Chapter 11: Now This Is Making Money

Having done Xiao Yueyue a favor, Zhang Yuan knew that it wouldn't be long before the two of them crossed paths in the industry again.

After this brief interlude, he returned to the restaurant's private room.

"Yuan, I didn't realize you had such a strong sense of justice," Director Gao Qunshu teased when he saw him return. "Standing up for a little waiter—do you two know each other?"

"I don't," Zhang Yuan sat down and took a sip of water. "But I come from humble beginnings myself, and I've had my share of being looked down upon and bullied."

"So, when I saw the kid getting picked on, I just thought I'd help if I could."

"Sorry for the trouble, gentlemen." With that, he raised his glass to offer a toast of thanks.

Everyone at the table was deeply moved by his words.

Director Gao Qunshu didn't come from the Beijing Film Academy or the Central Academy of Drama; he was a self-made man who entered the industry halfway through his career.

Although Sun Honglei had a diploma from the Central Academy of Drama, it was for a musical theater program, and he had only been an auditor in a vocational class, receiving only a certificate of completion upon graduation.

The others present were much the same—all from grassroots backgrounds.

Climbing their way up, they had endured countless cold shoulders and bullying from peers with more power and connections, forced to swallow their blood along with their broken teeth.

To say nothing else, how many times had Director Gao been called a "ragtag crew" while trying to sell *Conquest*?

Only those who have experienced it understand how difficult it is to rise from the bottom.

"We're all family here, no need for formalities."

"That's right, we all come from the bottom; we should help each other out."

"Zhang Yuan did the right thing. When you see injustice, you should stand up..."

Amidst the conversation, glasses clinked.

After a few more bottles of white liquor, the atmosphere became even better.

By the time the banquet broke up, it was already two in the morning.

The restaurant owner, who had been waiting downstairs to clean up and close shop, was yawning repeatedly. As soon as he saw them walk out, he hurried over with a fawning and humble expression.

Clearly, he already knew about the crew "scaring off" the drunks.

"Don't give that waiter a hard time," Zhang Yuan said, leaving those words behind before departing with the others.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, Director Gao Qunshu pulled him aside, clearly wanting to speak with him privately.

"Yuan, thanks to you this time, our film sold smoothly." The director puffed on a cigarette, smiling happily.

"I put my entire net worth into this film. If it had flopped, I'd be out working to pay off my debts."

"It was for the crew, it was the right thing to do." Zhang Yuan spoke with righteous indignation, then asked curiously, "Director, how much did it finally sell for?"

"I wouldn't tell anyone else, but I won't keep you in suspense." Gao Qunshu held up a palm.

"Five million."

"That's not bad." Zhang Yuan thought to himself. In his past life, this film sold for 4.5 million. An extra 500,000—not bad at all.

"Although it's not a huge profit, it's better than making nothing or losing money." After saying this, Gao Qunshu pulled a thick kraft paper envelope from his briefcase and handed it to Zhang Yuan.

"This is?"

"Just a small token of appreciation, take it." Patting Zhang Yuan on the shoulder, Gao Qunshu gave him an appreciative look before walking away alone.

Zhang Yuan weighed the envelope. Judging by the thickness and weight, it should contain ten thousand yuan!

"The film sold for five million, Director Gao probably made about 800,000. Giving me ten thousand as a thank-you fee isn't a small amount."

One shouldn't be greedy. Besides, he had only been reborn for a little over a month, and he had already earned 13,000 yuan from the *Conquest* crew—that was truly a significant sum.

In the early 21st century, an average worker's annual salary might not even reach that much.

Returning to his rented room, he fell asleep until dawn, fueled by the alcohol.

Early the next morning.

"Holy crap, so much money!!!"

Zhang Yuan opened his eyes to the sound of his roommate, Zhao Jin, shouting.

Beside him, Zhao Jin was holding the already-opened kraft paper envelope with trembling hands, staring blankly into it. His cheeks were flushed red, though it was unclear if it was from excitement or the reflection of the stack of red bills.

"What are you doing!" Zhang Yuan snatched it back and glared at him fiercely.

Zhao Jin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes sparkling as he continued to stare at the money bag.

"Where, where, where did you get so much money? You told me your acting fee was only 3,000!"

Human adaptability is truly strong. A few days ago, when he heard Zhang Yuan had earned 3,000 in a month, the kid thought it was an astronomical figure.

Now, seeing that ten thousand, it had become "only 3,000"...

Zhang Yuan slapped his forehead. He had been too drunk yesterday and had tossed the envelope on the table—too careless!

Fortunately, although his roommate was noisy, he wasn't a bad person. If he had encountered someone with ill intentions, the money would have been long gone.

"Call me Daddy!" Zhang Yuan looked at him teasingly.

"Why should I?"

"You said it yourself: if I had the ability to sell a film, I'd be your real daddy from now on."

Zhao Jin was left speechless.

Stashing the money on his person, Zhang Yuan thought he would head out to a bank to open an account and deposit it.

"3,000 was the acting fee, this ten thousand is a commission," Zhang Yuan said with a smug look.

"What kind of commission is that much? Did you pimp for the director?" Zhao Jin couldn't figure it out no matter how hard he tried.

*You've got quite the imagination...* But then again, there really were people in the entertainment industry who specialized in that.

"Didn't I tell you a few days ago? I helped the director sell the film. Now that it's sold, this is the thank-you fee they gave me."

Zhao Jin was dumbfounded; he had thought Zhang Yuan was just bragging.

"I'm heading out. I'll bring you back some pickled cabbage dumplings later, my treat." Zhang Yuan put on his clothes, ready to leave.

"Forget it," Zhao Jin collapsed onto his bed in frustration. "My heart is already sour enough; I can't eat anything sour."

After Zhang Yuan left, he spent a long time punching the wall in annoyance.

They were both background actors, yet the other guy was already making over ten thousand a month, while he was still struggling to get by. The gap made him feel small and desperate.

After depositing the money, Zhang Yuan was temporarily free.

He found a bench, sat down, and began to plan for the future.

"The living conditions in the rental are too poor, and it's crowded and unsafe. I need to find a way to change my environment."

"Right now, a small courtyard house in the capital only costs a little over a million."

Before the 90s, the price of a courtyard house was only a few tens of thousands. With the housing reforms in the 90s, by '93, they had risen to 10,000 per square meter.

Zhang Yuan remembered that in '04, the courtyard house Murdoch bought was only 40,000 per square meter, and that courtyard was right next to the East Gate of the Forbidden City—arguably the best location in all of China.

"Once I save enough money, I'll get one. It'll be good to have a place to settle down."

Nothing major happened over the next few days. He didn't go with his roommate to squat at the gates of the Beijing Film Studio looking for work.

He no longer had his eyes on small roles like being an extra.

He was waiting for an opportunity.

Soon, the opportunity came.

"Qunshu, you're really lucky. The film was shot smoothly and sold smoothly, too."

That day, Director Gao Qunshu was having dinner with a few friends in the industry, talking about *Conquest*.

He bragged away at the table, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Hey, Dawei, why do you look so gloomy? You're doing the best out of all of us, what's there to worry about?"

"Don't mention it. My old lady gave me a tough problem." The man speaking was named Li Dawei, also a director.

And like Zhang Yimou, he also came from the Beijing Film Academy's cinematography department.

"She found a Republic-era novel to remake and told me to adapt the screenplay."

Li Dawei took a sip of wine. "I'm good at handling a camera, and I've practiced the directing side of things, but I really have no clue how to adapt a screenplay!"

As soon as he heard the words "adapt a screenplay," Gao Qunshu immediately perked up.

"I have an acquaintance who can do that!"

At that moment, Zhang Yuan, who was walking the streets alone, heard his phone ring and picked it up.

"Zhang Yuan, I'm drinking with some director friends, and we just happened to be talking about a screenplay."

"Are you interested in coming over for a meal?"

Zhang Yuan flicked away his cigarette butt and perked up. "What screenplay?"

"A Republic-era novel. They want to adapt it into a TV series. I haven't read it, it's called..." Gao Qunshu turned back to ask.

"Oh, right, it's called *The Story of a Noble Family*."

As soon as those four words appeared, Zhang Yuan's ears buzzed as if struck by thunder.

He knew it all too well!