Chapter 60: Earnest Nonsense

"Cut! Cut, cut, cut!"

Inside a studio at the film city, a thunderous, irate voice suddenly erupted, so loud it nearly blew the roof off.

"What’s wrong with you? What on earth is wrong with you!"

A burly man in a baseball cap stormed out from behind the monitor, pointing at Bai Xiaoke, who was dressed as an extra, and unleashing a tirade.

"I stab you, you act dead, just collapse and it’s done! What’s with all those expressions? What are you doing, a one-man show? So much drama!"

"An extra should behave like an extra, you get it or not?"

"Director, I—" Bai Xiaoke tried to explain.

"Don’t you get it? If you don’t, get lost! Are you out of your mind?" The director spat out the words and stormed back to the monitor.

Bai Xiaoke watched the director’s back, words caught in his throat. In the end, he said nothing, dropping his head in disappointment.

"All right, get ready!" the director barked.

Bai Xiaoke stood unmoving, head lowered.

"What’s your problem? Are we shooting or not?!" the director roared again.

Bai Xiaoke looked up at him. After hesitating for a few seconds, he gritted his teeth and suddenly took off his costume.

The director was dumbfounded.

What was this about now?

Not only him, but the whole crew stared in confusion.

What’s he doing? Quitting on the spot?

If you pull something like this, you’ll get blacklisted by the casting agents and never land another gig.

"Sorry," Bai Xiaoke placed the costume aside, bowed respectfully to everyone present, then turned and walked out, his expression tinged with desolation.

This was not the first time.

Ever since filming with Chen Qi, he’d felt out of place in these crews. He acted as before, but something felt wrong—something was missing. The performances felt empty and painful.

At first, he thought Chen Qi’s standards had been too high, and that he simply needed time to readjust. But it was already the fifth day—could it still be a matter of getting used to things?

Clearly not.

Now he finally understood: it wasn’t about habit. He’d come to realize, clear-headed, that the kind of "acting" he’d just done wasn’t acting at all.

It couldn’t even be called performance.

It wasn’t what he’d been striving for all this time.

It was as though he’d suddenly woken up, unwilling to waste his life any longer in this hollow existence.

It was time to leave.

Just as Zhao Wu had said—the dream should have ended long ago.

Stepping out of the studio, Bai Xiaoke turned to look back, emotions swirling inside him.

He stared at the set for a long while, then took a deep breath and walked away, resolute.

He’d struggled here for years. At least he’d once played a lead, at least he hadn’t utterly wasted these years.

He tried to comfort the bitterness and unwillingness in his heart with this thought.

At that moment, his phone rang.

He pulled it out absentmindedly and glanced at the screen.

Chen Qi?

Why was he calling?

"Director!" He answered quickly.

When he’d first joined Chen Qi’s crew, everyone thought Chen Qi was just playing around, so calling him "Director" was a bit of a joke. But whether it was because they later learned there was a company behind Chen Qi, or because they genuinely thought his work had merit, the nickname stuck and felt more natural each time they used it.

"Right now?"

"Oh, okay, I’ll be right there."

After hanging up, he frowned, puzzled.

Why did Chen Qi want him at Future Films? Was there a reshoot?

Well, so be it. Using Chen Qi’s project as a farewell to his acting career—that would be a fitting end.

He hailed a cab and headed for Future Films.

At the same time, Zhao Wu and the others also received calls from Chen Qi. He didn’t give any details, simply asked them to come to Future Films and hung up.

Perhaps out of trust for Chen Qi, Zhao Wu and the others agreed without hesitation, dropping everything and heading over.

Arriving at Future Films one after another, they were surprised to see each other, which only strengthened their hunch that Chen Qi wanted to reshoot some scenes.

But to their confusion, only General Manager Xu was present—Chen Qi was nowhere to be seen.

"Please, have a seat," Xu Bunian greeted them warmly. "Allow me to introduce myself: I’m Xu Bunian, the owner of this company."

Zhao Wu and the others sat nervously, exchanging uncertain looks.

"Actually, it was my idea to have Chen Qi call you here today." Sensing their tension, Xu Bunian dispensed with small talk and got straight to the point. "Chen Qi recommended you all to me, and these past days I’ve watched your performances closely. I think you have real potential, so I’d like to sign you to our company. Would you be interested?"

At first, Zhao Wu and the others were bewildered, wondering why they’d been summoned. But as Xu Bunian finished, their eyes widened in disbelief—they nearly shot up from the sofa.

"Mr. Xu, what did you say?"

They stared at Xu Bunian as if struck by lightning, their faces a picture of shock.

Sign them?

Sign them???

What kind of joke was this?

"I’m quite serious." Xu Bunian smiled at their stunned expressions. "Future Films is newly established and can’t compare to the big companies. I won’t promise you’ll become stars overnight, but I can guarantee your lives will be better than they are now."

The group sat there, speechless, gazing at him in disbelief, unable to process what was happening.

To them, this was terrifying.

They’d never dreamed Chen Qi’s call would lead to a film company wanting to sign them.

Even more unimaginable—after all these years, a film company still wanted them.

They’d thought that fate was forever out of reach.

"No rush. Take your time to consider," Xu Bunian said kindly, understanding the impact his offer had on them.

At that moment, Bai Xiaoke lowered his head, feeling his eyes grow moist.

After all, he’d just decided to leave the industry behind.

Beside him, Zhao Wu’s eyes had reddened as well.

The cameraman, the stylist, and the makeup artist all bit their lips, on the verge of tears.

After so many years of hard work, someone had finally recognized their efforts, finally seen their perseverance.

The feeling… was wonderful.

Heaven does not disappoint those who are determined, after all.

In that instant, it felt as though all their hardships had been worth it.

After a long while, they composed themselves and let out a long breath.

Then, they began to laugh—hearts full of gratitude and emotion.

Were they willing?

Of course they were.

This opportunity, this recognition—they would never forget it.

…

While Xu Bunian spoke with Zhao Wu and the others, Chen Qi was already back at his rented apartment preparing dinner.

On his way home, he’d contacted content acquisition at UYou Video and Simple Video, setting up meetings for the next day.

As for the details of Xu Bunian’s negotiations with Zhao Wu and the others, Chen Qi wasn’t much concerned.

Xu Bunian was new to the entertainment business, but he was a seasoned veteran in the commercial world. Even if he’d never signed actors before, he surely knew something about it.

Zhao Wu and Bai Xiaoke weren’t stars, but they’d been in the industry for years and knew the basics.

No matter how the talks went, they would ultimately benefit one another.

The next day.

Chen Qi left early and headed straight for UYou Video.

He had an appointment at ten.

He arrived at the UYou Video building at nine-thirty.

It was an impressive structure, the giant "UYou Video" sign visible from miles away.

He explained his visit at the reception, and after confirming his appointment, he was escorted to the floor housing the content acquisition department.

After waiting for more than ten minutes, he was greeted by a refined, bespectacled man who introduced himself as the manager of Acquisition Team Three.

Chen Qi didn’t bother with pleasantries. After exchanging a few words, he opened his laptop and queued up his drama series.

The manager, intrigued by the first episode, randomly watched two more.

"Not bad, quite creative," the manager praised, skipping the formalities and getting straight to business. "No rights issues, I hope?"

"No issues—all rights are with me."

"So, how much do you want per episode?"

"Damn!" Chen Qi cursed inwardly.

That was supposed to be his line, but the other had beaten him to it.

How much per episode?

He had no idea!

He was new to this world and didn’t know the going rates.

"Three hundred thousand per episode," he ventured, naming a staggering figure after a moment’s thought.

The manager’s hand, mid-adjustment of his glasses, froze. He stared at Chen Qi in disbelief.

"How much did you say?"

"Three hundred thousand. Per episode." Chen Qi smiled, enunciating clearly.

"Wait…" The manager was half amused, half exasperated. "Did you check the market rates before coming?"

"I did," Chen Qi replied earnestly, launching into a string of nonsense.

The manager seemed unprepared for this reply and was momentarily speechless.

Chen Qi kept his polite smile.

After a long pause, the manager finally gathered himself. He hesitated, but in the end, decided not to argue further. "Twenty thousand per episode. Lifetime exclusive rights."

"Goodbye," Chen Qi replied instantly, snapping his laptop shut and standing to leave.

"Wait, what?" The manager gaped as Chen Qi left without so much as a backward glance.

What was happening?

This wasn’t how these negotiations were supposed to go!

Even if you’re unhappy with the price, shouldn’t you at least try to negotiate? What does it mean to walk out without another word?

"Hey… you…" Watching Chen Qi’s retreating figure disappear, the manager was at a loss.

In all his years in acquisitions, he’d never encountered anything like this.

Was this guy crazy?

Did he even understand the situation?

They were the buyers!

Why did it feel like he was the one in control?