"Even if I won this award, I still can't sell it," said Li Tedian. "On the international market, no buyers are interested."
The Horizon Unit had a greater use beyond screenings: it was a marketplace. Distributors picked films to buy, or they invested in promising directors.
There were precedents. Back on Earth, director Jia Zhangke was noticed by Yamazaki Shōzō, a producer from Kitano Takeshi's company. From then on, Jia Zhangke never worried about money when making films.
"The main issue is that documentaries really aren't profitable," Li Tedian continued. "I couldn't secure any domestic investment. This film, The Vanished Village of Wengding, I only finished it after selling my house."
Selling his house also proved that he once owned one. To become a director, you really had to come from at least a middle-class family.
With such financial struggles and no sales, it was no wonder he couldn't feel happy even after winning an award.
Chu Zhi asked thoughtfully, "How much does it usually cost to make a documentary?"
"Around one or two million," Li Tedian replied.
They talked for a while longer.
Chu Zhi thought Li Tedian's documentary was impressive, but as the saying went, each trade was its own mountain to climb. He didn't say anything about investing, instead he considered ways to help introduce work to Li Tedian.
Better to teach someone to fish than just give them one. From the award-winning film, Chu Zhi could see Li Tedian's camera work and sense of aesthetics were strong. That meant he could handle advertising projects. Chu Zhi was already thinking of a few clients he could introduce.
Of course, if Li Tedian thought that shooting commercials cheapened his artistic standing, then there was nothing more to be done.
Meanwhile, Italy was six hours behind China.
"Director Niu, is there something you'd like me to handle?" asked President Fei of Modern Sky Music Company, answering her call with exaggerated politeness.
Modern Sky was a powerhouse. Not only had they signed many rock musicians, they were also renowned for organizing music festivals. The Strawberry Music Festival and the Modern Sky Festival were both their creations.
"Don't call it instructions, President Fei, you're teasing me," said Niu Jiangxue with a smile. "By the way, which stop is the Strawberry Music Festival on this year?"
Hearing that, President Fei chuckled. "Looking for tickets? Just say how many. As long as you ask, I'll get them for you."
The 2022 Strawberry Music Festival had begun in early July. There were six stops in total: Huacheng, Wanning, Rongcheng, Xingcheng, Beijing, and Guishi.
"The fourth stop is the day after tomorrow, in Xingcheng," he added.
The day after tomorrow… impossible. It took more than eleven hours just to fly back from Venice to Shanghai. The timing was too tight.
"And the next stop after that?" Niu Jiangxue asked.
"Beijing at the end of September, about half a month from now," he answered.
That meant tickets would already be on presale. She asked about the final stop as well, scheduled in October, though sales hadn't started yet.
"How about giving the audience a surprise at the music festival?" Niu Jiangxue suggested. "Our brother Jiu will be performing."
President Fei blinked. He caught the first half of her sentence without thinking, but the second half stunned him completely.
"Director Niu, today isn't April Fool's. Don't joke with me like that. If you say it, I might actually believe you," he said.
"You can believe it," Niu Jiangxue replied evenly.
Sometimes a pie is so big it doesn't feed you, it just drops from the sky and knocks you out. For a moment, President Fei was struck dumb.
Festival regulars all knew ticket prices were determined by the lineup. The cheapest tickets could be just a few dozen yuan, the priciest one or two thousand.
Naturally, large-scale festivals wanted the biggest stars possible. The problem was that traffic-driven idols almost never joined music festivals.
Not because they lacked performance skill—they scrambled to appear at certain overseas festivals—but because domestic music festivals were another matter.
Calming himself, President Fei hesitated before asking, "And the fee…?"
Singer Lin Xia charged about 2.2 million per set. That was the ceiling price for a performance, and mainly because Lin Xia's works and talent were still well respected by the general public. Rising top stars like Tao Luo and Lin Weiran charged around 2 million per show.
For clarification, "a show" here didn't mean a full concert, but just one or two songs.
Those were only ordinary top stars. Chu Zhi, however, was at the very peak. His level was six times higher in terms of recognition. After careful thought, President Fei made an offer.
"Two and a half million."
It wasn't a low price, but it went beyond the ceiling. He was already bracing for Niu Jiangxue to bargain. She had a reputation in the industry as "stubborn Niu." She was never easy to deal with.
Yet to his surprise, Niu Jiangxue didn't haggle. She only made one request: that ticket prices not be raised too sharply.
"Hm?" President Fei was puzzled. He had negotiated with countless agents before, but never heard such a request.
Of course, adding another big-name artist meant ticket costs would always be passed on to fans.
This was no exaggeration. For example, back on Earth, at the Green Tangerine Music Festival, regular tickets were 88 yuan and even included a beer. But when Meng Meiqi had a special appearance, tickets jumped to 228 yuan. A difference of 140.
"We've known each other a long time, President Fei, so let me speak openly," said Niu Jiangxue.
Here it comes, thought President Fei, bracing for some kind of pitch.
"You see, brother Jiu's popularity is very high right now. If he appears at the Strawberry Music Festival, the festival's brand will rise enormously. The first one to take such a bold step will always be remembered. Doesn't that make things much more interesting?" she said.
It did sound logical. Hundreds of music festivals happened every year in China, and the reason people were willing to pay high prices came down to one thing: brand.
And what built a brand? Big-name stars and buzz. President Fei knew this well. No domestic music festival had ever landed a true top star, let alone the absolute peak.
If Strawberry was the first, its brand would shine brighter than any rival. As he considered this, Niu Jiangxue pressed further.
"A good publicity opportunity should go fully red, not half red and half black. If a steep ticket increase leaves a bad taste, the gains will be wasted," she said.
President Fei had originally thought, with Chu Zhi on board, raising the daily ticket price from 480 to 780 wasn't too much. With tens of thousands attending, that extra 300 yuan per person would easily cover Chu Zhi's fee and more.
But her words made sense. For long-term benefits, they couldn't afford to alienate the audience. Of course, he was no fool. A veteran like him wouldn't be swayed by just a few sentences.
"Teacher Chu's status is such that he's already performed at WOA. Is there really a need to appear at a domestic festival?" President Fei asked. "Could it be that he's doing this to respond to fans' requests? And the smaller ticket increase is to give his fans a benefit?"
The more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed. Otherwise, why would Chu Zhi agree to join?
"So, President Fei, do you agree to my condition? If you do, we can sign immediately," Niu Jiangxue said.
"Director Niu, since you've put it that way, I'll agree," he said. They discussed contract details for another ten minutes before ending the call.
When the line went dead, President Fei muttered, still in disbelief, "My god, are there really stars willing to earn less just for their fans?"
And no one else would even know.
"Incredible. I've been in this industry for so many years, but today I've really learned something," he said. He had seen news about Chu Zhi's fan festival and trending hashtags, but never took them seriously until now.
Given Chu Zhi's status as a pan-Asian superstar, 2.5 million was far too low. President Fei felt like he had struck gold.
No need to say more. He rushed to have the Guishi promotional posters redesigned. In bold letters they would now read: Special Guest: Chu Zhi.
Charge ahead—for the future of Strawberry!
Many people had no idea. It wasn't only Chu Zhi's Little Fruits in China who longed to see him in concert. Fans in Japan and Korea wanted it even more.