Chapter Seventy-Three: Get In, Let's Go

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"Get on the bus, let's go! Get on the bus, let's go!..."

Since Brother Wu had spoken, even if Huang Bo was reluctant, he had no choice but to shout as well. Still, he clung to one belief: Brother Wu would never drug him.

Alas, comrade Huang Bo is truly a straightforward man at this moment—too young, too simple. Little did he know that Wu Xiang had slipped plenty of people something before.

"Perfect! You're exactly the one!" With his thick Shandong accent, Huang Bo's shout elicited this immediate response from Guan Hu. His eyes, no longer drowsy, now shone with excitement as if he'd discovered a hidden treasure.

"What do you mean? What do you mean, I'm the one?" Huang Bo was completely baffled.

But Guan Hu didn't care for explanations. He grabbed Huang Bo and said, "I want you to play the male lead—no, the second male lead. This role belongs to you."

"Ah?" Only then did Huang Bo finally understand. Yet, his admiration for Wu Xiang had now reached indescribable heights.

It had to be Brother Wu! How could he see that I was suitable for acting? In all my years, no one's ever said that to me!

But would comrade Huang Bo agree?

"No way! I'm not acting! I'm not interested!" he declared resolutely. Brother Wu said the same thing, didn't he? He wants me as his lead; I'll do Wu Xiang's film.

"Why are you like this?" Guan Hu was anxious now, but unfortunately, Huang Bo was as stubborn as a turtle—he simply refused. He wanted to act in Wu Xiang's movie.

Guan Hu was at a loss, but he wasn’t a fool. Quickly, he found the crux of the issue and turned to Wu Xiang. "Junior Brother Wu, listen..."

Wu Xiang chuckled, fully understanding what Guan Hu was after—he wanted his help. He had to laugh, or he wouldn’t be able to hold it in.

But he mustn’t go overboard; that wouldn’t do. Wu Xiang composed himself and said, "Senior Guan, tell me more about your film’s details."

Alright, there was still hope. Guan Hu didn’t overthink it and honestly explained his script’s particulars.

It turned out Guan Hu hadn’t come to this bar to recruit laborers. His script required a character who performed as a bar singer—someone who could sing, with an artistic temperament. He was searching for the right singer. As for Huang Bo, with his rock youth image, Guan Hu had dismissed him as a singer—but as for the role of the migrant worker, Huang Bo was perfect.

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But why did he need to shout that line in a Shandong accent?

Because when hustling for passengers, it’s all about whose voice is louder. But two outsiders, new to the capital, wouldn’t know how to speak the local dialect—their voices would naturally be timid, for fear of being ridiculed. But if they didn’t shout, how would they attract business? So someone came up with an idea: shout in their hometown dialect. And when they did, it worked—they became popular.

Sometimes, the Shandong accent sounds quite amusing, and it perfectly suits the plot’s needs.

The story that follows revolves around two young migrant workers in Beijing—this rapidly changing metropolis—as they navigate a series of emotional entanglements and career crises.

As for romance, naturally, it’s about finding a partner. The first male lead becomes very attached to an educated young woman. But their differences are too vast; even though she warms to him, ultimately, they do not end up together.

The other, the role Guan Hu wants Huang Bo to play, is even more interesting. This spirited young man saves another migrant girl, and they become a couple. But unexpectedly, she, wanting to earn more money, starts working at a nightclub. Needless to say, the once pure girl becomes jaded, and the second male lead returns to his hometown because of this.

Career-wise, they face the prejudice of city dwellers—the kind of malicious competition where locals look down on you no matter what. The story exposes many social realities, but also includes moments of warmth—such as the kindness of the educated young woman.

Undeniably, this is a sad story, but it is well crafted, representative, and deeply explores human nature while reflecting the issues of contemporary society. The realities of development, the survival struggles of the lower classes, and the many difficulties faced by migrant workers—the script offers a vivid microcosm of social dynamics.

It’s excellent—profound and grounded.

Wu Xiang hadn’t read the script, but just from hearing Guan Hu describe it, he could tell this was a work of great potential—one that could become a masterpiece reflecting social realities.

Yet, Wu Xiang was puzzled. He racked his brain and couldn’t recall any film like this; it left no impression on him at all.

Ah, right—it was a TV movie. Wu Xiang didn’t care much for TV movies; he thought they were just longer versions of TV dramas and less satisfying to follow.

"Junior Brother Wu, what do you think?" Guan Hu noticed Wu Xiang’s unnatural expression. Did he not like the script?

Wu Xiang pondered for a long while before speaking: "Senior Guan, do you really have to make a TV movie?"

"What do you mean?" Not only Guan Hu, but everyone nearby was confused.

"I mean, why don’t we go big and make a real film instead? Let’s not compete with TV dramas for their share. What do you think?" Wu Xiang smiled.

Well, wasn’t that just saying—he, Wu, wanted to get involved?

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"Junior Brother Wu, do you mean you can see this film making money? You want to invest?" Guan Hu had earned his reputation—no fool could survive in this business. If he couldn’t figure it out now, he’d have no future.

Wu Xiang grinned. "I don’t know if it’ll make money. But it’s a great script, and I want to invest!"

Wu Xiang wasn’t lying—he truly couldn’t see much commercial value in this film, especially in the domestic market. In today’s film industry, it’s not that audiences reject such stories; they simply don’t like watching them.

Put yourself in the audience’s shoes: after a long, exhausting day, wouldn’t you rather watch a thrilling action blockbuster or a heart-wrenching romance to relax? But this "Get on the Bus, Let’s Go"—the plot is nothing but frustration: harsh realities, unfulfilled relationships, constant setbacks. Are you kidding me?

Even if people went to see it for Wu Xiang’s sake, once they knew the story, most would probably just pirate it.

Still, Wu Xiang genuinely believed this film had depth and was worth exploring. And besides, maybe there was no domestic market, but overseas—who could say? Wu Xiang could tell at a glance: foreigners would love it. Moreover, this script, in Wu Xiang’s opinion, had serious award potential. As long as the execution wasn’t a mess, with its heart-wrenching story, it would be pure art.

"But that’s not right!" To his surprise, Senior Guan Hu retorted.

"What’s not right?" Wu Xiang was puzzled—what was wrong?

Guan Hu explained, "From what I’ve heard, Wu Xiang can find money just about anywhere—he’s like the alchemist turning anything to gold. That’s what people say about you. But now, I meet you in person, and you tell me a film is good but can’t make money. Is that right?"

Guan Hu wore a half-smile, clearly testing Wu Xiang: How can you turn a socially realistic, rather depressing, low-budget film into a big money-maker?

What’s more, this film is about migrant workers. Even if you achieve empathy, that demographic rarely goes to the cinema these days—so how do you make money?

Wu Xiang understood. Now he realized Guan Hu wanted a partnership, but he also wanted to make money.

Well, making money—could that possibly stump him?

Wu Xiang chuckled, then said to Guan Hu, "If you want to make money, that’s not difficult. But first, there’s a precondition: we, too, must get on the bus and go."