Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Tycoon Yang Wancheng

Chen Long’s words were nothing but the truth.

Had he not been the one to seek out this acquaintance first, anyone else in his position might not have tolerated such a flagrant overstepping of boundaries. In any film crew, the director is as powerful as half the heavens. Yet here was Liu Qingshan, not only suggesting changes to the script but also advising on the film’s final release strategy. To say he had revealed his ambition was hardly an exaggeration.

“But I’m not a fool. It’s only because of you, brother, that I dared to be so bold. Besides, I have no personal agenda.”

At Liu Qingshan’s self-justification, Chen Long looked almost embarrassed. “It’s also thanks to you that the crew avoided a major disaster.”

“That’s best left unspoken. If you keep bringing it up, it’ll weigh on me. Besides, I was only doing my job.”

“Alright, I won’t mention it again. Here’s the three million compensation—though the contract says it’s a reward for outstanding contribution, you understand.”

“Mm. That sum is a hundred times what I’m worth. I wouldn’t hesitate to sign a contract for life at this rate.”

“Haha! That’s a pretty stiff joke. What, you’re signing without even looking? You trust me that much?”

“The help you’ve given me is worth far more than this money. I know that in my heart. Thanks to this role, I’ve saved myself years of struggle.”

“You’re a year younger than my son, but I recognize you as my brother, not just a colleague or friend. Remember that.”

Liu Qingshan had nothing more to say. He cupped his fists to Chen Long in heartfelt gratitude.

That night, Liang Jiahui came over for a private word, naturally about how to handle the matter publicly.

And on the way to Chang’an the next day, he told Liu Qingshan about Yang Wancheng’s character:

“In short, this man is extraordinary. He can joke with the four richest tycoons in Hong Kong as equals, yet he’s just as at ease chatting with a lady selling fish balls on the street. In the entertainment world, only Chen Long dares to call him brother. Even I wouldn’t risk offending him.”

Some things need not be spelled out. The four major bosses who could walk unchallenged in that city’s entertainment circle all had connections with this man, which said it all.

And when they met that afternoon, Liang Jiahui’s warnings were confirmed.

Yang Wancheng arrived with a beaming smile—there was no trace of the red wine and cigars Liu Qingshan had imagined. His clothing was even a bit rumpled.

Yet beneath his approachable demeanor, there was an unfathomable composure, a silent depth that could not be ignored.

“Jiahui, this must be young Qingshan? They say you’re a talented youth, but after watching the video from the other day, I think that title doesn’t suit you at all.”

Liu Qingshan had already risen and bowed respectfully, but he did not speak before Liang Jiahui had introduced him.

Liang laughed as he shook hands with Yang Wancheng, exchanging pleasantries. “Qingshan truly helped us out. You’ve seen his skills, Mr. Yang—even Lu Huiguang couldn’t have managed it!”

Yang Wancheng nodded, then gripped Liu Qingshan’s right hand, patting it firmly. “That’s why you need no evaluation from us. There’s no one of your caliber among the younger generation.”

Finally, Liu Qingshan spoke. “It’s just brute strength, really. I treat the crew like family.”

“I believe you. Not only you—Chen Long, Jiahui, and Jerry all treat you as family. Otherwise, why would they conspire to keep such a big matter from me?”

“Mr. Yang, what do you mean by that?” Liu Qingshan looked genuinely surprised.

But Yang Wancheng didn’t answer immediately; instead, he amiably invited them to sit.

When the fresh tea was served, he chuckled and shook his head with meaning. “Jiahui and I go way back. He seems considerate and kind, but deep down he’s quite impatient—Jiahua’s complained to me more than once.”

Liang Jiahui leaned over and whispered to Liu Qingshan, “Jiang Jiahua—that’s my wife.”

“Ah, poor Jiahua. She’s ill, and the medication’s side effects have changed her appearance drastically. She was quite the beauty in her youth.”

With a sigh, Yang Wancheng had, in a few words, revealed Liang Jiahui’s family situation.

That was his art of conversation—drawing others close as if they were old friends or neighbors with just a few sentences.

Liang Jiahui was genuinely moved. “I never realized you knew our family so well, Mr. Yang.”

“In my eyes, you and Chen Long are equals—true men of loyalty and faith in our circle. But I must say, you handled this matter a bit underhandedly. Still, I understand you did it for Qingshan’s future, afraid he’d offend an old man like me by speaking out of turn.”

“Not at all, Mr. Yang. Everyone knows your reputation in Hong Kong—you’re not a petty man.”

Liang Jiahui hurried to explain. And he had good reason: the entire entertainment world in Hong Kong knew that artists signed with Qinghuang Films rarely left for another agency.

In a cutthroat industry, such loyalty was rare, and it spoke volumes about Yang Wancheng’s generosity.

That artists and their management could maintain such long partnerships was a testament to what Liang Jiahui had said—it was not out of pettiness.

“Enough. I won’t hold a grudge; if I were in your place, I’d have done the same.”

He cast Liang Jiahui a glance of mock displeasure, then turned his gaze on Liu Qingshan.

“I know Chen Long and Jiahui inside and out. You think I don’t notice when they’re scheming? Wasn’t it you who first suggested the publicity strategy?”

Seeing this, Liu Qingshan understood that whether or not the man was toying with him, honesty was the only way forward now.

So he laid out his thoughts once more.

Yang Wancheng listened in silence, focusing not on the methods but on the reasoning behind every step, occasionally interjecting with questions.

When Liu Qingshan finished, Yang Wancheng stood and paced, lost in thought.

At last, he spoke with finality. “This can work. We might just set off a new wave of marketing strategy across the entertainment worlds of the mainland, Hong Kong, and Taiwan. True, publicity stunts are commonplace now, but such a large-scale, meticulously planned campaign is unprecedented.”

“But at first, it may have negative consequences for the producers of ‘The Myth.’ We need to be cautious,” Liu Qingshan reminded him.

Yang Wancheng smiled and nodded. “Not just possible—inevitable! But the gains afterward will far outweigh the losses. Not only will it show the world Qinghuang Films’ quiet efforts at positive crisis management, but once the tables turn, our reputation will soar even higher.”

“So the harsher the criticism now, the better for our film in the long run?” Liang Jiahui asked.