After exchanging pleasantries, the two groups took their places. Cross-cultural collaboration required utmost caution. For example, the conference table was no longer a long table, but a round one. This avoided highlighting the hierarchy. A silent exchange of glances fell over the room. Such is the nature of cultural barriers; no one dared to speak first, fearing to touch upon some taboo.

Fortunately, Shang Yechu had already planned out the questions in advance, so now all she had to do was repeat them with a smile.

The translator relayed Shang Yechu's words: "In international co-production projects, Chinese actors should make up no less than one-third of the total cast. However, after reading the script, Yechu discovered that only she had a significant role, while the other Chinese actors did not have many scenes."

Director Lev gave a stiff smile, clearly not one for smiling, which at first glance even looked somewhat menacing: "Please rest assured, the number of Chinese artists is absolutely sufficient. As for the issue of screen time, I regret to inform you. Because the story takes place in a Soviet factory, it is destined that Soviet workers will make up a larger proportion. Our script can only tell the story of Wei and Kovalev, and the stories of others will be glossed over. We can't cram in a whole roast duck, with everyone getting a little bit."

As he spoke, he made a comical stuffing motion, a common gesture used when stuffing food into Peking duck. It seems the other person wasn't entirely ignorant about China.

Shang Yechu was prepared and said a few more words to the translator.

"Even so, it's unreasonable for Wei Bing to go to such a remote factory alone. She should at least have brought a few companions with her."

Before Lev could speak, the Russian screenwriter was already somewhat dissatisfied: "That would make the structure even more bloated! And you're not a screenwriter or director, just an actor. Please forgive me for saying this, but laymen just need to do their own thing. Actors like you only need to perform, not interfere with my script."

If the reporters and the Chinese director and screenwriter arrive, the two sides can no longer afford to argue so undignifiedly. They need to resolve this quickly during this period.

"You think," Shang Yechu retorted in broken Russian, "why is it a Sino-Russian co-production? Since it's a co-production, then China or Russia should be indispensable. Do you know what 'indispensable' means? It means irreplaceable. In your script—excuse me for saying this—do you think Wei Bingkai is irreplaceable? Would the plot change if you replaced her with a noble Soviet political commissar? Would the plot change if you replaced her with Krychkov from 'Chapayev'? Since the plot can continue as usual even if you replace her with a Soviet, then why do we need to co-produce? You can just find a few Russians to play house!"

Shang Yechu's Russian was not standard; it was halting and filled with incorrect usage, and even some English words. However, while she delivered this long, veiled speech, no one interrupted her. The Russian screenwriter, Mikhail, was already fuming, but he simply stared at her without saying a word.

The Russian production team members exchanged bewildered glances. Before arriving, they had consulted with experienced colleagues, as there were quite a few Sino-Russian co-productions, and many directors and actors had considerable experience. They had heard that the Russians here were generally reserved and easy to get along with. Moreover, out of fear of damaging bilateral relations, or perhaps out of respect for the Western world, most actors were quite obedient, sometimes even tolerating unpleasant situations…

Director Lev and screenwriter Mikhail exchanged a glance and couldn't help but say to Shang Yechu, "You seem difficult to get along with."

Shang Yechu retorted, "Your screenwriter seems extremely satisfied with his script."

Shang Yechu wanted to say, "Your screenwriter seems to think their script is an unbreakable alliance," but that would likely escalate the argument into a physical altercation, so she regretfully gave up. It was such a pity she couldn't say those words.

“Why don’t we wait for the other directors and screenwriters to arrive before we talk?” another screenwriter interjected. The implication was clear: what are we going to talk about with an actor?

Sergei had been silently observing Shang Yechu's argument with others until now, when he finally spoke up: "Kovalev is not Chapayev; he is much weaker than Chapayev."

Shang Yechu was taken aback: "What did you say?"

Before Sergei could answer, there was a knock on the conference room door, and the Chinese director and screenwriter arrived.

The Chinese director's surname was Huang, and the screenwriter's surname was Lu. As soon as they arrived, screenwriter Mikhail couldn't wait to complain: "Gentlemen, the lead actor seems very dissatisfied with our script."

Shang Yechu gave him a rather curious look. Many people often have a biased view of people from other countries, such as being open-minded, optimistic, and unpretentious. She used to think so too. Now, after getting to know them up close, she realized that everyone is the same. For example, Mikhail's tattling manner was as funny as a primary school student.

Director Huang and screenwriter Lu exchanged a glance.

The room was already packed with people, and the heat was intense. Director Huang dodged the question by saying, "Oh, why isn't anyone turning on the air conditioning?" He then went to find the air conditioning control on the wall.

Shang Yechu's ability to obtain the script was inseparable from the efforts of everyone at Qingping Entertainment. Of course, it was essential to establish connections with the director and screenwriter well in advance. Even if they weren't actually close, at least they had a certain level of respect and courtesy.

Director Huang and screenwriter Lu are both employed by the Guangying Century Film Studio in Beijing. CTS (China Television System) and Guangying Century Film Studio have collaborated extensively, and Shao Guangji also has numerous connections with the studio—the details of which are too numerous to elaborate on. The entertainment industry is a small world.

Although "Ice and Iron" was a co-production script, director Huang and screenwriter Lu actually had very little say in the production. This was mainly because the Chinese side couldn't possibly understand the Soviet Union better than the Russians, so many plot points had to be written by them. Coupled with language barriers and other issues, it underwent numerous revisions, resulting in the final product we see today.