Back to 17, My Brother is the Cult Leader

Wang Shu gazed at the view of Victoria Harbour outside the window for a long time, then sighed.

"Alright. As long as the money is there, just sign the papers."

"What about Yingke..." Ma Huateng asked.

"I'll go talk to Lao Li," Wang Shu waved his hand. "It's all business, no need to make things too tense."

March 18, 2000, Shenzhen.

Tencent's legal department was brightly lit.

Several thick copies of the "Equity Transfer Agreement" and "Capital Increase and Share Expansion Agreement" filled the table in the conference room.

Although Fang Yuan came to Shenzhen, he remained in his hotel room and did not go to the scene.

Ma Huateng, representing "Qihang Capital (Cayman)," and representatives from IDG and PCCW signed their names on the agreement.

There was no applause, no celebration.

For these three parties, this is not a deal worth publicizing.

"Mr. Fang," Ma Huateng said into the phone.

"The agreements are all signed. I'll send the original contract to the hotel in a bit, and then it'll be time for the payment."

"Okay." Fang Yuan's voice came through the phone.

"I will have the company's accountant initiate two wire transfers at 3 p.m. today."

Each transaction was $1100 million, totaling $2200 million.

The receiving accounts are the ones you just confirmed.

"clear."

Fang Yuan hung up the phone and glanced at the deep night outside the window.

He knew that once the money was transferred, many things would be irreversible.

Three days later, the money arrived in my account.

Tencent's CFO was trembling as he held the bank deposit slip.

The $1500 million cash inflow instantly transformed this small, struggling company into one of the wealthiest survivors of the internet winter.

Ma Huateng immediately sent an email to Fang Yuan, containing only a few simple words: "The money has arrived, thank you."

Fang Yuan's reply was equally concise: "Work hard."

Soon, the procedures for changing Tencent's shareholder register were completed.

There was no press release, no celebratory banquet, only a document filed with the Shenzhen Municipal Administration for Industry and Commerce, which clearly stated:

Shareholder: Qihang Capital (Cayman) Limited, holding 52.85% of the shares.

Ma Huateng returned to his office with a copy of the document and breathed a long sigh of relief.

He knew that from today onwards, the dark cloud hanging over Tencent had finally dissipated.

That same afternoon, BJ.

Fang Yuan had just come out of a rehearsal class at the Central Academy of Drama when his phone vibrated. It was a text message from Ma Huateng.

"Teacher Fang, the shareholder register has been updated."

You are now the controlling shareholder of Tencent. What are your next instructions?

Fang Yuan stood next to the newsstand at the school gate, glanced at the text message, and did not reply.

He dialed back immediately.

The phone rang three or four times before it was answered.

"Teacher Fang?" Ma Huateng's voice sounded somewhat tired.

"Pony," Fang Yuan called him by his English name.

"Once the formalities are completed, that's fine. There are no further instructions; you're still in charge of the company, and I won't interfere too much."

"So... what are your thoughts on future plans, or content collaborations?" Ma Huateng asked.

"I have the idea, but not now," Fang Yuan said calmly.

"You guys get the server expansion sorted out first, and hurry up with the Mobile Dream Network access as well."

As for the content, we can discuss it in detail once your cash flow is positive.

He paused, then added:

"By the way, if you have any internal calculation reports on SMS value-added services, please bring a copy for me to see next time we meet. I'd like to understand the actual situation."

"Okay," Ma Huateng replied. "Then, Professor Fang, when will you come to Shenzhen again?"

"We'll see," Fang Yuan said. "No rush. Let's get through this first."

After saying that, he hung up the phone.

There were no extra pleasantries, nor any "story of spring".

Fang Yuan put his phone back in his pocket, glanced in the direction of the rehearsal hall, and turned to leave.

For him, this was just an investment. But for Tencent, it was a lifeline.

December in Beijing is dry and cold; the wind feels like razor blades on your face.

A red carpet was laid out at the entrance of the China World Hotel, with promotional displays for the film "Big Shot's Funeral" on both sides. The portraits of Ge You and Rosamund Kwan were enlarged to be larger than their real-life counterparts, and below them was a line of gold lettering: "Feng Xiaogang's blockbuster New Year's film, global premiere on December 28."

When Fang Yuan got out of the car, a cold wind rushed into his collar, so he pulled his coat tighter.

Hao Wei followed half a step behind him, wearing a long black down jacket and carrying a file bag containing the rough cut script of "Crazy Stone".

Ning Hao's team just finished filming less than ten days ago, and post-production is still in progress. She came along today simply because she had to go to the Central Academy of Drama's editing room this afternoon.

"Teacher Fang." The staff member in charge of reception at the door recognized him and quickly came up to him, handing him a seating chart.

Fang Yuan took it and glanced at it—the first row of the main creative area, near the middle, with a nameplate that read "Screenwriter Fang Yuan".

Next to him are people from Columbia Pictures, and further to the right are several senior executives from Huayi Brothers.

Hao Wei leaned over and glanced at the seating chart, then whispered:

"The publicity team put the Columbia Pictures people on the side, while Huayi Brothers' own boss sat next to Director Feng."

Fang Yuan didn't say anything, folded the seating chart and stuffed it into his coat pocket, then stepped inside.

The banquet hall was well-heated and brightly lit, like daytime.

There were already quite a few media reporters sitting in the front row, with two whole rows of cameras and microphones set up.

On stage, a huge LED screen played the teaser trailer for "Big Shot's Funeral" on a loop—Ge You, dressed in a mental hospital uniform, ran wildly down a corridor, Rosamund Kwan turned around and smiled, and the background music was a symphonic version of "Ode to Joy," which was magnificent.

Fang Yuan found his seat in the main creative area and sat down.

Hao Wei did not sit down, but stood next to the media area on the side, crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his eyes subtly scanning the seating arrangement in the room.

Her habit as an agent is to recognize everyone in a setting, and to figure out who is sitting with whom and who is talking to whom.

People gradually arrived.

Feng Xiaogang was the second to last to enter, wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit and with a ruddy complexion. As soon as he entered through the side door, he was stopped by several reporters to take pictures.

He waved his hand, indicating that they would talk later, and strode over to the main creative area, sitting down and patting Fang Yuan on the shoulder:

"Teacher Fang, you're here." Fang Yuanchong nodded to him. "You're here."

There was no further small talk between the two.

Although Fang Yuan wrote the script, he didn't participate much in the film from beginning to end. He left the filming to Feng Xiaogang. His role today is simply that of a screenwriter.

Five minutes before the press conference officially began, Wang Jinghua walked in.

She was wearing a sharp-tailored black suit, her hair was neatly styled, and Huang Xiaoming followed behind her.

Huang Xiaoming wore a dark blue suit with a neatly tied tie. When he entered, he glanced around the room, made eye contact with Fang Yuan for less than a second, then blinked and followed Wang Jinghua to Huayi's seats.