Chapter Sixty-Nine: Thirty-Five Million Two Hundred and Ten Thousand Hong Kong Dollars

At ten o'clock in the morning, a hastily arranged press conference was held at the China Film Group headquarters.

Originally, only about thirty media outlets were expected, but somehow word got out, and just before the event began, another dozen or so rushed in. In the end, nearly every media organization in the capital managed to make an appearance.

This turnout far surpassed last month's launch event for the new film.

Gu Zhi appeared on stage with a stony expression, taking his seat at the very center, while Ning Hao and Liu Qi sat on either side of him.

Everyone understood perfectly well that Gu Zhi was the main focus today; the other two were automatically relegated to the background.

Gu Zhi swept a cold gaze over the eager reporters, already considering whether he should use this opportunity to promote “My Sassy Girl.”

He blew twice into the microphone—both to test the volume and to quiet the lively crowd below.

Dozens of eyes were fixed intently on Gu Zhi, as if they wanted to see straight through him.

To be honest, although he had attended many press conferences before, Gu Zhi still felt somewhat uneasy inside.

He took a deep breath, maintaining a facade of calm. Without waiting for questions, he began to speak first.

“Good morning, everyone. I know why you’re all here today. Allow me to explain first; you can ask your questions afterwards.”

The reporters were patient; after waiting all morning, they didn’t mind a few minutes more.

“First, as to why I didn’t attend the Golden Horse Awards.”

“The reason isn’t complicated. To begin with, I simply didn’t believe ‘The Butterfly Effect’ would win. It’s a pseudo-science fiction suspense film, and, more importantly, a commercial film. Such genres have never been favored by major awards. When compared to the artistry of the other three nominated films, I feel I fall short.”

“Moreover, it was only nominated for Best Original Screenplay. If I went and didn’t win, people might accuse me of brazenly walking the red carpet for attention. In fact, ‘The Butterfly Effect’ didn’t win, and I’m rather glad I didn’t attend—otherwise, it would have been embarrassing.”

At this, the audience erupted in low murmurs.

“Afraid of losing face? Not showing up is embarrassing all the same…”

“If it were me, I wouldn’t go either. It’s not even a Best Picture nomination; why waste the time? Even if you brought back the screenplay award, our colleagues in the media wouldn’t bother to report it.”

Gu Zhi raised his hand to quiet them, then continued, “Secondly, as you all know, my second film, ‘My Sassy Girl,’ began shooting recently.”

“In order not to delay next year’s Valentine’s Day release, the cast and crew have been working overtime every day. We’ve barely taken a few days off in an entire month, and now, at last, we’re more than halfway through. To present you with a film as perfect as possible, I hardly even take bathroom breaks—I simply don’t have the time to attend the Golden Horse Awards. I hope you all understand.”

Gu Zhi took the opportunity to promote his film, entirely unabashed.

“Second—well, before addressing the second matter, let me make one thing clear. I have the utmost respect for the Golden Horse and Golden Statue Awards, and for every award, for that matter.”

The mention of the Golden Statue Awards caught the reporters off guard; they exchanged puzzled glances, unable to guess Gu Zhi’s intentions.

“Now, I wish to make a solemn announcement to the public: from this day forward, whenever Chen Guo is involved with an award, I, Gu Zhi, will absolutely not attend the award ceremony—be it the Golden Horse, the Golden Statue, or any other international prize.”

He deliberately paused between words, emphasizing the key points.

The moment he finished, the room erupted with commotion.

Even Liu Qi and Ning Hao beside him were visibly shocked; they’d never expected Gu Zhi to make such a statement.

“Third Master just warned us to be careful with our words, and now, before the echo has died down, he’s already lost his restraint. What an idiot,” Liu Qi thought, turning to glare at Gu Zhi.

“Gu Zhi is too impulsive. How could he say something like that in front of so many reporters? He could’ve simply avoided Chen Guo in private,” Ning Hao mused, shaking his head. What’s said cannot be unsaid now.

Gu Zhi was unfazed by their reactions; he had planned this response long ago.

That Chen Guo had, at the Golden Horse Awards and in front of all the media, not only targeted him but openly insulted the entire mainland film industry.

If he remained silent, offering no response, it would be as if he allowed others to walk all over him and accepted it willingly.

Were it not for the need to avoid obscenities, he would have dearly loved to hurl curses at Chen Guo—Who are you to criticize me, or all mainland films? Take a look in the mirror before you judge others.

Of course, these words could not be spoken in front of the media. Gu Zhi could only vent his anger internally.

His footing was not yet secure; otherwise, forget Chen Guo—a mere director—he’d have cursed the Golden Horse Awards themselves and declared, “From now on, I’ll never attend this lousy event again.”

A director from Hong Kong could berate mainland filmmakers at the ceremony with impunity. What would happen if he had criticized Taiwan’s film industry instead? Would the Golden Horse Awards have let him speak so freely? Would the audience have laughed along so heartily?

These words, too, could not be spoken—not yet, at least. Still, Gu Zhi was certain he’d done the right thing. He had been condemned once by the Golden Horse already; what did it matter if it happened again?

“I’m done. If you have questions, go ahead—don’t rush, I’ll answer you one at a time.”

Every reporter in the room shot their hands up at once; some even stood on tiptoe, anxious to be noticed.

Gu Zhi selected a reporter from Sina Entertainment Online, who was standing right at the front.

“Hello, Gu Zhi. Does your statement mean you’ll never again share a stage with Director Chen Guo from Hong Kong? Are you deliberately targeting him?”

“I’ve made myself perfectly clear—I am, indeed, targeting him,” Gu Zhi replied bluntly, without the slightest hesitation.

“Gu Zhi, with such words, you risk offending the entire Hong Kong film industry. Is this a rash decision, or have you carefully considered the consequences?” asked Entertainment Gossip Online.

“Whether it’s impulsive or carefully considered, I won’t go back on my word. As for offending anyone, Director Chen Guo has already offended me. Why not ask him what he intends to do about it?”

“Director Chen Guo said at the Golden Horse Awards that, with people like you in mainland cinema, there’s no hope for the industry. How do you respond?” inquired Entertainment Star World.

“My first film grossed nearly eighty million at the box office, and soon it will be released in overseas markets. My second film, ‘My Sassy Girl,’ will premiere next Valentine’s Day. By then, everyone will see whether my presence brings decline to our film industry—or greater prosperity.”

“And, if I may add—does anyone know what Director Chen Guo’s films have grossed? What’s this year’s highest box office for a Hong Kong film? If I recall correctly, the champion was Andy Lau’s ‘Needing You,’ with 35.21 million Hong Kong dollars, right? What’s that in RMB?”

He glanced at the reporters, and to his surprise, someone knew the answer.

“A little over twenty-nine million RMB.”

“Oh, that little? I thought it was much higher—not even half of mine. I wonder where Director Chen Guo gets his confidence, criticizing the mainland film industry. I suggest he spend more time worrying about the state of Hong Kong cinema instead.”