boyutpedia Chapter 145, the script: "A Chinese Odyssey"? That name sounds like a terrible movie.
Chapter 145, the script: "A Chinese Odyssey"? That name sounds like a terrible movie.
The conference room was eerily quiet, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. A heavy, oppressive atmosphere hung in the air, as if all sound and life had vanished from the space. Each person's breathing became exceptionally clear, like tiny compressors working diligently, but even this couldn't break the deathly silence.
Looking around, one could see that the walls, ceiling, and furniture surfaces of the entire room seemed to have lost their original luster and texture, appearing dull and lifeless; while the floor had an eerie grayish-white hue, giving one the illusion of being in a desert. This extremely dry environment caused people's throats to itch unbearably, and people would occasionally cough softly or clear their throats to relieve the discomfort.
Suddenly, a bright, dazzling beam of light pierced the darkness and shot forward. It turned out that the light projected from the projector was shining on a huge white board. Upon closer inspection, one could see several striking, bold, black characters printed in the center of the white board: "A Chinese Odyssey Part Two: Cinderella"! However, at this moment, they hung there all alone, like a lame joke whose meaning no one could understand, appearing out of place and somewhat comical.
The "thump, thump, thump" sound was like a judge counting down before the verdict, each tap striking Su Qingge's tense nerves.
"Qingge, is this the big-budget production you wanted to launch?"
Mr. Wang finally stopped what he was doing, took off his gold-rimmed glasses, and slowly wiped the lenses, a smile that seemed helpless but was actually sarcastic on his lips.
"An adaptation of Journey to the West? Or a nonsensical comedy?"
"This kind of subject matter might have been able to fool the box office ten years ago, but now? It's been overdone."
"Today's audiences want to see special effects, grand scenes, and hard science fiction. You're making a monkey fall in love, or rather, a monkey falling in love with a demon? Isn't that ridiculous?"
Upon hearing the boss's words, the surrounding executives immediately swarmed around him like flies that had smelled fish, launching into a barrage of mockery.
"Yeah, Qingge. Look at this character design, Sun Wukong has become a bandit leader? And he's even robbing people with three moles on the soles of their feet?"
The director of the film and television department flipped through the script so hard it rustled, then pointed to a section with an incredulous look on his face.
"And this Tang Sanzang, in the original story he's a highly accomplished monk, how come he's such a nagging freak here? They even wrote that line, 'It's thundering, it's raining, bring in the laundry,' into the script?"
"If this were filmed, wouldn't Teacher Liu come smashing our company gate with his golden cudgel? This is simply a desecration of a classic!"
"If this kind of document passes the review, I'd have to wonder if the reviewer was drunk."
The doubts came like a tidal wave, one wave higher than the next.
Su Qingge sat at the other end of the conference table, her hands clasped tightly on the table, her knuckles turning slightly white from the force.
She looked around at this group of people who usually talked about "art" but were actually only interested in "profit," and a deep sense of powerlessness welled up in her heart.
The chick knows the ambition of the swan.
This group of people only saw the absurdity on the surface, but they couldn't understand the desolation behind that absurdity.
"This is different!"
Su Qingge took a deep breath, stood up abruptly, her voice trembling slightly with excitement.
"This isn't a parody, it's deconstruction! It's postmodern deconstruction!"
"In this story, Sun Wukong is no longer a stereotypical hero; he is a flesh-and-blood person with love and hate. He fights against fate, but ultimately has to wear the golden headband. This sense of destiny is what makes him so compelling..."
"Alright, alright, stop bringing up postmodernism with me."
Mr. Wang waved his hand impatiently, put his glasses back on, and his gaze behind the lenses was as cold as ice.
"We're in business, not academic research. Audiences go to the movies to have fun; who has the patience to watch you deconstruct fate?"
"and……"
His gaze suddenly sharpened, as if he had discovered some terrible loophole, and he tapped his finger heavily on the bottom of the script cover.
There, two lines of inconspicuous small print were printed:
Screenwriter: Lin Zhou
Director: Lin Zhou
"If I'm not mistaken, this Lin Zhou is your husband who stays at home taking care of the children, right?"
The moment those words were spoken, the meeting room erupted in chaos.
What started as mockery of the script's content quickly escalated into a frenzy of personal attacks.
"What? Lin Zhou wrote it?"
The director of the film and television department stared wide-eyed, as if he had heard the funniest joke of the year, and even exaggeratedly picked at his ear.
"Qingge, are you alright? It's one thing for Lin Zhou to write songs, but that only takes a few minutes of inspiration. Writing a script? And directing it?"
"Isn't this kind of crossover a little too risky and likely to backfire?"
Another vice president shook his head, looking utterly disappointed.
"Qingge, we know you spoil your husband. You can spoil him however you want at home, even if he burns his Steinway piano as firewood, we can't stop you."
"But this is a movie! It involves investments of hundreds of millions! It's not child's play!"
"You're using company resources to dabble in your husband's hobby? Isn't that a bit too frivolous?"
Those piercing sounds were like countless needles, pricking Su Qingge's eardrums painfully.
Looking at these people's ugly faces, the fire in her heart burned even brighter.
On what grounds?
Why can't songwriters write screenplays?
Why can't stay-at-home husbands be talented?
Why condemn this story based on stereotypes without even reading the whole thing?
"He's not just dabbling in it."
Su Qingge gritted her teeth and spoke slowly and deliberately, her gaze so firm that no one dared to look directly at her.
"I've read the script, every single word. Its ingenious structure and delicate emotions surpass even 99% of the so-called blockbusters on the market."
"I trust Lin Zhou, just as I trust my own judgment. If we don't let him film, it will be a huge loss for Starry Sky Entertainment!"
"loss?"
Mr. Wang scoffed, completely losing his patience.
He suddenly grabbed the thick script and slammed it heavily onto the center of the conference table, as if throwing away trash.
"Snapped!"
The loud noise silenced the entire conference room instantly.
The script was scattered, and white pages fell to the ground like a messy snowfall.
Mr. Wang stood up, straightened his perfectly wrinkle-free suit collar, and looked down at Su Qingge with an undeniable coldness and decisiveness in his tone.
"Ms. Su, I think you've misunderstood something."
"I'm an investor. My money is for making money, not for your husband to pay for his tuition."
"A film like this, a complete mess of illogical pieces, is guaranteed to lose money for anyone who invests in it. My money didn't come from thin air."
He paused, a threatening glint flashing in his eyes.
"If you insist on going your own way and making this so-called 'A Chinese Odyssey,' then I'm sorry, we're withdrawing our investment of the two hundred million yuan that we previously agreed upon."
"Not only that, the company won't allocate a single penny of budget to you."
"You decide what to do."