Rebirth: A big star falls in love with me

"explain."

"Besides movies and TV series, our studio can also produce variety shows," Yang Mi said. "I saw in South Korea that variety shows are the best way to promote newcomers. We can create an actor competition variety show for our newcomers to participate in, which will give them exposure and help them hone their acting skills."

Zhang Yu's eyes lit up. In 2000, China's variety show market was still immature, but it was indeed a blue ocean.

“That’s a great idea,” he said, “but it needs detailed planning. I can talk to Wang Jinghua about it when I meet her.”

Yang Mi laughed: "Director Zhang, don't you think we're actually quite alike?"

"Where does it look like?"

“We’re all ambitious, dissatisfied with the status quo, and willing to take risks.” Yang Mi looked at him. “That’s why I can understand why you rejected Huayi and why you want to do it yourself. Because what others give you can never be as good as what you earn yourself.”

She touched a nerve with Zhang Yu. Zhang Yu looked at her; this twenty-year-old girl was sometimes frighteningly mature.

“Yang Mi,” he asked, “why are you working so hard? With your looks, finding a sugar daddy to support you would make your life much easier.”

"Because I don't want to be just a pretty face." Yang Mi was very direct. "Director Zhang, I am good-looking, but I know that you can't go far on just your looks. What I want to be is a real actor, an actor with works, strength, and a voice. And to reach that position, it's better to rely on yourself than on others."

So you chose to be with me?

“Because you can give me what I want—good roles, good works, and…respect,” Yang Mi said. “Director Zhang, you may not know, but before you, I auditioned for many roles. Some directors looked at me like they were looking at a product, estimating its value and calculating how much it could sell for. But you are different. When you look at me, you are looking at an ‘actor,’ someone who has the potential to become a good actor. This kind of respect is more precious than any salary.”

She spoke with great sincerity. Zhang Yu could sense that, besides ambition, her shining mark also contained gratitude for being recognized and supported.

“Yang Mi,” he said, “you will become a top star, I guarantee it.”

“I believe you,” Yang Mi smiled. “But Director Zhang, before that, we need to get past this hurdle first. Come on, let’s go over our prepared remarks for tomorrow one more time…”

The two chatted until 11 p.m. When it was over, Yang Mi saw Zhang Yu to the door.

“Director Zhang,” she suddenly said, “no matter what the outcome is tomorrow, I will stick with you to the end. So please don’t feel too much pressure.”

Zhang Yu looked at her and nodded: "Okay."

Leaving Yang Mi's room, Zhang Yu walked down the hotel corridor, the mole under his left eye feeling slightly warm.

He could sense that tomorrow would be a turning point.

Either the studio will rise from the ashes.

Either you succumb to complete depravity.

But no matter what, he will keep going.

For himself, and for all those who believe in him.

Outside the window, the night is getting dark.

But Zhang Yu knew that dawn was just around the corner.

---

March 25, 2000, 10:00 AM, Hengdian, sunny, 12-21°C.

The atmosphere in the Orange Field Culture conference room was as heavy as a stagnant pool. Zhang Yu, Yang Mi, and Li Bing sat on one side of the long table, while Wang Jinghua and her two assistants sat on the other. In the middle were two completely different draft contracts—one was the "Studio Artist Management Cooperation Agreement" that Zhang Yu had revised all night, and the other was the "Studio Acquisition Letter of Intent" that Wang Jinghua had brought this morning.

Sunlight streamed obliquely through the blinds, sculpting lines of light and shadow on Wang Jinghua's face. The woman, in her early forties, wore a dark gray business suit, had short hair, impeccable makeup, and eyes as sharp as a scalpel. She leaned back in her chair, her fingers lightly tapping the table, awaiting Zhang Yu's reaction.

Zhang Yu picked up the "Letter of Intent for Acquisition" and read through the core terms again: Wang Jinghua would acquire 51% of the equity of Zhang Yu's studio in her personal capacity, becoming the controlling shareholder; Zhang Yu would retain the position of creative director, but all projects would require Wang Jinghua's approval; all existing artist contracts would be transferred to Wang Jinghua's newly established agency.

This is not cooperation, it's annexation.

“Mr. Wang,” Zhang Yu put down the letter of intent, his voice calm, “this is not quite the same as what we discussed on the phone.”

Wang Jinghua smiled, a professional smile that didn't reach her eyes: "Director Zhang, what we discussed on the phone was just an intention, but now it's a reality. I know your studio's current situation very well—the core project footage has been destroyed, and we need to urgently reshoot it, with a funding gap of at least 800,000 yuan. The 500,000 yuan from Chengtian is only enough to tide us over, not to save us. What I can give you is not just money, but also resources and connections in the entire artist management industry."

She was telling the truth. Li Bing gently shook her head, signaling Zhang Yu not to act impulsively.

Yang Mi spoke up at this moment. Today, she was wearing a dark blue suit skirt and a white silk shirt. Her long hair was tied up in a neat bun, and her makeup was exquisite. She exuded a mature aura that did not belong to a twenty-year-old girl: "President Wang, we do need the resources and connections you mentioned. But 51% equity means that the control of the studio will be transferred to your hands. This is not in line with our original intention - we set up the studio to be our own masters."

Wang Jinghua looked at Yang Mi, a hint of admiration flashing in her eyes: "Yang Mi, right? I've seen your profile, you have great potential. But you also need to understand that in this industry, sometimes being a 'partner' is worse than being a 'owner.' I'll give you controlling shares, but I'll also bring the studio opportunities to work with at least ten top-tier artists, investment guarantees for three films, and the best distribution and promotion channels in China. Many companies would kill for such terms."

“The terms are indeed very generous,” Zhang Yu continued, “but Mr. Wang, I have a question—why would you spend so much to acquire a newly established studio like ours that is currently facing a crisis?”

The question was very direct. Wang Jinghua stared at Zhang Yu for a few seconds, then smiled: "Because I have faith in you, Director Zhang. Not in your studio, but in you as a person. I watched 'Autumn' three times, and each time I had new feelings. You have a talent for bringing out the best in an actor. This ability is more valuable than any resource."

She spoke with great sincerity. Zhang Yu could sense that this woman's star quality was unique—not admiration, but an extreme appreciation and possessiveness towards talent.

“So you want to tie me up,” Zhang Yu said.

“Yes.” Wang Jinghua readily admitted, “Director Zhang, you’re not meant to stay in one place. You’ll fly away sooner or later. Instead of waiting for you to fly away and then chasing after you, let’s give you a cage big enough now—a magnificent, comfortable cage where you can fully unleash your talents.”

When she said "cage," her tone was very natural, as if this was the norm in the entertainment industry—talented people need to be "raised" to maximize their value.

Zhang Yu remained silent for a moment. The conference room was quiet, with only the faint sound of the air conditioner blowing air.