Chapter 67: The Godfather of Entertainment

In the end, Feng Chenchen could only muster a tone of admiration and offer a few compliments: “Your performance in ‘Fury Road’ has reached new heights. The simpler and more linear the plot, the more it tests an actor’s skill. Hardy’s acting was commendable, but what truly carried the entire straightforward story were your moments of magnetic charm, blending strength and gentleness. That’s something the script can’t articulate, nor can the director’s vision resolve. For a film with such a simple storyline, almost all the audience’s anticipation comes from their expectation of you.”

Her words tumbled out in a jumble of grammar mistakes and misused terms, but she managed to get her point across.

Theron couldn’t help but pause in surprise.

“Hearing your evaluation is interesting—I didn’t even realize myself that I had so much depth,” Theron said with a smile, taking a sip of champagne.

Liu Yuan felt a little embarrassed. From an actor’s point of view, he’d honestly never approached it from this angle before. It was as if professional rivalry or being too close to the subject had blinded him. He’d watched ‘Fury Road’ twice, yet never analyzed it from this perspective.

At that moment, Little Ma, having nowhere else to go, wandered over and caught the tail end of Feng Chenchen’s speech.

With an ally nearby, Feng Chenchen instantly regained her confidence, even flirtingly hooking her arm through Little Ma’s, her whole demeanor suddenly self-assured.

Theron frowned slightly, giving Little Ma a second look. In her eyes, a mere pretty boy at this kind of gathering was beneath notice, which in turn lowered Feng Chenchen’s perceived worth.

Seeking approval, Feng Chenchen deliberately turned to Little Ma and asked, “Darling, was I right?”

Little Ma, slightly jittery, nodded. “That’s right. There’s the audience’s perspective, then there’s the professional perspective—this is what they call ‘being too close to see clearly.’ Professionals want to make films better, but unfortunately, many things don’t go as planned. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be so many flops. For example, if industry insiders were to critique Tomato Chengdong Potato’s works, they’d find nothing good in them—there’d be enough flaws to discuss for days. But the problem is, those movies are actually fun to watch. Fix all those so-called professional issues, and the film almost always fails at the box office.”

“Who is Tomato Chengdong Potato?” This time, both Liu Yuan and Theron were left open-mouthed.

They weren’t the only ones. Just then, the unremarkable-looking Mike Travis happened to walk over and asked in surprise, “Who is Tomato Chengdong Potato?”

Well, that left Little Ma a bit embarrassed, but he refused to back down. “You all know nothing of power. Explaining would be a waste of breath.”

Liu Yuan didn’t care what Little Ma was saying at this point—he was taken aback at first, not recognizing him at a glance, but when he did, he was delighted. Holy hell, wasn’t this the legendary producer Mike Travis? He never imagined he’d meet him here!

From that moment on, Liu Yuan’s eyes shone with admiration.

Doing his duty as an intermediary and eager to make a connection with Travis, Liu Yuan introduced Feng Chenchen, saying, “Mr. Travis, this is Feng Chenchen. She’s not from the industry but plans to enter it. She brings with her a certain aura and a fanbase, along with some ideas for drawing fans from overlapping circles. There are certainly issues, but I think there are some bright spots too.”

Yet Travis remained unimpressed. He held the stub of his cigar between his lips and looked at Feng Chenchen with cold indifference, then at Little Ma.

Feng Chenchen, meanwhile, was visibly excited. She fumbled through her bag, producing a script and eagerly tried to pitch herself. “Not only that, I also have ideas from a pure audience perspective—”

But before she could finish, Travis, with utter impatience, took the paper script from her, gave the title a cursory glance, and casually tossed it into the nearby trash can.

His overbearing rudeness was startling. Feng Chenchen’s face turned ashen, and both Liu Yuan and Theron felt deeply awkward. But they knew Travis’s reputation as an old scoundrel—his connections were even more formidable, and this was simply his usual conduct in the industry.

Birds of a feather flocked together, and most people in this corner were either from the industry or closely related to it. Everyone had their own clout, but there was no question that Travis was the godfather here.

Whenever something like this happened, a crowd would naturally gather. In this setting, Travis was always right, and anyone who disagreed was simply wrong.

The onlookers began to murmur and comment among themselves.

Feng Chenchen wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole. She’d never experienced such humiliation in her life.

Travis took two more powerful drags on his cigar, filling the air around him with smoke, then looked at Feng Chenchen coldly. “You don’t get it, do you? Do you really think popularity and fans are important? That the script is important? In fact, you just said it yourself: ‘You know nothing of power.’ The things you think matter, I consider irrelevant. First, you need to be clear about your purpose in doing something. Second, you need the ability and resources to accomplish it. On this earth, nothing else matters. Why does a film have to be a hit or make money? Everyone involved has their own reasons for joining in—the film is just a platform for everyone to get what they want. It’s like how the Soviets’ moon landing wasn’t really about aerospace technology. For this reason, some people make ten films, and less than three even reach the market, but they keep making movies. Is that so strange?”

Theron knew he was right, but was exasperated all the same. The man was a notorious old scoundrel—who knew how many A- and B-list stars he had harassed or exploited over the years? There had been many complaints against him, but nothing ever came of them—he was beyond reach, unaccountable.

Yet his brazen logic still drew scattered applause from the onlookers.

Feng Chenchen was left aggrieved, helpless, and flustered.

Little Ma, still his quirky self, said, “Chenchen, fight back! Give this bald jerk a taste of his own medicine.”

The entire crowd’s faces darkened at that remark, and even Theron felt a headache coming on—this was serious trouble.

Feng Chenchen’s scalp tingled with anxiety. At this point, it wasn’t even a question of whether she wanted to retort—she was caught in the middle, unable to offend either side.

Seeing her hesitate, Little Ma took it upon himself to blast back: “You know nothing of power. You know nothing of film. You know nothing of scriptwriting. You know nothing of art.”

Damn—

Travis had never encountered anything like this before. Was this guy an escapee from an asylum? How dare someone say he didn’t understand films or screenwriting?

Enraged, Travis instead broke into a laugh, clamping the stub of his cigar between his lips again and staring coldly at Little Ma.

The commotion drew the attention of Ni Feihong, who happened to be passing by on the Poseidon.

As fate would have it, she spotted her own employee, Little Ma, acting up again. Unable to help herself, she accidentally sprayed a mouthful of champagne onto Travis’s face, extinguishing his cigar in the process.

Many in the crowd wore odd expressions at this turn of events.

Feng Chenchen, meanwhile, was prepared to watch the female boss who’d once blacklisted her suffer some embarrassment. She herself had already been humiliated, but this was just the beginning.

Travis, recognizing Ni Feihong, paused for a moment without lashing out. She was a stunning beauty, and her presence added value wherever she went. The old scoundrel decided to observe the situation before reacting.

“I’m so sorry… truly sorry,” Ni Feihong apologized, blushing, and quickly pulled out a handkerchief to wipe Travis’s face.

Travis said nothing, offering only a faint smile.

After apologizing, Ni Feihong was racked with concern. She was well aware of how eccentric Ma Weimin could be, though he wasn’t a bad person—just misunderstood. She couldn’t fathom how he’d gotten in here, or why he was mingling with someone like Feng Chenchen, and seemingly on such close terms.

What was even stranger was that he spoke flawless English—hardly a superpower, but still something she hadn’t noticed before.

After her mental tangent, Ni Feihong apologized sincerely once more: “I really am sorry, Mr. Travis.” Then she glared at Little Ma, signaling him to behave.

Little Ma was still somewhat disgruntled but started to quiet down. He always had complicated feelings toward Ni Feihong—both his current body and his true self liked her. Since his rebirth, it was rare for his feelings to align like this; usually, there was an internal split—someone Little Ma liked, the ‘Demon King’ would dislike.

Travis studied Ni Feihong’s almost otherworldly beauty for a moment, then smiled slightly. “No need to apologize—you haven’t offended me. Unless our interests clash, I rarely hold a grudge. Looks like you know this guy? Where did he come from?”

Ni Feihong, flustered, glared at Little Ma again, hesitated for a moment, then said to Travis, “He’s my employee. And… he’s not a gatecrasher—I brought him here.”

Instinctively, she felt a need to protect Little Ma, though she couldn’t quite explain why.

With that, the surrounding guests lost interest in questioning whether Little Ma had an invitation. However, a flicker of disdain crossed many faces, suggesting that Little Ma was just Ni Feihong’s lowly assistant.