Chapter 52: Consider It Robbing the Rich to Help the Poor (Requesting Monthly Votes)

“Both of you starred in ‘The Promise.’ Li Lianjie won Best Actor, Liu De won Best Supporting Actor—don’t you feel any psychological imbalance?”

With the interview time nearly over, the media hurriedly asked a few more questions.

“A little, yeah. They promised to buy me something good to eat if we won awards, but they still haven’t delivered.”

Qi Hao cooperated well with the media, making a humorous joke.

He played the humble junior, showed affection for Li Lianjie and Liu De, and demonstrated he wasn’t jealous of them.

If Li Lianjie and Liu De saw this interview—even if they’d never made such a promise—they’d definitely treat Qi Hao to a meal.

“At the Hong Kong Film Awards, An Feng spoke up for you. Is there anything you’d like to say to her?”

“I don’t really have anything to say. We’re friends; helping each other is only natural.”

There was truly nothing to be grateful for.

Qi Hao figured that if An Feng faced the same situation he had—or if any of his gossip girlfriends faced a similar scenario—he’d do his best to speak up for them.

After all, this kind of scandal was just too absurd.

It had to be fake.

In this line of work, you’ve got to have loyalty. If you stand by your brother, he’ll stand by you.

“Li Xuexue said she doesn’t want to talk about you. What happened between the two of you?”

Previously, people had only speculated, hearing rumors that Qi Hao and Li Xuexue had fallen out of love.

But there was no evidence.

Li Xuexue’s behavior at the Hong Kong Film Awards revealed far too much.

So don’t blame the media for chasing it relentlessly.

“It’s just that there are too many topics like this. I can understand her. Xuexue is a good girl who devotes herself entirely to her work.”

Qi Hao said seriously.

Old tricks are unreliable; only sincerity wins hearts.

I just don’t like Li Xuexue—that doesn’t mean she’s bad.

The media fell silent.

Suddenly, I feel a little moved.

Whether his gossip girlfriends began or ended with him how they did, they all largely defended him unconditionally, and Qi Hao never spoke harshly to any of them.

Even though he knew they were riding his coattails.

After the interview ended, the production team couldn’t continue filming, so everyone packed up early and went home.

Qi Hao’s head was stuffed with knowledge, throbbing slightly, so he ate something and then lay down on the bed.

Even without choosing the system’s training NPC, random selection is possible.

So Qi Hao didn’t wait until after the Beijing Student Film Festival to complete this task.

Worst case, just go random.

【Task 11 completed. Reward: +10 lines of dialogue, song ‘It’s Not a Crime for a Man to Cry,’ startup capital of 100,000 RMB】

【Task completed. Training opportunity granted】

【Training NPC options: Hu Ge / Liu Shishi / Huang Zhiwei】

【New task now being released】

【Task 12: As a celebrity, maintaining your screen image requires great effort, but engaging in public welfare is undoubtedly the best choice. Why not start by participating in an actual charitable activity? Task difficulty: 4 stars, deadline: 90 days】

【Reward for completion: Stamina +10, script ‘Spring Light Shines on Zhu Bajie,’ 4.6% of Huayi Brothers stock (approx. 2.71 million shares, valued at 750,000 RMB)】

What the hell?

Huayi Brothers stock, worth 750,000 RMB?

You’re awfully generous.

In 2000, where would I have gotten 750,000 RMB…?

Wait, maybe I did have it—system gave me multiple startup funds, I had my own acting fees, plus songs and scripts; whether I sold them or filmed them, I’d earn plenty in writing and creation fees.

But here’s the problem.

Why Huayi?

Fuck, Qi Hao hated Huayi the most—how could he become their shareholder?!

Can I get Tencent instead?

If not Tencent, even Nokia would do—Qi Hao’s whole family used Nokia.

Qi Hao had no specific grudge against Huayi.

He just plain disliked the company.

He debuted in 1997 and had watched Huayi grow from its founding to its rise.

At its peak, Huayi controlled over half of mainland China’s celebrities; nearly every major entertainment star was under its umbrella.

In the entertainment industry, it was a force that could summon wind and rain.

From media to stars, to film and television operations and connections with the Zheng circle, Huayi built a thick wall that suffocated other film companies.

Wild celebrities like Qi Hao could only survive in the cracks.

Some even said the film industry’s descent from a pure stream into a mire was deeply tied to Huayi.

Before 2000, there was no such thing as mistresses clinging to rich men or all sorts of mind-blowing scandals.

Back then, most stars came from cultural troupes and valued their image.

Qi Hao didn’t think Huayi deserved such a heavy blame.

In any industry, when resources become too concentrated, all sorts of unwritten rules emerge.

Even among cultural troupes, there must have been similar issues.

But Huayi’s arrogant and bottomless tactics—Qi Hao had seen too much of them. When he received offers at the time, he chose Ziwen over Huayi.

After he terminated his contract with Ziwen, Huayi repeatedly sent people to contact Lao Tian.

According to Lao Tian, Wang Zhonglei and Wang Zhongjun had both invited him for tea.

After all, Huayi was currently preparing for an IPO; landing a young male lead and Best Actor would be a boon.

Yet Qi Hao had never once considered joining Huayi.

He found it disgusting!

Filmmaking was unavoidable—the circle was too small, some overlap was normal—but he would never spend money to buy Huayi stock.

Not in this lifetime!

Qi Hao sat up, opened his laptop.

4.6%, 2.71 million shares, valued at 750,000 RMB…

This price couldn’t be current—it must have been around 2000.

Qi Hao checked: Huayi had indeed undergone multiple funding rounds.

The clearest information was that his former…gossip girlfriend Li Xuexue had bought Huayi stock.

In 2007, she invested 189,300 RMB to purchase 360,000 shares of Huayi Brothers, accounting for 0.2857%, at a cost of just 0.53 RMB per share.

Although Li Xuexue was a contracted artist of Huayi, subscribing to stock didn’t come with much discount—Huayi wasn’t just owned by the Wang brothers; they had to answer to other shareholders.

This price was likely the market rate.

Calculating by this unit price, Qi Hao’s 2.71 million shares would be worth about 1.42 million RMB.

But the system’s purchase price for Qi Hao certainly wasn’t 2007.

That’s why he ended up acquiring it for only 750,000 RMB.

Another issue: based on Li Xuexue’s purchase price and ratio, 2.71 million shares should have amounted to 2.15%, not the system’s stated 4.6%.

That’s not hard to understand.

Share percentages dilute over time, but the number of shares usually stays fixed unless there’s a stock split.

Qi Hao’s Tencent ownership percentage isn’t 0.1% anymore—it’s been diluted heavily.

Only the 6.3 million share figure remains unchanged for now.

This reward of 1.42 million RMB was, in a sense, genuinely generous from the system.

Qi Hao didn’t dwell on it long.

It’s just public welfare.

Put simply, volunteering at a community center counts as public welfare.

But since the system specified “real” public welfare and emphasized the celebrity image, it meant he had to do it properly—spend the money properly.

At the very least, he couldn’t cut corners.

When he first debuted, as a dead-end extra, he’d have had trouble getting charity invitations—but now, with his status, he received far too many invitations each year.

He could just donate the money Huayi gave him.

Use Huayi’s ill-gotten wealth to help those in need.

Consider it robbing the rich to help the poor.

Besides, what if Qi Hao ever angered Huayi…

Knowing Huayi’s nature, they’d definitely move to destroy him.

Then suddenly, a jolt hit his mind—he realized, damn it, Qi Hao was their shareholder.

How could they target him then?

Other shareholders, seeing the founder try to punish a shareholder, would all feel threatened and likely refuse to stand idly by.

It would affect the IPO. It would affect the stock price.

The feeling of having swallowed a dead fly slowly faded, replaced by the satisfaction of holding Hu Yi’s weak point in his hands.

Of course, Qi Hao was not so arrogant as to believe that his 2.15% minority stake could sway the Wang brothers.

Next came the selection of the NPC actors.

Hu Ge / Liu Shishi / Huang Zhiwei — Huang Zhiwei was the guy who played Chonglou; his acting was decent, but nothing special.

Qi Hao decisively chose to abandon them.

Then the system rapidly refreshed and locked onto He Jiaju / Cheng Kui’an / Shen Wei.

These three…

Qi Hao quickly understood the system’s intent in randomly selecting these actors.

All three were professional villains in the Hong Kong film industry.

He Jiaju’s villainous persona was hailed as the foremost of Hong Kong’s “Four Evil Men,” and he was also nicknamed the “Category III Tough Guy”; his most sinister role likely came from “Massacre of the Family.”

Cheng Kui’an was Da Sha, a naive-type villain — inferior to He Jiaju.

The third, Shen Wei, had less fame than He Jiaju, Cheng Kui’an, Li Zhaoji, and Huang Guangliang — the Four Evil Men — and was not as widely recognized as Shi Jian, Zhang Yaoyang, Long Fang, Wang Xiao, or Wu Yijiang, but his acting was truly not to be overlooked.

He won the Best Supporting Actor award at the 4th Hong Kong Film Awards, defeating nominees such as Chu Yuan, Tai Bao, Chen You, and Zhang Guozhu.

Among them, Qi Hao chose Shen Wei.

He Jiaju was indeed the most famous, but his performances were slightly over-the-top; many of his eccentric roles succeeded only because he himself was sufficiently eccentric.

It was hard to learn much from him, and Qi Hao simply lacked the courage to try emulating him.

Shen Wei was regarded as a master of treacherous villains; though not widely known, his acting was solid. As a “supporting leaf” beside major stars, he portrayed many unforgettable roles. His distinctive appearance left a lasting impression, and he excelled particularly in portraying deceitful, cowardly, and cruel villains who betrayed trust and bullied the weak.

Notably, in the 1990s Shen Wei shifted behind the scenes; he wrote, directed, and starred in TVB’s “The Last Boss of the Underworld,” one of Zhou Xingxing’s early cult classics.

This film was also quite good.

Regardless, Qi Hao chose Shen Wei not to tattoo Wang Zuxian.