Global Film Emperor

Chapter 480 I came here just to put on some clothes (4,000 words)

The interviews lasted until 4:30 p.m. Five actors had originally scheduled interviews, but one of them seemed to have changed his mind and called to inform him that he wouldn't be coming.

This last-minute change of heart didn't dampen Lu Ze's spirits, because the remaining four auditioning actors all had good scores, with the lowest being 7.5, while Universal Brothers' standard was 7.0. This meant that all four of them would receive a contract in the near future.

After tidying up his resume, his work for the day was officially over. He yawned as he got up and called Mickey to tell him that he was done with his work.

Wang Zhen, who was watering the flowers downstairs, and the other two went up to the third floor together. They knocked on the door of Mickey's office and went in, but were startled by Mickey's current state.

His eyes were red and swollen, as if he had just shed tears. The trash can was filled with a thick layer of crumpled paper, as if only two hours had passed and dozens of ideas had been rejected.

Zhuang Yu, biting his pencil, remained silent with his head down until Wang Zhen came over and gently massaged his temples, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"What? Did Zhuang Yu hit you?"

Lu Ze made a joke, but it didn't make Mickey smile. He just took out a tissue and wiped his eyes, muttering softly, "No, I was just touched. I'm glad I found the right person and brought Zhuang Yu to England, otherwise I probably wouldn't have been able to finish this project."

"You finished writing so quickly?"

"It doesn't happen that quickly; it's just that I had the idea."

Mickey has always been very emotional, unlike the cold-blooded character portrayed in his works. Perhaps it is precisely because he can truly feel the ruthlessness of the dark side that he can write such cruel stories so realistically.

In this respect, Zhuang Yu is the opposite of him. He is more rational, but he carries expectations for life, which makes his style deviate from Mickey's and more realistic, creating a series of characters who embody truth, goodness and beauty.

"Alright, alright, didn't we say we were going to have hot pot tonight? Let's get out of here. I haven't eaten anything since I got off the plane, I've only had two cups of coffee, I'm starving."

Lu Ze didn't want the atmosphere in the room to become like a depressing cloud, so he ruffled Mickey's hair. Goodness, it must have been a long time since he washed his hair, as it was oily all over Lu Ze's hand. He then rubbed his hands on Mickey in disgust, only to be met with a spinning Superman punch from Mickey.

When the topic of hot pot came up, everyone got excited. Mickey stopped crying like a woman and got up faster than anyone else, urging everyone to hurry downstairs and leave.

When Lu Ze got downstairs, he realized that Mickey's nearly 30-year-old Ford had been honorably retired, and his new ride was hidden behind Kesha's Escalade, completely hidden by the Escalade's massive body.

It wasn't until the pleasant roar of an engine reached his ears and a black sports car slowly drove out from behind the Escalade that Lu Ze realized what that spendthrift Mickey had actually bought.

Aston Martin, One-77.

"Martini, shaken, not stirred."

The car window rolled down, Mickey had a cigarette in his mouth, a breeze was blowing, and he squinted, uttering a classic 007 line in a very affected manner. If it weren't for his hair reflecting the sunlight, he would have actually looked convincing.

"So you spent over three million pounds just to cosplay James Bond?"

"Isn't he handsome?"

"Heh, now I know why your dad always beats you."

Mickey's money is his, and he can spend it however he wants. But Lu Ze is still somewhat speechless. Back then, he squandered money so recklessly that he went to prison and went bankrupt. He turned his life around a second time but still didn't learn his lesson. He doesn't know whether to say that he has the ability to earn money because he has the ability to spend it, or to call him a spendthrift.

After getting Wang Zixuan into the nanny van, Zhuang Yu and Wang Zhen, whose company had also provided them with a Volvo XC90 for transportation, headed towards their destination without needing anyone to lead the way.

Upon arriving home, they busied themselves preparing the food, while Lu Ze went back home to check on his flowers and plants. During his absence, the flowerbeds had been cared for by professional gardeners and were thriving. Even in March, the flowers were still in full bloom, and the air was filled with their sweet fragrance as soon as the glass door was opened.

After a brief look, he returned to Zhuang Yu's house. Since Zhuang Yu couldn't buy a copper pot, they had to use an electric hot pot instead. Lu Ze always felt that food cooked in a copper pot and food cooked in an electric hot pot didn't taste the same, but being able to eat Chinese food in England was already a rare treat.

There was no shortage of ingredients. Bowls of mutton and meatballs were brought out one after another, and the condiments were all common domestic brands bought from Chinese supermarkets. To cater to Lu Ze's picky palate that doesn't like sesame paste, Zhuang Yu even took out a bag of mysterious props, which made Lu Ze happy for a long time. This was the first time he had eaten Prairie Red Sun on a British table.

Pour the slightly spicy sauce into a bowl, then add some boiling broth to dilute it. The lamb is of good quality; even after it's cooked, there isn't much blood foam on the surface of the broth. The specks of butter that rise from the bottom of the pot gradually condense together, contributing to the aroma of the hot pot lamb.

A large piece of mutton was scooped out of the pot. Its slightly pink color was very tempting. Even after being dipped in the sauce, it was still steaming hot when put in the mouth, making people unconsciously open their lips slightly to breathe, but they still couldn't bear to give up chewing.

Most importantly, it must be paired with strong liquor, otherwise the meat won't taste good. Although the temperature in Liverpool in March is not low, the rainfall is the highest of the year. Drinking some liquor to dispel dampness is the best choice. Even Wang Zixuan picked up her glass, smacked her lips, and drank down two ounces.

Everyone was hungry, and even though they had a lot to talk about, they focused on filling their stomachs until after a few rounds of drinks. Then they opened up and started talking about the stories that had happened recently.

The chrysanthemum greens were cooked, and Lu Ze ate them all off the pot with a single chopstick. He dipped the large clumps of chrysanthemum greens in a bowl of slightly reddish sauce, blew on them, casually interjected, and then stuffed the chrysanthemum greens into his mouth, making slurping sounds.

"Old Zhuang, what brings you to England?"

It's not about hitting Zhuang Yu's sore spot. His reasons for leaving are definitely different from Lu Ze's. In the domestic director circle, he still has a good reputation, abundant resources, a large number of fans, and a large number of investors waving their money. As long as he is willing to film, it's not a problem to break even before filming starts, but to start making a profit right after the opening ceremony.

Abroad, he is also a darling of major film festivals, winning awards left and right. Every new work he releases generates a lot of buzz. For example, his new film "The Refutation" premiered at Cannes last year and won four major awards. Logically speaking, he could have been the supreme ruler of Tiancheng, a figure that even the boss had to worship. There was no need for him to come to England to make a living.

Zhuang Yu didn't react after hearing this, which reassured Lu Ze slightly. He didn't speak at first, but took the tissue Wang Zhen handed him to wipe the sweat from his forehead. After chewing and swallowing the food in his mouth, he picked up his wine glass, shook his head, and smiled dejectedly.

"Hey, you don't like staying here anymore? Let's go."

Everyone clinked glasses, and he swallowed a large gulp. Perhaps the spiciness had hit his heart; he frowned for a long time before exhaling. He wasn't a good drinker, and hadn't improved much over the years. Today, having drunk some baijiu, his face flushed even faster. His face was bright red as he picked up a piece of mutton with his chopsticks and threw it into his bowl. He put his arm around Lu Ze's neck, but didn't look at Lu Ze. Instead, he lowered his head, picking at the mutton in his bowl, and whispered, "I'm disappointed."

He was speaking Chinese and didn't want more people to hear him. He didn't want to speak ill of the Chinese entertainment industry abroad, but Mickey could speak Chinese, so there was nothing he could do.

"How to say?"

"I like money too, but I always have some ideals. I want to realize my ideals while making money, but there's no way around it..."

He explained to Lu Ze, but it was rambling and seemed more like he was talking to himself. He hadn't said this to anyone else in a long time because it would offend people. Only in front of Lu Ze, and after having a few drinks, did he feel he had to say it, so he continued talking to himself.

"Everyone wants to make money, whether it's in China or abroad, but the atmosphere in China is really bad now. You can't even talk about art. If you do, people will laugh at you. It's all about making money. If you help everyone make money, they'll be grateful and praise you to the skies. But if you say you want to play with art, then sorry, we won't get involved with you. You can play by yourself."

"This is the same abroad. Movies... to put it bluntly, aren't they all about making money? Who would make movies if they didn't? The risks are considerable, the profits have to be split, and the return on investment is slow. Whether it's me or you, whether it's an actor or a director, everyone has to accept this fact: movies are an investment, and art comes second."

"That's different~"

Zhuang Yu was really drunk. He slowly put the mutton into his mouth in several bites and chewed slowly. After hearing Lu Ze's reply, he put his arm around Lu Ze's shoulder and swayed.

"You're right, Lu'er. Yes, the main purpose of a movie is to make a profit. I've been making movies for over ten years, so of course I know that. But... but I still need to have something to cover my shame, right? You have to give me some underwear to cover myself up, right?"

When Lu Ze first met Zhuang Yu, he had long hair, wore black-rimmed glasses, played the piano, neither smoked nor drank, and was so refined that he never uttered a single swear word. As time passed, the first thing he lost was his long hair. Before he knew it, he was drinking again, and eventually, he was smoking a cigarette and always using swear words as interjections when he spoke at dinner parties. Perhaps once you enter this circle, even if you are clean-living, you will inevitably pick up some bad habits.

He was still loyal to his friends, with the same chivalrous spirit as people from the capital, but the photographer who had won the gold medal seemed to have drifted further and further away. He probably had a tough time these past few years. So Lu Ze took a sip of his drink alone and didn't say anything.

"Honestly, Lu'er, if I had to choose, one option would be to work shirtless as a laborer, treating filmmaking as a job just to earn money to support my family, and the other would be to use art as a pretext to give me clothes to wear and let me work out of interest, still just to support my family. Which do you think I would choose? Definitely the second one!"

"So you came?"

"Yeah, you know... Honey, can you make me some meatballs? I've been polishing a script for at least three to five years, and they're in a rush for me to make money, afraid I'll have a hard life and not have enough to spend. What am I supposed to do? I need to find a screenwriter, but these days, which screenwriter still writes their own scripts? How many screenwriters are still seriously writing scripts?"

"Where are Huang Si'er and the others?"

"Nonsense."

As he spoke, he lifted his shirt, revealing his fair and round belly. His expression and words were filled with disdain. He then cautiously leaned close to Lu Ze's ear and hissed, "They're all running studios now! They've all hired a bunch of ghostwriters! Writing stories doesn't make as much money as being a boss!"

After saying that, he moved away from Lu Ze's ear, his previous sneaky demeanor replaced by a blank expression. He pulled away from Lu Ze's arm and instead draped it over the back of the chair, leaning his body against it. He lit a cigarette and suddenly slammed his hand on the table, making the bowls and plates bounce. This startled Kesha, who couldn't understand Chinese, who looked around helplessly with his dipping sauce bowl in hand.

"Find a recent graduate to write a notebook, pay him three to five thousand, put his name on it, and then resell it for five million. The kid wants to earn more too, so he spends all day copying and modifying TV shows. He manages to produce three to five notebooks a month through writing and copying, hoping to earn more money to supplement his family's income. But sorry, nobody will buy them. He only sells two or three a year at most. He's just playing the scarcity marketing game, and everyone's scrambling to buy them. Lu'er, don't you think that's outrageous?"

"Huang Si?"

"Yeah, right, I forgot, you and him used to be pretty close too. I used to call him Fourth Brother, but now... sorry, we're not friends anymore~ I was too embarrassed to be shirtless and wanted to get some clothes to wear, but he was naked, smugly showing off his crotch. We were destined not to get along."

Lu Ze remained silent. Huang Si had written a script for him when he was still an artist under Qian Shijia. Although he didn't end up acting in the script, he still owed Huang Si a debt of gratitude. Perhaps money really is more important than sentiment. Screenwriters who lost their pens actually earn more than those who still held them. The world is truly strange.

He gently scraped off the butter floating on the surface of the soup with a spoon and poured it into the waste soup bowl. The soup, which had just had lamb bones added, turned milky white and was bubbling away. He scooped up a spoonful of soup, put it to his lips, and gently blew on it. The milky white soup rippled slightly in the spoon, and before he knew it, it had spilled out of the spoon and fallen into the waste soup bowl, where it sank to the bottom, passing through the butter.

After it cooled down, Lu Ze took a sip, but it wasn't fresh at all.

"Is this how things are done in China now?"

Mickey practically had his head stuck in the pot, trying to pick out a bigger slice of lamb. He finally found one he liked, dipped it in some sauce, and stuffed it into his mouth. Before he could even swallow, he started mumbling incoherently.

"Just eat yours."

"Oh."

It's not a pleasant story to tell, and it would be even more embarrassing for Mickey to hear it, but there's nothing we can do about it; that's the truth. Many people see a good movie and think that Chinese films have risen to prominence, only to have their expectations dashed by a bad one. After a few such repetitions, they realize, "Oh, it was just a flash in the pan." Perhaps now people no longer expect the so-called rise; they just hope that the flash in the pan will bloom again someday.

"Come on, drink up! I can't drink anymore. Let's finish this and hurry up and finish the meat. Cheers!"

They clinked glasses again, and this time Zhuang Yu drank even more, downing half a glass in one gulp. His expression was even more pained, and his right hand gripping the glass was straining, as if the mutton inside his stomach had come back to life and was trying to escape from his throat.

After a while, he finally put the sheep back into his stomach, then smiled at Lu Ze and the other two who were not even out of breath. He wiped his sweat with a tissue, then crumpled it into a ball, threw it on the table, and stared at the ball rolling. When the ball stopped, he spoke, as if to Lu Ze, but also as if to himself.

"So I came here not to make money, nor to pursue my ideals. I came here... just to put on some clothes."

"..."

Twenty-five owed

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(End of this chapter)