Chapter Fifty-Five: A Minor Interlude

After a morning of lively discussion, the core creative team grew much closer. Ni Dahong, being slightly older, was the most uninhibited among them; the others were all of a similar age, making communication effortless and fostering quick familiarity. After a thorough explanation of the script, Liu Qi casually mentioned the schedule for the start-up ceremony: November 1st.

Once the ceremony concluded, filming would begin immediately, with an effort not to waste a single moment. The aim was to wrap up shooting by early December and complete post-production before January, so that the crew could return home in time for the New Year.

With the work arrangements laid out, noon had arrived. The main creative members went together to the company cafeteria for a simple meal, knowing they still had to discuss filming details in the afternoon.

Just before leaving the conference room, Gu Zhi didn’t forget to toss out the now-cold mung bean drink. He had only taken one sip from start to finish—the bizarre, tangy taste went straight to his brain, nearly making him gag.

Liu Qi burst out laughing right then and there, and Gu Zhi suspected she’d brought it specifically for him, hoping to see him embarrass himself.

She continued to look down on Gu Zhi for this afterward.

"Ah, if you’re not a native of the capital, you probably can’t appreciate what’s so good about this drink."

···

For the next few days, the core creative team remained together, getting acquainted with the rest of the crew and waiting for the official start.

During this period, a small incident occurred.

One afternoon, Gu Zhi received a call from Huayi; Wang Jinghua invited him to dine at a private club, saying she wanted to introduce someone to him.

Gu Zhi was busy revising storyboards at the time, so he had no interest in attending such a baffling dinner and declined outright.

He thought Wang Jinghua would drop the matter, but to his surprise, she showed up at the studio the very next day, bringing her guest along. Gu Zhi had no choice but to receive them.

After the usual pleasantries over drinks, Wang Jinghua revealed her true purpose.

Officially, it was to introduce someone to Gu Zhi, but in reality, she wanted to secure a role in his new film for her “new artist”—preferably the female lead.

In truth, this person couldn’t really be called “new”; she had just transferred under Wang Jinghua’s management, who doted on her, always referring to her as “our Bingbing.”

This “new artist” was none other than the future Queen Fan, currently a minor maid known as Golden Lock.

In recent years, she had just appeared in "My Fair Princess" and participated in "The Legendary Swordsman," playing supporting roles in both. Compared to the now-famous Zhao Wei and Ruby Lin, she was leagues behind, and with her ambition, she was hardly content to stay there.

She sought out Gu Zhi precisely to forge this connection and use film resources as a shortcut to surpass her peers.

Fan was bold and assertive at the dinner, taking the initiative. With Wang Jinghua’s tacit approval, she kept sidling up to Gu Zhi, toasting him repeatedly, until she nearly ended up sitting on his lap. Even this youthful director was nearly overwhelmed and quickly edged away.

She was simply too enthusiastic…

To secure the female lead, the pair promised that Fan would participate for free—zero remuneration.

Such terms meant both Huayi and Fan herself were making significant concessions.

Gu Zhi was truly impressed; her drive certainly deserved her future reputation.

Unfortunately, despite their sincerity, they had arrived too late.

The female lead had already been decided, and Gao Yuanyuan’s performance thus far had been excellent. Gu Zhi couldn’t possibly make the bad-faith decision to replace her halfway through.

Moreover, with filming about to begin, even if Fan wanted the role, there wouldn’t be time for her to memorize the script. The crew couldn’t wait for one person to catch up.

Frankly, Gu Zhi thought Fan would have suited Song Mingxi well; her wild energy was more than enough. Her appearance, however, was too seductive, liable to distract young audiences and lead their thoughts astray.

After being gently turned down, Fan didn’t give up—instead, she immediately proposed to appear in his next film, lead or supporting, remuneration negotiable, so long as she had a part.

After making her request, she drained a large glass of strong Baigan in one go, full of swagger.

At just nineteen, Fan drank baijiu without hesitation; so young, yet already fearless at the table. Gu Zhi watched this, feeling a twinge of pity.

From Golden Lock to Queen Fan, whether by any means necessary or through relentless self-promotion, she had surely sacrificed more than most could imagine.

At this point, there was nothing more to say. Gu Zhi directly agreed to her request, though he clarified that the female lead was unlikely, but she would definitely have a role.

Upon receiving his promise, Fan was still delighted, even if it wasn’t the lead. She raised her glass again to toast.

Gu Zhi stopped her, took the glass from her hand, and gently shook his head.

“No need to drink. Next time, let’s just talk business. If I find a part that suits you, I won’t forget you.”

He set down the glass, greeted Wang Jinghua, and, under their complicated gaze, left first.

He figured if he stayed any longer, something unspeakable might happen that day, so he made his escape.

This small episode didn’t affect the planned schedule.

On November 1st, the launch conference for "My Savage Girlfriend" was officially held.

Originally, the studio had planned a ritual—prayers, incense, firecrackers—like they’d done for the previous film. At that time, Gu Zhi hadn’t been in a position to refuse, but this time he decisively vetoed it, and Liu Qi raised no objections.

He had always been averse to such superstitious nonsense; it wasted both time and money. Filmmaking should be about making films, not setting up some “film deity” to worship.

Over fifty media reporters attended—twenty invited by the studio, the rest self-organized from all over the country.

During the Q&A session, reporters eagerly posed questions, all focusing on Gu Zhi.

“Mr. Gu, yesterday the first month’s box office results for ‘Butterfly Effect’ were released: a total of 58.79 million, far outpacing the two other films in the same period. Directors Feng Xiaogang and Wu Yusen both lost out to you—how do you feel about this?”

Gu Zhi frowned and glanced at the nameplate on the microphone—Pig Farm Entertainment Online.

Well, Pig Farm certainly knew how to stir things up, starting off by trying to provoke him.

“First, I want to thank the audience for their love of ‘Butterfly Effect.’ Without their support, we couldn’t have achieved this result. The film’s success isn’t just my achievement, but the result of the entire crew’s hard work. It wasn’t me who defeated Director Feng and Director Wu Yusen—it was all of us together.”

Gu Zhi couldn’t be bothered with false modesty or platitudes, knowing Pig Farm never reported anything straight anyway.

“Mr. Gu, this is your second film—why are you still using an all-new cast and crew? You said this is a romantic comedy, so relying solely on your own box office appeal, without the participation of popular stars, aren’t you worried about a box office flop?”

This question came from the newly established Penguin News.

Gu Zhi looked up and smiled—ah, his own people, no wonder the question was so considerate.