Chapter 129: Twenty Million
After a brief moment of silence, Fang Qingqing finally came back to her senses.
There was no need to ask further—Xie Xizhao’s meaning was obvious. He believed Xuan Yang was the one with talent.
So, Fang Qingqing said, “Alright.”
She then delivered the words she had prepared. “I’ll talk to the legal team, and also to Shenghong.”
“Thank you, Sister Qing.” Xie Xizhao smiled.
They got out of the car together—one heading to his own office, the other going to a higher floor.
Xie Xizhao did have things to do.
But it wasn’t filming; it was paperwork.
Ever since he had shifted his focus to acting, his personal studio had also begun preparations. Half of his team came from his original group at Yaoxin, while the other half was newly recruited. That was how news of his studio had spread.
However, the outside world still didn’t know that Xie Xizhao already held shares in Yaoxin.
He was no longer just an employee of the company.
After signing the last document, he capped the pen and handed it back to Ming Li.
The latter smiled and said, “Mr. Xie, welcome to Yaoxin. Wishing you success with your new drama.”
“Thank you.” Xie Xizhao smiled, his eyes curving slightly as he expressed his gratitude.
After Ming Li left, he stood in the corridor for a while, letting the wind blow past him. Not far away, beneath the clear blue sky, skyscrapers stood tall. He gazed at them for a moment until a passing cloud briefly covered the sun, then withdrew his gaze and turned to go downstairs.
Back in his office, he checked WeChat.
His conversation with Xuan Yang was still stuck at exchanging cat emoji stickers.
The director always appeared reserved, both online and offline, but Xie Xizhao knew his switch.
For now, he chose to keep that button untouched. Logging into a video streaming site, he clicked on a film that didn’t even require a VIP subscription to watch.
And just like that, the entire afternoon passed.
—
When Zou Yi knocked on the door, Xie Xizhao was sprawled bonelessly in a beanbag chair, headphones on. He lazily said, “Come in.”
As Zou Yi pushed the door open, his gaze first landed on the screen.
A striking expanse of red.
Rose petals cascaded from the top of a spiraling staircase, covering the tiled floor below.
A woman in a red dress, high heels clicking against the petals, gracefully descended step by step. Each footfall crushed the delicate petals, making them tremble slightly.
Then, a sudden gust of wind swept through, lifting the petals into the air. They danced behind her, while in the distance, under the bright sunlight, the bare stems of the roses swayed, stark and radiant.
From Xie Xizhao’s headphones, a grand yet melodious rendition of The Wedding March leaked out.
Lately, he had been watching all kinds of films and dramas, so Zou Yi wasn’t particularly surprised.
But something about this scene felt off. He couldn’t help but take another glance before finally asking, curiosity piqued:
“Is this… a wedding?”
“Hm? No.” Xie Xizhao was clearly immersed in the story, his voice muffled. “It’s a murder.”
Zou Yi: …?
The next moment, the woman on the screen was gone, leaving only the trampled rose petals and a white skull on the floor.
At the same time, Xie Xizhao hit pause and took off his headphones.
“Brother, what’s up?”
Zou Yi had no choice but to tear his gaze away from the screen.
He seriously reflected on whether he had simply gone too long without watching dramas, making him unable to keep up with modern cinematography. Otherwise, why did he feel completely lost watching this scene?
Shaking off his confusion, he refocused and said, “You left your phone on the living room table. It kept vibrating, so I brought it over for you.”
Xie Xizhao took the phone and thanked him.
After unlocking it, he saw that his messages, calls, and WeChat notifications had all exploded.
—
All the inquiries were from the media.
That afternoon, right after signing the documents, news of his personal studio had been officially announced at the scheduled hour. Yaoxin had everything arranged seamlessly—Weibo’s official account, press releases, and trending topics were all in place.
Even though rumors had been circulating beforehand, this was still a major bombshell in the entertainment industry.
Xie Xizhao’s fans were, of course, thrilled.
Beyond that, there were all kinds of stunned reactions from onlookers.
[Holy crap… he really went for it??? Yaoxin has to be the most artist-friendly company in the industry!]
[Qi Yin is such an absolute fool, I swear. He’s basically Xie Xizhao’s biggest fan, right? How do you let your golden goose slip away instead of locking him down? Can you take some notes from Shenghong?]
[Xie Xizhao and Shenghong… it’s hard to say who’s luckier to have met the other.]
[Wait, doesn’t this indirectly confirm that long-rumored ‘special contract’ issue? If Xie Xizhao’s personal assets were still tied to Shenghong, then starting a studio wouldn’t even matter, right?]
[! That’s true!]
For a while, all kinds of rumors—both true and false—flooded the internet.
At the same time, over at Tao Yan’s Summer production team, anxiety started creeping in.
Fang Qingqing had seen it all before, and her judgment was usually spot-on.
For example, this really was an inexperienced team.
In the entire team, aside from the director and the assistant director, everyone else juggled multiple roles. The crew was roped in by the director, Xuan Yang, who sold them on his idealistic vision of “poetry and distant lands.” The funding? That all came from the assistant director, Du Wei—a second-generation rich kid.
The two had been classmates and once vowed to make films that would shock the world.
Reality, however, had been one flop after another, and their funds were nearly depleted. Du Wei’s father had already warned him that if he didn’t come home to inherit the family business soon, he’d break his legs.
Du Wei gambled a leg to buy himself more time—and to secure Xie Xizhao’s pay.
But now, he was starting to feel uncertain.
“No way,” he muttered, eyes vacant. “He’s practically half a boss now—why the hell would he still be interested in our crappy production? He could choose any project he wanted!”
Yes.
After Xie Xizhao left, they had gathered to analyze the situation and arrived at a conclusion:
This was probably Yaoxin’s conspiracy.
On the surface, it seemed like Xie Xizhao had made the decision, but in reality, the company must have something on him, forcing him to lower himself to join their crew. As for why it had to be their production, they hadn’t managed to come up with an explanation yet.
And now, all their previous assumptions had been shattered.
Even though a personal studio was just a studio, its implications were significant. At the very least, Du Wei was willing to bet that, at this moment, Xie Xizhao’s studio had more staff than their entire crew.
They couldn’t possibly treat an actor like him as a mere rookie anymore.
And no matter how they thought about it, they couldn’t come up with a single logical reason why he would join their production.
Xuan Yang, who had been practically glowing with excitement all afternoon, was now utterly deflated. He sat there, gripping his phone with its cracked case, nervously picking at the jagged edges of the fracture.
Just then, his phone vibrated.
Xuan Yang rarely received calls. The sudden buzzing startled him so much that he nearly threw his phone across the room.
When Xuan Yang saw the caller ID, he suddenly felt that he would have been better off if he had actually dropped his phone just now.
He took several deep breaths before finally answering, “…Hello?”
His voice trembled slightly.
There was a brief silence on the other end before a voice spoke. “Director Xuan?”
Xuan Yang sniffled, feeling like he was on the verge of tears. He fought back the lump in his throat and said, “I’m listening. Go ahead.”
Xie Xizhao hesitated for a moment. “…Alright.”
“It’s just,” he continued, “the contract hasn’t been signed yet.”
He paused before adding, “I wanted to ask—does Director Xuan still need investors? If so, we might as well sign both contracts at once. Saves me another trip.”
“…Actually, I really think this role suits you. Maybe you should reconsider—huh?”
Xuan Yang lifted his head in disbelief.
—
Thirty minutes later, Xie Xizhao found himself sitting on the same familiar couch once again.
This time, he had come alone.
Looking at Xuan Yang’s red-rimmed eyes, he raised an eyebrow and smiled in amusement. “Director Xuan, did you really cry from excitement?”
Xuan Yang fiercely wiped at the corners of his eyes, stubbornly holding onto the last shred of his dignity. “No, it was just the wind. The wind was too strong—it got in my eyes.”
—
The contract negotiations went smoothly.
Calling Tao Yan’s Summer a “production team” was already generous—it was basically a ragtag group of dreamers.
Now, with professionals stepping in, bringing funding, publicity, and manpower, there was no reason for the team to refuse.
After a week of careful contract revisions, Xie Xizhao signed both agreements.
With everything finalized, Du Wei extended his hand to Xie Xizhao with utmost sincerity. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Xie Xizhao replied.
Xie Xizhao paused for a moment before adding, “I’m doing this for myself, too.”
He made two demands.
First, he wanted to be involved in the entire filming process and have the right to voice objections.
Second, he wanted the authority to modify the script.
With his own paycheck included, Xie Xizhao had invested twenty million yuan into the production—essentially covering 90% of the budget. At this point, even if he suddenly decided to replace every cat in the film with a dog, the entire crew wouldn’t be in a position to argue.
Yet, when stating his terms, he still made a promise to Xuan Yang:
“Don’t worry, I won’t make major changes to your script.”
Xuan Yang had initially been hesitant.
He had his own principles.
Even if the person standing before him was his idol, his muse—the only source of comfort in his countless nights of frustration and struggle—his core beliefs could not be compromised.
But Xie Xizhao’s reassurance felt like an anchor, steadying him. By the time he snapped out of his thoughts, his name was already signed on the contract.
And the very first thing Xie Xizhao asked him to do—
“Director Xuan, can you tell me the full story?”
He paused briefly before adding in a gentle tone, “Just a simple summary, in your own words.”
