Chapter Thirty-Four: The Greatest Difference Between a Steed and a Donkey

“We’re not the same!” Chen Long waved his hand with a gentle smile. “I’ve had my own deep experiences, and I know more of the inside story behind that film, which is why I’m able to see things more clearly!”

Cui Mingxiu echoed with a smile, “I didn’t notice anything unusual either. Besides, Hyun-ji translated for me, but there’s always a bit of a gap between the original meaning and the translation.”

He didn’t understand Chinese, so Park Hyun-ji had been quietly translating for him the whole time.

Of course, one couldn’t rule out the possibility that he was simply being tactful—after all, in a foreign land, keeping a low profile was undoubtedly the wisest choice.

Liu Qingshan’s attitude in admitting his mistake was sincere, even tinged with anxiety, and this mood lingered throughout his work that day.

Kim Seon always stayed by his side, chatting about lighthearted topics that had nothing to do with the issue at hand.

Sun Zhou sensed something. Today, whenever he wasn’t needed on set, he lingered around the stunt team, as if he’d developed a sudden interest in action choreography.

Just before noon, he finally figured out the reason for Liu Qingshan’s low spirits and teased him with a laugh:

“At your age, many people are still students. It’s normal to have some emotional upheaval stepping into society—Chen Long said it himself, his youthful arrogance was far worse than yours!”

“Brother Sun, I’m not like those students. In theory, my three years at the very bottom should have tempered me for a lifetime, especially since I lost my only relative during that time. But what really gets me is that, no matter how profound my experiences were, they couldn’t stop my heart from swelling with pride the moment I saw a little progress. That’s what disappoints me most.”

“This just shows you lack experience in the industry—it’s not really about your character. I was no different. After a few hit TV dramas, I started thinking I was better than most, that film was my true battlefield. But what happened? Eight years after graduation, I achieved nothing. In fact, my psychological ups and downs then were far greater than yours now!”

“Is that really the same? I heard you weren’t just sitting around for those eight years—you wrote a lot of scripts.”

“I did write plenty, but when I started directing again, I abandoned most of them. For one reason: those stories were filled with the gloom of those years! And that mindset stuck with me. Some of my introverted tendencies are probably rooted in those times.”

“Just like how I’m feeling now?”

“Exactly. But you’re luckier than I was. You have Chen Long to point out your blind spots in time, and that’s no small thing. As Kim Seon just told me, on set, no one else had Chen Long’s keen perception.”

“Only those who’ve been through similar things can sense those subtle changes in others.”

“Inner state is a term martial artists like you use a lot. For us ordinary folk, it’s more about mood, but I suppose it’s a deeper kind of emotion. So I think Chen Long’s sensitivity is inseparable from his martial training, and your emotional shifts are surely tied to your own cultivation too.”

“You’re right, Brother Sun. I’ve actually felt that these past few days—it’s made me instinctively aware of my own strength.”

“Then my guess was right. There’s nothing to worry about. This is the mentality of the strong—haven’t you read those novels? The kingly aura, the unbridled confidence, looking down on the world and all that. The capable hold their place, the fittest survive—it’s an unchanging truth. But I think the key is in the last part.”

“Survival of the fittest?”

“Exactly. When survival is the top priority, then lie low, adapt to your environment—that’s the foundation for the capable to rise. Your plan for that so-called wager is certainly creative and worth a try, but not now. For now, your only advantage is your own martial prowess. When the day comes that your actions and status have built a solid foundation, then consider such bold moves.”

“So you’re saying, if I can’t change my environment, I should change myself?”

“Yes. The big principle is: if you put yourself in others’ shoes, problems get solved; if you’re self-centered, you’ll fail. On a more personal level: survive first, then develop. You can’t treat business like the martial world—it’s far more complex. With your current situation, securing your place in this circle comes first!”

Liu Qingshan let out a deep breath, as if his mind suddenly cleared.

Though Kim Seon had a good grasp of Chinese, she still struggled with the rapid pace of the conversation. But she could see the change in Liu Qingshan’s expression and quietly gave Sun Zhou an appreciative glance.

“There’s another saying I heard: what sets a thousand-mile horse apart from a donkey isn’t its strong muscles, but its lofty ambition. It sounds a bit blunt, but it doesn’t mean you’re all brawn and no brains. It means you’ve set a clear goal for your development—a career plan. That’s a higher pursuit than mere survival.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way? I get it now, Brother Sun. Thanks for clearing the knot in my heart with just a few words!”

“I’ve always hated giving people advice, so I never thought I’d say these things myself. As long as you don’t mind.”

“It’s no lecture! I left school after high school to make a living, grew up without parental guidance—nobody in society ever told me these things. They’re important to me!”

“As long as they help. Actually, I’m here today because Chen Long arranged it, though he didn’t tell me the reason beforehand.”

Liu Qingshan suddenly smiled in understanding. “Big Brother really is thoughtful. I was just wondering when you started getting interested in stunts!”

“You’ve got a true big brother now. Chen Long really looks out for you—don’t let him down.”

At that moment, Lin Fengqiao arrived, personally handling logistics and bringing lunch.

She, of course, had a more specific purpose.

“Shanzi, Director Ye and Zhen Zijian will be coming to the set this afternoon. You scared them with your ‘master’ reputation! I could tell over the phone, especially with Zhen Zijian—his attitude changed a lot!”

“They’ve decided to come after all? Did Big Brother say whether we should stick to the terms he set? I need to stand with him.”

“He said he’s stepping back—it’s up to you to negotiate with them. That way, whatever final price you reach, you’ll be able to judge them more accurately. He doesn’t want to impose his views on you anymore.”

“But at least give me a more precise hint—like, what kind of attitude should I take?”

“No hint. Personally, I think you should display the spirit of a true martial artist. Why are they coming? To see your real abilities. So, intimidating them with your prowess is the best approach.”

“Fengqiao is right,” Sun Zhou chimed in. “Seniority is taken very seriously in Hong Kong. On equal footing, only true superior strength earns genuine respect.”

That was exactly what Liu Qingshan was thinking.

After inviting the others to eat, Lin Fengqiao didn’t stay long, but before leaving, she handed him a check.

“This is a welcome gift from me—part of your payment for the song ‘Beautiful Legend.’”

Liu Qingshan opened it to find an astonishing sum of one million, and he immediately stood to refuse.

Lu Huiguang, who’d seen it, laughed heartily and stopped him.

“Fengqiao is the boss’s wife—every new brother gets a token like this. One million seems a lot, but it includes the fee for the theme song. It’s perfectly reasonable!”

Fengqiao had already turned away, leaving just one sentence as she departed:

“That song was sent to Hong Kong two days ago and professionally appraised. It’s been highly praised—the amount isn’t excessive.”

Liu Qingshan stood dumbfounded for a while before finally muttering, “Does Fengqiao always come and go so abruptly?”

A member of Chen’s team laughed, “When it comes to money, she’s all business. Without her, Big Brother would’ve had a hard time managing such a large crew!”

There was a hint of mockery in his tone, but since he said it openly, it was clearly more teasing than resentment.

“Brother, have you been paid your appearance fee for ‘Legend’ yet?” Lu Huiguang asked mysteriously.

Seeing Liu Qingshan shake his head, he burst out laughing again.

“That’s the benefit of working with Big Brother. He treats us like family—the closer you are, the less you get paid up front. But usually, the final pay is much higher than the contract, depending on box office results!”

It was the first time Kim Seon had heard of such a payment method. In every country’s entertainment industry, it was standard to pay appearance fees in advance—the only difference was the percentage.

She asked Lu Huiguang out of curiosity, “Is this how the entertainment business works in China?”

Lu Huiguang shook his head vigorously.

“Nope. That’s just Big Brother’s way—family style. The closer you are, the less you get up front, but you’ll usually get more in the end, depending on the film’s success!”

As an outsider, she knew better than to dwell on such sensitive topics.

She quickly changed the subject. “Shanzi, the company already knows about the theme song. They called this morning to ask if I’d release an album.”

“And did you agree?”

“No. Didn’t you say it’s not the right time for deeper cooperation? The recording contract isn’t with the company, so I’m worried this might be part of a larger plan.”

“You’re probably right. With only one year left on your contract, the company’s trying to tie you down. What did Hyun-ji say to them?”

“She just said that a Chinese production team had approached me for a drama collaboration.”

Sun Zhou jumped in, “You haven’t asked Sun Chun yet, right? Finding TV resources is no problem for him. I think it’d be best if it’s a historical drama. How about this—tonight I’ll send you a message, and we’ll see how it goes!”