Chapter 53: I'm Done Pretending—I'm Laying It All Out (Requesting Monthly Votes)

April 22, Qi Hao attended the Beijing Student Film Festival.

Li Lianjie and Liu De were unable to come due to scheduling conflicts, and the Team of the Letter cast couldn’t possibly send no lead actors at all, so Qi Hao came alone to accompany Chen Kexin, Ye Weimin, and others.

Moreover, the festival had already hinted to him that he might receive the Most Popular Actor award.

On the red carpet, Chen Kexin, Ye Weimin, Qi Hao, and screenwriter Qin Tiannan walked together.

Qin Tiannan was also an old acquaintance.

Qi Hao had previously played Han Zhibang in Qin Tiannan’s screenplay for Seven Swords.

He contributed to the screenplays of Team of the Letter, Drug Lords, and even the project Qi Hao had already signed a letter of intent for—October Siege.

To accommodate media visits and due to a headache, he only arrived on the closing day.

Thus, his hairstyle hadn’t been styled properly—slightly messy, wearing a beige shirt on top and dark blue jeans below, the cuffs casually rolled up a few times, exposing his ankles, giving off a casual yet stylish vibe.

The glasses perched on his nose gave the fans and media present a different impression.

Having looks lets you be Renxing .

Others exhaust themselves trying to look good, yet none compare to his effortless appearance.

“What were you up to last night? Why are you so late today?” Ye Weimin asked with a smile, waving to the audience on both sides.

No need to doubt—this old bastard was definitely driving.

“You know me, Brother. I don’t even have a girlfriend,” Qi Hao rejected the slander.

“When life is good, enjoy it—why not date someone before you start hauling bricks again?” Qin Tiannan chimed in.

“Enough, you two—be serious!” Chen Kexin had to interrupt them.

The group quickly walked to the interview zone.

After a brief interview, they went inside.

“Qi Hao, I need to talk to you,” Ye Weimin called out, so Qi Hao followed them to find a place to sit and discuss.

“What’s wrong?”

Had the role they’d agreed on been taken by someone else?

Since his debut, Qi Hao had encountered this many times—he was used to it.

Of course, he had also taken roles from others.

For example, The Flower Sedan, Wrong Bride, Right Groom, was a role he snatched from Nie Yuan—even some believed Nie Yuan’s girlfriend broke up with him because Qi Hao interfered.

But surviving one disaster guarantees another.

During casting for The Legend of the Condor Heroes, Nie Yuan became Qi Hao’s rival again.

And again, he lost badly.

His next two lead roles in film and TV drew little attention; now he’s at the bottom of the Four Young Kings.

So while Qi Hao and Nie Yuan aren’t enemies, they certainly aren’t friends either.

Qi Hao didn’t attend Tong Dawei’s wedding a few days ago.

Because Qi Hao had only worked with Tong Dawei on Young Bao Qingtian 2, while Nie Yuan and Tong Dawei were close friends in the industry—Qi Hao showing up would only invite resentment.

Today, Nie Yuan also came; he greeted Qi Hao when he saw him.

In the entertainment industry, no matter what grudges exist, you can only stab someone in the back—on the surface, everyone is always amiable.

Here, Qi Hao sat down with Ye Weimin, Chen Kexin, and Qin Tiannan.

“The June shoot we talked about might not happen.”

Ye Weimin got straight to the point.

He knew that for a hot young star like Qi Hao, clearing his schedule was extremely difficult.

They’d finally freed up time for October Siege.

The pay was low—definitely a friend’s price.

Now, suddenly changing the schedule, he had to explain face to face.

“Why?” Qi Hao was genuinely annoyed.

Since winning Best Actor, scripts piled up on Lao Tian’s desk like mountains.

Many were from top directors and big productions, some offering huge pay.

To reserve time for October Siege, he turned them all down.

“There are funding issues, but don’t worry—this film will definitely be made; the city’s almost built.”

Ye Weimin felt deeply apologetic—he felt he’d let Qi Hao down.

Clearly, Qi Hao had agreed to join October Siege only because of Ye Weimin’s reputation.

Their relationship during Team of the Letter’s shoot had been excellent, which was why Chen Kexin asked Ye Weimin to invite Qi Hao instead of approaching him directly.

It wasn’t because Chen Kexin, as producer, was too proud to reach out herself.

“If you don’t want to join anymore, that’s fine—we owe you a favor, we’ll find another chance to work together.”

Chen Kexin added—he was producer of October Siege, worried the film might lose money again like Team of the Letter, so he’d invited many big names to join as favors.

Making one losing film was fine; keep losing, and even the most powerful would be abandoned by capital.

“Has the script been finished? Can I see the full version?”

Now that they’d spoken so nicely, Qi Hao was no longer angry—he never had much of a temper anyway.

But he thought of something else—he wanted to read the full script before deciding.

He’d seen the plot summary and character bios, but the full script was still being revised.

“I brought it, but you’ll have to wait a bit—I’ll have someone bring it over.”

Screenwriter Qin Tiannan was a workaholic—he’d keep working even at the hotel.

“Alright!” Qi Hao nodded.

The group discussed the film’s issues in detail.

It was said that several investors visited the nearly completed “Central City” and felt the money was wasted.

Some claimed they could build something better for twenty million.

Others pointed out similar buildings elsewhere—why waste so much time and effort building another city?

Some asked why the Songjiang Film City, where the city was being built, didn’t contribute more.

Add to that some inside manipulation, and several investors chose to withdraw.

Though their combined amount wasn’t large, it made the project unstable—no one knew who else might leave next.

Clearly, the June shoot was off.

After a while, Qin Tiannan’s assistant delivered the script materials; Qi Hao didn’t hesitate—he took the script and began reading right there.

Ye Weimin and Qin Tiannan exchanged glances, both surprised.

Qi Hao had low cultural literacy; when he acted in Team of the Letter—a film with historical depth—he studied hard and spent enormous time.

Yeah, the enormous time also had to do with his near illiteracy.

Reading on-site didn’t match his usual level.

Rather than forcing himself, why not let the opponent off easy—why not take it home and read slowly?

Unexpectedly, Qi Hao finished flipping through it quickly, then closed his eyes and thought for a moment.

He’d memorized the entire script using his photographic memory.

Though some parts were still unclear, he’d grasped the core story.

The plot wasn’t particularly novel, and some moments felt overly sentimental—but they perfectly highlighted the fate of ordinary people caught in historical tides.

In today’s Hong Kong film industry, rarely praised for its storytelling, this was already quite good.

The character designs were excellent too.

Each one, once read, immediately formed a clear image in his mind.

One page listed a proposed cast—big names and powerhouse actors from the industry.

The lineup was even stronger than Team of the Letter’s.

Among the scripts Qi Hao had received recently—including Zhang Yimou’s Three Musketeers, Fan Xuexue’s recommendation Perfect Match, and Love Rules—none were better than October Siege.

And these were already filtered by Lao Tian before reaching him.

So finding a script above average was rare; Qi Hao didn’t want to casually let it go.

After founding his studio, he bore the responsibility of supporting his family.

If production didn’t start, over ten people would go hungry.

But he couldn’t just accept any trash—it would waste the hard-won advantage he’d built.

Besides, if you don’t shoot this film in the second half of the year, what will I fill my schedule with?

The New Three Kingdoms side had already clearly refused.

Lu Bu was taken by He Rundong, Zhao Yun by Nie Yuan—there’s no big male lead left for me.

“How much money was withdrawn?” Qi Hao paused, then asked.

“What? You want to invest? Don’t joke—just be an actor. Investing is risky.”

Ye Weimin immediately rejected Qi Hao.

Stars aren’t necessarily rich—even high-salaried ones can be broke.

Never let your children suffer, never let your vanity go hungry.

Once you show off, you’re done.

Gambling and investing are the main causes of stars’ downfall.

“The key issue isn’t these few investors withdrawing—they don’t amount to much; the real problem is other investors have lost confidence. Your personal investment, even if you fill the gap, won’t restore confidence in other capital.”

Chen Kexin stated the crucial point.

The project lacks not only money, but also the influence that can instill confidence in other investors.

Moreover, Qi Hao hadn’t eaten a single mushroom, yet his symptoms hadn’t lessened at all.

How much money do you even have? Before real capital flows, you’re just a small fry.

“You might not know, but I have someone behind me.”

Qi Hao knew they had misunderstood.

He decided to stop pretending and lay it all out.