This director only directs blockbusters.

The three of them worked until midnight.

On his way home, Yang Ning walked alone in the alley.

The night was deep and quiet. Only the sound of my own footsteps could be heard.

He suddenly remembered that half a year ago, on a night just like this, he was squatting outside Han Shanping's office eating a jianbing guozi (Chinese crepe).

At that time, all he was thinking about was how to survive.

Now, he's thinking about how to fly higher and more steadily.

But this path is destined to be more than just applause and flowers.

Countless eyes are watching, and countless hands are trying to pull them in, or... pull them down.

But he wasn't afraid. Because he held the strongest hand—good movies. That was enough. As for the rest… he'd accept whatever came his way. That was his path.

…………

The flight to Hong Kong is at 2 PM.

Yang Ning sat down in the window seat in first class, fastened his seatbelt, and was just about to close his eyes for a nap when someone sat down in the seat next to him.

"Director Yang, what a coincidence!"

He turned his head and saw Wang Zhonglei's smiling face.

"Mr. Wang?" Yang Ning was genuinely surprised. "What brings you here...?"

"Going to Hong Kong to discuss some business." Wang Zhonglei sat down, and a flight attendant came over to help him with his luggage. "I heard you were going too, so I changed my flight. We can chat on the way."

It was easy to say, but Yang Ning knew perfectly well that there was no such thing as a coincidence.

After the plane took off, Wang Zhonglei indeed started talking about serious business.

"Director Yang, what are your plans regarding Nicholas Tse?" He turned to the side, lowering his voice.

"Let's get straight to the point," Yang Ning said. "He needs a good project to make a comeback, and I need an actor with real talent. It's a win-win situation."

"What about the pay?"

"60% of the market price," Yang Ning said decisively. "But we'll give him a share of the box office revenue—1% if it grosses over 300 million in mainland China, and 2% if it grosses over 500 million."

Wang Zhonglei narrowed his eyes: "These conditions... he should be tempted."

"It's not just 'should,' it's 'definitely.'" Yang Ning looked at the layers of clouds outside the window. "He can't get any good roles right now."

GG's endorsements have mostly fallen off. Giving him a chance to turn things around is more important than offering him money.

"Are you so confident?"

Yang Ning turned to look at him: "Mr. Wang, what do you think Nicholas Tse wants most right now?"

"Of course... I need to prove myself again."

"That's right." Yang Ning nodded. "So what we should give you is not money, but the opportunity to prove yourself."

It's so that he can drive fast cars, fight, and risk his life in movies, and let everyone see that Nicholas Tse is still the same Nicholas Tse, even more ruthless, more manly, and more dedicated than before.

Wang Zhonglei was silent for a few seconds, then laughed: "Director Yang, your negotiation skills... are different from most people's."

"Because what I want is not short-term cooperation, but long-term partnership," Yang Ning said. "If this film is successful, there might be a sequel, and he will be a member of our team. We can collaborate on the next film, and the one after that."

These were grand words, but Yang Ning spoke them calmly.

He knew that Nicholas Tse would indeed transform into a tough-guy action actor in the next decade or so, and that he would have strong box office appeal. Now was the perfect time to bet on him.

"You have a much broader perspective," Wang Zhonglei remarked. "Sometimes, we people just focus on the immediate gains."

"Mr. Wang, you're too kind." Yang Ning smiled. "Huayi Brothers is about to go public; you have a broader vision."

The two chatted the whole way. They talked about everything from movies to the market, from actors to capital.

Wang Zhonglei probed Yang Ning's opinion on Huayi Brothers several times, but Yang Ning remained tight-lipped—neither saying good nor bad, only saying "we can cooperate if there is an opportunity."

It was drizzling in Hong Kong when the plane landed.

At the airport exit, Jiang Zhiqiang's assistant, Amin, was already waiting. He paused for a moment when he saw Yang Ning and Wang Zhonglei emerge together, but quickly regained his composure and smiled.

"Director Yang, President Wang, the car is outside."

The black Mercedes-Benz van had a brand-new interior. Amin was driving, and Yang Ning and Wang Zhonglei were sitting in the back.

"Boss Jiang booked a table in Lan Kwai Fong tonight for a welcome dinner for the two of you." Ah Ming glanced at the rearview mirror. "As for Nicholas Tse... we've arranged it for 3 PM tomorrow at his studio."

"Okay," Yang Ning said.

The car drove onto the Tsing Ma Bridge. Victoria Harbour was shrouded in a gray haze in the rain, and the high-rise buildings on the opposite shore appeared and disappeared in the mist.

Looking out the window, Wang Zhonglei suddenly said, "Hong Kong is really... how should I put it, it's both small and big."

"How so?" Yang Ning asked.

"The place is small, but the stage is huge." Wang Zhonglei turned his head. "So many stars have emerged from here, so many movies have been sold all over the world from here. But now..."

He didn't finish speaking, but Yang Ning understood.

The golden age of Hong Kong cinema has passed. But even a weakened camel is bigger than a horse; its connections, experience, and international channels remain.

"That's why cooperation is even more necessary," Yang Ning said. "The mainland has the market, and Hong Kong has the experience. Only by joining forces can we grow bigger."

Wang Zhonglei nodded and said nothing more.

---

The hotel was in Tsim Sha Tsui, and the room had a sea view. Yang Ning put down her luggage, washed her face, and then her phone rang.

It's Gao Yuanyuan.

"Have you arrived in Hong Kong?" she asked softly.

"Just arrived."

"Did the talks go smoothly?"

"I'll know tomorrow." Yang Ning walked to the window, looking at the rain outside. "How about you? How's your driving practice going?"

"I found an instructor and practiced three times," Gao Yuanyuan said. "The first time I got in the car, the instructor said my grip on the steering wheel was wrong, too tight. It's better now."

"Take it slow, no rush," Yang Ning said. "Formal training won't start until next month."

The two chatted for a while and then hung up the phone.

Yang Ning stood by the window and lit a cigarette. Rain pattered against the glass, leaving streaks of water running down.

Night always falls early in Hong Kong. It was only a little past six o'clock when it got dark. The neon lights came on, red, green, and yellow, casting dappled light on the wet streets.

At 7:30 p.m., Amin came to pick him up.

The bars in Lan Kwai Fong have small storefronts, but are quite deep inside.

Jiang Zhiqiang was already waiting in the private room. Besides him, there was a man in his fifties whom Yang Ning recognized—Chen Kexin.

"Director Yang, welcome, welcome." Jiang Zhiqiang stood up to shake hands and then introduced, "This is Director Peter Chan. He heard you were here and insisted on meeting you."

"Director Chen, I've heard so much about you." Yang Ning shook hands with him.

"Director Yang is the real talent, a young genius." Peter Chan spoke slowly, with a Hong Kong accent, "I've seen 'The Purple Cloud Era,' it's really well made. Especially the battle scene on the city wall, the direction was brilliant."

"Director Chen, you flatter me."

The group took their seats. The drinks were served first: whiskey on the rocks.

After a few drinks, the conversation flowed freely. They talked about movies, the market, and the differences between mainland China and Hong Kong.

Peter Chan lamented, "Hong Kong cinema is struggling these days. The market is small, and investments are hesitant to be large. You can't find more than three people in Hong Kong who dare to invest 200 million in a film like you."

"That's why I came to the mainland," Yang Ning said. "The market is big, and there are many opportunities."

"That's true, but..." Peter Chan shook his head, "Cultural differences, censorship, and audience tastes... it's not easy to adapt."