Chapter Thirty-five: What Is a Thousand Gold Pieces to a True Gentleman?

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(To thank the reader yfytrytftyuf for their generous reward, Heiche is adding an extra chapter today; there will be another one tonight, so please stay tuned. Heiche has never met such a lavish patron before, so there’s nothing to do but offer my utmost gratitude—much thanks!)

With the year drawing to a close, “The Great Flood” also concluded its theatrical run. At this point, it was time to discuss other rights and licensing opportunities. The screening slots were limited, and while the duration seemed long, unless your film was a money-making machine like “Titanic,” you had to look for alternative channels after the initial wave. “The Great Flood” was well-received but hadn’t reached such heights. The most direct next step was broadcasting on the Movie Channel.

The Movie Channel brought in some revenue, though not much; still, some money was better than none. Wu Xiang had nothing to add and simply followed Han Sanping’s arrangements. Since the Movie Channel was essentially part of their own group, the rights were sold for 500,000. Of course, the Movie Channel was in no rush to broadcast; the government had recently imposed new regulations: TV stations had to wait six months after a film’s theatrical run before airing it. The Movie Channel wouldn’t dare break the law.

This opened up another source of income: home video. However, piracy was rampant these days. Wu Xiang himself had once benefited from piracy. Still, there were people willing to pay to handle official video releases. Hualu Company expressed interest in publishing audiovisual products for “The Great Flood”—all thanks to Teacher Han’s connections.

The money here wasn’t much, either. The home video market was a double-edged sword: piracy was so severe that only the pirates made money. How bad was it? For every 59 pirated discs or tapes sold, only one official copy sold.

So, any album reaching platinum sales in this era was truly super-platinum—outperforming international superstars when you did the math.

Wu Xiang sold the home video rights for 200,000, though the initial offer was only 160,000.

This matter also involved Wang Feng, and Wu Xiang hadn’t forgotten him. They attended negotiations together. Wang Feng was quite generous, insisting he didn’t want any money, but Wu Xiang still gave him 50,000 in the end.

Wu Xiang didn’t want to shortchange his friends. Master Wang’s help with the film’s score was invaluable; without him, Wu Xiang would have been at a loss. Wang Feng was happy too—partly because Wu Xiang was a good friend, open and sincere, and partly because he’d enjoyed composing the soundtrack and playing his violin again, rekindling old feelings.

Everyone was pleased, which was good, though there were some disappointments. For instance, the overseas market for “The Great Flood”—Wu Xiang knew it wouldn’t take off there.

Generally, domestic films valued the overseas market, given how chaotic and unprofitable the local industry was. The most immediate markets were Hong Kong and Taiwan, both prosperous and able to support Chinese-language films.

Unfortunately, “The Great Flood” would see no release in either region. Wu Xiang learned why: Hong Kong distributors felt the film wouldn’t suit local tastes—who wanted to watch a disaster-relief film? Donating money was one thing, but paying to watch such a film in theaters was another. As for Taiwan, the distributor only watched 20 minutes before declaring it would never pass their censors, claiming it was propaganda.

With those two markets closed, the international market was out of the question. Han Sanping had connections with many international distributors, but none were interested.

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The reason was simple: the film depicted the authorities and the people as united and positive, which didn’t fit Western sensibilities. In their view, the government wasn’t democratic, and the people should be shown as harshly oppressed.

What did Western audiences want to see? They wanted to see poverty, backwardness, and people in rags, with a deep expose of society’s dark side. In this darkness, human nature would supposedly reveal itself.

If you depicted the government and the military in such a positive light, who would watch that?

Frankly, it was a bit unfair. Wu Xiang’s film barely showed any high officials; at most, Huang Hong’s character—a general—made a brief appearance.

But Wu Xiang understood the real reason. The foreign media constantly criticized his country; introducing a film like this would be self-contradictory. Besides, there’d be no way to promote it, and without promotion, there’d be no box office.

Through interactions with these distributors, Wu Xiang gained some new insights. Why did so many directors make rural and social issue films? It was because foreign audiences liked them, and those films could make money abroad. Even a modest cut of $100,000 or €100,000, given exchange rates, amounted to a fortune at home. If you got several hundred thousand in foreign revenue, you’d be set.

That’s why those films were popular abroad—the box office was better, they made good money, production costs were low, and they had “realism” and “artistic value,” winning the director a reputation as an artist. It was a win-win. And as for what foreigners thought of us—it didn’t matter; the point was to make their money.

At first, Wu Xiang wondered if he was being overly cynical. He’d asked Han Sanping about it, in a roundabout way, but Teacher Han just gave a Buddhist answer, “It cannot be spoken, it cannot be spoken.”

Seeing Han’s expression, Wu Xiang couldn’t help but recall a certain Director Zhang from the Bureau of Strategic Deception—was there some hidden story here?

After making this film, Wu Xiang’s perspective broadened. Compared to his days as a junior scriptwriter, or his younger, more naive self, he’d truly grown.

“The Great Flood” ended with a box office of just over 37 million. Wu Xiang earned more than 12 million from it. Normally, the money wouldn’t have reached him so quickly, but because of the film and Han Sanping’s impression that Wu Xiang had some backing, the funds were promptly transferred.

But Wu Xiang didn’t keep a cent. After deducting the million he’d invested, two million went to Commander Huang. Wu Xiang knew the Bayi Studio was struggling, and their work on this film was an act of friendship, so the two million was for paying their staff.

After taxes and incidental expenses—like giving red envelopes to his crew and greasing a few wheels—there was just over eight million left. He donated it all to the disaster zone: part for rebuilding, part for upstream reforestation.

Fortunately, due to the severity of the disaster, the government had set up a dedicated donation hotline. Wu Xiang fulfilled his promise, taking everyone from 307, including Kun, to make the donation together.

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The eight million turned into a receipt and a certificate. The team from 307 looked on with some reluctance, especially over the money.

“Xiangzi, you’re a real man! You actually donated all of it! I swear, for the rest of my life…” Huang Hanbo was the first to speak after the donation. “From now on, you’re my idol! A man’s man! Genuine!”

Though his words were full of praise, there was an undeniable note of regret on his face. Who wouldn’t feel a pang seeing eight million vanish in an instant? These days, everyone was thirsty for money.

Wu Xiang could only smile in response.

To be honest, Wu Xiang had struggled with the decision too. But a man must keep his word. The film’s success was, in large part, thanks to the promise of donation; everyone had come together for this cause.

And truthfully, once the money was donated, Wu Xiang felt a sense of relief.

“Xiangzi, it’s like being back to square one, utterly broke,” Wang Hongzhi chimed in, half-joking.

Wu Xiang just kept smiling.

Seeing that he was unmoved, the others joined in the complaints.

“Couldn’t you have kept a little for yourself?”
“I’m not against donating, but shouldn’t we have discussed a proportion first?”

Their disappointment was natural, but Wu Xiang had already made up his mind.

Facing his friends, Wu Xiang smiled and said, “Don’t worry, everyone. Our next film is definitely going to make money!”