Chapter Fifty-Nine: Hans’s Unusual Idol

Liu Qingshan understood Shahrukh’s mood and immediately shifted into work mode.

“I’ll inform you of the studio’s location in the next couple of days, but the subsequent arrangements will be up to you. Anything requiring my signature will not be delayed.”

They had already discussed some matters on the flight over. In China, whenever a business venture has any connection to foreign capital, the subsequent procedures become much simpler. This can’t simply be dismissed as blind worship of all things foreign; after all, the nation’s industrial and commercial sectors are still in their infancy, and different treatment aligns with current policy requirements.

Shahrukh expressed his understanding. “We also need to find a warehouse quickly to store the equipment being shipped from India. It’ll arrive in about ten days.”

There was a considerable amount of equipment, including several large assembly units.

“Three days at most. If the address isn’t decided by then, just find a temporary warehouse near the airport.”

He was still a newcomer to the capital, unfamiliar with the city and had no clue where to set up the studio.

Before Shahrukh could answer, Liu Qingshan turned his gaze to Park Hyejin.

She was sitting not far from him, right beside Shahrukh, and of course could hear everything. The moment Liu Qingshan glanced over, she answered with a look of contempt, “Stop right there—don’t even think about it! I’m a foreigner too, and this is beyond my ability.”

Unexpectedly, Yu Yi, who sat next to her and had just learned the situation, laughed and said, “Qingshan, the warehouse issue is easy to solve. There’s no need to trouble anyone else—it’s as good as settled if I say so!”

It turned out that the backyard of his martial arts school, “Guowutang,” in the capital was currently vacant. That space was originally the workshop of a small, government-run factory and had been used as a temporary warehouse for the nearby produce market. “Guowutang” itself was located in the office building of that factory, and, being within the third ring road, the rent was exorbitant. Renting out the small factory helped offset some of the costs.

Just last month, news of upcoming demolition in the area prompted the closure of the market, and the temporary warehouse was now unused.

Such a large space—Liu Qingshan had no intention of using it for free.

Delighted by the offer, he promptly delegated the task to Yu Yi, instructing him to coordinate with Shahrukh.

“As for the studio, I really don’t know,” Yu Yi continued. “Whether you choose a storefront in a commercial district or a factory in a suburban county, you should have a solid plan!”

His words made Liu Qingshan ponder. Ideally, he wanted an office in a bustling commercial area, but given his current finances, that wasn’t feasible yet. He quickly shifted his focus to more financially manageable options, even though Kram had promised to provide thirty percent of the funding.

“There’s no need to rush,” Yu Yi said, “You’re signing the contract with the national TV station tomorrow, aren’t you? Director Zhang has been in the capital for decades and has a vast network. Ask him for advice—he might have good news.”

The main investor in “The Return of the Condor Heroes” was the national television station, so the contract signing with Director Zhang’s crew would take place there.

Liu Qingshan’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, recognizing its feasibility. However, the banquet was starting, so he set the matter aside and focused on entertaining his guests.

The three special effects artists accompanying them weren’t from India but were Europeans drawn by Bollywood’s reputation. Two of them, Frederic and Hans, hailed from Germany, while Paul was from the UK. Even the specialists recruited by Kunal for Liu Qingshan were similarly diverse—apart from Europeans, there was also a Japanese expert, Kenichi Aida.

Their backgrounds were somewhat similar to lawyer Wang Huansheng’s: highly skilled professionals unwilling to endure the hardship of three thankless years as interns. With no stable foothold in Hollywood, they had sought opportunities in India. They were a capable group, attracted by higher salaries and the greater chance of making a name for themselves in the emerging Chinese entertainment industry.

After much lively conversation, Liu Qingshan began chatting with Frederic. He did so with a purpose; from his initial observations, this older German was not only the eldest but also the leader of the three. As a core team member, his skills must be exceptional, and, reportedly, he had quite a reputation in Bollywood’s CGI circles.

Liu Qingshan hoped to win his trust through social interaction outside of work, so he could gauge his true abilities and, perhaps, poach him from Treasure Pictures for his own studio.

He wasn’t too concerned whether Kram’s side would object in the future—after all, Treasure Pictures held a thirty percent stake in Snowfield Studio, and keeping one of their staff wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

This was simply a necessity. The special effects field was a nascent technical industry, and high-caliber talent was scarce—especially for newcomers like Snowfield Studio.

Ultimately, his goal was to train a large group of domestic professionals to revitalize the industry. Having a strong core of mentors at the outset was especially vital.

“So you’re saying I’ll have a chance to meet the stars of Hong Kong?” Frederic asked with great interest.

Liu Qingshan had already noticed his admiration for Jackie Chan on the flight, and soon learned that he was a kung fu film enthusiast, though purely from the perspective of a fan.

Hong Kong was, without question, the cradle of the world’s finest kung fu films. Nearly forty, Frederic had grown up watching Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan’s movies.

It was precisely his passion for Hong Kong cinema that Liu Qingshan intended to leverage.

“In at most two months, I’ll be going to Hong Kong to shoot a kung fu film,” Liu Qingshan said. “The cast includes Ren Jiahua, Zhen Zijian, and Hong Dabao. If you’re still with Snowfield Studio by then, I might consider taking you along.”

Frederic was thrilled. To him, Hong Kong cinema was more than just kung fu films—he was also a devoted fan of the gangster roles played by Ren Jiahua.

His response was almost stammered, “Mr. Liu, are you serious? You… you could really take me with you?”

Such was the nature of Europeans and Americans: direct, passionate, argumentative, and highly valuing forthright social interaction. Their likes and dislikes were simple and openly displayed, regardless of age.

“It seems your fascination with strength is no myth. I imagine it’s quite different from the idol-worship of younger people, isn’t it?”

Though he’d long understood this, Liu Qingshan was still surprised to see someone of Frederic’s age express such fervent admiration for a particular figure.

Frederic shook his head earnestly. “I don’t consider it idol-worship. Westerners admire strength and respect heroes, often regardless of their moral standing. Of course, my heroes are all good people—unlike him. He idolizes Mussolini.”

Mussolini, the original standard-bearer of fascism, was, even in Western eyes, a dictator and a chief culprit in war—a thoroughly negative figure.