"Let me give you a massage." Shang Yechu smiled and stood up. "I'm strong."
“This isn’t something you should be doing. Let him do it later.” Ji Juntao gestured towards the kitchen boy with his chin. “He learned it especially for me.”
Shang Yechu sat down again and took a sip of tea. Ji Juntao looked at her and said, "I heard from Xiao Gu that you're interested in making 'Happiness Street' into a series of movies? That's good news."
As long as a film series isn't too bad, it can leverage the brand's intellectual property to continuously attract audiences. If it succeeds, Shang Yechu, Gu Wenhua, and others will have a secure retirement.
As his business grew, Ji Juntao gradually began to seek stability. Although many of his subordinates had made a name for themselves, none had the influence of Shang Yechu (in fact, none in the entire entertainment industry had achieved this level of success). If Shang Yechu, as a pillar of the company, could be secured, Ji Juntao would certainly be happy to see it happen.
Shang Yechu was naturally adventurous; for example, his bet with Shao Guangji that day was a high-stakes gamble. Ji Juntao tried to dissuade him again and again, but to no avail. Although the box office success of "Happy Street" proved Shang Yechu right, looking back now, it still makes one shudder.
The fact that the adventurous Shang Yechu was actually willing to make a film series is undoubtedly great news. Ji Juntao could almost see pink, red, green, and blue banknotes beckoning to him...
"Actually, I haven't made up my mind yet," Shang Yechu said hesitantly. "I came here today specifically to discuss it with you."
Film series certainly have many advantages. Stable exposure, stable income, and at least for several years, no need to worry about running out of work. It also helps solidify Ye Xiaochu's market value. Over time, the character of Ye Xiaochu will become a national icon. It can also help Qingping Entertainment mentor newcomers.
As long as the "Happy Street" series doesn't suddenly go awry and ruin its reputation, Shang Yechu's ready-made dishes will be delicious for at least five or six years.
But nothing in this world is perfect. When a series of movies is made too many times, the characters become typecast. When audiences see you, they'll immediately think of the character you played in a particular movie. For example, many middle-aged and elderly viewers still call Shang Yechu "Xiao Ming" when they see Li Yiming!
Furthermore, playing the same role too many times inevitably leads to a stagnation or even a decline in acting skills. This is also why many lead actors in film series and long-running TV dramas only have one representative work in their entire careers. It's because the room for growth in acting skills has been locked in.
Furthermore, scheduling is also very inconvenient. If the film series continues, Shang Yechu will have to regularly reserve time slots for the films, and he won't have the same freedom as he does now.
Ji Juntao rolled his eyes, and the money in his dreams seemed to sprout wings and fly away from the scene.
She knew it. This was Shang Yechu. If it were any other actor, they'd be overjoyed to have such a secure job. But Shang Yechu—that damned bastard! She would definitely hesitate, wanting it but not quite, finding it hard to make a decision. Making it exceptionally difficult for President Ji to earn this job.
In this situation, forcing Shang Yechu to accept the film series would be disastrous. The two would definitely break up. Boss Ji's eyes darted around, and he smiled, "It's the New Year, no rush to talk about these things." Although the New Year was long over.
The young boy brought forward a plate of pears and a plate of grapes, diligently placing them on the coffee table. He crossed his arms and looked expectantly at Ji Juntao.
"Here, this is Xiao Tong. Tong Tianxing," Ji Juntao introduced. "I've also heard about your sitcom project on Happiness Commercial Street. Do you think he can get a position there?"
Upon hearing this, Shang Yechu changed her previous nonchalant attitude, raised her eyes, and critically scanned the child.
"His appearance is alright," Shang Yechu commented honestly, "but he needs to work on his physique."
The boy quickly said, "Big sister, if you get fat, President Ji won't like you anymore."
What a hassle! Shang Yechu glanced impatiently at Ji Juntao, who shrugged, as if to say: Why are you looking at me? Can't I like skinny girls?
“If you don’t want to train your physique, then it’s going to be difficult.” Shang Yechu put down her teacup. “I’ll give you five minutes to cry it out.”
Taking advantage of the moment when the child was squeezing out tears, Shang Yechu said to Ji Juntao, "That sitcom is still in its infancy. You need a script to make a movie, right? You can't just improvise on the spot. First, it's hard to find a screenwriter. Second, it's hard to find a director. Xiao Gu definitely can't direct it. If a movie director directs too many TV series, he'll ruin them."
The narrative pacing and cinematic language of TV series and movies are vastly different. When too many TV series are produced, the cinematic language inevitably becomes diluted, and when this is applied to movies, the style inevitably becomes cheap.
We've worked so hard to cultivate director Gu Wenhua; we can't let him go to waste.
"Director, don't worry, our company has signed quite a few. We'll shoot a few test episodes and then use the best ones." Ji Juntao patted Shang Yechu's thigh. "We've also signed a bunch of screenwriters, but the quality is truly terrible. They're just living off my salary and enjoying a life of leisure. Have all the good screenwriters died out?"
Besides Ji Juntao's own boldness, the generous treatment of employees was also an important factor in Qingping Entertainment's success.
Ji Juntao's mother once said, "Holding up a bone only attracts dogs, but holding up meat attracts wolves." Her daughter adopted this saying as her motto. Therefore, Qingping Entertainment adheres to a strategy of high salaries to retain talent: the more you do, the more you earn; the better you do, the more you earn.
Although both involve working like slaves for capitalists, the difference between high-quality and low-quality work is significant. Therefore, most employees at Qingping Entertainment are quite proactive, and the overall atmosphere is positive. However, the screenwriting industry is different: whether a script is good or not isn't determined by how much money you get paid!
Therefore, the group of screenwriters signed by Qingping Entertainment became a thorn in the side of President Ji. It would be a pity to close them down, but keeping them would be unpleasant; they were truly caught in a dilemma.
“Speaking of screenwriters, I have someone in mind.” Shang Yechu showed Ji Juntao his phone, which contained Jian Xiaojun’s information and the script for “The Mute Woman.”
"Her?" Ji Juntao was taken aback, then thought for a moment. "Can she do it?"
"Let's try it and see if it works." Shang Yechu packed the materials and sent them to Ji Juntao. "I'm leaving this to you. Be respectful and treat it like you're hiring a top screenwriter."
"Why don't you do it yourself?" Ji Juntao accepted the documents. "Are you in such a hurry to go—?" he said, winking at her.
Shang Yechu blushed and pushed her away, saying, "What nonsense! I'm going to Taiwan to find Teacher Shao."
"Tch." Ji Juntao curled his lip and stretched. "Fine. I promise to treat you impeccably. Are you sure you can handle it? Why aren't you crying yet?"
Perhaps frightened by Ji Juntao, the little boy hesitated for two seconds before finally bursting into tears.
Shang Yechu glanced at the living room clock. Five minutes and thirty seconds—although it was past the time limit, he was still a promising talent.
"That's enough." As soon as Shang Yechu raised her hand, the child's crying stopped immediately.
Shang Yechu glanced at him, her gaze returning to its usual gentleness: "Well done, go. I've got it."
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