Chapter Seventy-Five: The Will from Above

Liu Qingshan had no idea that his affairs had actually drawn the attention of someone high up at National Television. The request for footage from the Beijing station was apparently issued at this individual's command.

He had also heard that Ge Daquan had been summoned back to National Television headquarters that very night; the words he had just spoken were the result of last night's meeting.

“What began as a trivial, almost insignificant civil dispute, due to your press conference, has ultimately transformed into a dramatic event that will make the evolving landscape of the new entertainment market leap vividly into view. Those are the exact words of our leader—I have not added or omitted a single syllable.”

It must be said, Ge Daquan’s recitation was as meticulous and precise as if he were delivering a formal report; though heavy with officialdom, his words struck directly at the core of the matter.

Liu Qingshan’s mind worked swiftly; he understood this was now the leader’s moment to perform, and he only needed to respond with the proper attitude—interrupting would be a grave mistake.

Indeed, the speaker did not wait for his reply, but continued on.

“In the face of public outrage and successive rounds of condemnation from certain media outlets, you managed to remain silent, letting prudence prevail. You did not allow your own grievances to rot and dissipate in the barrage of criticism, nor did you let the swelling war of words ignite further conflict. This is commendable, especially in an era that champions individuality and self-expression. Subsequently, the pointless hype and harsh commentary that followed only made your eventual outburst from silence a testament to your persistence and adherence to your principles.”

Liu Qingshan still said nothing, simply nodding vigorously, his expression transforming into one of solemnity to match the tone of the moment.

“Silence does not mean compromise; turning the force of debate into action and leaving public opinion with a graceful parting shot is the mark of a wise man. The leader expressed his satisfaction, calling you a youthful genius dedicated to exposing the true nature of humanity, certain to stir great waves within your field in the future. These are the words he wanted me to pass on to you, nothing more, nothing less.”

At this, Liu Qingshan knew it was time for him to step in.

The first thing he did was stand up and light a cigarette for Ge Daquan.

Only after the other man sat back contentedly and took a deep drag did Liu Qingshan smile and say, “Director Ge, your presence just now was so commanding, I didn’t dare utter a word.”

Ge Daquan burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t dare to alter the leader’s instructions. The authority is his, not mine—I’m merely borrowing it. All right, now you may speak freely, and I can finally catch my breath.”

Liu Qingshan did not inquire as to which leader it was.

He understood all too well that whoever took notice of him was likely not interested in him personally, but rather saw him as a useful pretext for a broader agenda. Still, he could surmise that this individual was more than just a National Television executive; there must be an even more significant government figure behind the scenes.

Yet Ge Daquan quickly offered a hint.

“You’re a sharp one, using that press conference not only to turn your situation around but also, quite inadvertently, to align with the leader’s original intentions. In recent years, the entertainment industry, which should be devoted to promoting healthy culture, has gradually become a haven for hypocritical types. Scandals involving illegal and unethical behavior among celebrities are frequently exposed, and all kinds of unsavory trends are on the rise. The higher-ups have been keeping a close eye on this.”

It was not only Liu Qingshan but also Zhang the Bearded, sitting nearby, who suddenly understood the origins of all this.

“Those two in Shaanxi, while not exactly celebrities, are at least part of this circle. People like them, with their glamorous facades and the right platforms, do little but stir up trouble—making the dead seem alive and the living seem dead. Like jesters, they pollute the industry’s atmosphere and must be firmly dealt with.”

Zhang the Bearded seized the moment to share his own view. “That’s right. I’ve encountered plenty of such cases in my work. With capital backing them and the adoration of online traffic, many so-called stars behave as they please, showing no respect for a director’s authority.”

“Yes, Yimou told me something similar,” Ge Daquan continued. “He once dealt with a young actor who wouldn’t memorize lines, just reciting numbers—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. If he dared to get angry, a representative of the investors would intervene with an excuse so ridiculous it was laughable!”

Yimou, of course, referred to Zhang Yimou, the acclaimed director of “Red Sorghum,” a leading figure of the Fifth Generation filmmakers.

Ge Daquan’s words only stoked Zhang the Bearded’s indignation.

“My crew is the same. Someone gets a tiny cut—nothing that even needs a bandage, it would heal in minutes with a bit of spit. But then, all hell breaks loose: agents, assistants, a dozen people rush over, and someone’s already calling for an ambulance!”

Ge Daquan chuckled, but the bitterness beneath his laughter was unmistakable.

Liu Qingshan, however, remained unfazed. He had spent enough time on various sets to be entirely unsurprised by such incidents.

“So last night, our leader made it clear: if such trends are allowed to continue, we’ll end up lost in a maze of immorality, our principles blurred, our direction lost, our traditions abandoned, and ultimately, our souls forfeited.”

At this, Ge Daquan turned his attention back to Liu Qingshan.

“Qingshan, it’s not that our country is unwilling to intervene—there’s just too much entangled in all this. That’s why we’re looking for a breakthrough point with you. You don’t feel you’re being used, do you?”

Liu Qingshan sprang to his feet. “I ought to have this sense of duty! Rest assured, Director Ge, wherever you point, I’ll go—never backing down!”

“Excellent, excellent. I’m glad you understand,” Ge Daquan replied with a smile. “Of course, no one is truly treating you as a mere pawn. There are just some things that need to be said through your voice, which is why our leader took notice of your press conference yesterday.”

“No problem. You know I used to play bit parts—I’ve seen all kinds of unsavory actors, big and small, and I’ve long since formed my own opinions. To be able to contribute is an honor and my responsibility.”

“You’re a good man! All right, consider this a small favor for National Television. If you ever need anything, you can call me directly!”

Receiving a handwritten phone number, Liu Qingshan felt thoroughly content.

This matter was far from as simple as it appeared. He wasn’t afraid of possible retaliation, but if he ever found himself under pressure, having the support of someone so influential—this phone number—could be his lifeline.

“The contract over there should be nearly finalized by your people. Go ahead and sign it, then come back and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew.”

With a nod from Zhang the Bearded, Liu Qingshan hurried off, sensing that Ge and Zhang wished to speak in private.

Half an hour later, when he returned, there were several new faces in the office—not familiar actors, but, as introductions revealed, not only representatives from National Television but also the head of the variety department from the Beijing station.

As for Ge Daquan, he was nowhere to be seen; according to Zhang the Bearded, they would save the celebratory drinks for the official start of filming.