Chapter 1292: The Old Fox Makes His Move

There is never a free lunch in this world; those who seek to reap without sowing will ultimately end up with nothing.

Many people see the extravagant lifestyles of super-rich individuals and think they are always enjoying life, forgetting that even rich second-generation heirs like Si Cong work hard.

Wealth is never something that falls from the sky.

Entrepreneurs, even second- or third-generation heirs, face numerous challenges. They may rely on connections to get their first pot of gold, but the subsequent competition is something they must resolve on their own.

Often, in the eyes of outsiders, the lives of the wealthy are enviable—flying around in private jets, attending various events, surrounded by beautiful women.

But in reality, these people have unspeakable hardships, because they have many things to deal with every day and many issues to worry about.

Some even sleep only four or five hours a day.

Ma Xiaoyun’s later remark, “My biggest regret is founding Alibaba,” was seen by many as pretentious and overly sentimental. But upon reflection, it might actually reveal a deep-seated wish of his.

Sometimes, a comfortable life is inversely proportional to wealth.

If you choose a comfortable and stable life, you must accept not being rich. Similarly, if you want to be rich, you must pay with hard work.

Of course, if you have a good father who leaves you billions in advance, you don’t need to worry about that.

But be careful—if the old man is in a bad mood and entrusts all his property to a foundation, leaving you with only two million a month, that would be tragic.

So, female celebrities who marry into wealthy families are sometimes quite pitiable.

The maneuvers of the rich are truly too wild.

Zhao Fusheng had such reflections because he recently heard news that Director Kaige’s film *The Promise* had officially premiered, and its box office, as Zhao Fusheng knew well, flopped miserably.

By the way, the film’s executive producer was Kaige’s wife, Chen Hong—the actress who squeezed out Aunt Ni Ping and was hailed as the most beautiful Diao Chan.

Speaking of this old story, one has to admit she had skills. After all, Aunt Ni, though great at stirring emotions at the Spring Festival Gala, lived with the director for eight years without bearing a child. Ms. Chen just slept with the director and gave birth to a son, who later starred in a TV adaptation of an online novel. On that point, the older aunt lost without complaint.

Digression aside, back to the main topic.

Zhao Fusheng actually knew little about the current state of the domestic film and television industry.

In his previous life, he wasn’t an insider either. He had watched many TV dramas and movies, but whether they made money, he had no idea.

That’s the truth. If you gave Zhao Fusheng a product and asked him to create an advertising campaign, he could rattle off several classic ads. But if it were a movie or TV drama, unless the work was very famous or the story behind it was well-known, he might not know.

If he didn’t even know about domestic films and TV, let alone South Korea.

So now, looking at a huge pile of scripts in the company, Zhao Fusheng was a bit panicked.

“What’s this?”

Zhao Fusheng looked at Liang Jingyu, puzzled.

Liang Jingyu was also helpless and smiled bitterly: “You said we should invest in films and TV, so these are the scripts people submitted.”

“Ah?”

This time it was Zhao Fusheng’s turn to be dumbfounded: “Is this how scripts are submitted?”

He suddenly felt that these Koreans were too aggressive, even fiercer than the screenwriters and directors he encountered back home. The Future Group’s Korean branch had been established for less than a month, and these people dared to submit scripts—they must be so desperate for money that they’ve lost their minds.

“Chairman, it might not be what you think. Maybe they really are short on cash and see us as easy marks,” Liang Jingyu said to Zhao Fusheng.

Zhao Fusheng was taken aback. On second thought, it was possible, just as Liang Jingyu said.

Every one of those film directors and screenwriters is no pushover; they never miss a chance to rip off investors.

Regardless of their usual reputation, at critical moments, they’d dare to ask for fifty million for a ten-million-investment film, and they’d guarantee to spend it all cleanly.

Directors and the like, like certain department-level officials in some country, are never simple characters.

“In that case, have someone evaluate these scripts and pick a few good ones for me to see,” Zhao Fusheng thought for a moment and instructed Liang Jingyu.

There were at least 150 to 160 scripts in front of him. Honestly, if he had to read them all, Zhao Fusheng felt he might go crazy, so he decided to let Liang Jingyu have someone pre-select them.

Liang Jingyu naturally nodded in agreement; he was the person in charge of such matters.

He now had a clear understanding of his role: the structure of Future Group’s Korean branch consisted mainly of film investment and commercial investment, and he was the overall head of both businesses.

In other words, he didn’t need to know too much about the business; he just needed to hire people who did.

…

…

Liang Jingyu worked efficiently, or rather, the people he hired were efficient. In just a few days, they had conducted a preliminary selection of the scripts. When Zhao Fusheng looked again, only twenty scripts remained.

Don’t underestimate this selection process; it saved a lot of unnecessary trouble. At least Zhao Fusheng didn’t have to painstakingly read through all those scripts.

“I’ll find time to read them,” Zhao Fusheng said to Liang Jingyu, then turned to Dong Chenxi: “Can you…”

Before he could finish, the office door was pushed open, and a Future Investment staff member rushed in: “Chairman, Manager, something bad has happened!”

“What?”

Zhao Fusheng, Dong Chenxi, and the others were startled, looking at the newcomer in surprise: “What’s going on?”

The man smiled bitterly and handed a newspaper to Dong Chenxi: “Take a look, Manager.”

Dong Chenxi took the newspaper and glanced at it, her face immediately darkening.

“What’s wrong?” Zhao Fusheng asked curiously.

Dong Chenxi handed the newspaper to Zhao Fusheng with a wry smile: “See for yourself.”

Clearly, the news caught her off guard as well.

Somewhat baffled, Zhao Fusheng took the newspaper and saw the headline in large Korean characters, but he could vaguely make out the words “Chinese Consortium” and “SM Entertainment.”

“What does this mean?” Zhao Fusheng looked at Liang Jingyu.

Liang Jingyu took the newspaper, glanced at it, and immediately his expression changed drastically: “This… SM Company has announced that a Chinese consortium is acquiring their shares…”

Damn it!

At that moment, Zhao Fusheng really wanted to curse.

No matter how much he calculated, he never expected Li Xiuman to pull such a trick. What did this old fox want?

He was a hundred percent sure that this move was Li Xiuman’s doing.

Taking a deep breath, Zhao Fusheng tried to calm himself down. Although this development was beyond his imagination, he knew that now more than ever, he must not lose his composure, because that was exactly what the other side wanted.

“Old Liang, translate the whole article,” Dong Chenxi spoke up, saying to Liang Jingyu.

Regardless of whether the other side was bluffing, they first needed to understand the situation.

Liang Jingyu nodded and quickly translated the content of the newspaper.

The article was simple: SM Company announced that in recent days, a Chinese company had begun acquiring SM shares, having already purchased more than five percent of the company’s stock. A public announcement would be made soon, indicating that the company was not affected by the domestic economic downturn and was on a path of vigorous development, and so on.

In short, Zhao Fusheng had to admit that he had been used by the old fox Li Xiuman.