Chapter 1025: The Fat Mantis

In 2004, one event in the mainland entertainment industry drew considerable attention.

Around autumn, the cast of *The Peerless Twins* revealed that the actor playing Jiang Biehe had been beaten and hospitalized, and the perpetrators were two young men from Hong Kong.

Zhang Jianwei and Xue Tingfeng.

At that time, these two were among the most popular young stars in Hong Kong and the entire Chinese entertainment circle.

The former started as a singer and focused on TV dramas, while the latter, riding on his parents' fame, became a sensation across Southeast Asia.

Zhao Fusheng only heard about this incident ten years later; the parties involved were tight-lipped about the specifics. But he knew that under the circumstances, Zhang and Xue were indeed blacklisted for a time, and Zhang Jianwei never recovered.

Though unclear about what happened, two young men beating an old man was, in traditional Chinese moral views, quite unacceptable.

Not to mention, the incident caused a major earthquake in the mainland entertainment circle, with many famous actors and directors signing statements demanding severe action.

Zhao Fusheng knew neither party and had no intention of meddling. Besides, who knew if future events would even occur?

Even if they did, to be honest, Zhao Fusheng didn't believe the incident was without hidden truths.

In the entertainment circle, no one should claim to be a pure white lotus.

That so-called veteran artist who was beaten—four years later, his eighty-year-old father sued him for failing to fulfill his support obligations.

But few knew about this; media reports were just a few lines.

Each side had its own story.

So Zhao Fusheng had no intention of getting involved.

He wasn't Chu Qing, nor could he fight.

But at this moment, seeing Xue Tingfeng step out of the car, wearing his signature black sunglasses, with several assistants looking aloof, Zhao Fusheng couldn't help but smile.

They say youth is reckless; this guy probably embodied that phrase perfectly.

As a second-generation star who rose to fame early, he entered the entertainment circle to repay his father's debts and quickly became hugely popular. Though occasionally reckless, no one could deny Xue Tingfeng's talent.

Not to mention, a few years later, in a certain incident, he bravely took on the responsibilities of a husband and father. Then, his romantic life made many people choose to believe in love again.

Without exaggeration, one could see a man's growth through Xue Tingfeng.

From naive youth to an upright man.

Zhao Fusheng was happy to give him that assessment.

Even if it was a persona, it didn't matter—if something could be maintained for a lifetime, it became real.

“Mr. Zhao, do you know Tingfeng too?” At that moment, a voice sounded behind Zhao Fusheng.

Turning around, Zhao Fusheng saw Lin Zicong's assistant standing nearby, looking respectful.

“I've heard his songs; he's very popular on the mainland.” Zhao Fusheng smiled. “Something up?”

“Brother Cong invites you over.” The assistant, Lin Zicong's confidant, naturally knew how much Lin valued this man, so his attitude was extremely respectful.

Zhao Fusheng didn't waste words; he nodded and followed the assistant toward Lin Zicong's studio.

Lin Zicong's studio wasn't far, but it took a few minutes to walk there.

“Mr. Zhao, you're here.” Lin Zicong spotted Zhao Fusheng from afar and quickly came over to greet him with a smile.

“Brother Cong, you wanted to see me?”

Seeing Lin Zicong, Zhao Fusheng smiled and asked.

“No, no, I'm almost done filming. I'm having lunch with the director. If you have time, Mr. Zhao, would you like to join us?” Lin Zicong's round face was full of smiles as he spoke to Zhao Fusheng.

Zhao Fusheng was momentarily stunned, then understood: the other party was actively trying to curry favor and build a relationship.

He initially planned to politely decline, since he wasn't that familiar with Lin Zicong, and the latter was still an artist under Stephen Chow. Even if Zhao Fusheng wanted to recruit him, now wasn't the time.

But seeing the fat figure approaching from a distance, Zhao Fusheng paused, then smiled. “Is that the director?”

Lin Zicong followed Zhao Fusheng's gaze and nodded. “Yes, that's him.”

“Brother Jing, this is Mr. Zhao, he's…” Lin Zicong walked up to the hefty figure, ready to introduce them, but realized he didn't have a clear definition of Zhao Fusheng's identity.

Zhao Fusheng smiled, extended his hand, and greeted the other. “Director Wang, nice to meet you. I'm Zhao Fusheng, from Future Films on the mainland.”

“Mainland kid?” The short, fat man in front of Zhao Fusheng squinted his small eyes, looking like someone with a heavy mind.

“Yes.” Zhao Fusheng smiled. “I've seen all of Director Wong Jing's works. I didn't expect to meet you here today—what a coincidence.”

“You know me?” Wong Jing paused, then laughed.

He wasn't surprised to be admired by a mainland kid; after all, he was a notable figure in Hong Kong's film circle.

Zhao Fusheng chuckled and nodded. “I've heard some Hong Kong friends mention you. They all say Director Wang's shooting speed is very fast.”

Hmm?

Wong Jing paused. The other's words clearly indicated he was an insider.

“Uh, may I ask who your friends are?” Wong Jing looked at Zhao Fusheng cautiously, dropping his earlier dismissiveness.

“Andy Lau and Leslie Cheung have both told me that Director Wang's shooting speed is very fast,” Zhao Fusheng said flatly.

Some animals use feathers and color changes to intimidate opponents; in society, there are those who bluff without capital—so-called fools. In Zhao Fusheng's eyes, Wong Jing was a complete, outwardly tough but inwardly weak fool.

This man was smart, knew how to trim his sails, and after confirming that Hong Kong's film market was dead and profitless, he began constantly currying favor with the mainland.

In the entertainment circle, it's all about fame and fortune—that's understandable.

But the problem was that many people often hailed him as the last conscience of Hong Kong cinema, which left Zhao Fusheng speechless.

Wong Jing was a good commercial film quick-draw, but he really wasn't a good film director. Even that film *Chasing the Dragon*, which brought together Andy Lau and Donnie Yen, wasn't as excellent as the marketing accounts claimed.

However, under the circumstances at the time, Wong Jing's talent, film requirements, and attention to audiences were stronger than most mainland directors, so he was elevated to a pedestal.

Vulgarity and scatological humor.

That was Wong Jing's signature style.

The most obvious example was the *Macau* series, which churned out three films. From Andy Lau to Chow Yun-fat, almost every male star he worked with fell into Wong Jing's clutches. To make money, this guy had no shame left.

But regardless, Wong Jing, though a bit greedy, was generally decent; at least he didn't compromise on major principles.

Besides, Zhao Fusheng wasn't his father, Wong Tin-lam, and had no interest in disciplining someone else's son.

As for Wong Jing, when he heard Zhao Fusheng mention Andy Lau and Leslie Cheung, his expression immediately changed.

Neither of them was someone Wong Jing could afford to offend now.

Especially Brother Leslie Cheung, a bona fide superstar on the verge of being canonized. Though Wong Jing wasn't afraid of him or Andy Lau, the fact that Zhao Fusheng could be friends with them meant his status couldn't be too low—even if he was from the mainland, he wasn't someone to be casually looked down upon.

Moreover, Wong Jing suddenly recalled Lin Zicong's attitude toward Zhao Fusheng. Lin was Stephen Chow's man, yet he showed such respect to this mainland kid. Could it be that the other party had ties to Stephen Chow?

Smart people tend to overcomplicate things. Wong Jing now found Zhao Fusheng unfathomable, feeling that the young man's identity must be significant; otherwise, why would he appear so openly before him?

Could it be that the other party wanted to hire him to make a film?

If Zhao Fusheng knew that thought, he'd definitely laugh out loud.

He was just wandering around; Wong Jing wasn't worth Zhao Fusheng playing any three-visit-the-thatched-cottage games.

This probably came down to differences in vision and perspective. Perhaps Wong Jing considered himself a top commercial director in Hong Kong, but in Zhao Fusheng's eyes, he was just a director.

Sure, he could make money with films, but the problem was, he couldn't do anything else besides filmmaking. And he couldn't guarantee every film he made would be a box office hit.

Have you ever seen entertainment people actively flattering tycoons, but have you ever seen a tycoon actively flattering entertainment people?

That's the logic.

Economic base determines the superstructure; similarly, wealth determines one's vision.

Just like when we think a certain tycoon who sets a small goal of making a hundred million is showing off, but in reality, he's just talking about his business.

“Mr. Zhao, Brother Jing, we…” At that moment, Lin Zicong interjected appropriately, clearly sensing the tension between the two.

Zhao Fusheng smiled and said, “Director Wang, I happen to have something to discuss with you. How about we go together?”

Lin Zicong's words reminded him of something: he might consider pulling this fat mantis, Wong Jing, into the mainland market early.

After all, this guy was among the first batch of Hong Kong filmmakers to head north for money.

Wong Jing's eyes lit up; he naturally understood the goodwill Zhao Fusheng was offering. As they say, one doesn't strike a smiling face, especially when that face might turn into a benefactor.

With that thought, Wong Jing chuckled. “It's a wrap today. Mr. Zhao, my treat. Let me take you to taste some Hong Kong specialties.”

For a moment, one might think they were old friends reuniting.

Life, after all, is just acting.