My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 176 Guerrilla Shooting Method

The afternoon sun in Los Angeles was still glaring as the black Dodge Challenger weaved through the heatwave on the streets of Burbank and plunged headfirst into the Warner Bros. Studios.

He glanced at his watch, not even bothering to change his clothes, and hurriedly pushed open the door to Warner's Audition Room No. 3.

At the large, long conference table, Fred was irritably flipping through the resumes in his hands, with a dozen or so actress model cards scattered haphazardly on the table in front of him.

The carpet at his feet was covered with the resumes of those who had been eliminated.

"Damn it! This is the seventeenth one today!" Fred grabbed a photo of a blonde woman and casually tossed it into the trash can.

"These brainless idiots, they didn't even understand the script!" His hands gripped the table, his chest heaving. "They think they can convincingly portray a marginalized woman from the lower class by swapping designer dresses for worn-out plaid shirts, deliberately straining their voices, and putting on an innocent, pitiful act?"

"It's a disaster! Those naive and innocent girls could walk into the slums of Philadelphia and be stripped down to nothing, down to their underwear, within five minutes!"

Qin Han pulled out a chair and sat down next to Fred. He casually flipped through the resumes, and the next one was Renee.

Stallone's anxiety was palpable; he paced back and forth in the corner of the room, his large hands constantly rubbing together.

During his time living with them at the West Hollywood villa, he witnessed firsthand how that resilient girl fought desperately for her brother, and he had long since come to regard Renee and George as his true family.

He wanted Renee to land the role of "Adrian" more than anyone else, but he also knew that Fred, sitting in the examiner's seat, would never go easy on a project involving millions of dollars in investment, just because of personal relationships.

"Calm down, Sylvester. You've damaged the floor, and Warner Bros. will deduct the repair costs from your paycheck."

Qin Han laughed and made a joke.

Stallone stopped, took a breath, forced himself back into his chair, and stared intently at the closed door.

"Tap, tap."

Two very faint knocks sounded on the door.

"Come in," Fred called impatiently, picking up his pen again and looking down at the next name on the list.

Renee took a deep breath and stepped into the audition room.

Hearing footsteps, Fred looked up, and the moment the light fell on Renee, his thick eyebrows furrowed tightly together.

Even though she deliberately wore a faded chunky knit sweater and old jeans today, it still couldn't hide her strikingly beautiful appearance.

"Miss Russell, right?" Fred cleared his throat and tossed his pen onto the table. "Rocky is an extremely realistic drama. The Adrian we're looking for is an ugly duckling who works as a cat food carrier in a pet store, is constantly verbally abused by his brother, and is so insecure that he can't even look a strange man in the eye."

He stared at Renee's face and said bluntly, "You look more like a fashion magazine model who wandered onto the wrong set. This kind of look will ruin the essence of Adrian's character."

Just then, Qin Han suddenly raised his eyes, his gaze piercing straight at Renee, who was standing in the center of the arena.

Without needing to speak, the two exchanged a glance, which pulled Renee back to that night that had filled her with dread: that day, in the villa in West Hollywood, Qin Han had used words to expose the deepest fears in her heart.

Renee's breath hitched for a moment as she grasped the feeling.

Her once straight back collapsed instantly, her shoulders hunched inward uncontrollably, her head bowed, and her slender fingers nervously twisted together.

To conceal her overly delicate face, she frantically raised her hand and roughly ruffled her neatly combed hair, a few strands falling down like a barrier, obscuring most of her face.

The brightness and aggression that once filled her eyes have vanished, replaced by evasiveness, fear, and a cowardice that has developed over the years under cold stares.

"I—I don't need sympathy."

"Polly, you always say I'm a loser, that I can't even find a man." Renee's voice grew softer and softer, her shoulders trembling slightly with each breath, as if every word she uttered was draining all her courage.

This is a dialogue from the script where Adrian is verbally abused by his brother.

Fred's body leaned forward unconsciously, and his hands, which had been crossed in front of his chest, were now gripping the edge of the table.

Suddenly, Renee abruptly raised her head, flicking a few strands of messy hair behind her ears, and a complex emotion burst forth in her eyes, which had been darting away.

"But he didn't! Rocky didn't!" Renee's voice suddenly rose, tears welling in her eyes but she stubbornly held them back. "When he looked at me, he didn't laugh! He respected me! And you—you only destroy everything around you!"

The audition room was completely silent.

Only Renee's clenched fists trembled slightly, as if the burst of energy just now had drained her last bit of strength.

A loud "bang!" shattered the silence.

Stallone suddenly jumped up from his chair, completely unable to control his emotions. His eyes were red, and he slammed his fists hard on the conference table.

"This is Adrian!" He pointed to Renee in the center of the field. "Fred! This is my Adrian! No one understands better than her what it feels like to be trampled into the mud by life!"

Fred seemed to wake from a dream. He looked at Renee, his chest heaving a few times, and then led the applause.

"Slap! Slap! Slap!"

Fred's eyes were filled with incredible fervor: "Unbelievable—this is practically black magic. Miss Russell, take back my foolish words. You brought that character to life."

Qin Han sat in the chair, watching Renee gradually detach herself from her role and stand up straight again, a look of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Then, the female lead has been chosen. Let the legal department process the contract tomorrow." He made the final decision.

Renee breathed a sigh of relief, and tears finally streamed down her face. She bowed deeply to Qin Han and Fred, then turned and quickly walked out of the audition room.

As soon as I stepped outside, I heard Sylvester Stallone's barely suppressed cheers coming from inside.

Inside the audition room, Fred sat back down in his chair.

Having solved the biggest problem of casting, he appeared full of energy and immediately pulled a thick document from his briefcase and pushed it in front of Qin Han.

"Qin, congratulations! Renee has finally—cough cough, this is the shooting schedule and budget application that the production department rushed out."

""

"Warner is preparing to request a special road maintenance budget of $200,000 from the Philadelphia city government. We need to close the Italian Market Street in South Philadelphia from the 12th to the 15th of next month."

"I've already made arrangements with the extras' union. They'll hire 300 professional extras every day to play vegetable vendors, passersby, and shopkeepers. We'll be using four cameras to film a climax montage of Rocky traversing the streets in the early morning and finally running up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art!"

Fred grew increasingly excited, as if he could already see the images flowing across the screen: "This will be the most expensive street choreography in the history of Hollywood sports films!"

Qin Han listened quietly to Fred's grand plan, his gaze shifting downwards to the beautifully bound budget sheet on the table.

He then grabbed Fred's pen and put a big X on the form.

Fred's excited voice abruptly stopped, and the smile on his face instantly froze: "Qin—what do you mean by this?"

"If this movie were called *Superman*, your plan would be perfect. But it's called *Rocky*." Qin Han shoved the form back into Fred's arms. "Fred, you were just criticizing Renee for not understanding the realities of life," but aren't you the same?

"Three hundred professional extras? Street blockades? Once you set up those massive crane cameras on the streets, Philadelphia's rough, dirty, yet vibrant street life is completely gone!"

"I don't want Hollywood assembly-line sets; I want authenticity! The kind of authenticity that allows working-class Americans across the globe to smell the sewers and raw beef, even through the screen!"

Fred was rendered speechless by Qin Han's rapid-fire questions: "But—if we don't close the road, how can we film? Those unpredictable passersby will ruin the film!"

"Who said we had to film it the conventional way?"

Qin Han reached for the paper and pen on the table, drew a rectangle on the blank paper, and then drew a small circle in the middle of the rectangle.

"Rent a van and carve a hidden hole in the side of the cargo bed. The cameraman, with a telephoto lens, hides inside the van and follows Sly, keeping a safe distance and driving slowly."

"Don't have the clapperboard set up, and don't clear the area."

"Make him wear a sweaty gray tracksuit and rush into the Philadelphia Italian Market at four in the morning every day."

"Go crash into real vegetable stalls, go run through refrigerated meat trucks being unloaded. Let the unsuspecting butchers, the homeless woken up, and even the street thugs react most realistically to this madman running wildly through the streets!"

"If anyone flips him the middle finger, if anyone throws rotten cabbage leaves at him, film it all! That's Rocky's life! The true pulse of this era!"

Fred was stunned, and a layer of cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

"This—this is insane! This is guerrilla warfare! Filming without permission is illegal!" He swallowed hard. "The city police will arrest our entire crew!"

"Therefore, we need the producer's skill to come into play."

Qin Han tossed the ballpoint pen back onto the table. "Take the $20,000 and go have coffee with the Philadelphia police chief."

"Tell them there's a film crew shooting a poorly made independent movie, and ask them to turn a blind eye to those 'running in violation of the rules' on a certain morning."

"The 200,000 yuan road closure budget was cut to 20,000 yuan for public relations," and the money saved is enough for us to do more with the later music and editing.

Qin Han looked at the stunned Fred and softened his tone: "Trust me, Fred. When this set of unedited shots is shown on the big screen, Hollywood critics will give you a standing ovation."

Fred sat in his chair, reason telling him that this completely uncontrollable "guerrilla" filming was a trampling of the Hollywood industrial system.

But the realism Qin Han depicted was like a poison, wildly tempting his ambition as a filmmaker.

What's more, this Asian youth in front of us has made a fortune with every crazy gamble, from predicting the stock market to manipulating box office figures.

"You're insane—you're a complete madman." Fred wiped his face, gritted his teeth, and stood up. "Twenty thousand dollars. I'll take care of the Philadelphia police. Sylvester better pray he doesn't get shot by the local gangsters while running through the streets, mistaken for a turf grabber."

"Don't worry, he's tough." Qin Han patted Fred on the shoulder and gave Stallone a thumbs up.

As night fell, the Pacific breeze dispelled the daytime heat.

Inside the villa in West Hollywood, the lights were on, and the air was filled with the lively atmosphere of everyday life.

The cutthroat world of business negotiations was kept outside the door; the large coffee table in the center of the living room was laden with a sumptuous Chinese meal packed back from Chinatown.

Glossy red Kung Pao Chicken, steaming roast goose, and stir-fried beef noodles piled high like a small mountain.

Several dozen chilled Budweiser beers were scattered carelessly on the carpet, with condensation droplets sliding down the glass from the bottles.

"Bang!"

In the corner of the living room, George, wearing a pair of red boxing gloves bigger than his face, punched Stallone's broad palm hard, making a crisp impact sound.

"Hey! When you throw a punch, you need to push your shoulder out! You're so soft, like a girl!" Stallone deliberately put on a stern face, backing away to instruct George on his steps, while casually grabbing a piece of roast goose from the coffee table and stuffing it into his mouth, shouting indistinctly.

-

"I'm not a girl! I want to fight in the UFC too!" George's face turned red as he awkwardly jumped around, continuing to swing his fists.

On the sofa, Michael Ovitz took off his usual impeccable suit jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and squatted down next to the coffee table without any regard for his image, struggling with a tough piece of pork rib with chopsticks.

Qin Han sat on a single sofa, quietly watching the scene before him.

This sense of relaxation within the "Han family" made him feel more comfortable than any insincere social interaction at a high-end Hollywood dinner party.

Just then, Renee walked over carrying two glasses.

She had changed into a simple white loungewear outfit, and her face, now relaxed, looked exceptionally gentle under the warm light.

He sat down at the edge of the coffee table opposite Qin Han and handed him one of the glasses of soda water.

Qin Han reached out and took the wine glass, while Renee held her own glass with both hands, her eyes slightly red.

From a struggling eyewear factory worker in the slums earning a few dozen dollars a day, to the leading lady about to stand in front of the camera in a Warner Bros. A-list production, this leap in identity is like a dream.

She knew perfectly well that without the intervention of this man, she would probably still be hiding in a dark alley, avoiding the harassment of biker gangs.

"Thank you." Renee's voice trembled slightly, "For that one glance during today's audition, for—everything."

She raised her glass, tilted her head back, and downed the entire glass of beer in one gulp.

Qin Han looked at her slightly reddened eyes, refrained from saying any insincere pleasantries, and raised his wine glass: "At Han's Film Industry, as long as you have enough ambition and awareness, you will receive the crown that matches you."

"Get some rest. Starting next week, the streets of Philadelphia will drain all your energy."

, 7

"Ring ring—!" Suddenly, the shrill ring of the telephone ripped apart the laughter in the living room.