I'm conquering Hong Kong entertainment with two billion US dollars.

Chapter 61 brings a small shock.

Han Sanping broke off the last half of the steamed bun, dipped it in the braised pork broth at the bottom of the bowl, and stuffed it into his mouth in one bite.

Just as I was about to pick up the egg drop soup and start slurping it down, I caught a glimpse of someone coming in through the door. They walked quickly, weaving through the line of people waiting to get their food in the cafeteria, and heading straight this way.

Gao Chensheng. In his thirties, thin, wearing silver-rimmed glasses, his eyes behind the lenses were not large but very bright.

He followed Han Sanping from Emei Film Studio all the way to Beijing Film Studio, first as a secretary and later as the deputy director of the studio office.

External liaison, approvals, film scheduling, meeting minutes—he has done these seemingly trivial tasks for nearly ten years without ever making a mistake.

He stopped beside Han Sanping, bent down slightly, and lowered his voice. "Director, the public screening license for 'Prince of the Black Horse' has been issued. The ministry just called; the approval document can be picked up this afternoon."

Han Sanping put down the bowl, took the tissue Gao Chensheng handed him, wiped his mouth, and then turned to Lin Dong with a smile on his face.

"Mr. Lin, perfect timing. The date is set, synchronized with the Japanese and Korean markets—July 15th. Beijing Film Studio will immediately launch the publicity campaign, including posters, trailers, and media screenings, nothing will be left out."

"Director Han, you've gone to a lot of trouble." Lin Dong nodded.

The submission of "Prince of Dark Horse" to the mainland for review was arranged before he left.

Chen Xinjian handed over the master tape and all the application materials to the Hong Kong Liaison Office of Beijing Film Studio. He had informed Han Sanping in advance, and Han Sanping was in charge of pushing forward the subsequent procedures.

From submission to approval, it took less than two weeks. This speed is not the fastest among imported films in mainland China, but for a purely Hong Kong-produced film without mainland capital backing, it is already a special case.

After explaining everything that needed to be explained, Lin Dong stood up. Han Sanping also stood up, and the two shook hands.

"I have an appointment this afternoon," Lin Dong said. "I won't bother you any longer."

"Okay. I'll have someone prepare the marketing plan and fax it to your company." Han Sanping released his hand, gestured to Gao Chengsheng, and said, "See Lin Sheng out."

Lin Dong waved his hand and turned to walk out.

Ah Qiang and his five bodyguards stood up simultaneously from two tables near the cafeteria entrance, the sound of chopsticks and bowls being set down so synchronized it sounded like they had rehearsed it.

The six people filed in, protecting Lin Dong in the middle, and pushed open the door to go out through the cafeteria hall.

Sunlight streamed down from the doorway, causing Lin Dong to squint and bend down to get into the Mercedes parked by the roadside.

Han Sanping stood at the canteen entrance and watched the convoy turn out of the Beijing Film Studio gate before turning around.

The smile on his face had vanished, replaced by the thoughtful silence he had shown after watching the news at the dinner table.

"Chensheng," he said, walking towards the office building, with Gao Chensheng following beside him, carrying a folder, "back to the office."

The director's office at Beijing Film Studio was not large.

An old-fashioned solid wood desk, its surface worn smooth, with several stacks of documents awaiting approval piled in the corner.

On the wall hangs a floor plan of the Beijing Film Studio, next to which is a faded old photograph—a group photo of Han Sanping and several veteran directors, the date on which is already blurred.

Han Sanping sat down behind his desk, sorted out his thoughts, and then looked up at Gao Chensheng.

"Go and contact a few manufacturers for me. Woven bags, thickened tarpaulins, life jackets, life rings. Also, purified water, compressed biscuits, instant noodles. Disinfectant, bleach, mosquito repellent—I need these too."

Find a large-scale factory that can supply in bulk. Have them send representatives to Beijing to discuss the matter, the sooner the better.

Gao Chensheng's pen paused on the paper, his brow furrowing slightly. "Director, does our Beijing Film Studio need these?"

He was a meticulous person, and he knew the Beijing Film Studio's annual procurement list by heart.

The prop workshop occasionally orders a batch of tarpaulins and woven bags, but those are all small-scale purchases, and they never use the phrase "larger scale, large-volume supply at once".

Life jackets and life rings are supplies that have absolutely nothing to do with movies. Disinfectant and bleach—these are things that only epidemic prevention stations would order.

Han Sanping leaned back in his chair, looking at Gao Chengsheng's face, which was full of confusion, and then his lips twitched.

It's not a laugh; it's the unconscious expression on a person's face when they've been stunned by something and finally have the chance to talk about it with someone.

"It's not the Beijing Film Studio that wants it. It's Lin Dong."

Gao Chensheng put down his pen and waited for the next part.

"He wants to donate. Fifty million Hong Kong dollars. Just now, in the cafeteria, he saw a news report about the severe flooding in the south and before he even put down his chopsticks, he told me he wanted to donate fifty million dollars worth of supplies."

Woven bags, tarpaulins, life jackets, life rings, water, dry food, disinfectant—he rattled off each item with more ease than I could read the purchase order.

Gao Chensheng was stunned.

He worked as a secretary at the Beijing Film Studio for over a decade and had seen a lot of numbers.

Every year, he handles several transactions involving millions or tens of millions of dollars in budgets, government funding, and sponsorship offers for each film.

But those are all investments, and you can calculate the returns.

Fifty million Hong Kong dollars is roughly equivalent to fifty-three million RMB. It's donated like that, and not even a sound is heard.

"Fifty million—" He glanced down at the few lines written in his notebook, "How much can that buy?"

Han Sanping took off his reading glasses and placed them on the table. "Tell me."

Gao Chensheng quickly calculated the costs in his mind. Having worked in the factory for so many years, he knew the prices of materials well.

The wholesale price of a woven bag is about 50 cents, and a thickened tarpaulin costs about 10 yuan per square meter.

"Fifty million Hong Kong dollars, which is about 53 million RMB."

He tapped lightly on his notebook, couldn't help but confirm the number he had mentally calculated, and then said with some difficulty: "If all of it is used to purchase flood control materials and daily necessities—it would probably take more than 1000 large freight trucks to transport it all."

Han Sanping leaned back in his chair and remained silent for a while. Then he reached out and slapped the table with a light but heavy thud.

"Go ahead. Contact the manufacturers and have them send representatives to Beijing. Don't look for small-scale ones; find those that can supply in one go. Once they arrive, I'll talk to them personally."

Gao Chensheng closed his notebook, stood up, and walked towards the door. Just as he reached the door, Han Sanping's voice rang out behind him again.

"etc."

He turned around.

"Have Yu Dong come to my office."

Gao Chensheng nodded, pushed open the door, and went out. His footsteps gradually faded away in the corridor. Han Sanping leaned back in his chair, couldn't help but rub his nose, and then opened the document awaiting approval on the table.

Meanwhile, at the Great Wall Hotel, it was 2:30 p.m.

The coffee shop on the first floor is not big, with dark walnut wood wainscoting and off-white marble flooring, and a small pot of green ivy on each table.

When Lin Dong walked in, A-Qiang and his men did not follow him in; instead, they lined up against the wall at the entrance of the coffee shop.

Wang Jinhua had arrived. She was alone in a corner by the window, with a cup of black coffee in front of her and a plate of untouched cookies next to her.

Today she wore a dark blue suit jacket, her hair was pulled back, and her makeup was lighter than at the banquet that day, but her eyes were just as clear, direct, and unwavering in their expression.

Lin Dong sat down opposite her, waved to the approaching waiter, pointed to the coffee in front of Wang Jinhua, and gestured for it to come—

One cup is the same.

The coffee was served.

He picked up the glass, took a sip, frowned slightly, and put the glass back on the saucer.

"I still prefer tea to coffee." He pushed his cup aside, looked at Wang Jinhua, and said, "I'll invite you for tea next time."

Wang Jinhua smiled slightly.

From the very first second he sat down, this man was in control—not in an aggressive way, but in a subtle way, taking the initiative and waiting for you to make your move.

"Then I'll wait for Mr. Lin's tea." She picked up her coffee cup, took a sip, then put the cup down, placed her hands on the table, and leaned forward slightly.

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