Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Invitation

"Ten million..." Gu Zhi stared at the card in silence. The initial thrill he’d felt at hearing the figure vanished in an instant.

“What’s wrong? Did you make a mistake in the calculations?” Liu Qi, noticing his expression, asked with a frown.

“No, I’m just thinking—one film’s profits are too little. I need to make more this year, and expand into other projects as well,” Gu Zhi replied, setting the bank card down, sounding a bit uncertain.

If only this were ten years from now, he thought. No matter what, a single film would never bring in such a paltry box office.

“So much money and you’re still not satisfied. You really are something! I don’t even know if I can make that much in a lifetime, and you did it in a year. Honestly... hearing you talk like that makes me want to give you a beating.” Liu Qi glared at him in exasperation, drained her cup of tea, and stood up as if to leave.

“I’ll walk you out, then. I’m heading home,” she said.

“Wait, don’t go yet. Do me a favor,” Gu Zhi called after her hurriedly—the woman moved too fast, already halfway to the door in a few strides.

“What is it? If you want me to take out the trash, forget it. Don’t count on me.”

“...”

“Come on, who said anything about trash? I need you to come to the bank with me. Let me change and we’ll go.”

“Why don’t you go yourself? Why drag me along? It’s not like you’re paying me.”

“I’m worried I won’t be able to carry everything by myself. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for your trouble.”

Three minutes later, fully kitted out, Gu Zhi slung a black duffel bag over his shoulder, grabbed the bank card, and left with Liu Qi.

“Take the trash with you, won’t you? It’s not heavy anyway,” he said solemnly at the door.

“Screw you!”

...

Half an hour later, the two returned to Gu Zhi’s place, lugging a nearly ten-kilo bag. After resting for a while, Gu Zhi unzipped the bag, and stacks of bright red bills filled his view—seven hundred and fifty thousand in total.

Withdrawing that much at once had made both of them nervous all the way home. Luckily the bank was nearby; otherwise, they’d never have dared to be so brazen.

Gu Zhi took out ten bundles and, under Liu Qi’s incredulous gaze, pushed them in front of her.

“This... this... for me? For helping you carry the money?”

“That’s separate. This is your bonus. When we filmed ‘The Butterfly Effect,’ you worked tirelessly behind the scenes, basically handling all the producer’s duties. It’s only right that you get a bonus. One hundred thousand—if you think it’s too little, we can discuss it.”

Liu Qi was utterly dumbfounded, her mouth agape. She stared at the pile of cash, then at Gu Zhi, speechless.

Gu Zhi could tell she was moved by his sincerity. He half-expected her to burst into tears, just like in the dramas.

But, as usual, he’d overestimated the drama of the moment.

“If you want to give me a bonus, why not just transfer it to my account? Walking around with this much cash makes me nervous!”

“Uh... but cash feels more sincere, doesn’t it? Isn’t it more exciting to see the money right in front of you, rather than a string of numbers in your account?” Gu Zhi tried to explain, feeling awkward.

The truth was, he’d just wanted to experience the thrill of tossing money around like a tycoon. Clearly, he’d failed.

“China Film already gave me a bonus, just not as much as this. I’d better not take yours. Taking two bonuses doesn’t seem right, does it?” Liu Qi put on a show, pushing the cash back toward him with a practiced air.

She was a convincing actor.

“Oh, cut it out. You’re not the only one getting a bonus—everyone’s getting one. Ning Hao, Tang Wei, Liu Ye—you guys get the largest shares, but the rest will go to the crew. Contact everyone over the next couple of days. Before the New Year, let’s all get together for a celebration dinner.”

“Alright!” No longer shy, Liu Qi swiftly stuffed all ten bundles into her bag.

“Liu Ye just got back from Hong Kong. Ning Hao and Sister Xing are already in Shanxi. See if they can make it back to Beijing; if not, we’ll have the dinner after the holiday.”

“Got it.”

“Hey, wait a second! When did I become your employee? You’re bossing me around like it’s second nature.”

Gu Zhi smiled and smoothly changed the subject to something more important.

“I’m thinking of starting a film company. I want you to help me. I need someone capable in charge, and you’re perfect for the job.”

He’d had this idea a few days ago—set up the company before going home for the New Year, sign Tang Wei and Gao Yuanyuan as soon as possible, and not let these two slip away.

He wasn’t worried about Tang Wei; she was already in his corner, practically his to command. Gao Yuanyuan was another matter. Though they got along well in private, their relationship wasn’t close enough to override personal interests. If he delayed, someone else would probably sign her up after the holiday.

Even Li Xiaowan from Rongxin had nearly snatched Tang Wei before. Gao Yuanyuan was even more at risk, especially with Wang Jinghua waiting to pounce.

Since Liu Qi was here today, Gu Zhi decided to strike while the iron was hot—give her a generous bonus to show his sincerity, then immediately try to recruit her.

From the moment he’d decided to start a company, Gu Zhi knew he needed Liu Qi. She’d been at China Film for years, working closely with Han Sanping. Her contacts and experience behind the scenes were invaluable—far beyond what he, a newcomer, could offer.

For a fledgling film company, what mattered wasn’t just the caliber of its stars, but also the strength of its behind-the-scenes team: managers, assistants, cinematographers, makeup crews, and so on—all essential.

Gu Zhi never wanted a mere talent agency. He wanted a film giant, from production to distribution, publicity, and even owning cinemas and theater chains. He knew it was early days, but laying a solid foundation and building a comprehensive team of his own was essential.

This was where Liu Qi’s value shone. Gu Zhi was determined to bring her on board.

Seeing her still hesitant, he pressed, “I’m serious. I need you. Don’t worry about the terms—you know me, I’m no ruthless capitalist, and you’ll be far better off than at China Film.”

“You mean it? You’re not joking?”

“I’m not. I’ll register the company at the business bureau tomorrow. I’ve already picked out a location. I want to have the basics in place before going home for the holiday, and I need your help.”

Liu Qi looked at him intently, finally realizing he meant what he said. Her expression grew serious.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Gu. I really enjoy working with you, and I’m happy you want me on your team. I’m touched that you need me.”

From experience, Gu Zhi knew that such words always led to a “but” in the next sentence.

“But Han Sanping has mentored me for so many years. I just got promoted to producer. I can’t leave China Film right now—it would be too ungrateful.”

As expected: moved, but refusing.

“I’ll talk to Han Sanping myself, how about that? After the company is set up, our biggest collaborator will still be China Film. If you join me, you’ll still be dealing with him—it’s just a change of office, really.”

Liu Qi was tempted, but wavered.

Setting aside personal feelings, she actually preferred Gu Zhi’s offer. Being part of a new company’s foundation would make her one of the founders, second only to Gu Zhi in authority. The company’s potential was undeniable—Gu Zhi had already made ten million with one film, launched a new star, and his upcoming projects looked promising. His position in the industry would only grow.

And he’d just handed her a hundred thousand in cash without batting an eye.

Factoring in her feelings, she wanted to choose Gu Zhi even more.

But this was about her future—she couldn’t decide alone, or on a whim.

“I need to discuss it with my parents. I’ll give you an answer tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright, I’ll wait for you.”