Chapter Seventy-Five: Thirty Million in Hand

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(Thanks to Duan Yuanjing and Yilan Female Soldier r5 for their generous support, much appreciated!)

The filming of "All Aboard, Let's Go" took place during the summer, so the investment Wu Xiang had promised posed no problem whatsoever.

The sensation caused by "First Intimate Contact" was still going strong. Though it had already left theaters, its box office of 87 million and the compelling storyline continued to be a hot topic among many. Yet what pleased Wu Xiang most was not the acclaim or the buzz, but the fact that he finally had money. As soon as March rolled around, Yu Dong transferred the funds without any fuss—straightforward as always, since he had also made a handsome profit.

Of course, there was also the settlement from the China Film Group. Old Han was just as forthright—after all, everyone likes making money together.

Because there were two companies involved in distribution this time, the previous wager-like box office split plan was not implemented. But this didn't put Wu Xiang at a disadvantage—he had negotiated a 36% share with both sides.

Compared to the rigid box office splits mandated by the state in later years, this percentage was a bit lower, but it came with conditions. Both China Film and Bona insisted on cracking down severely on box office fraud and piracy.

In fact, by current standards, this percentage was not low at all. Many production companies couldn't get anywhere close to that. Take, for instance, the film "Hero" two years later—New Picture only managed to get a 38% share, and that alone sent shockwaves through the film industry.

Wu Xiang pocketed nearly 30 million. What did 30 million mean at that time? At the very least, you could buy more than a dozen large apartments within Beijing's Second Ring Road. In a decade or so, that sum would barely buy you one or two.

Who wouldn't be happy? How could anyone not be? Yet at this very moment, Wu Xiang found himself troubled by certain matters.

"A film like this was released at the perfect moment—just after 'Titanic' left theaters, with no other blockbusters to compete. Achieving such box office results was only natural."

"A ninety-minute film: the first eighty are a comedy, the last ten bring you to tears..."

"This is a truly unique film—a love story without even a single intimate shot, and yet it's a sensation. Isn't that worth reflecting on?"

These were the reviews for "First Intimate Contact." They weren't bad, rather dignified in tone. Good or bad, as long as the critics weren't spouting nonsense, that was enough.

But some journalists had no such dignity.

"Box office records? Director Wu Xiang shatters them with ease." This wasn't too outrageous, though it was bound to offend some.

"Domestic film market in a slump? Wu Xiang shoots films blindly and still makes a fortune." Now that's just nonsense.

"Director Wu Xiang, who just achieved an 87 million box office, won't be donating this year!" Deciding for you, just like that.

And these were nothing compared to the real troublemakers who sowed discord.

"Who is the king of the New Year film season? Director Wu Xiang snubs Feng Xiaogang!"

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"Who is Feng Xiaogang?"

"Who is the king of New Year films? Louder, I can't hear you!" ... After reading these utterly absurd headlines, Wu Xiang felt as if a million wild horses were stampeding through his mind.

"Isn't this pure fabrication? When did I ever say any of that? They're completely twisting my words!" Wu Xiang was furious, but at the moment, the only one he could vent to was Hai Qing. Of course, who wouldn't want to chat with their girlfriend? The two of them were once again strolling around Shichahai. This time, though, because Wu Xiang was famous, he had to go all out with his disguise.

"Giggle..." Hai Qing had seen these headlines already. The titles were indeed sensational, but the content inside was fine—their quotes hadn't been altered. The titles were just to grab attention.

"You're so heartless. Look at the state I'm in, and you can still laugh?" Wu Xiang loved teasing Hai Qing, but did she have to add insult to injury?

The word "husband" slipped out, and Hai Qing's face instantly turned red. But she knew Wu Xiang was always this cheeky; there was nothing to be done.

"Hee hee, fine, I won't laugh." Yet she still chuckled twice. "You should count yourself lucky—you're so famous now. Look at me: I starred in such a popular film and no one remembers me at all."

Her words were tinged with frustration, her lips pursed in a pout.

A deft change of topic. "First Intimate Contact" was a hit, and its male and female leads, Huang Xiaobo and Huang Xiaoming, were gaining popularity. Zhang Jingchu had been busy filming commercials lately, and Kun was becoming a familiar face as well. Both Huang Xiaobo and Huang Xiaoming were getting offers for new roles. But Hai Qing? It seemed no one remembered her—when people talked about weight loss, they mentioned Xiaoyu.

Who was Hai Qing? No one seemed to know.

So when it came to this topic, Wu Xiang felt a little awkward. He hadn't managed to make his girlfriend famous, which didn't sit right with him. Fortunately, he had his own theory. "About this, when I asked you to participate in those events and you refused—you need to know how to promote yourself, you know?"

"I can cook, but self-promotion? Not for me," Hai Qing replied. She wouldn't rely on hype.

Wu Xiang gave her a thumbs up. "That's fair. But didn't someone offer you a commercial before?"

"Don't mention that commercial! It was for weight loss pills! Just the thought of it makes me angry. It's all your fault—you made me lose weight, and now all they remember is that I can lose weight!" Hai Qing swore she'd never do it again—she hadn't lost weight by taking pills, after all. That would be false advertising.

Wu Xiang had unwittingly touched a sore spot. He quickly racked his brains—then inspiration struck.

"Actually, that's a compliment. Look, the audience remembers the character you played, even if they don't remember you. Do you know what that means? It means you created a character so vivid, so memorable, that only your role left an impression. For an actor, that's the highest praise. Qing, you're an outstanding actress."

"Really?" Hai Qing's smile was indescribable as she heard this.

You had to admit, Wu Xiang's way with words was remarkable. As someone who had worked in television and lived a second life, he definitely knew about Teacher Hai's early struggles with roles outshining the actor. But to put it so well and so endearingly—that was rare.

But Wu Xiang could swear to the heavens: he meant every word.

"Xiao Wu, you're so good to me." Teacher Hai refused to call him "Xiangzi"—as a southerner, she just couldn't get used to it. "Xiao Wu" rolled off her tongue sweetly, her voice soft and gentle.

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Wu Xiang thought it sounded lovely. At that moment, he returned the intimacy: "Xiao Hai, you're wonderful too. Really, I feel so lucky."

If she called him Xiao Wu, he'd call her Xiao Hai—he wasn't about to lose out.

"Oh, stop it!" Teacher Hai was flustered.

Wu Xiang could feel her affection clearly. Her little complaints from moments ago were really just to ease his frustration. How thoughtful, how caring, how heartwarming.

Involuntarily, Wu Xiang wanted to savor that gentle sweetness again. But just as he was drawing near, an overwhelming sense of pressure surged over him.

"Xiao Hai, you should get those braces off soon, or else I..." The lesson of past experience was not to be forgotten.

Hai Qing burst into laughter, "This is my protective measure, just to ward off a certain wolfish someone—haha..."

"Ah!" Wu Xiang could only sigh deeply. Never mind, he could wait.

Clatter, screech... Suddenly, a mechanical noise rang out—a mountain bike whizzed past. The path at Shichahai was narrow, so brakes had to be used frequently.

"Xiao Wu, what are you looking at?" Hai Qing noticed Wu Xiang staring at the cyclist.

"I just had an idea." Wu Xiang had just noticed the cyclist's intriguing getup: a helmet, a pair of glasses, something like a mask over his face... The cycling gear itself didn't matter much.

"What idea?" Hai Qing was curious.

"Let's go buy bikes!" Wu Xiang grabbed her hand, ready to dash off.

"Huh?" Hai Qing was bewildered—what was he up to now?

"Didn't you say you wanted to keep losing weight? Cycling! It's great exercise. And did you see that getup? If we both dressed like that for our dates, we wouldn't have to worry about being recognized." So that was what Wu Xiang cared about.

"You're right!" Hai Qing finally caught on.

Indeed, keeping a low-profile romance wasn't easy—you needed all sorts of little tricks.

The end.