Chapter 296: Film Industry

Compared to the cast of the TV drama "The Legend of Sword and Fairy," Wu Yuchen was actually more concerned about its visual effects production.

In his previous life, "The Legend of Sword and Fairy" also used visual effects; though crude, its combination of practical sets and effects looked more natural than many five-cent effects a decade later.

This time, however, "The Legend of Sword and Fairy" certainly had more funding, and Wu Yuchen was more willing to spend heavily on it.

The several VFX companies he had acquired in Hong Kong had been merged into one, named Flying Saucer VFX. It was now the largest and most powerful VFX company in China.

Over the past two years, not only had Miracle Pictures’ own dramas like "Water Moon Cave Heaven," "Wind and Cloud," and "Xiao Shiyilang" all relied on Flying Saucer for effects, but with the explosion of wuxia dramas, many other studios had also turned to Flying Saucer—after all, audiences could clearly tell the difference between films with and without effects; they were just cooler!

Previously, no one had effects, so it didn’t matter—but once Miracle Pictures’ dramas introduced VFX, audience expectations naturally rose, forcing other studios to follow suit, at least a little.

As for Hong Kong films, there was no need to mention it—before Flying Saucer’s formation, the three original companies were already well-known in Hong Kong, and the VFX for "Kung Fu Hustle" had been entrusted entirely to Flying Saucer.

Supporting one VFX company with the entire Chinese-language film and TV industry was more than enough. But Wu Yuchen didn’t start this company to make money—he wanted it to develop quickly and improve its technical level to catch up with Hollywood.

Therefore, whenever he went to Hollywood to shoot big films, he always brought several Flying Saucer employees along to learn on set—a major reason many of its tech staff were eager to join him. Soon, when "Pirate King" Parts Two and Three were shot back-to-back, many at Flying Saucer competed fiercely for the chance to join Wu Yuchen’s crew.

Cai Yinong continued reporting to Wu Yuchen. This second half of the year, besides "The Legend of Sword and Fairy," Miracle Pictures would produce two more dramas.

One was "Detective Di Renjie." When filming "The Sword of the Brocade" two years ago, Wu Yuchen had collaborated with "Fat Di" Liang Guanhua and had taken a keen interest in the project; last year, he had Miracle Pictures reach out to Qian Yanqiu.

Qian Yanqiu was overjoyed that Miracle Pictures had come to him and immediately began writing the script for "Detective Di Renjie."

To be fair, Qian Yanqiu was talented—he had previously written the subversive sequel "Journey to the West: The Aftermath," the one with the line "I wish to become an immortal, joyous as heaven." Two years ago, he and his classmate Zhang Zijian had also produced "Flying Tiger God Eagle: The Prequel," giving birth to Yan Shuangying!

Someone so talented naturally belonged under Miracle Pictures. Now both the four-part "Detective Di Renjie" and the "Yan Shuangying" series were secured! Slowly, even one film per year could last a decade!

The other was another historical suspense mystery drama: "The Great Song Inspector." In terms of achievement, "The Great Song Inspector" was no less impressive than "Detective Di Renjie"—in his previous life, it had ranked first in ratings for the first half of 2005. But unlike "Fat Di," its sequels had flopped.

Still, the first season of "The Great Song Inspector" was truly a classic, especially the scenes where He Bing as Song Ci clashed with Guo Da as Diao Guangdou—utterly brilliant, making viewers realize for the first time just how skilled Guo Da, a sketch actor, truly was.

Wu Yuchen suddenly realized, as he pondered, that Liang Guanhua, He Bing, and Guo Da—all had collaborated with him. He couldn’t help but marvel again: China’s mid-generation actors were truly abundant; what they lacked were opportunities, good scripts, and good projects.

At noon, at the unassuming door of a modest home, Wu Yuchen knocked on the security door.

"Coming, coming~"

Soon, Han San opened the door and greeted Wu Yuchen: "Come in, come in—no need to take off your shoes~"

Inside, Wu Yuchen saw a middle-aged woman and immediately smiled: "Sister, hello!"

He noticed the table already piled with dishes and added: "Sister, you’ve gone to so much trouble—I’m already salivating!"

The middle-aged woman smiled at Wu Yuchen: "These aren’t my cooking today—it’s Old Han who cooked!"

Wu Yuchen then remembered: Han San was from Sichuan, unlike many northern men who couldn’t cook.

Han San grinned at Wu Yuchen: "It’s been a while since I cooked—I’m a bit rusty, so don’t blame me if it’s bad!"

"Brother Han, don’t worry—if it’s bad, I won’t say a word. If it’s good, I’ll blame you all the more!"

As they joked, they sat down and ate while chatting.

"Young Wu, you’ve truly made it big now! I hear the whole country is talking about your film—this kind of craze even "Lushan Love" couldn’t match. Just now, I heard from Movie Channel that their viewership rating exceeded "News Broadcast," hitting 28.8%, nearly catching up with the Spring Festival Gala!"

Hearing this figure, Wu Yuchen was stunned. This was a genuine national viewership rating—meaning over a quarter of all TV owners had watched it. If Movie Channel rebroadcast it repeatedly, the number would climb even higher, likely surpassing one-third.

China’s TV audience now stood at 900 million; one-third meant over 300 million. In terms of viewership, this had indeed set a new record for China.

Wu Yuchen then modestly said: "Brother Han, I’m just lucky to have it aired for free."

"Hey, Movie Channel has aired countless films—how many got ratings this high? How many had your influence? Don’t be modest!"

"Haha, Brother Han, stop praising me—I’m afraid I’ll float right up to the sky!"

"You’re now a national treasure director! Who else in Chinese-language cinema could possibly match you?"

Hearing Han San praise him so earnestly, Wu Yuchen felt a shift and didn’t bother with formalities: "Brother Han, don’t flatter me—I’ve already eaten your meal. If you’ve got something to ask, just say it."

Han San chuckled: "Nothing major—I just want to pick your brain, Young Wu."

"Pick my brain?" Wu Yuchen asked, puzzled.

"Of course! You’re now the leader of Chinese-language cinema, with rich Hollywood experience. China’s film industry needs your leadership—give us some advice!"

Wu Yuchen immediately replied: "Brother Han, don’t say that. I just make films. For the development of Chinese-language cinema, you’re the one who should lead."

Han San waved his hand:

"Enough, enough—we’re too close for such formalities.

Honestly, over these past years, you’ve brought so many achievements to Chinese-language cinema—for the industry and for me personally—I owe you a thank-you!

There’s a saying: hold a position, fulfill its duties. I’m in this role, and I want to know how to make Chinese cinema develop faster, catch up with world-class standards, and reach Hollywood’s level.

You’re the one in China who understands Hollywood best—your opinion is the most valuable!"

Hearing this, Wu Yuchen put down his chopsticks. Catch up with Hollywood?

Wu Yuchen sighed and said to Han San: "Brother Han, since you asked me, I’ll be honest. The more you understand Hollywood, the more you realize how vast the gap is between China’s film industry and Hollywood’s industrial system."

The gap wasn’t just in VFX or visual effects—it was the entire film industry system. Broadly speaking, from financing and censorship to production and promotion, Hollywood had a mature, standardized process. China’s system couldn’t even compare to Hong Kong’s, let alone Hollywood’s.

Narrowly speaking, Hollywood had over 173 distinct job roles, and if subdivided, more than 300. Just for prop masters, there were over thirty specializations, with numerous unions. In Hollywood, you could go to any union and find exactly the crew members you needed to build your ideal team.

For example, if Wu Yuchen wanted to shoot a new film, he didn’t even need to go himself—his agency would get data from the unions, find crew members who had worked on similar films, and offer him several experienced candidates for every position to choose from.

What about China?

In today’s Chinese film and TV industry, many crew members rely on connections. Makeup artists, prop masters—they mostly get jobs through referrals. If a friend says there’s an opening, you go; otherwise, you rely on your personal network for leads. No leads? You sit idle.

The contrast was clear: Hollywood’s system was far more mature, standardized, and better at cultivating talent and protecting their rights.

Take screenplays, for example. In the U.S., even students learn a standard: one page equals one minute of screen time. During production, everyone knows exactly how much content fits on a page. After graduation, everyone operates within the same system, the same framework.

When you really examine it, the gap is comprehensive—from funding and management to talent development and technological advancement.

Han San listened as Wu Yuchen detailed everything, his brow tightening more and more. He raised his cup, took a sip, and sighed: "I knew there was a gap—but I never realized it was this big!"

Many problems he couldn’t solve—like piracy. Could he fix that?

What about training and protecting workers in makeup, props, lighting? Could he manage that? Even screenwriters—such a vital role—still lacked basic rights protection in China!

But Wu Yuchen then comforted Han San:

"American cinema has 110 years of history; its industrial system was built over decades. We’re behind, but our growth rate is fast. Take steady steps—no need to catch Hollywood yet, but reaching the world’s top tier is achievable."

In truth, film industrialization required money. Only economically prosperous regions could afford it—through massive output, accumulated experience, and constant trial-and-error could it evolve rapidly. Poor, backward regions? Don’t dream of it—just make your art films.

Han San nodded silently, then looked at Wu Yuchen and said:

"Young Wu, after hearing all this, I feel time is running out. I have an idea—could you help arrange for our talent to train and study in Hollywood?"

Wu Yuchen asked directly: "Brother Han, which kind of talent do you want to train?"

Han San wanted to train everyone, but realized it was unrealistic. He thought a moment, then said: "China has always centered on directors. Let’s start with directors. Once directors gain new thinking and vision, they’ll uplift the entire crew!"

Wu Yuchen nodded and said: "I’ll contact Hollywood studios and try to establish a talent exchange program between China and them.

Also, every time I go to America to shoot a film, I’ll offer two assistant slots—let young directors join my crew to learn. That’s the fastest, most effective way to absorb Hollywood’s full system."

Han San beamed: "Excellent! Young Wu, you truly are the backbone of Chinese cinema!"

…

After leaving Han San’s home, Wu Yuchen continued thinking about film industrialization.

It wasn’t that you had to shoot films using industrialized methods—you could still make great films independently. But for a nation’s film industry, having it or not made all the difference.

Now that Wu Yuchen had reached this position, he truly needed to do something for Chinese cinema.

To single-handedly push Chinese film industrialization forward dramatically? Pure nonsense—it couldn’t be done by one person.

What could Wu Yuchen actually do?

For example, accelerate the development of VFX;

Make Miracle Pictures a benchmark within China—establish sustainable internal systems, whose influence would slowly spread across the industry;

And as he’d just promised Han San, become a bridge for talent exchange.

He remembered Guo Fan, the director of "The Wandering Earth" in his previous life—he had been part of that U.S. talent exchange program back in 2014.