Chapter 306: The Madman Comic and the Investment Bluebird

A few days ago, Li Zhi watched 'Heroes Come of Age,' treating it as a mainland film, only to find its quality far exceeded her expectations—better than most Hong Kong movies.

The box office results were also very encouraging, and crucially, the male and female leads, along with Zhao Debiao, became huge stars; Li Zhi saw their names repeatedly in newspapers and on TV.

Especially Zhao Debiao—recently, 'Superman II' arrived in Hong Kong, and local media dubbed him the 'Chinese Superman,' while Li Jiacheng had just been called the 'Hong Kong Superman'; still, Biaozi seemed more impressive.

Li Zhi realized mainlanders could also become stars in Hong Kong's film industry; she felt her own conditions were good—tall, fair-skinned, and well-endowed, no worse than the little wife in the movie—and her father worked in performance, so she considered dipping her toes into the entertainment world.

She dared not approach big companies like Shaw or Golden Harvest; instead, she'd seen a film by Xinyicheng and thought smaller companies might be easier to break into, so she showed up unannounced to pitch herself.

The bald man mocked her, saying she looked too rustic, dressed improperly, and made up like a chicken—his studio made urban fashion films, and how could a country bumpkin ever match a phoenix?

Li Zhi didn't repeat the man's insult about her being rustic, but Wei Ming could probably guess—after all, she was just a girl fresh from the mainland, her style naturally lagging behind Hong Kong women.

Later, Li Zhi resolved to improve; she returned to Shanghai to study English hard, passed the TOEFL, and went to San Francisco for studies; years later, she returned to Hong Kong as Miss Asia Champion, yet once inside the Hong Kong entertainment circle, she still faced bullying and sabotage because of her mainland roots—back then, how she longed for a powerful patron.

At this point, Li Zhi simply wanted a respectable job to establish herself in Hong Kong.

Wei Ming asked: "You don't like working in a supermarket?"

"No."

"What about a fast-food place?" Wei Ming couldn't help wanting to help her; on the mainland, people divided into Beijing types and Shanghai types, but in Hong Kong, everyone was fellow mainlanders.

"Huh?"

Wei Ming: "I've invested in a fast-food chain in Hong Kong—we're opening a new branch soon, and I need girls like you, full of youth and energy."

Li Zhi looked at Wei Ming in surprise—he was just a writer with some fame on the mainland, maybe a bit known in Hong Kong now; how did he own a business here? And plan to open another branch? It sounded incredibly successful.

"You don't like physical labor?" Wei Ming noticed her hesitation and added, "I'm acquiring a Hong Kong comic publisher—results are imminent—and I need clerks or receptionists; would you be interested?"

Li Zhi: What? He has more than one company in Hong Kong? Where did he get all that money?

No time to think—Li Zhi felt she must seize this opportunity: "I…"

But just as she was about to accept the office job, Wei Ming rejected it himself: "No, no—those comic guys are all young nerds, mostly single; if you go, they won't be able to focus on work."

With a figure like yours, you might even cause brothers to turn on each other and end up bleeding on the streets.

Li Zhi burst out laughing—she could tell he was complimenting her beauty; this great talent had good eyesight; that bald guy was blind.

Li Zhi asked: "Are you serious? Do you really have a company in Hong Kong?"

Wei Ming: "Starting a company in Hong Kong is easy—it's about making money. Here, leave me your contact info; my relative needs an assistant—I can ask for you."

He thought his aunt Wei Lingling had no one to carry bags or run errands for her, which didn't suit her status; and the simple, unspoiled Li Zhi might be a good fit.

With Li Zhi by her overseas-educated aunt's side, she'd soon undergo a transformation.

Of course, this required Wei Lingling's approval.

Though still doubtful, Li Zhi thought it was just a contact—she pulled out paper and pen and gave Wei Ming her details, then asked: "What about yours?"

Wei Ming gave her the phone number of Changcheng Dormitory: "I'm using this number for now. Also, do you have a photo…?"

On the other side of the street, Biaozi and Wu Jing sat on the curb watching the two; Biaozi asked: "Jingzi, do you know what Ming-ge is doing?"

Jingzi: "Isn't he just helping others?"

Biaozi chuckled: "You don't know a thing."

Wu Jing thought: I really don't know about balls—does Teacher Wei?

As they talked, someone suddenly stood before them—strangely tall and odd-looking; Biaozi stood up, towering over him by a head and twice as wide.

The man seemed to recognize Biaozi: "Are you Mr. Zhao Debiao? I'm Xu Ke, a director at Xinyicheng—are you here for an audition?"

Xu Ke was very pleased with Zhao Debiao—born to play villains, radiating pure intimidation!

At that moment, Wei Ming, having seen Li Zhi off, walked over: "Director Xu Ke, hello. I'm Wei Ming. I have a script I'd like you to consider."

"The mainland writer? The one who wrote 'The Righteous Path Is Sorrowful'?"

"That's me."

Xu Ke was more interested in Biaozi, but treated Wei Ming with greater courtesy—he was a literary talent, even recognized in Hong Kong's literary circles.

Xu Ke invited them in; Wei Ming's script went straight to the bald man Mai Jia's desk—after all, Xinyicheng was a startup, and Wei Ming's previous scripts had stalled at manager level at Shaw and Golden Harvest.

"'Wrongly Married for Seven Days'?" Mai Jia glanced at the synopsis and opening—surprised: these uptight northerners could write about marital infidelity? So open-minded?

At Xinyicheng, Wei Ming saw Xu Ke and his wife, and also Zeng Zhiwei with his hoarse voice—he'd just been entrusted with directing 'The Best of Both Worlds.'

Despite Zeng Zhiwei's appearance, this film set a permanent record: 2. 6 million viewers, 54% of Hong Kong's population at the time.

Later films surpassed its box office, but mostly due to higher ticket prices—like Hollywood never again matching 'Gone with the Wind.'

"Mr. Wei, our boss would like to see you." Shi Nansheng, Xinyicheng's chief manager, came out to invite Wei Ming to meet Mai Jia.

Though Mai Jia often used Shandong accents in Mandarin films, he had no connection to Shandong—he was Cantonese, moved to Hong Kong with his family, then relocated to the U. . and graduated from New York University.

An art-school returnee naturally felt confident mocking a mainland girl, but facing Wei Ming—in attire, hairstyle, even demeanor—Mai Jia felt inferior, unable to believe this was a mainlander.

"Mr. Wei's script is interesting, but its style doesn't suit Xinyicheng—we don't have directors skilled in this genre."

Wei Ming wasn't particularly disappointed—Xinyicheng now only made the most profitable, cost-effective genre films.

Then Mai Jia added: "So Xinyicheng can only offer ten thousand Hong Kong dollars—this is only because 'Heroes Come of Age' did well."

Fine—he was just lowballing, but Wei Ming never intended to sell; he just wanted to gauge the market—he already had a clear sense after comparing three offers.

Screenwriters on the mainland were among the highest-paid—1, 00 yuan equaled dozens of average monthly salaries.

But in Hong Kong, screenwriters earned less—a script averaged only a few times the monthly wage; top writers like Ni Kuang might earn ten times or more, since his screenplays made far more than his novels.

Still, writing Hong Kong movie scripts was simple—fast writers could finish one in days; unlike the mainland, where a script often took a year to write, regardless of quality—there, they truly polished every detail, constantly immersing themselves in real life.

"Sorry, ten thousand doesn't meet my expectations. Goodbye." Wei Ming stood up.

"Don't be greedy, friend—this sum would let you live comfortably on the mainland your whole life. I heard ten-thousand-yuan households were the richest there—your script equals a lifetime of others' struggle."

Wei Ming laughed: "Mainlanders always imagine how wonderful Hong Kong life is, but in just a few days here, I've seen many living at subsistence level. Hong Kong people also imagine mainland life is terribly hard—yet I can sell one song for hundreds of thousands."

"How much? What did you say?" The bald man's eyes widened—despite Xinyicheng's bright prospects, his own film fee plus company dividends hadn't reached a hundred thousand; he hadn't even earned that much since starting the company.

This mainland bumpkin really talks nonsense—like the old days when sows outpaced elephants and yields reached ten thousand jin per mu.

Wei Ming smiled and shook his head, unwilling to explain further: "Writing scripts in Hong Kong really isn't worth it. Goodbye." He stood and left without giving the bald man time to react—he'd give the script to Aunt Xia Meng later; unless he wanted to promote someone, there was no need to write scripts—on the mainland and in Hong Kong alike, screenwriting barely paid, couldn't be a long-term career, couldn't support retirement.

Wei Ming left; Mai Jia snorted: "Ungrateful fool—he can't even bluff properly!"

Mai Jia was genuinely angry—he'd always been the one giving mainlanders the cold shoulder; today, out of respect for Wei Ming's literary fame, he'd been courteous, only to be humiliated.

The more he thought, the angrier he became; suddenly he picked up the phone and called a familiar entertainment reporter.

"Hey, Doggy, you know 'Heroes Come of Age'? I'll tell you…"

Today, Biaozi and Xiao Wu Jing had followed him around; Wei Ming took them to a high-end restaurant for dinner—lobster and abalone, rare delicacies unseen on the mainland.

But seeing the prices, Biaozi hesitated.

"Ming-ge, this is way too expensive!"

Wu Jing couldn't read, but he understood the prices—they were exorbitant; the cheapest dish cost as much as a grand banquet in Beijing.

Wei Ming smiled: "No big deal—I just got a sum of money; this meal is a drop in the bucket."

"What money? Did Aunt Xia Meng give you a red envelope?"

Wei Ming: "The Americans gave me a red envelope—a big one."

After eating, Wei Ming packed leftovers to take home for Long.

The next morning, Wei Ming went early to Qingniao Film Company to see Aunt Xia Meng.

Xia Meng held up a "8"—the movie had broken eight million in box office.

"Changcheng Company is helping us contact overseas distributors—another income stream. I never expected my first film as producer to be this successful—it's all thanks to you. Since you're leaving soon, I've prepared red envelopes for you, Biaozi, Jing, and Yan—who didn't come. You can deliver them."

Wei Ming took the envelopes—they were thick, each labeled with a name; Yan's was especially fat.

"She's pregnant, right? And conceived on set—the baby hasn't even been born yet and is already in the film. He gets one too." Xia Meng winked slyly; Wei Ming understood.

He asked: "What's your next film? 'Fleeing to the Sea'? Do you think it'll make money?"

"I was worried about its box office before, but now I don't care—I've already earned enough to cover losses. But this is the film I truly want to make." Xia Meng still had artistic ambitions.

Wei Ming thought of his past self—though he'd made a fortune from melodramatic shorts, during the film industry's winter, he still couldn't resist investing in serious, realistic works, hoping to restore the reputation of domestic cinema.

Wei Ming said: "I have another script here—it's a popular, profitable kind. Would you like it, Auntie?"

"Oh? You've written something new? Let me see." Xia Meng reached out.

Wei Ming handed her the prepared script: "Just a heads-up—the plot is bolder than left-wing films."

The original starred Ye Tong and Zhong Zhentao, with explicit scenes; even without nudity, it touched on public morals.

Though Xia Meng came from left-wing cinema, Qingniao was her private company—not officially left-wing—and she had more freedom than Changcheng or Phoenix.

Pre-warned, Xia Meng watched with anticipation of taboo: the story followed a married woman whose wealthy husband fled after accumulating debts; the government assigned a male protagonist to live in her home, monitoring her to prevent escape.

At first, the woman despised this intruder, but the man was gentle, always yielding, and strikingly handsome.

Until one day, the villa was robbed—their bond deepened, breaking moral boundaries; just as their relationship surged, the woman's husband returned…

This love story also did very well at the box office—it became Shaw's first ten-million-dollar film and ranked among the year's top ten.

And this template could easily spawn another film: 'Bodyguard in the Middle Sea'—kill two birds with one stone.

As she read, Xia Meng's face lit up with surprise—where was this vulgar? She thought the story was perfectly artistic.

"Ah Ming, I never thought you could write a Hong Kong story this well—how did you do it?"

"I have a Hong Kong pen pal—we've corresponded for nearly two years. Hong Kong isn't foreign to me." Half the credit belonged to A Min.

"But you've never even set foot in Hong Kong before! Genius is genius!"

"So you'll take the script?"

"I'll take it. After finishing 'Fleeing to the Sea,' we'll shoot this. This film doesn't need mainland locations or co-production—I'll pay you according to Hong Kong standards: ten thousand Hong Kong dollars… twenty thousand. You're worth it now."

After asking the three largest film companies, the highest offer came from Xia Meng of Qingniao.

Personal ties certainly played a role, but Wei Ming remained deeply grateful.

"I see other companies handling multiple films at once—Auntie, you should be bolder." The script had already been seen by many—if not shot soon, something might change.

Xia Meng laughed: "We're a small company—I prefer stability. Our company invests at most half the budget; the rest comes from external investors to share risk. Funding for 'Fleeing to the Sea' is all secured, but your new script, though low-cost, still needs time to raise funds."

"It's just an investment, look at me." Wei Ming asked.

"You want to count your royalties as investment? Sure, but that's nowhere near enough."

Wei Ming: "It's not just royalties—if the gap is tens of thousands of Hong Kong dollars, I can still cover it."

"What the hell? Are you that rich?!" Xia Meng was stunned.

Wei Ming replied modestly: "A bit richer than most people imagine."

He hadn't had that much money to begin with—investing in Haoli Lai and acquiring The Joyful News would've nearly emptied his pockets—but soon after arriving in Hong Kong, the American MCA company sent him his first royalty payment from record sales and partial licensing fees: not much, just $100, 00 USD, and Li Aiguo's share had already been deducted.

Wei Ming's previously deflated wallet swelled again—that was the power of a hit song, and $100, 00 was only the beginning!

Since costs were still unknown, the exact investment amount needed further discussion; just as Wei Ming was about to leave, Ah Long called Qingniao again.

"Ah Ming, Lingling called over—she said The Joyful News is all settled, she's finalized everything, and now she's just waiting for your money." Ah Long really did treat everything separately.

"Fine, I'll pick you up and go see her."

The Joyful News, with no works left and only equipment and apprentices remaining, was cheap—Wei Ming didn't even touch the income from that song.

On that same day, Wei Ming signed contracts with Ah Long, Shangguan Xiaobao, and Shangguan Xiaowei.

From then on, this comic publisher belonged to Wei Ming; since there were no works yet, The Joyful News would suspend publication for a while, and when it resumed, it would shift from a newspaper to a magazine—even the name "The Joyful News" could be dropped.

Wei Ming had prepared a new name for it: Maniac Comics.

Maniac Comics, Editor-in-Chief: Wei Kuangren!

(End of Chapter)