This director only directs blockbusters.

Next Wednesday, at 9:00 AM.

When Yang Ning pushed open the office door, Han Shanping was on the phone.

"Yes, I know their price is high... but you have to understand, it's not about the money now, it's about the winds of change."

He glanced at Yang Ning and pointed to the sofa.

Yang Ning sat down and didn't move.

Han Shanping spoke for another two minutes before hanging up.

Where is Xu Qin?

"Wait outside," Yang Ning said.

Han Shanping took off his glasses, wiped them, and put them back on.

"I've read the script three times," he said bluntly. "The story is good, and the imagery is vivid. But the problem is also obvious—the risk is too great."

He didn't give Yang Ning a chance to interrupt and continued:

"First, you have no experience. There is no precedent in the history of China Film Group for a recent graduate to manage an investment of 1.2 million yuan."

"Secondly, the subject matter is too novel. Apocalypse, zombies, superpowers... nothing has been filmed domestically before. How will it pass censorship? Will the audience buy into it?"

"Third, and most importantly—" he leaned forward, "why would I take this risk?"

The office was quiet.

The faint sound of traffic outside the window drifted in.

Yang Ning waited three seconds to make sure he had finished speaking before he spoke.

"Chairman Han, may I first provide three data points?"

Han Shanping raised his hand, signaling him to speak.

"First, while *Hero* had a total investment of 2.5 million yuan, China Film Group wasn't the main investor. Zhang Yimou's New Pictures Film Group and Hong Kong's Edko Films accounted for the majority of the shares," Yang Ning said calmly. "If the film succeeds, the credit goes to the director and the production company; if the film flops, who will bear the pressure of public opinion?"

Han Shanping remained silent.

"Secondly, there's a saying in the Hong Kong film industry: 'One hit film, and three years of follow-ups.'" Yang Ning continued, "If 'Hero' is successful, at least ten more big-budget martial arts films will be greenlit in the next two years. But Hong Kong filmmakers themselves know that martial arts films have been declining since the mid-1990s. After 'The Storm Riders' in 1998, pure martial arts films have become very difficult to sell."

He paused to observe Han Shanping's reaction.

Han Shanping tapped his fingers lightly on the table, his face expressionless.

"Your assessment is that 'Hero' will create a craze," Yang Ning said. "But my assessment is that this craze will last at most two years. Before 2004, martial arts blockbusters will enter a period of stagnation. By then, China Film Group, as the industry leader, will need to have new cards to play."

"Is your apocalyptic theme the new card?" Han Shanping finally spoke.

"It's not just about one card," Yang Ning said. "It's about a new track. Martial arts films follow a route of history, sentiment, and aesthetics; I want to follow a route of the future, technology, and visual spectacle. Walking on two legs is always more stable than hopping on one."

Han Shanping lit a cigarette.

"Go on."

"Thirdly, regarding risks." Yang Ning took a document from his briefcase—not a script, but a financial plan. "In Hong Kong, 'completion guarantees' and 'pre-sale mortgages' are currently popular. We can learn from them."

He pushed the document over.

"Find a qualified financial guarantee company to provide completion insurance for the project. If there are cost overruns or delays, the guarantee company will bear part of the losses."

"At the same time, before filming begins, we sell overseas copyrights and regional distribution rights. We use the pre-sale contracts to secure loans from banks, thus bringing some funds back in advance."

Han Shanping picked up the document and flipped through it.

"These are practices common in mature markets like Hong Kong," he said. "There are no precedents in mainland China."

"So China Film Group needs to set this precedent," Yang Ning said. "Chairman Han, back then you promoted the reform of the film production system precisely to bring the mainland film industry closer to marketization and standardization, didn't you? Now is the perfect time."

Han Shanping smoked in silence.

There were already three or four cigarette butts in the ashtray.

"Who came up with these plans for you?" he suddenly asked.

"It was by myself," Yang Ning said. "I summarized it by reviewing financing cases of thirty projects in Hong Kong and Hollywood."

"How many days did the investigation take?"

"Three months. Sleeping four hours a day."

Han Shanping laughed, and this time it was a genuine laugh.

"Young man, you have a fierce streak."

He stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and walked to the window.

"Next Monday, 2 PM." He looked out the window. "I've invited five people—Old Wang from Beijing Film Studio, Old Chen from Shanghai Film Studio, and three bosses from private companies. They're all influential figures in the industry."

He turned around.

"You have one hour. It's not a report, it's a defense. They will ask very tricky questions, they will nitpick, they will question every single detail."

Yang Ning also stood up: "What do I need to prepare?"

"Two things." Han Shanping held up two fingers. "First, a complete budget. Every penny spent must be justified."

"Second," he paused, "you need to think this through—if this project really goes ahead, how can you guarantee it won't get out of control? 120 million is no small sum; countless eyes are watching. You're just a 22-year-old director, what makes you think you can command hundreds of people?"

Yang Ning nodded: "I will be ready."

"And one more thing." Han Shanping walked back to the table, picked up the financial plan, and said, "This idea is good, but it's very complicated to implement. I'll have people from the legal and finance departments attend the meeting, and you need to be able to answer their questions."

"clear."

Han Shanping glanced at him and waved his hand: "Go ahead. Let Xu Qin come in for a moment."

Yang Ning bowed, turned and left.

In the corridor, Xu Qin stood up nervously: "How is it?"

"You've passed the first hurdle," Yang Ning said. "Now you can go in."

Xu Qin took a deep breath and pushed open the door to go inside.

Yang Ning leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

My palms were sweaty.

Those last twenty minutes were like walking on a knife's edge every second.

But he knew—the most crucial step had been taken.

As the elevator descended, he took out his phone and dialed a number.

"Old Xu."

"How is it? How is it?" Old Xu shouted from the other end.

"Next Monday, 2 PM, China Film Group conference room," Yang Ning said. "It'll be you, me, and five other industry leaders. We need to prepare the budget and risk control plan."

"Holy crap! It really worked?"

"Not yet." Yang Ning watched the elevator numbers change. "But there's a chance. You'll have to work hard these next few days to help me come up with the budget for the special effects. It needs to be detailed, accurate, and able to withstand scrutiny."

"Don't worry! Back when I was doing budgeting at Pearl River Film Studio, I even factored in the cost of the film reel boxes!"

"And one more thing," Yang Ning said, "check out the specific procedures for 'completion guarantee' in Hong Kong. I need the most detailed case studies."

"Oh... I know someone in Hong Kong who works in film finance, let me ask him."

"As soon as possible."

After hanging up the phone, the elevator doors opened.

Yang Ning walked out of the building and stood in the summer sun of 2002, feeling somewhat dazed.

The sounds of traffic, bicycle bells, and newsstand vendors mingled together, surging in like a tide.

So real, so...young.

He suddenly remembered that in his previous life, it was also a similar afternoon when he, as the executive director, squatted in a corner of the "The Promise" set, watching Chen Kaige explain the scene to Zhang Baizhi.

The sun was very strong that day, making the asphalt road surface soft.

He held a storyboard in his hand, which contained seventeen composition suggestions he had revised—

The film later used it fourteen times, and nobody knows who suggested it.

After filming wrapped, the producer patted him on the shoulder: "Xiao Yang, you did a great job. We'll look for you again for the next project."

Then they handed over an envelope, a bit thicker than a typical executive director's, which was considered hush money.

He accepted it with a smile and said thank you, brother.

I turned around and walked into the alley behind the Beijing Film Studio, bought a bottle of Beibingyang soda, and squatted on the curb to drink it.

The soda is sweet, but my heart is cold.

He was 34 years old that year, had been in the industry for 12 years, and had participated in nine films, with a total box office of over 1.5 billion.

None of them are his.

Later, he learned not to compete. He didn't compete for authorship, for ideas, or for that pitiful dignity of creation.

Everyone in the industry knows, "Go to Yang Ning; he's meticulous, tight-lipped, and doesn't cause trouble." What a useful tool.

Tools don't need dreams.

……

My phone vibrated in my pocket; it was a text message.

Old Xu sent this message: "I've contacted the Hong Kong side, and the information will arrive tomorrow morning. Let's give it our all!"

Yang Ning looked at those three words and suddenly burst out laughing.

His laughter drew the attention of a young girl waiting by the roadside. He quickly pursed his lips, but the smile still lingered in his eyes.

He checked his pocket again; it was still the same five yuan.

Reaching the corner shop: "Boss, Arctic Ocean soda."

The glass bottle was handed to me; it was icy cold and prickly.

This time he didn't squat down, but stood up and took a big gulp.

The bubbles burst in his throat, carrying a sweet orange flavor that made his eyes sting.

In this life, the bottle is the same bottle.

But the people who drink it are finally different.

He held the empty bottle, gazing at the silhouette of the China Film Group building in the sunlight.

Next Monday.

Four days left.

That's enough for him to turn the pent-up frustrations of his past twenty years into the sharpest blade of this life.