Chapter Fifty-Six: Quite Miraculous

“All right, everyone, let’s call it a day and continue tomorrow,” Chen Qi said to Zhao Wu and the others.

He had prepared two episodes for the office scenes and would need another day of filming.

“Okay,” Zhao Wu and the others nodded before turning to leave.

After watching them enter the elevator, Chen Qi finally turned and walked over to Xu Buyear.

“President Xu, what do you think of these actors?” Chen Qi sat down on the sofa.

Xu Buyear sat across from him and asked, “They look pretty good. Where did you find them?”

“The Film City,” Chen Qi took a sip of tea from the table. “I just got lucky and happened to run into them, fresh out of the film academy, and they’re all freelancers.”

Xu Buyear looked at him in surprise. “You’ve found yourself a treasure! Did you sign them?”

Chen Qi shook his head. “The thought of signing them never even crossed my mind.”

“Huh?” Xu Buyear was taken aback. “What do you mean? From what I saw of their performances, they were quite decent.”

He had watched them closely earlier—whether it was Zhao Wu or Bai Xiaoke, their acting felt natural, without obvious traces of performance.

“They are indeed good,” Chen Qi agreed. “I’ve observed them carefully these days. Though their luck hasn’t been great and they haven’t landed big roles, they’re genuinely passionate about acting. They quickly grasp the effects I want and deliver them well.”

“So why not sign them?” Xu Buyear was even more puzzled.

Since you know they’re talented, why not sign them?

Are you foolish?

Chen Qi chuckled. “You probably won’t believe it, but my studio never intended to sign anyone.”

Xu Buyear’s eyes widened in disbelief.

No intention to sign anyone?

What’s that supposed to mean?

“I don’t have the time to manage all that,” Chen Qi explained. “It’s already a challenge to plan my own future, let alone map out someone else’s life. If I had that time, wouldn’t I rather do something else?”

Xu Buyear was initially stunned, but quickly understood.

“But you could hire someone to manage it,” he persisted, still baffled.

No signing? Just doing it alone?

How do you expect to make big money like that?

One person’s abilities are limited. Isn’t the common approach to sign people to help generate income?

“No interest, none at all,” Chen Qi waved his hand quickly. “It’s so much easier just to look after myself. Why create extra pressure for myself? Am I bored or something?”

Xu Buyear looked at him with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “So you plan to let me benefit from this?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. If you think they’re good, sign them. If you’re not interested, just leave it. I don’t really mind either way,” Chen Qi said, indifferent.

He had no objection to helping Zhao Wu and the others if it came easily, but ultimately, it depended on Xu Buyear’s own willingness.

He didn’t want Xu Buyear to sign them just to save face or out of obligation—that would be pointless.

Xu Buyear glanced at him, thoughtful, and nodded.

“There’s no need to rush. You can wait until this short series is released to decide,” Chen Qi took another sip of water.

To be honest, he admired Zhao Wu and Bai Xiaoke. After so many years without much progress, their persistence alone was remarkable.

When they arrived that morning, he hadn’t noticed their shock and confusion, but later, thinking back and observing some subtle cues, he realized how much they longed for and admired the company.

Perhaps because they’d spent years struggling at the bottom, their fundamental acting skills were solid. With a little good resource and support, he couldn’t guarantee they’d become superstars, but making a living in the industry wouldn’t be a problem.

At the very least… signing them probably wouldn’t result in a loss.

Of course, he didn’t share these thoughts with Xu Buyear.

He’d let him decide for himself.

It would be best if he signed them, but if not, it didn’t matter. Once the series aired, even without a company contract, they’d likely land better roles. Zhao Wu might be uncertain, but Bai Xiaoke would almost certainly have companies vying to sign him.

The two continued chatting aimlessly for a while.

Chen Qi took the opportunity to inquire about post-production companies.

After a few more days of filming, all episodes would be complete, and post-production needed to be scheduled.

Finally, they signed the investment contract as well.

Xu Buyear invested ten thousand, taking a ten percent stake in the total investment.

…

The next day, filming resumed.

Neither Chen Qi nor Xu Buyear mentioned to Zhao Wu and the others that Future Pictures might sign them.

Everything proceeded as usual.

Perhaps because they’d digested the fact that Chen Qi had a company backing him, Zhao Wu and his friends appeared noticeably more relaxed.

Xu Buyear continued to observe from the sidelines, but today his attention was focused almost entirely on Bai Xiaoke and Zhao Wu.

With everyone working together, the day’s scenes were quickly finished.

“All right, everyone, let’s head back. Tomorrow we’ll go to Film City to shoot the final three episodes.”

Hearing this, Zhao Wu and the others were momentarily stunned.

Film City?

They looked at Chen Qi in confusion.

For some reason, they felt as if the production was growing bigger and bigger.

…

“All right, get ready.”

“Action!”

Inside Film City, Chen Qi was filming the episode where Liu Bei drops Adou.

A crowd had gathered to watch.

They were familiar extras, acquaintances of Bai Xiaoke and Zhao Wu.

Perhaps they’d heard Bai Xiaoke had landed a lead role, so they’d come out of curiosity.

But…

Upon seeing the crew so simple that it didn’t even have proper sound equipment, and Chen Qi shooting the same scene over and over, they were dumbfounded.

They exchanged looks, each seeing disbelief in the other’s eyes.

Is this really filming?

Fortunately, they were used to bigger productions; otherwise, Chen Qi might have fooled them.

The poor dialogue, the crude makeup, and the young man who supposedly doubled as director and screenwriter—

If someone said they were playing house, they’d believe it!

The key point was, even for this, they were paid three hundred a day?

Is it public money?

After watching for a while out of curiosity, they all retreated.

They’d thought Bai Xiaoke had landed a major production.

They’d really believed he might transform from sparrow to phoenix.

It gave them a fright.

Turns out, it was just this kind of lousy drama.

Now they could relax.

With material like this, it’d be a miracle if it sold!

Seeing the mocking looks from these “friends,” Bai Xiaoke merely smiled faintly, feeling neither angry nor embarrassed, nor ashamed.

Strangely enough, he even wished he could keep working with Chen Qi like this, if possible.

It wasn’t just about the money.

He liked being valued.

More importantly, after these days of filming, he was astonished to realize he’d learned so much practical knowledge from that young man’s explanations.

Perhaps “greatly benefited” was too strong, but Chen Qi’s insights had broadened his horizons and seemed to elevate his acting.

He’d listened to big-name directors and stars before, but never felt this way.

Thinking it over, it was quite remarkable.