Chapter 116: I Must Keep a Low Profile!

The studio’s renovation was still underway, but the license had already been secured, registered under Jiang Lun’s name.

Amid the noisy sounds of construction outside, the two partners of the studio were gathered in a private lounge, deep in discussion.

“This script is solid!”

Zhao Rong had just finished reading through five episodes in one sitting. Naturally, he was evaluating it from the perspective of an online drama; by the standards of current prime-time television, it still felt somewhat modest.

“I’m planning to invest half of it myself.”

Jiang Lun took a deep breath, as if making a weighty decision.

With his current assets, investing five million wasn’t an issue, but such an amount still stung when he thought about it.

“You’re investing half? How much is Director Liu putting in?”

Zhao Rong was momentarily stunned. In his estimation, an eighty-episode series would cost at least twenty million. Jiang Lun was going to put up half of that? Did he really have that kind of money?

“Director Liu is contributing five million,” Jiang Lun explained. “His idea is to start by producing twenty episodes; otherwise, we’d have to find other investors. But I don’t want to hassle with that—I intend to do it myself.”

He looked at Zhao Rong, who was left speechless for a long moment.

“One hundred million investment—do you think we can really pull off this series with that?”

Jiang Lun asked earnestly.

“One hundred million?” Zhao Rong was taken aback, glancing at the script again. “Eighty episodes on a hundred million? The cost per episode would have to be incredibly low.”

“Exactly.”

Jiang Lun nodded. “You’re the director; you should know how to save money, right?”

“Oh, that’s the producer’s job,” Zhao Rong smiled wryly. “Besides, actors’ fees are sky-high these days, especially for period dramas—the set construction alone costs a fortune.”

“We can cast newcomers,” Jiang Lun said firmly. “But they must have acting skills. You can find actors from theater troupes or experienced extras.”

“You really said that? Without big names, who’d watch it? And you’re not even acting yourself!”

Zhao Rong waved his hands dismissively but then shifted tone. “Still, recruiting some performers from cultural troupes is feasible. The military is currently restructuring, and many cultural groups are undergoing mass layoffs. I know quite a few people who have retired and are just sitting at home with nothing to do.”

“That’s perfect then. Let’s invite them,” Jiang Lun said, slapping his thigh. “But there’s another thing. For the female lead—this Tong Xiangyu character—you need to find someone who can speak authentic Shaanbei dialect.”

“Shaanbei dialect?”

Zhao Rong was surprised. “Why? You’re really going to use dialect?”

“It’ll be a small highlight,” Jiang Lun explained. “The script has the female lead speaking in the Shaanbei dialect.”

“That works! Don’t even mention Shaanbei dialect; those folks come from all over, no matter what dialect, they can handle it.”

“Alright then. Start gathering the crew—that’s your strength,” Jiang Lun said. “I’ll draft the agreement this afternoon. Tomorrow we’ll get Director Liu’s signature.”

“Sounds good! Since you’ve decided to do this, I’ll fully support you. I’ll also reach out to some old clients to see if we can pull in some sponsorships.”

“Let’s split up the tasks then. As for the renovations, let Old Cai and Qilin keep an eye on it.”

…

Jiang Lun didn’t have a template for a joint drama production agreement, so he made a special trip to Yida’s legal department to get one.

The next day, armed with the contract, he arrived early at Liu Xiahui’s office.

“Have you made up your mind? Sit down.”

Upon seeing him, Liu Xiahui smiled warmly and instructed his assistant to pour coffee for Jiang Lun.

“Director Liu, I plan to invest five million myself,” Jiang Lun said as he handed over the agreement. “I’m ready to invest ten million to produce the entire eighty episodes.”

“Cough... what?”

Liu Xiahui stared at Jiang Lun in disbelief, scrutinizing him carefully. Seeing that he wasn’t joking, he could only laugh wryly.

“Alun, are you trying to annoy me?”

“No!” Jiang Lun shook his head. “I’m serious.”

“You’re really serious?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then.”

Liu Xiahui exhaled deeply. “Alun, the company only produces audiovisual works after thorough discussion at the executive level. We have no plans to invest in dramas this second half of the year. I understand you’re setting up your own studio to make a mark, and I don’t oppose that. In fact, I support your entrepreneurial spirit. If you succeed, your studio could collaborate more deeply with the company. However, let’s be clear: my investment is personal and has nothing to do with the company’s finances.”

Jiang Lun beamed. “Thank you very much, Director Liu!”

“But I need to make a wager agreement with you.”

Liu Xiahui said, “If the drama loses money, you must still pay me back the five million principal. But if it profits, we split the earnings according to the proportions in the contract. How does that sound?”

Jiang Lun took a deep breath. Capitalists after all—but he agreed. “Sounds fair! Let’s do it!”

“Good!” Liu Xiahui smiled. “Pleasure working with you.”

With the investment settled, they began hashing out the contract details.

Under Jiang Lun’s terms, both he and Liu Xiahui would each invest five million personally, each holding 45% of the profits; the remaining 10% would go to the studio.

Jiang Lun, as Party A, would join with Party C (the studio) in handling licenses, project approvals, and all production and post-production matters.

Liu Xiahui, as Party B, would be responsible for distribution and submitting for regulatory review.

Both sides would assign a production supervisor to manage the crew’s finances.

The contract was signed, a joint account established for dedicated funds, using Liu Xiahui’s office computer for immediate transfers.

With the partnership formalized, Jiang Lun returned to the studio, elated.

“Brothers, we did it!”

As soon as he walked in, he called to Zhao Rong, Cai Fei, and Wang Qilin, “We’re breaking into the film and television industry. Here’s to our success!”

All three were excited, though they knew this was Jiang Lun’s personal investment, not a purely solo production.

Next, Jiang Lun assigned tasks: finding filming locations and building sets.

By the time he returned from promotion, all should be finalized.

“There are plenty of shooting locations in the capital, but we have to choose based on cost-effectiveness. Wherever saves money, that’s where we go!”

Though holding ten million in funds, the thought of an eighty-episode series brought everyone back to reality.

“I’ll handle costumes and props!” Wang Qilin volunteered.

“No, I’ll do it!” Zhao Rong waved him off. “I can bring you along and negotiate discounts since I know some people.”

“So I’m in charge of casting?”

Cai Fei’s face lit up. Knowing they’d need cheap actors, he’d already thought about recruiting extras near the film studio. Not to mention, the script had many female roles, which meant perks for him.

“No need,” Jiang Lun smiled and shook his head. “Casting decisions will wait until I return. You just follow Director Zhao to assemble the crew. That’s the real priority. Also, keep an eye on the studio renovation every day—make sure it finishes on time!”

“Ah…”

Cai Fei was disappointed, pouting. “Alright then.”

With the plan set, the three set off on their tasks.

The next day, Jiang Lun embarked on another promotional tour.

On the plane, Mai Le held back for a while before asking, “I heard you set up your own studio and are making a drama?”

“Who told you that?” Jiang Lun asked curiously. Aside from Zhao Rong and a few others, only Liu Xiahui knew.

“Someone in the legal department said they’ve seen your contract with Director Liu.”

“Isn’t that a private investment? Why would it go through legal?”

Jiang Lun was surprised.

“I don’t know about that,” Mai Le shrugged. “Anyway, you really did it. Such a big thing, and you didn’t tell me!”

“Shh!”

Jiang Lun made a finger-to-lips gesture. “Keep it low-key. I don’t want this known yet.”

“Okay.”

Mai Le smiled helplessly. “But if you ever need anything, just tell me. Even if it means quitting Yida to work at your studio, I’d be happy to.”

“Deal! I’ll definitely ask for your help if needed.”

Though just a few simple words, Jiang Lun was deeply moved.

When Mai Le first became his assistant, she said it was temporary, and he had even thought he might replace her with a younger woman someday.

But after all this time, their relationship was more than just work—they were friends, even brothers.

Mai Le now handled most of his business negotiations, even more important than Wu Chaoyang, though many tasks were actually done on Wu’s behalf.

Their first promotional stop was Harbin.

Though known as the “Ice City,” summer was here, and the temperature was not much lower than the capital’s.

“Jiang Lun! Jiang Lun!”

“Alun! Welcome to Harbin, we love you!”

“Pop! Pop! Pop! Brother Lun, you’re so handsome!”

Thanks to the fan club, wherever he went, his supporters always knew his whereabouts in advance.

No sooner had he stepped out of the airport than he was greeted by cheering fans.

They called his name affectionately, some blowing kisses his way.

And… well… quite a few of those kisses came from boys…

“Hello everyone!”

Jiang Lun waved, stepping forward to shake hands, take photos, and sign autographs.

Fortunately, he wasn’t the type to wear rings or bracelets. He’d heard of stars who, after shaking fans’ hands laden with jewelry, found their accessories mysteriously missing.

Fans usually just wanted souvenirs, not to steal, but for many celebrities, it had become a taboo.

Previously, a star named Wu Litao had publicly berated fans over this on Weibo, sparking a heated online battle that even involved some international participants.

(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please consider supporting it with recommendation tickets or monthly votes on Qidian. Your support is my greatest motivation. Mobile users, please visit m.reading.)