Yang Ruoqian understood commemorative tickets very well.
They were traps made of paper.
First, someone printed a slightly nicer ticket. Then someone kept it. Then someone took a photo. Then someone said the design had feeling. After that, the company had to maintain consistency, protect "visual identity," and spend money on paper that should have been thrown away after the film ended.
Absolutely not.
"No commemorative tickets," Yang said.
Director Chen nodded. "Plain tickets."
"Not beautiful."
"Plain."
"Not nostalgic."
"Plain."
"Not limited."
"Unlimited ordinary tickets."
"Not collectible."
Director Chen hesitated. "We cannot control whether people collect ordinary tickets."
Yang Ruoqian's eyes narrowed.
That sentence was correct, which made it offensive.
