My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 167 Hercules in the Cold Wind

Upon hearing this question, Alan Menken's face, which had been flushed with excitement, froze briefly.

He lowered his head, his hands clasped tightly together, as if he were engaged in some kind of intense internal struggle.

A few seconds later, he suddenly raised his head, his eyes revealing a resolute determination to burn his bridges.

"Yes! Mr. Qin, if I had to find someone in the entire United States to write the lyrics for my music, there's only one! His name is Howard—"

Howard Ashman!

Allen's voice unconsciously rose a few decibels, his tone tinged with an undisguised regret.

"He's a true genius! He can make even the most mundane dialogue sound like beautiful poetry, and his mind is full of all sorts of absurd yet humorous whimsical ideas!"

"But—the theater owners on Broadway simply didn't understand him. They thought Howard's theatrical ideas were too eccentric and didn't fit the mainstream tastes of Wall Street."

"Now he can only make a living by rehearsing childish puppet shows for little kids in a children's theater."

It became.

The future "Disney Music Twins" will finally converge ahead of schedule in our own hands.

Qin Han took out his wallet from his pocket, pulled out three hundred-dollar bills, and placed them on the bill on the table.

"Take me to see him tomorrow afternoon."

Then he stood up, picked up the cashmere watch draped over the back of the chair, and pointed to the banknotes on the table.

"After you pay the bill, use the remaining money to pick out a decent suit. When you stand in front of Howard tomorrow, you need to look like a winner."

These words were like a shot of adrenaline, instantly igniting a flame in Alan Menken's eyes.

He suddenly stood up straight, gripped the contract tightly, and nodded heavily.

Night was falling.

Qin Han returned to the Waldorf Astoria Hotel where he was staying.

Inside the luxury suite on the top floor, a constant temperature system delivers warm air, and a faint scent of sandalwood permeates the air.

He didn't turn on the main light, but instead stood quietly in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, holding a glass of soda with ice.

The distant streets were shrouded in darkness, with only a few scattered streetlights barely surviving.

The cold night wind whipped up the garbage from the street corner, raging through the dilapidated alleyways.

Scenes from a few months ago flooded back into my mind.

At that time, with a hundred dollars given to him by Andrew in his pocket, he relied on his memory of the "Vietnam War ceasefire" and, like a charlatan, managed to obtain the film adaptation rights to "Jaws" from the down-on-his-luck Peter Benchley.

On that same day, in Hell's Kitchen, he used his only hundred dollars to buy Stallone's dog, thus forging a good relationship with the superstar.

Without that high-stakes gamble that felt like walking a tightrope, Dahan Pictures would never have achieved its current glory.

What sustained him through it all was that man in Hong Kong.

Qin Han closed his eyes, and Bruce Lee's resolute face appeared in his mind.

When Jiahe refused to invest, it was his mentor who unhesitatingly took out his life savings—without any contract or collateral, just handed it to him so easily.

I wonder how Master is doing in Hong Kong now?

Although Bruno led Hans Security's elite guards for close protection, Hong Kong is, after all, a crossroads of Asian powers.

Although the "Japanese faction" in Washington has temporarily gone into hiding, the "Seirankai" in Japan has not suffered any damage.

Those fanatical right-wingers, having suffered such a huge loss at the Oscars, will definitely not swallow it so easily.

Should we spend some more money to strengthen security?

Just as Qin Han was deep in thought, a sharp, piercing siren pierced through the thick glass, breaking the silence of the room.

He opened his eyes and looked down.

On Fifth Avenue, a row of police cars with flashing red and blue lights sped off like madmen toward the Bronx.

Immediately afterwards, a few muffled, crisp sounds were faintly heard in the night wind.

boom!Boom!

That was the sound of gunfire.

Several gunshots interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the harsh reality.

Today, New York City, due to the massive reduction in police force caused by municipal bankruptcy, has long become a huge powder keg.

Gang fights and street robberies happen every day; this city is no longer safe.

We must act swiftly! We need to secure the personnel and copyrights we need to take and withdraw to Los Angeles as soon as possible.

He turned and walked to the mahogany desk, opened his briefcase, and pulled out the briefing that Michael Ovitz had prepared for him.

The briefing was titled "Hercules in New York: Crew Schedule Monitoring."

Qin Han shifted his gaze to a map of New York City spread out on the table.

He picked up a red marker and drew a circle on a block near Central Park, the filming location for tomorrow's "Hercules" movie.

Then, he drew another circle in the southern part of the Off-Broadway area, which was the meeting place he had arranged with Allen and Howard the following afternoon.

The distance is not far, and the route is extremely smooth.

In the morning, I visited the set of that "muscle hunk" from Austria, and in the afternoon, I went to the children's theater to watch the "Broadway twins."

The next morning, the temperature in New York plummeted, and even though it was May, there was still a chill in the air.

Qin Han changed into a casual jacket, hailed a yellow taxi, and headed to a block near Central Park.

Compared to the large Hollywood studios with hundreds of people, the scene here is shockingly shabby.

"Closed filming" simply means using a few cheap yellow plastic warning tapes to cordon off a street corner that is less than half the size of a basketball court.

The film crew didn't even have the funds to disperse the passersby. Several hot-tempered New Yorkers were standing outside the police line, hurling profanities at the crew members who were blocking their way.

There were only two very old Arri cameras on site, and even the lighting panel was a pitiful piece.

With his hands in his jacket pockets, Qin Han easily bypassed the virtually non-existent on-site staff and stood at the edge of the inner circle of the shooting area.

Before I even saw anyone, a hysterical roar had already filled my ears.

"You're a piece of moldy Austrian wood! You're nothing but a piece of wood!"

A director with messy hair and a full beard stood behind the monitor, waving the script and shouting angrily at the center of the scene, spitting as he spoke.

"I'm telling you to project an awe-inspiring image of Hercules descending upon the earth! Awe-inspiring, you understand?! Not to stand there like an idiot showing off your pecs!"

Qin Han followed the director's gaze.

In the chilly morning air, with temperatures below 10 degrees Celsius, a man nearly 1.9 meters tall and with bulging muscles stood alone in the center of the field.

He was wrapped in a "Greek mythology robe" made of cheap synthetic fabric, which was so thin that it couldn't hide his exaggerated pectoral muscles and biceps.

A cold wind blew by, and his body trembled slightly uncontrollably.

It is none other than the future action king who will sweep the global box office, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Faced with the director's merciless humiliation in front of all the staff, this "Mr. Olympia," who was at the height of his career in the bodybuilding world, could only grit his teeth and swallow the enormous shame.

Speaking with a very heavy Austrian accent, he tried to defend himself: "Director, I—I just think that if Hercules saw a mortal's car, his first reaction should be to be wary, not to rush up and grin like an idiot."

"Shut up!" the director interrupted him rudely, his face practically overflowing with disgust.

"Do you think you're Marlon Brando? Trying to argue with me about character logic?"

"Listen to me, you gorilla! Your job on this set is to lift that prop rock! Nobody cares about your expressions, and nobody wants to listen to your nauseating accent!"

The director got more and more worked up as he yelled, even turning to the assistant director next to him and shouting, "Write this down! Once the film is finished, find a perfectly articulate voice actor immediately! I'm going to erase all his lines! Not a single one!"

A few suppressed laughs came from the crew members around them.

Schwarzenegger's face instantly turned bright red, and veins bulged on his arms, which were thicker than an average person's thighs, as he clenched his fists tightly together.

For a moment, Qin Han even thought that the bodybuilding champion would rush up and use his terrifying arm strength to tear the garrulous director in half.

But in the end, Schwarzenegger held back.

He lowered his head, like a lion whose teeth had been pulled, and silently accepted the humiliation.

"Stop! Ten-minute break! Touch up the makeup! And let that big guy go to the corner and wake up!" The director irritably loosened his tie and turned to walk towards the coffee machine.

The crew scattered instantly, and no one paid any attention to the lead actor standing in the cold wind.

Schwarzenegger walked to the edge of the field and pulled an old coat from a worn-out canvas bag, wrapping it around himself.

He pulled over a rickety plastic folding chair, sat down, pulled a shriveled piece of boiled chicken breast from a foil packet, chewed it expressionlessly, and swallowed it viciously, as if he were swallowing not food, but the humiliation he had just suffered.

Just then, a shadow blocked the sunlight in front of him.

Schwarzenegger stopped chewing, thinking it was some production assistant coming to cause trouble again.

He looked up with a hint of wariness, only to see a well-dressed, distinguished-looking young Asian man standing in front of him.

The young man didn't speak, but instead took out an exquisite silver business card holder from his pocket, pulled out a black business card with a gold-stamped logo, and handed it over.

Schwarzenegger hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took it.

When his gaze swept over the words "HanStudio" on the business card, his previously indifferent pupils suddenly contracted, and his heart skipped a beat.

As someone who was determined to make a name for himself in the film industry, how could he not have heard of this production company that had recently gained fame in Hollywood?

"Mr. Qin?"

Schwarzenegger jumped to his feet, and in his haste, the broken folding chair tipped over on the floor.

He assumed the other person had just happened to pass by and witnessed his clumsy performance, and a surge of intense shame and indignation welled up inside him.

"Hello, I'm Arnold—I'm sorry to have embarrassed you, my performance just now was indeed—" he tried to explain with great trepidation.

"It was indeed a disaster."

Schwarzenegger's eyes dimmed instantly, and the pent-up frustration he had felt in front of the director surged up again.

It seems that even this big shot in Hollywood only sees him as a joke.

"But that's not your problem, Arnold," Qin Han continued with a smile, his eyes suddenly lighting up as he looked at the big man in front of him.

His gaze swept over Schwarzenegger's impressive muscles, his eyes revealing not a hint of mockery, but rather a sense of scrutiny and appreciation.

"These idiots who make cheap B-movies have no idea how to appreciate and utilize the ultimate aesthetic of power."

"They made you wear a ridiculous dress to play a mythological character; it's the biggest waste of your talent."

"Just with this body, without any lines, you can instill fear and trembling in people simply by standing there. This absolute sense of power is your greatest weapon."

Schwarzenegger was stunned.

Since coming to the United States and entering the entertainment industry, everyone—agents, directors, and producers—has been telling him: your muscles are too big, too deformed; your accent is too heavy; you can only ever play brainless monsters.

This was the first time someone had told him with such certainty and professionalism that his strength was not a burden, but rather the strongest weapon on the big screen!

"Mr. Qin, are you—are you serious?" Schwarzenegger's chest heaved violently.

Qin Han did not answer directly, but instead took a small step closer and threw out the trump card he had prepared long ago.

"Let's get to know each other again, Arnold. Besides being a producer, I have another identity."

"I am Bruce Lee's direct disciple. I am also the founder behind the upcoming UFC (Ultra-Fighting Championship) tournament."

Upon hearing the words "Bruce Lee" and "UFC," Schwarzenegger's eyes blazed with an intensely enthusiastic light.

As an absolute worshipper of strength, he not only practices bodybuilding but is also extremely passionate about combat sports.

The upcoming UFC Octagon fight in Los Angeles, which is touted as "ignoring all styles and rules," has already ignited his testosterone!

"My God! You're the Yellow Lightning who kicked the Japanese Kyokushin Karate master flying on Santa Monica Beach?!"

Schwarzenegger was so excited that he forgot to control his loud voice, and his thick Austrian accent became even more exaggerated in his extreme excitement.

"I read the Los Angeles newspapers every day! That octagon design is a genius idea! I saw the news about Mr. Li's assassination; you are true warriors!"

Looking at the incredibly excited bodybuilding champion in front of him, Qin Han's lips curled into a confident smile.

Having laid enough groundwork, he pulled a black envelope with a dark gold octagonal cage pattern from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"I've heard you're very passionate about fighting, Arnold."

"This is a VIP invitation to the first UFC fight; there are fewer than fifty people in the entire United States who have this seat."

Schwarzenegger accepted the envelope with trembling hands. This was more than just a ticket; it represented the recognition of him by top Hollywood producers!

"Also," Qin Han raised his wrist to check his watch, "after the crew wraps up tonight, come find me at the revolving restaurant on the top floor of Rockefeller Center. I'll treat you to the finest tomahawk steak in all of New York."

"We can eat and chat about how to tailor a movie to your needs, so that every muscle in your body can play its role."

After saying that, Qin Han left without lingering and walked out of that shabby police line.