Because of this, there were now many voices urging Laila to simply move to the East.
After all, she spoke the language, had no problem living here, and already had business interests in the region—there was no risk of her going hungry. On the contrary, with nothing else to occupy her, she might even bring in more Eastern talent, shoot a few award-winning films, and help Eastern actors step onto a much larger stage.
She wasn't the only one people were hoping for—there were so many calls that even the authorities took notice. At a certain official press conference, when asked about the growing sentiment in the country welcoming Laila to the East, the spokesperson smiled and replied warmly, "Of course, we welcome any talented and capable director who wishes to treat this place as a second home."
Words from an official spokesperson aren't said casually. If he said that, it meant that was the government's stance.
Even without this recent situation, the upper levels of the government already had a very favorable impression of Laila. After all, at a time when the country was most in need of foreign currency and investment, she had brought in billions of U.S. dollars and gradually increased that investment over the years. She even revitalized the entire film industry along the way.
Look at the excellent films that have emerged in recent years and the skyrocketing annual box office revenues—those alone have brought enormous benefits to the nation. Now that Laila was caught in a media storm in the U.S., of course, they didn't mind saying a few kind words on her behalf. If she did move to the East, that would be a blessing beyond anything they could have hoped for. She might truly be able to elevate Eastern cinema to a whole new level.
At the very least, she could train some outstanding local directors. Just look at the new generation of American filmmakers—nearly half of them had emerged from her New Wave Initiative.
These words didn't take long to reach Laila. She was genuinely pleased by the support from her "former homeland," and felt deeply vindicated in her earlier decision to invest there. Sure, she had made a lot of money in the process, but truth be told, she could have put that money into ventures that would have yielded returns much faster, instead of investing in something like theater chains, which would take years just to break even.
She had made those decisions because she knew it would benefit the country. If she'd wanted to, she could have made far more money through other means—but doing so would have been at the nation's expense. It would've been like so many foreign businesspeople who strip profit and run, or worse, set up sweatshops.
Though she was happy to know she was welcome, Laila had no intention of returning to her original homeland—not like this. Her pride wouldn't allow it. If she were to return, it would be in glory, not in disgrace after being smeared with mud.
These days, she hadn't been idle at home. At the very least, she had come up with a potential solution to the crisis at hand—perhaps the only option left.
"Laila, what are you thinking about?" Roy brought in a glass of milk and saw Eli crawling around on the floor, while Laila sat lost in thought.
"I'm thinking about how to solve this problem," she replied.
Roy frowned slightly. "Honestly, you could just ignore it. These kinds of topics fade quickly—once the buzz dies down, people won't remember much."
Cold treatment was indeed a way to handle it, but that wasn't Laila's way.
"You're right. Once the topic dies down, everyone forgets. But don't forget—there will always be someone who won't forget. And that person will keep bringing it up, over and over again. What do you think will happen if, every time I go up to accept an award, people think I used shady tactics to win it? Is that okay?"
The ones who had set her up to be in this position wouldn't stop—they'd use the same excuse to sabotage her again and again. If she didn't deal with it once and for all, she'd have to give up submitting her work for any awards.
Roy was speechless. Of course, that wouldn't be okay! Why should someone who poured her heart and soul into her films be denied the recognition she deserved? Why should every award she won be questioned?
"The problem is that no matter what we do, it'll all be spun as you being guilty, or as Moran Media trying to whitewash you!"
"I know. That's why I just made a decision." Laila looked at him as if trying to read his thoughts. "What do you think about me making a film that breaks Avatar's box office record?"
Roy's eyes widened in shock. "You think you can do that?"
"I don't know..." Laila replied honestly. Back when she arrived in this world—some ten or twenty years ahead of the timeline—Avatar still held the top spot. If it was ever overtaken, it would have been by one of its sequels.
Roy looked at her with concern, seeing the exhaustion in her face. "You don't have to push yourself like this. No matter what the world says, I know you're the greatest director this world has ever seen. Unparalleled—past or future!"
His words made Laila chuckle. "I'll admit to 'unparalleled in the past,' but I can't speak for the future." Then she grew serious again. "I'm not just saying it to sound impressive. People keep using box office numbers to belittle me, using Cameron as the benchmark. No matter what I've made, or how good my films are—if I don't beat his record, then his shadow will always loom over me."
Roy frowned. "How confident are you that you can surpass him?"
"About fifty percent." Laila gave the answer she'd arrived at after days of consideration.
That answer surprised Roy. "That high?"
You couldn't blame him—he knew how modest Laila was. She only used words like "fifty percent" when her confidence was more like seventy or eighty. If she ever claimed seventy or eighty percent, it probably meant she was certain of success.
Laila didn't know that's how he saw her. If she had, she probably would've smiled and explained that it wasn't modesty—it was caution.
"Whether it's fifty percent or ten, I have to give it my all. If I succeed, all this mud will be washed away."
Seeing the dim light in her eyes, Roy realized she hadn't said the rest of the sentence out loud: If I fail, it'll be worse than it is now—maybe I'll never have a chance to clear my name again.
"Laila, you don't have to do this!" His heart ached. Only those close to her knew what film meant to her. He sometimes wondered—if it came down to choosing between him and cinema, she would probably pick cinema without hesitation.
Was this worth staking her entire life on, just to get past this crisis?