Chapter 99: The Vulgar Face-Obsessed Fan

After finishing the call with Teacher Gao, Gu Cheng contacted Screenwriter Liu and Director Li for a brief chat.

He gained some understanding of the inevitable hurdle posed by "The Story of the Golden Powder Family."

The production was indeed politically sensitive. The screenwriter and director were mother and son; the screenwriter also served as producer, and the backing investor was the CCTV Film and Television Department.

The drama comprised 40 episodes, requiring over three months to shoot. Filming was set to begin in mid-October, with actors working continuously until the Lunar New Year wrap-up. Afterward, it would be purely post-production work.

For the busy Gu Cheng, three consecutive months off was unacceptable. He bargained and arranged to have one week off in early November and another in late December, asking Director Li to schedule scenes without the male lead during those periods.

Industry insiders knew Dingdang Network and Chengpin Audio-Visual were Gu Cheng’s companies (with Pan Jieying as the legal representative, though Gu Cheng had held press conferences) and that he was busy. After some compromise, they agreed.

Once the drama details were settled, the focus shifted to financial compensation.

At that time, the rumored National Radio and Television Administration’s 16th document hadn’t yet passed. Productions invested in by CCTV absolutely could not allow private capital involvement. Even if Gu Cheng participated, he would receive no economic benefits beyond a modest acting fee.

It was frustrating.

Fortunately, the other side understood Gu Cheng’s time was valuable and couldn’t offer tens of thousands per episode as payment.

After some negotiation, the producers offered a form of “indirect compensation”: if Gu Cheng complied and acted properly, they would grant Chengpin Audio-Visual two overseas drama introduction licenses.

In 2001, importing overseas TV shows was difficult, with strict annual quotas. Since the administration and CCTV couldn’t provide cash, they used these administrative approval slots, which cost nothing, to appease him.

Given the monopolistic environment, these two slots could generate at least a million yuan in profit if handled by a mediocre person. If someone as sharp as Gu Cheng got them, the potential was even greater.

American dramas were prohibited at the time, so Gu Cheng carefully decided to report one East Asian idol drama and one Japanese animation.

(Note: The nationwide ban on Japanese animation didn’t come until 2006; in 2002, watching Japanese animation legally was still allowed.)

The details of the PY (private) deal remain unspoken.

Once he received the green light, Gu Cheng called Lin Zhi-Ling, who was in Taiwan, asking her to contact some popular East Asian and Japanese production companies, send sample episodes to the administration to see if they could be imported, and if approved, negotiate prices with sellers.

Every little bit counts; a ten-million-yuan profit is still profit.

...

That evening, back at his residence in White Horse Apartment, Gu Cheng began packing.

The duplex apartment he purchased in June was now ready for move-in. Jiang Youbo’s Orange Studio handled the interior design, choosing eco-friendly materials and keeping the décor simple.

Because the place was large, three maids were hired to cook, clean, and manage household chores, each with their own bedroom.

Yet, whenever it came to packing Gu Cheng’s travel clothes, Pan Jieying still personally took charge.

Gu Cheng hadn’t fully shed his spoiled younger brother persona: in life, he wished Pan Jieying would leave him alone and grant him absolute freedom. But when facing setbacks in his career, he couldn’t help but confide, only to brush her off after using her support.

If there were such a thing as a “scumbag” in sibling relationships, Gu Cheng would be the benchmark.

While packing, Gu Cheng voiced his worries: “The administration is fixated on me as a ‘ratings killer’ and won’t let go. Sis, do you think with my status now, acting in ‘The Story of the Golden Powder Family’ will be a blot on my future record?”

In his future society, such distinctions of status wouldn’t exist. Not just 40 years later, but even 20 years on, wealthy second-generation entrepreneurs like Wang X Cong would still be part of the media world.

However, Gu Cheng was unfamiliar with the current “aristocratic circle” atmosphere and feared public opinion.

Pan Jieying thought he was unnecessarily worried. Over the past year, her experience had grown rapidly. Beauty and wealth afforded her social advantages, exposing her to the values of truly wealthy people.

She casually reassured him: “Don’t overthink it. Those ‘aristocrats’ are just fantasies of poor people. Do aristocrats not live? The Italian Prime Minister Berlusconi was still in a band and released records at 35—does that mean he wasn’t from a wealthy family?”

Gu Cheng hesitated briefly, retorting, “He wasn’t prime minister at 35!”

“But he was already Milan’s biggest real estate developer then, with money no less than yours,” Pan Jieying smiled and hit the key point. “So having some fun isn’t a big deal. The key is two things: first, being young means it’s okay to have some fun. You’ll only be 18 after the New Year; why not take the chance to experience life? Second, acting is fine, but with each role, you have to improve. Don’t regress and lower your standards.”

Gu Cheng felt warm inside, his worries eased.

Though “The Golden Powder Family” might not be a smash hit remembered 40 years later, it could help “cleanse” his image somewhat.

In “Meteor Garden,” Gu Cheng played the second male lead; this time, he was the genuine male lead, a step forward. The production didn’t accept investments, clearing misunderstandings that he only joined projects by bringing money.

Moreover, the casting was more serious, with nearly all professional actors, unlike the newcomer-heavy “Meteor Garden.” This recognition would help Gu Cheng build prestige for future collaborations.

Accepting these terms, the matter seemed less bleak.

Before leaving, he instructed his cousin: “I’ll be away a lot. You’ll have to handle the Lei Jun situation more carefully. When I’m off in early November, we’ll finalize things. Also, the second tranche of Sun Zhengyi’s 1 billion yuan will arrive in early December. Once the money’s in, help me buy that ‘Phantom J Book Alliance’ novel website. Next year, we’ll bring it under our wing, revamp it, and invest heavily to build a paid online novel platform.”

Gu Cheng’s idea was simple: after Chen Tianqiao’s Shengda completed “Legend,” it could do something similar; why couldn’t he? With Alipay at his disposal, cultivating user payment habits might be easier.

Pan Jieying, unaware of these subtleties, still thought Gu Cheng’s ideas were a bit fanciful—what was this online novel thing? Just those random “Misty Journey” or “A Date with XX” mystic tales online? Aren’t those all free to read? Could such things really make money?

Despite doubts, Pan Jieying executed Gu Cheng’s plan. Buying a literary sharing site was just a minor expense.

...

A few days later, Gu Cheng arrived in Beijing, preparing to visit the CCTV Film and Television Department to meet the main contacts and discuss auditions.

“The Story of the Golden Powder Family” was reportedly heavily funded by CCTV. Instead of using the old sets in Hengdian, they built an extensive, more era-appropriate outdoor set at the Tianjin Film Base near Beijing.

The “Golden Mansion,” jokingly called “Republican Era Grand View Garden,” cost over two million yuan in decoration—compared to “Meteor Garden’s” entire investment of five to six million, “Golden Powder Family” was in a different league.

The wealthy family in “Meteor Garden” was a Camry with a plastic Rolls-Royce emblem; the wealthy family in “Golden Powder” was the real deal.

Because filming was in Tianjin, actors were instructed to first come to CCTV’s Beijing headquarters for auditions, negotiations, and confirmations before starting work nearby.

Gu Cheng didn’t have a driver’s license or car in Beijing. Fortunately, since he had bought Dingdang Network a few months prior, Li Guoqing arranged a car to pick him up.

Li Guoqing, from the publishing industry, wasn’t familiar with entertainment norms but knew stars preferred spacious vehicles, so he sent a rare original Skoda SUV.

Gu Cheng was easygoing and not picky about cars; upon getting in, he told the driver to head to CCTV.

At that time, CCTV had not yet burned down, nor was the “big pants” building constructed. When Gu Cheng’s car parked below the building, it drew some attention from staff but little more—after all, the car wasn’t luxurious, just uncommon.

Being at the imperial capital’s media hub, staff were immune to surprises from the many celebrities passing through.

Wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, Gu Cheng took the elevator upstairs as directed by the invitation.

Within the hundred or so meters of corridor, he spotted four or five others wearing baseball caps—likely celebrities as well.

At the Film and Television Department, a female receptionist greeted him. After showing his invitation, she smiled warmly and led him to the lounge to wait.

He had arrived early; Liu the screenwriter and Director Li were still in another meeting.

In the lounge, Gu Cheng saw two young women also waiting awkwardly.

One appeared just over twenty, with a round face and water-lily eyes, reminiscent of Xue Baochai.

The other was much younger, with delicate shoulders, an oval face, and slightly chubby apple cheeks.

Upon seeing Gu Cheng, the women politely stood. Before he could introduce himself, he realized it was unnecessary—few young women these days didn’t know him.

“Mr. Gu, nice to meet you. I’m Dong Jie. I look forward to working with you and learning from you,” said the older girl.

“I’m Liu Feifei. Gu Cheng, I really admire you. I’ve watched ‘Meteor Garden’ several times. I’m a newbie—can you sign my autograph?” the younger one gushed.

Compared to Dong Jie, Liu Feifei was obviously very young and innocent, disregarding formalities.

Gu Cheng smiled gently: “No need to be so formal. Let’s learn from each other.”

After a brief chat, Gu Cheng noticed that CCTV’s casting this time was overly focused on looks. The director probably had no clear grasp of the characters in “Golden Powder Family” and just copied “Dream of the Red Chamber” blindly.

Dong Jie and Gu Cheng each had only one artsy or TV drama credit. Liu Feifei, only 14, had no experience and might have been a planted candidate.

But then again, if this weren’t an order from above, why bother with such a headache and invite Gu Cheng at all?