were no stars at all.

Qu Chuxiao was just a newcomer; Zhao Jinmai was still in middle school; Li Guangjie and Wu Mengda were past their prime and demanded low fees.

The entire film had no single actor to carry its prestige.

Wu Jing only joined later as a guest star, contributing sixty million and adding scenes.

Many behind-the-scenes roles were filled by interns—intern teams from Beijing Film Academy—basically, a makeshift crew.

And yet, with this makeshift crew, Guo Fan succeeded.

But the visual effects, honestly, were decent overall—barely passing—but lacked realism in details.

The physical simulations—engines, vehicle dynamics, materials, lighting—were not refined or lifelike enough.

Compared to Hollywood's top-tier standards, there was a gap—but that was already their limit; one couldn't demand more.

But in this life, Fang Hong could never let it go unattended—he would push for the best possible, since this was one of China's flagship visual-effects films.

"Five hundred and sixty million?!" Guo Fan was stunned.

"Yes, that's the minimum investment. Anything less won't work." Fang Hong drew the line.

"Five hundred and sixty million? I'm afraid we won't recoup the cost," Guo Fan worried.

Five hundred and sixty million! Without at least 1.68 billion in box office, they wouldn't make a profit—and that doesn't even include propaganda costs.

If you count it, this movie would be a pure loss without a 2 billion yuan box office—how many films have reached 2 billion so far? You could count them on one hand.

"If you have no confidence in your own film, then this project shouldn't start at all—wait until you're confident," Fang Hong pushed the project proposal over.

"It's not that I lack confidence, Principal—I'm afraid the market isn't big enough to support such a big-budget film," Guo Fan explained.

"That's not your concern. I need a high-reputation, best special effects blockbuster to restore market confidence. As for box office, neither you nor I can predict it—this film won't be released for another one or two years; who knows what the situation will be then? All we can do is give our best," Fang Hong said.

These words deeply moved Guo Fan—the Principal still had guts; he only focused on doing his best now, not worrying about what came later.

Just give it your all, that's all.

"Alright, Principal, I'll take this project. I'll make sure it's done well—I can't promise you'll be satisfied, but I won't let you down," Guo Fan pledged.

"Good. Rebuild this project with a budget of 560 million yuan—no less," Fang Hong decreed.

Guo Fan acknowledged and picked up the proposal, leaving immediately.

Now Chang'e Technology also has Huoshan Yinjing Yunjisuan, capable of providing massive and complex computations—previously, this required endless hardware and endless manpower.

Now it's unnecessary; cloud computing can deliver vast computational resources, configuring large-scale rendering clusters within minutes.

This not only reduces costs but also elevates visual detail to a new level.

Domestically, we're not incapable of making best special effects films—we lack film-specific best special effects talent. If we couldn't do it, how were those amazing game graphics made?

Tencent and Pig Factory game CGs are getting more and more impressive, each more tantalizing than the last.

Of course, film best special effects are even harder than game best special effects—they pursue ultimate realism.

Games require performance optimization for real-time responsiveness, since they rely on interactive feedback; if performance isn't optimized, what if the computer can't handle it?

So it's not that we can't make large-scale best special effects—it's a matter of whether we're willing to invest the time, money, and energy, and whether we have the corresponding high-end talent.

Fang Hong had long cultivated best special effects talent, and assigned Guo Fan to lead because these people need to eat—you can't train talent and then leave them idle without projects to sustain them.

Sometimes, even if you lose money, you must do it!

Like aircraft carriers—you build them one by one. If you built them all at once, those skilled workers would have nothing to do, and the expertise couldn't be passed down.

The United States built all twenty-two carriers at once; though blueprints exist, those skilled workers are gone.

A skilled worker's career spans at most ten to twenty years; if there's no successor, the skill is essentially lost—that's the point.

So some things, even if they lose money, must be done!

Now Yutu's Animation Department operates the same way—roughly one film per year; the year before last was Big Hero 6.

Last year was Inside Out; this year is Ocean Miracle; this animated film will be released in December, just over a month away.

Other animations are merely investments—not self-produced; Yutu can't possibly consume the entire market.

But it can act as a leader, a technology provider—you need what kind of technology, what kind of talent? We can supply it all.

Only then can the entire film industry remain vibrant.

That afternoon, back home, Liu Tianxian, Liu Xiaoli, and Xu Liyun were examining a pile of bizarre baby clothes.

"This one's nice—thick and warm."

"Look at this one—it has a hat."

"This onesie is so cute in pink!"

"Boys don't wear onesies—why buy all this nonsense?"

"It's fine—he's still tiny!"

The three were scrutinizing a heap of baby clothes.

"How much have you bought?! You've moved the entire clothing mall here," Fang Hong approached.

He saw more piles on the floor—many large and small packages.

The baby was asleep in the crib.

"It's getting cold, winter's coming—of course we need to buy more clothes for the baby!" Liu Tianxian picked one up.

"He probably won't even wear these before they're too small—kids grow fast," Fang Hong said.

"No problem—have another, and the next one can wear them," Liu Xiaoli laughed.

"I'm not having another—one already nearly killed me," Liu Tianxian complained, yet her tone was sweet and playful.

"One's too lonely—give the child a companion," Xu Liyun smiled.

The four chatted while sorting the baby clothes, then stored them neatly in a cabinet.

After dinner, the family took a walk, tended to their son, then retired to their rooms—the baby didn't sleep with Fang Hong or Liu Tianxian.

Sometimes he slept with Xu Liyun, sometimes with Liu Xiaoli—it depended on their mutual agreement.

That night, Fang Hong leaned against the headboard, watching Liu Tianxian stand beside the bed, applying oil to her face and neck.

He told her about the two brothers from Huayi demanding money.

"Will we get that money back? Will Warner pay?" Liu Tianxian asked, puzzled—she knew about the matter.

"I don't know—let's try. After all, I told Lao Zha to do it; the money should be reclaimed—we can't let foreigners get away with it," Fang Hong wasn't sure Lao Zha would deliver.

When he assigned Lao Zha this task, Lao Zha agreed eagerly for the benefit—but now, taking money from someone's pocket is far harder to negotiate.

It's easy to put money into someone's pocket; harder to take it out.

"Then let's wait—their office starts at nine, so another hour or two."

Liu Tianxian said, walking toward the bathroom; her voice echoed from afar: "You didn't handle this well—you shouldn't have let Hollywood get involved; they're greedy."

"I had no choice back then—do you think crushing a legacy company is easy? There were still financial backers behind them," Fang Hong called out.

Liu Tianxian said nothing; when she returned, she wore a red silk dress—smooth, slightly sheer, revealing glimpses of her figure, alluring.

She climbed onto the bed, straddling Fang Hong's lap, facing him; she lifted her wavy hair, exuding seduction.

"Pretty?" she displayed herself.

"Beautiful—so beautiful," Fang Hong's hand slid down her dress, the silk gliding effortlessly.

"Hehe, I picked it myself with care," Liu Tianxian raised an eyebrow, looking smug.

Fang Hong stood up, drew close, wrapped his arms around her waist, pressed his head against her neck, and breathed in lightly—its scent was sweet.

Liu Tianxian straightened her body, tilting her head back slightly.

She could feel the faint breath against her neck, sending a tingling sensation through her.

"You're becoming more alluring," Fang Hong said.

"What kind of allure?" Liu Tianxian asked.

"Feminine allure."

"You're just teasing me!" Liu Tianxian laughed softly.

"No, really," Fang Hong whispered, pressing a light kiss along her skin.

Liu Tianxian clasped his head with both hands, urging him to sink deeper.

"Slowly… take your time, there's plenty of time!"

(End of Chapter)