Chapter Twenty-Three: Liu Qingshan's Ambition

Seeing that the two had already begun planning the next steps, Liu Qingshan knew his suggestion had taken effect.

He was unafraid of being suspected of using this opportunity to gain fame; after all, the entire affair was genuine. Since this method could expand the film’s influence, it was only natural that he, as the most direct planner, would benefit.

Moreover, his actions could not be considered manipulative. As long as the outcome pleased everyone, any opinions would vanish.

The group left in haste, and Jin Xishan stealthily emerged:

“Sister was eavesdropping behind the hospital room door. Your speech was so fast, she couldn’t catch most of it, but she got the gist. Did you give Brother Chen Long advice again? And is it something big?”

Liu Qingshan briefly explained his idea, causing Jin Xishan to gasp:

“You’re really bold. This is far from ordinary. If it works, our reputations will soar, but any slip could offend a lot of powerful people!”

Liu Qingshan removed the needle, walked over to close the door, and returned to pull her close, smiling as he explained:

“How much does it really have to do with me? It’s just a suggestion, after all. The final decision isn’t mine. Besides, the boss of Qinghuang is an old hand at capital; I don’t need to dictate the priorities here!”

“Sister knows you’re just trying to comfort me, but everything needs a backup plan. If the investors suffer losses, you need to consider the consequences in advance!”

“Don’t worry, sis. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Then tell me, why won’t you stay with the Chen Family Troupe?”

“Why don’t you want to develop by Brother Chen Long’s side? Don’t you know the benefits of leaning on a big tree? Of course I do, but there are reasons.”

“Is it because the Hong Kong market is too small, its scope too limited?”

“That’s part of it. The mainland will inevitably become the main battleground for entertainment, that’s beyond doubt! I’ve analyzed this: sticking with Chen Long might look promising, but it’s nearly impossible to stand out with such a giant in front of you—no one can, not even his own son! Besides, would those investors really favor me?”

“But you’re younger than him, your prospects are broader!”

“That might work in the mainland, but in Hong Kong’s small circle it’s impossible! Regional prejudices are deeply rooted, and most social interactions value seniority. The old traditions have long become rules. Unless I have the same capital strength as Qinghuang’s boss, I won’t wield much influence!”

“Then I don’t understand. The mainland is bigger and has the largest population in the world, but doesn’t that make relationships between various forces even more complicated?”

“On the contrary, the vast land and population actually make it easier to blend in, with more opportunities. Entertainment is a new industry here, with development far from complete. The structure is unfinished and there’s a lack of leading figures—just look at this year’s music scene!”

2004 marked the peak of the Chinese music world, with countless highly popular songs, each a classic.

The phenomenon of so many outstanding works was like a battle of the gods.

And what was popular in the mainland at the time? The era of internet songs. Most classic tracks originated from Hong Kong and Taiwan, both in creation and performance.

Frankly, mainland pop music was bizarre. Look at those so-called advocates of mainland music. Aside from Dao Lang, known as the “pioneer of internet music,” who had genuine talent,

others like “pop king” Yang Chenggang, “godfather of mainland music” Fat Dragon, “leader of the animal school” Tang Chao, “song queen and perfume empress” Hu Yanglin—all were internet singers who became famous for catchy tunes.

Even more laughable, the latter four became famous for just one song, then couldn’t produce another hit.

How could their abilities compare to the foreign artists who churned out classics like dumplings?

The reason for their lack of skill was simple: the mainland entertainment industry was still in its infancy, many practitioners hadn’t even grasped the concept of pop music.

The only true musical vanguard—rock—was still considered alternative music, and many talented musicians were buried for various reasons.

If Liu Qingshan didn’t take root in this relatively undeveloped entertainment land, but instead went to the declining Hong Kong scene, it would only betray a terribly narrow vision.

Jin Xishan didn’t know much about mainland pop music but was aware the entertainment industry here was lackluster.

She nodded in agreement:

“You’re right. Should I help you develop in Korea? With your learning ability, you’d be fluent in Korean in two months!”

“Of course. I’ve already learned enough to create Korean characters!”

Jin Xishan burst out laughing. “You’re shameless! If not for your singing, the lyrics would take two or three years to piece together!”

“See, isn’t it nice for us siblings to joke like this? Don’t worry about men’s business—it only leads to worry!”

“Oh, so you have a macho streak? Now you’re exposed!”

“Sis, these are two different things. You wouldn’t want me to always play bit parts, right? A man must have ambition in his career, or how could he match a superstar like you?”

“Fine, I’ll stop meddling in your affairs, but you must plan thoroughly!”

Their conversation didn’t last long before the nurse, seeing the IV nearly finished, came to the door.

Liu Qingshan quickly stepped back and firmly refused further drips.

Seeing he was about to argue with the nurse, Jin Xishan hurried to explain:

“He practices martial arts and has his own recovery methods. Our people will soon discuss this with the hospital, and he’ll be discharged this afternoon!”

At that moment, Liang Jiahui arrived with his entourage. Compared to Liu Qingshan or Jin Xishan, he was as famous domestically as Chen Long.

His explanation removed any obstacles, and the nurse was now fixated on getting an autograph.

After the nurse was sent off, Liang Jiahui tossed Liu Qingshan a bundle of clothes but spoke of other matters: “Director Tang only mentioned a few things on the phone. Tell me what’s going on.”

Liu Qingshan repeated the story.

Liang Jiahui looked grave. “This needs caution. Why didn’t you give me a heads-up?”

“Talking with Brother about the film, the topic just shifted naturally—completely spontaneous!”

“Luckily, it’s not too late. I’ve briefed Director Tang and there’ll be a meeting shortly. Your suggestion is very valuable, but it depends on how Qinghuang interprets it. After all, our motives differ.”

“I understand. That’s why Director Tang wants to bring it up to President Yang in person,” Liu Qingshan quickly explained.