Chapter 295: Reserve Is a Matter of Who You

"Field Master Tian, Field Master He, can this price work?"

"Not even three million? You two are the old accountants of the factory—these people have high demands; don't end up screwing us over! Everyone's bonus this year depends on this film!"

"That's right, Field Master Tian, look at their demeanor—they're clearly capitalist tactics. If we can't meet their demands, we'll lose money."

In a mid-sized guesthouse near Beijing Hotel, personnel from the Shanghai Film Factory were holding a meeting.

Shanghai's support team arrived yesterday; directors, accountants, budgeters, actors—all personnel were fully staffed, led by an experienced deputy factory director, showing no lack of seriousness toward Pei Wencong's "big meat."

But no matter how serious you are, if you can't even meet the person, it's all useless.

Yesterday they only met a young brat from Hong Kong, who handed everyone two thick price lists and asked them to write down their "psychological price."

Detailed standards and requirements were provided for lead actor, director, and extra salaries; armor and horse production and rental fees; set construction costs and assembly speed.

The accompanying accountants and budgeters worked through one night and an entire day, then boldly submitted a bid of over two million U. . dollars.

But several people felt uneasy—when they first called, the other side had quoted a budget of five million, and insisted on "international standards" for sets; what if they later nitpicked? Foreign trade contracts carried penalty clauses.

The veteran accountant in charge of the budget slapped his chest: "Director Ding, I don't know how much Cleopatra cost, but even Empress Wu Zetian's palace wasn't made of gold, was it?"

"If they give us this money, why not build them a Daming Palace? I guarantee—if you take ten thousand U. . dollars to a construction company, they'll start work the same day without a word, and the rest is just RB business."

Director Ding took a deep drag on his cigarette and said gravely: "If it's doable, can we lower it further?"

Field Master Tian frowned: "Lower it? Didn't you just say it was too low?"

Director Ding crushed his cigarette butt into the ashtray and said to Field Master Tian: "Old Tian, give me the real number—can we still lower it?"

Field Master Tian replied: "Of course we can lower it—another thirty percent off would still work, but we can't slash prices without limits. This foreign exchange is handed to us; every dollar we push away is a loss for our factory."

At this moment, the other accountant, Old He, spoke up: "Director, are you worried Chang'an will undercut us? Don't worry—you've already sent Director Zheng to feel them out. If needed, we can cooperate; we won't let them profit for free."

Director Ding slowly shook his head: "This morning, the factory called—another unit asked if we'd received a call from a Hong Kong scammer. Do you understand what that means?"

Old He sucked in a sharp breath: "Sss—someone else is coming? That's a real con artist."

Everyone immediately understood—the Hong Kong con artist was skillfully playing "the clam and the sandpiper."

But it was an open strategy—you could take the job or not, your choice.

"Squeak~"

The door suddenly opened, and Director Zheng walked in with a dark face, sat on the bed, and said nothing.

Director Ding's heart sank: "What's wrong, Old Zheng? Chang'an won't talk to us?"

Director Zheng said nothing, leaning his head like a wronged little wife, looking utterly forlorn.

Director Ding didn't care about his mood: "Speak up! Everyone's waiting for your news!"

Director Zheng still said nothing, but unbuttoned his shirt collar.

On his neck beneath the collar was a clear scratch—obviously from fingernails.

"What did you go do?"

"What did I do?"

Director Zheng's eyes welled up: "I went to negotiate, and they accused me of being a spy trying to steal their intel. I just argued a little, and some old woman scratched me!"

""

"This is too much! Too much! Everyone, come with me—I want to see what guts they have to sabotage unity!"

"Old Zheng, you let a woman intimidate you? If it were me, I'd slap her. Good men don't fight women—you're inexperienced."

Director Ding fell silent for a few seconds, then exploded: "I'm taking everyone over to confront them!"

But Director Zheng sat motionless on the bed: "Do you think I didn't want to slap her? Behind that woman stood five Northwest men—two of them in armor, holding hammers."

""

Director Ding asked in shock: "They needed armor and hammers just to deal with you?"

Director Zheng looked up at Director Ding, opened his mouth, then said: "They were props. After receiving the Hong Kong price list, they sent their security team over with armor props."

"Good men don't fight women. Don't fight women."

Everyone sat back down, some smoking, others frowning.

They even brought their security team—that clearly meant they intended to monopolize the deal. Are you going to fight them?

But Director Ding quickly changed the subject: "We need to get some armor samples too—we must show them our strength."

"But what kind of armor? We don't have Tang dynasty armor samples. If we make Song armor, won't they think we're incompetent?"

"That's easy—ask the archaeologists. Can't we contact them?"

Everyone offered suggestions, when suddenly the gloomy Director Zheng spoke: "I've been digging around these past few days—'The Lonely Garrison of Wangxiang' has a comic version, and Hong Kong people actually came to Beijing University's Lonely Garrison Literature Society to study armor and costume details."

Director Ding immediately said: "Then what are we waiting for? Old Zheng, go to Beijing University right away—use whatever funds you need, I'll reimburse you."

But Director Zheng added: "I think Li Ye in the literature society is no ordinary person—he was the first to meet Mr. Pei, and though young, he's hard to extract information from. I need more people to help."

Director Ding asked: "Who do you need?"

Director Zheng said: "Little Pan, Little Nie."

""

Director Ding's face darkened: "Old Zheng, don't make mistakes—we're here to make a film, not…"

Little Pan and Little Nie were both actresses from the factory; Hong Kong demanded the best director and actors, so they were brought along.

But sending two actresses to "extract information"—what kind of behavior is that? What method will you use?

Hmm?

Director Zheng quickly added: "Also need Old Xie—he's the director; maybe he can discuss script adaptation with the literature society members."

Director Ding's expression softened, and he finally nodded in agreement.

……

Director Zheng arrived at Beijing University with three colleagues.

Since Director Zheng had scouted the location multiple times, he knew exactly where the Lonely Garrison Literature Society was and led the director and actresses there with ease.

Near the entrance, Director Zheng instructed: "When we get there, Little Pan, don't rush to extract information—I'll talk script with him first, then you two surprise him with key questions—that'll be a major win."

Little Pan, nearly thirty, asked coldly: "What if he doesn't answer?"

Director Zheng replied immediately: "If he doesn't answer, he doesn't answer. You can't choke him and force it out, can you?"

"But our factory sent so many people to compete for this contract—if we don't seal it, the expenses for food and lodging add up, and how do we explain it back in Shanghai?"

Little Pan fell silent. She'd been told she came to discuss the script, but she felt deeply uncomfortable.

If this were decades later, everyone would understand without saying a word—but in 1983, people would gossip.

As for the younger actress, Little Nie, she dared not speak a word—she had to look up respectfully to both Director Zheng and Director Xie.

As the four reached the literature society's door, they heard loud noise and bursts of applause from inside.

Director Zheng pushed the door open first and saw over twenty people gathered in a circle, watching a "armor-clad warrior" perform.

The warrior wore full-metal scale armor—not new, but aged, with historical weight; especially the helmet with a faceplate, radiating a chilling aura.

In his hand was a spear over two meters long, wielded with astonishing fluidity, like a startled dragon.

As the armored warrior swung, lifted, and thrust the spear, the metallic clanking echoed, and a desolate, icy wind seemed to rush toward them.

Several people with cameras clicked their shutters frantically, cursing they didn't have a film camera to capture every move.

Director Zheng nudged Director Xie and nodded toward Director Xiong beside them, sighing: "They didn't just bring armor—they brought a martial artist too."

Director Xie said: "We're here already—let's talk. Can we just go back empty-handed? That'd be weak."

"Our strength has never been about showing off."

Director Zheng shook his head, glancing at Little Pan and Little Nie.

Little Pan shot him a cold look, her face dark with displeasure.

Suddenly, the warrior in the circle leapt into the air and executed a move resembling a reverse spear thrust, then ended his performance.

"Clap-clap-clap-clap~"

Everyone applauded, and Director Xiong and the Chang'an Film Factory crew cheered loudly.

"Excellent!"

"Unbelievable!"

"Forty pounds of armor and he still jumped—how is that even possible?"

"Maybe this is why he wrote 'The Howling North Wind'!"

Director Zheng's heart stirred—he immediately looked at the warrior removing his armor.

When he took off his helmet, it was indeed Li Ye.

He was stunned: "That's Li Ye? I never expected this!"

Of course, not just Director Zheng was shocked—Director Xie, Little Pan, and Little Nie were even more astonished.

Little Nie whispered to Little Pan: "Sister Pan, this Li Ye is almost as handsome as Brother Lin Qiang!"

Lin Qiang was Shanghai Film Factory's top leading man of the 1980s—famous nationwide for his looks.

And now, Li Ye, stripped of his armor, was no less striking.

Little Pan was about to speak to Little Nie, but Little Nie had already stepped forward, walking straight toward Li Ye.

"Hello, Li Ye, we're here to discuss the script—I love your works 'The Lonely Garrison of Wangxiang' and 'The Howling North Wind.'"

Director Zheng and Director Xie couldn't help smiling—they were older, and understood that reserve was a trait chosen selectively depending on the target.

"Oh, you're from Shanghai Film Factory? Did you come alone?"

Li Ye took the towel offered by Wen Leyu and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Beijing in October was still warm; swinging a forty-pound armor suit with a spear would make anyone sweat.

Little Nie said: "Our director and Director Zheng, and Sister Pan too."

Li Ye looked up—Director Zheng smiled and waved at him.

The two had met several times, and Director Zheng felt that although this young man seemed easygoing, he always kept his distance.

Or rather, he disliked people he didn't know acting familiar with him.

But this time, Li Ye walked over on his own.

"Hello, Director Xie."

"Hello, Comrade Pan Hong."

Li Ye extended his hand first, leaving Director Zheng momentarily surprised.