Chapter 101: Director Wu Xiang as Supervising Producer

(Thanks to “Flying Little Dragon” for the review votes, and to “Sage of Books” for the rewards—much appreciated!)

“Up-and-coming director Wu Xiang risking it all for his new film!”

“Director Wu Xiang’s new historical costume epic is finished filming.”

“Injured in Inner Mongolia, Director Wu Xiang aims to recreate a thousand-year-old battle!”

…The news broke out because of Wu Xiang’s injury, that arm hanging in a sling—it caught everyone’s attention. What else could the reporters do but dig deeper? So they unearthed Wu Xiang’s new project, which became a major scoop, a big deal in the domestic film industry.

“These guys are quite impressive, even managing to dig up the name,” Wu Xiang said, looking at the newspaper. He realized the reporter was really skilled, but it seemed to have helped him after all. Wasn’t this basically free publicity?

“Tell me! Did you hire them to hype this up?” Hai Qing, a fellow student, looked down on Wu Xiang’s marketing abilities with disdain.

“Xiao Hai, I truly didn’t plan to stir this up,” Wu Xiang replied. His original plan was to wait until the film’s release before any promotion, then hire some writers. But now the reporters had done him a huge favor. He couldn’t bite the hand that fed him—that would be unethical. Riding the wave was the right approach.

Hai Qing’s face broke into a playful smile. “I don’t believe it!”

Wu Xiang was at a loss. Even when telling the truth, people didn’t believe him. It was like weaving a cocoon for himself.

After the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers Film Festival, Wu Xiang returned to the capital immediately. Of course, he met many big names there, but his mind was elsewhere—his film wasn’t done yet. So his interactions were brief and distracted.

Busy—truly busy. The post-production of the film “Emperor Wu of Han” couldn’t proceed smoothly. First came the editing. Wu Xiang wanted to do it himself but realized he was just too overwhelmed.

In a dark room, a faint light projected onto a modest screen. Two young men, one tall, one short, each carrying heavy luggage, had just left their hometown. Upon entering the capital, the two were utterly stunned.

Then followed a series of tales about the struggles and quirky experiences of ordinary people, told with a humorous and witty tone.

This was “Get On, Let’s Go,” directed by Guan Hu, with Wu Xiang as producer and supervisor, currently fulfilling his duties.

To be honest, a bit late—this film was already completed, and as a supervisor, Wu Xiang should have reviewed it before editing. But he truly had no time.

Fortunately, Guan Hu’s work was quite commendable. The story flowed smoothly, though the comedic elements felt somewhat lacking.

“Senior Brother Guan, didn’t you let Huang Bo fully showcase his talent?” Wu Xiang asked after watching.

“What do you mean, Huang Bo? What could he showcase?” Guan Hu was puzzled.

Upon hearing this, Wu Xiang immediately understood. Huang Bo was still a rather inexperienced actor. How could he be expected to perform brilliantly?

Just like his character in the film, Huang Bo’s portrayal was shy and introverted, but fittingly so—it was completely natural acting. And don’t forget, Huang Bo hadn’t yet entered film school. Although he studied dubbing, the environment still helped his acting immensely.

Having realized this, Wu Xiang felt at ease. Films are never perfect. Perhaps the humor was a bit weak, but the film’s reflection on real-life issues was well done.

“Get On, Let’s Go” was finished and cleared by the censors. As the investor, Wu Xiang couldn’t just stand by. The next step was to promote the film.

No doubt, they had to involve Yu Dong. Although Uncle San also invested, how the promotion and operations were handled had to be up to them.

“Here’s the deal: the film must emphasize these words—‘Directed and Produced by Wu Xiang!’” Yu Dong said openly to Wu Xiang and the main creative team of “Get On, Let’s Go,” including Guan Hu, Gao Hu, Huang Bo, and the lead actresses Sun Yifei and Chen Ning.

“Why is that?” Wu Xiang immediately asked, as everyone understood the implication.

“Directed and Produced by Wu Xiang”—why add the word ‘Directed’? Wu Xiang wasn’t the director of this film.

It was simple. This was a way to blur Wu Xiang’s role as producer. Adding “director” wasn’t wrong—after all, Wu Xiang’s profession was director—but it created ambiguity, making it seem as if he both directed and produced the film.

Indeed, the Chinese language is vast and profound; it can convey multiple meanings at once. You can’t fault others for interpreting it differently.

In plain terms, this was just a publicity tactic. The film wanted to leverage Wu Xiang’s name because among the cast, he was the most famous. If not his name, whose would they promote?

Wu Xiang was no stranger to such marketing tricks. Before becoming a screenwriter, he used to write promotional articles for others. This was just a rudimentary method. He found it a bit silly, and also unfair to Guan Hu.

Yu Dong quickly replied, somewhat helpless, “This was suggested by the distribution chains after they saw the film. They think the market for this film isn’t very large. It’s not about migrant workers or any discrimination, but they don’t watch many films. So, they think if there isn’t a big-name star, the box office…”

The rest was obvious.

Guan Hu looked displeased but couldn’t argue. It was the truth from a commercial perspective, and he hoped for strong box office returns since Wu Xiang had promised the director’s fee would be a share of the profits.

“‘Produced by Wu Xiang’—just those four words. Tell them we can make those words bigger on posters, newspapers, bus stops, as large as they want. But absolutely no ‘director’ added. That’s my final word.” Wu Xiang said firmly, leaving no room for debate.

Seeing Wu Xiang’s stance, Yu Dong understood there was no need to argue. “Alright, I’ll tell the distributors that.”

“Good!” Wu Xiang wasn’t trying to make things difficult—they were all just out here trying to make a living.

The specifics of promotion and distribution didn’t need elaboration; these were familiar routines.

With a slap on the shoulder, Guan Hu tapped Wu Xiang with one hand. His arm tightened briefly, as if to embrace, then relaxed.

Without a word, Guan Hu didn’t even look at Wu Xiang, but in that moment, Wu Xiang understood—his friend was moved, even a glimmer of tears flashed.

“Brother Wu, you’re a good man, a truly good man!” Huang Bo came over and spoke, using their hometown dialect, straightforward and sincere.

“A good man?” Wu Xiang thought to himself, “Fool! You’ve already been sold out by me, you just don’t know it yet.”

“A good man!” Huang Bo gave a thumbs-up.

Others wanted to speak up, but Sun Yifei leaned in and said, “Everyone says you’re a big bamboo pole—so dark and ruthless. But today, I really think you’re alright, Senior Brother Wu. If I’d known, I would’ve acted in your ‘Emperor Wu of Han.’”

Sun Yifei was from the 1999 class of the Film Academy and had long heard the legends about Wu Xiang, the ‘big bamboo pole.’

“Wait, are you praising me or insulting me?” Wu Xiang was baffled.

Everyone burst into laughter.

(Hitting pause for today with two chapters—let the black market driver catch his breath. Please bookmark, recommend, and cast your votes on Sanjiang. Many thanks!)