I've Already Sold It

In a single day, Chen Qi met with film buyers from more than twenty countries. In the end, to save time, he simply gathered the representatives from the smaller countries together. None of them competed against one another anyway, and with their small market sizes, the acquisition prices were practically fixed. Some paid a few thousand, others ten thousand, and the highest was barely twenty thousand. By the end of the day, the finalized purchase agreements totaled four hundred thousand US dollars. Singapore and Malaysia paid the highest price at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, having always been a receptive market for Chinese-language cinema. However, Chen Qi had not yet finalized deals with the three big targets he had his sights on: South Korea, Japan, and the United States. He knew full well how massive the market potential was for kung fu films in those countries, and he refused to sell for cheap. Take *The Shaolin Temple*, which had raked in 3.6 billion yen at the Japanese box office, ranked seventh for the entire year in South Korea, and even revived theaters on the brink of bankruptcy in Thailand... Naturally, the foreign distributors had no clue. They only felt that Chen Qi's asking prices were exorbitant. It all came down to negotiation, ultimately settling on a figure both sides could accept. *** Night fell. Chen Qi still hadn't returned, lingering at Fu Chi's hotel. February in Berlin was freezing. Wrapped warmly in heavy coats, the two stood on an upstairs terrace chatting, looking out over a West Berlin that seemed entirely different from how it appeared by day. Department stores glowed with vibrant, multicolored lights, traffic flowed like water along the streets, and soft music drifted out from the cafes. Foreigners strolled about, some bundled up and others dressed lightly, laughing and chatting in high spirits—radiating an enviable state of mind... In the words of later generations, this was called a chill vibe, an effortless ease. In truth, Chen Qi rather despised the term. There were only two real ways for a person to attain that kind of effortless ease: be rich and never have to work, or completely let yourself go. "Good news from Hong Kong!" Fu Chi spoke up with a smile. "The box office for *Tai Chi* has officially surpassed *Security Unlimited*! They're at 13.86 million, and we've hit 13.96 million—leading by a hundred thousand!" "Can we hold the lead?" "The craze for both films has cooled off. I estimate there's still a few million left to grow. We'll take first place without any trouble, though breaking twenty million might be a stretch." Theaters back then only had five showtimes a day from morning to night. Large theaters seating over a thousand people ran high operating costs; if attendance dipped too low, a single screening might not even cover the electricity bill. Even though the leftist studio owned its own cinema circuit, if ticket sales dropped below a certain threshold, they would have to pull *Tai Chi* from the lineup. "This is our best performance in over a decade. Xiao Chen, truly, thank you!" "You're far too kind. I didn't do much." "No, no, you've done us a tremendous favor. At the very least, our finances are far more comfortable now." Fu Chi was deeply moved. The leftist film companies stuck together for warmth. When the cinema circuit earned money, it kept a portion for routine expenses and used the rest to support Great Wall, Feng Huang, and Sun Luen. So when *Tai Chi* exploded in popularity, everyone shared in the benefits. Chen Qi pondered for a moment and said, "Uncle Fu, your entire industry chain in Hong Kong is complete—you can produce, distribute, and exhibit, and you have your own studio lots and dormitories. But having the resources scattered among three separate companies is too inefficient. Why not merge them into one large corporation?" "I've considered that, but a merger isn't simple. It involves too many factors. I've been trying to secure support from the Central authorities. If the Central leadership doesn't approve, everything comes to nothing..." Fu Chi looked at him, his expression turning solemn. "Xiao Chen, your plan to make movies for export and earn foreign exchange is exceptionally bold—so bold that many people can't accept it. I'll just say this: you've helped everyone here, so if you ever need anything, just say the word. We won't hesitate for a second." "That's wonderful to hear! Then let me ask a favor in advance!" Chen Qi paused, then said, "Making waves out here like this means I'll definitely face disciplinary action when I get home. I'll be counting on you uncles to step in and save me." "Haha! I thought you were completely fearless, kid, but it turns out there's something you're afraid of after all... Don't worry, we won't shirk our duty!" *** *Clack, clack, clack!* *Clack, clack, clack!* That night, Fang Yurong arrived at the hotel once again. She had no idea how many trips she had made that day. Going upstairs to take a look, she found Li Wenhua and Li Lianjie had returned, but the crucial little scoundrel was still missing. "Where's Chen Qi? Where is he?" "Where did you two go? Don't you know about foreign-affairs discipline? How could you just go wandering off?" Haunted by a persistent bad premonition, Fang Yurong was verging on hysteria. Li Lianjie stared at her in bewilderment. "Can't we even go shopping? I could go shopping when I was in the United States! Is West Berlin stricter than Washington?" "Don't give me that! Where on earth is Chen Qi?!" "President Fu needed him for something and kept him there." "Needed him for what?" "How should I know?" Li Lianjie had no fondness for this woman. Rolling his eyes, he turned and walked away. Fang Yurong grew even more frantic, yet she couldn't very well go cause trouble for Fu Chi. She had an instinct that the bastard was definitely up to some wicked mischief, the sort that dug up ancestral graves and kicked down widows' doors! Meanwhile, Li Lianjie slipped into Li Wenhua's room and locked the door behind him. "Director, what is Brother Qi actually up to? Why is he doing business with foreigners behind everyone's backs?" "Hush!" Li Wenhua signaled for him to keep his voice down. Since the boy had already seen everything during the day anyway, he explained, "We're negotiating the overseas rights for *Tai Chi*. That's China Film's job, and we don't have the authority to do it. Fang Yurong belongs to China Film, so keep your mouth shut!" "Then why not just let them handle it?" "I don't even respect China Film, so what do you expect from them..." Li Wenhua showed a rare flash of insolence as he continued, "China Film has always been overbearing at home and generous abroad. Calling it 'overseas distribution' is just flattering them—in reality, they practically give the films away half-sold and half-gifted. As long as they push a movie out the door, they consider their mission accomplished and don't care about anything else. "What they love doing most is importing foreign films, screening them nationwide, and using capitalist cinema to fleece ordinary Chinese citizens' pockets. "What Xiao Chen is doing is the exact opposite—he's using socialist cinema to shear the capitalists' wool!" *Hiss!* Li Lianjie drew in a sharp breath. Though he only half-understood, he knew it was a truly formidable feat. Fang Yurong waited up the entire night, dozing off briefly halfway through out of sheer exhaustion. By the time she opened her eyes, morning had arrived. Everyone told her that Chen Qi had returned, only to head out again at the crack of dawn. Fang Yurong grew even angrier, feeling like an utter fool being deceived by their coordinated efforts. She wanted to continue searching for Chen Qi, but *Return of the Swallows* still had several events she was obliged to attend. Frustrated to no end, she felt like cursing the Film Bureau—couldn't the damned department have sent a few more people? *** Elsewhere. Having eaten and drunk his fill, Weinstein didn't leave his hotel until the afternoon. Heavy-set and unkempt, he carried a distinctly grubby air. Unrushed, he came looking for Chen Qi again to advance his scheme. The core of his plan lay in dangling a high price as bait, drawing out negotiations and stalling for time... He had to keep feeding the other party expectations, making them feel as if a contract could be signed any second, while never actually putting pen to paper. Arriving at the venue, he met Chen Qi and said with a smile, "Chen, how did you sleep last night?" "Pretty well, though the hotel room was a bit small." "European hotels are all like that. I conferred with our people back in the States late into the night. They were full of praise for my decision—mostly trusting my eye, believing *Tai Chi* can deliver a real breakthrough for our company. "Don't worry, the contract is already being drawn up. You'll see it very soon! "I came over specifically to let you know, so you wouldn't get anxious..." "It'll still take a few days??" "They're flying over from the States to speak with you in person, and we can sign then. Flying to Berlin is easy... Surely you can wait just a few days, can't you?" "Uh..." Weinstein observed him. Sure enough, Chen Qi's face displayed a tangled mix of urgency, anticipation, and worry, looking thoroughly conflicted. Weinstein was entirely confident. If Chen Qi showed any sign of refusal, he would offer a token deposit and sign a preliminary, one-sided agreement to drive the kid's expectations even higher, then continue stalling. "..." Chen Qi hesitated for a long while before putting on an apologetic look, sighing. "A few days is indeed manageable, and I truly wanted to have an in-depth discussion with your team. But as we Chinese say, take what's good while you can, lest delays breed trouble. "I'm terribly sorry, but I've already sold it!" "What?!" Weinstein, who had been savoring the expression changes like a cat toying with a mouse, was suddenly struck dumb, shouting in sheer disbelief, "You sold it?!"