Chapter 302

In his previous life, after the mainland market opened to Hong Kong films, friction arose openly and secretly between Hong Kong and mainland filmmakers.

During this period, Hong Kong films indeed held advantages in every aspect—they understood commercialization, had rich shooting experience, and their stars commanded greater appeal, earning favor from investors, etc. This led Hong Kong filmmakers to adopt an arrogant attitude.

Take the co-production rules, for instance: intended to encourage more opportunities for mainland actors in co-productions. But Hong Kong producers paid no attention to this, offering mostly insignificant supporting roles, some even outright garbage parts.

What, you think the supporting roles are too trashy? Mainland complaints? Fine, how about I give you the female lead?

Thus, many Hong Kong films later adopted a strategy: hire famous mainland female actresses as leads, but these leads almost always met tragic fates—crushed by cars, kidnapped, aborted, raped, turned comatose, driven insane, addicted to drugs, legs broken…

It became a contest of misery, each worse than the last. One had to admire these Hong Kong screenwriters for arranging every conceivable form of suffering. A heroine like Gao Yuanyuan in Cheng Long’s *Baby Plan*, with a good image and happy ending, was truly rare.

Short-term, it wasn’t obvious—but after several consecutive years of reserving all good female roles for Hong Kong actresses while forcing mainland actresses to play the suffering ones, even audiences began sensing something was off.

Come on, you begged the mainland to open its market so you could come north and make money, yet now you act superior and aloof.

Beyond this, there were the privileged treatment of Hong Kong filmmakers, their collusion to hoard resources, and other tensions—the most acute clash being the incident where Xie Tingfeng and Zhang Weijian assaulted Xiao Bai Long, followed by Zhao Wenzhuo’s confrontation with Zhen Zidan, both continuing this same conflict.

So if you start on the first, don’t blame me for retaliating on the fifteenth. Once mainland cinema rises, do you really think you’ll still get good resources and roles? Opportunities for young filmmakers? Go play with yourselves!

But now, with Wu Yuchen present, things are different.

First, over the past few years, his commercial films have proven mainland stars can carry lead roles. Even though Hong Kong stars still carry a halo, their advantage is nowhere near what it was in his previous life.

Under these conditions, investors will gladly offer more opportunities to affordable, high-quality mainland actors. So despite Hong Kong films’ aggressive entry and lingering advantages, they will no longer enjoy the overwhelming dominance they once held over the mainland industry—and that advantage may be erased far sooner.

Meanwhile, Wu Yuchen’s status and reputation stand firm—anyone from Hong Kong must bow their head. And with Miracle Pictures’ immense power and Bai Xiong Media embedded in Hong Kong, if you come to our territory, behave properly and follow the rules, fine. But if you cause trouble or break the rules, Wu Yuchen won’t mind making a few examples.

After hearing Wu Yuchen’s explanation, Liang Jiahui could envision Hong Kong cinema’s future. Then he laughed cheerfully and said:

“As long as we don’t starve, that’s enough! From now on, making films, we no longer need to fear being blacklisted, gunpointed, or kidnapped by triads—no more constant dread!”

Many fans miss Hong Kong cinema’s golden age of the 80s and 90s, but many Hong Kong actors didn’t miss it at all. Back then, triads were rampant; their personal safety wasn’t guaranteed.

Just last year’s *East Weekly* incident—where all Hong Kong entertainers marched in protest against the publication of Liu Jialin’s violated photos. Think about it: what could Liu Jialin and Liang Chaowei do back then? They had to swallow their humiliation. Those people faced no consequences, continued living freely, and ten years later, still sold those photos and videos for profit.

Such incidents weren’t isolated. Others—Li Lianjie’s agent murdered, Jackie Chan forced to kneel, Liang Jiahui kidnapped to the Philippines—there were too many to count.

Seeing Liang Jiahui take it so well, Wu Yuchen smiled and didn’t press further. Instead, he asked: “Tony, when you came over, did you visit Director Li? How is he?”

Liang Jiahui shook his head and replied: “Director Li told me he’ll never make another superhero movie again! The water’s too deep—he can’t handle it!”

Wu Yuchen laughed heartily: “It’s not that the water’s too deep—it’s that he wants to make the movie too deep! He wants both commercial success and depth—it’s not that easy!”

After its release, Li An’s *Hulk* indeed flopped. This $140 million production has yet to gross $200 million globally. From box office alone, it can’t recoup costs—add massive marketing expenses, and even with DVD and merchandise sales, it’ll take years to break even.

But for Wu Yuchen, this is actually good news. Not because he’s gloating over Li An’s failure, but now it’s easier to invest in his next film. With Li An under scrutiny after *Hulk*, investors are hesitant—Wu Yuchen can have Miracle Pictures secure his *Brokeback Mountain*.

That film is a cash cow: $14 million budget, $178 million box office. Tenfold return—and it won an Oscar! Li An’s art films? You can invest blindly—they’re almost always huge hits.

Liang Jiahui then asked: “Wu Dao, are you still making *Batman*?”

*Hulk*’s failure naturally doused superhero films with cold water. In Liang Jiahui’s view, if Wu Yuchen took on *Batman*, he wouldn’t just want box office—he’d want depth too, as many major directors do. What if he followed Li An’s path to failure?

Wu Yuchen understood the implication and shook his head with a smile: “Batman is different from Hulk.”

“Hulk’s traits and audience expectations are too fixed—viewers want to see his violence, his transformation, his action scenes, his smashing… They have little patience. Balancing commercial appeal with nuanced emotion and deep meaning is extremely hard to nail.”

“But Batman is different. He’s inherently a dark figure. He never fights criminals with superpowers—he relies on his intellect and flesh-and-blood body. Compared to other superheroes, he’s more like an ordinary man.”

Wu Yuchen stopped there, saying no more, but Liang Jiahui understood: Wu Dao had confidence he could balance *Batman*’s commercial and artistic elements—something Li An failed to do.

Liang Jiahui smiled at Wu Yuchen. He didn’t know if Wu Yuchen would succeed—even though his logic sounded sound, every director enters a film with confidence and their own logic. But *Batman* wasn’t his concern—he still had to focus on finishing *Pirates of the Caribbean 3*.

Over these past months, besides Li An’s *Hulk*, several other Hollywood blockbusters were released.

First came the highly anticipated *The Matrix Reloaded*, which achieved massive success—global box office already surpassed $600 million and is heading toward $700 million. Everyone awaits what grand finale the third installment will deliver.

In contrast, another globally beloved film, *Terminator 3*, fared poorly. Though Schwarzenegger returned after twelve years, the film’s global box office has only reached $300 million—nowhere near its $200 million production cost.

Schwarzenegger happily took his paycheck and became governor, but the producers must be sweating bullets, scrambling to recover costs through merchandise.

Pixar’s new animated film *Finding Nemo*, however, shone brilliantly, raking in box office worldwide, now surpassing $800 million—and still climbing.

This thrilled Pixar and energized Disney. Thanks to its new CEO, Robert Iger—the “Smiling Mickey Mouse”—Disney re-signed with Pixar. This film generated substantial revenue for Disney, lifting its stock price.

Wu Yuchen couldn’t help but admire Robert Iger—he truly was a remarkable figure. Since taking over, Disney had truly been revitalized.

Last time, he had Disney publicly support his Oscar campaign. Though Wu Yuchen joked it was Disney’s debt to him, after winning Best Director, he had to admit: he owed them a real favor.

Coincidentally, Miracle Pictures was preparing to produce *The Princess Diaries*, a low-budget fantasy film aimed at young girls. Disney had the most experience with such films and the strongest promotional channels for them. Wu Yuchen planned to co-develop it with Disney.

His past conflicts with Disney, now that Eisner had stepped down and he’d won Best Director, were officially buried. That’s Hollywood—no permanent enemies, only permanent interests.

…

During filming, two non-industry figures came to visit.

Wu Yuchen looked at the man before him—Ma Huateng—no longer the awkward youth of years past, now radiating maturity and composure. Beside him stood Zeng Liqing, his co-founder of Tencent.

Wu Yuchen smiled: “Why come all the way here? Couldn’t you just call?”

Ma Huateng shook his head with a smile: “No, we can’t. Since Tencent’s founding, we’ve received so much help from Wu Sheng. Now we’re preparing for IPO—we must personally visit you.”

After surviving the early 2000s internet winter, Tencent seized the SP business, turned profitable, and this year revenues and profits have grown across the board—all conditions for IPO are met. They didn’t want to wait any longer.

But before launching the IPO, one internal matter must be settled first: equity.

When Tencent accepted Bai Xiong Fund’s Series B investment, they stipulated that before IPO, Tencent would repurchase 10% of shares from them as an employee incentive pool.

Ma Huateng knew perfectly well that Wu Yuchen was the true owner of Bai Xiong Fund. Though the agreement was written in black and white, strictly enforcing it coldly would offend people—they had to visit in person, show good faith, and clarify this face-to-face.

Wu Yuchen knew their intent and smiled: “Do you think I’d be so shortsighted as to make trouble for you now?”

Zeng Liqing quickly explained: “No, no! Wu Sheng, IPO is too critical for the company, and you’re our largest shareholder—we must explain clearly to you. Building a good relationship with major shareholders is also our management’s duty.”

“Hahaha, don’t worry. I’m satisfied with your management—I won’t interfere unless absolutely necessary. That 10%? As you said—250 million HKD.”

In the last round, Bai Xiong Fund invested $10 million for 25% equity. But Tencent’s current valuation is between $2.5–3 billion—so repurchasing 10% must be based on current value.

Ma Huateng thanked him: “Thank you for your trust and understanding, Wu Sheng. We won’t let you down—we’ll make a successful IPO in Hong Kong!”

Wu Yuchen patted Ma Huateng on the shoulder: “Go ahead boldly—I support you.”

He trusted Ma Huateng. All those “I didn’t know my wife was beautiful,” “I had nothing,” “I regret founding Alibaba”—who’s pretending to be humble? Who’s as mature and steady as our “ordinary family” Ma?

Penguin has reached this stage—it’s time to begin a new journey.

But Tencent’s upcoming Hong Kong IPO wasn’t the main focus. Who was currently the hottest name in China’s internet circle? Ding Sanshi of NetEase!

Since last year, NetEase’s stock price has soared—up a hundredfold from its low point. Ding Sanshi’s net worth now exceeds $1 billion, making him China’s publicly recognized richest man.

Yes, publicly acknowledged. Many wealthy individuals remain low-key, refusing to disclose their wealth—like Wu Yuchen.

Aside from Ding Sanshi, Sohu and Sina also surged with this spring breeze. Even Shanda, preparing for its NASDAQ IPO, has its boss Chen claiming a $10 billion valuation. These entrepreneurs in Beijing and Shanghai are the real stars—playing high-end American games. What’s a little penguin landing on Hong Kong’s server?

Wu Yuchen was perfectly content with this situation. Staying low-key was beneficial—Penguin needed to remain inconspicuous to allow ample time to grow. By the time ten years had passed, it would be fully fledged.