Chapter 249: Developing a New Market
That evening, Joey Wong brought Aaron to the legendary Tai Fook Club in Tsim Sha Tsui East to meet another producer attached to The Blood and Tears of Chinese Laborers.
The club glittered with extravagance—golden décor, flowing champagne, and a steady stream of wealthy patrons. It was one of Hong Kong's most famous nightlife establishments.
Inside a private VIP room, Terence Chang immediately rose when he saw Aaron Anderson enter, clearly excited. As John Woo's longtime partner, Chang had co-founded Milestone Films, which produced acclaimed titles such as Once a Thief and Hard Boiled.
"Mr. Anderson, congratulations," Chang said warmly. "Another outstanding year for Dawnlight."
A graduate of NYU's Tisch School of the Arts and the key figure behind John Woo's move into Hollywood, Chang kept a close eye on the American industry. Aaron's reputation there was formidable.
His gaze briefly flickered toward Joey. He hadn't expected her to be connected to someone of Aaron's stature.
Aaron smiled lightly. "All right, Terence. Let's talk about The Blood and Tears of Chinese Laborers."
The film would recount the tragic history of Chinese laborers who, after the Opium Wars during the Qing dynasty, were trafficked overseas—"sold like pigs," as the phrase went—to work in America.
Beneath every railroad tie of the Central Pacific Railroad, it was said, lay the bones of Chinese workers. Leland Stanford—one of the Gilded Age's most powerful magnates, the first Governor of California, president of the Central Pacific Railroad, and founder of Stanford University—had built the transcontinental railway at a staggering human cost. Countless Chinese laborers paid with their blood and lives.
"We plan to shoot portions in the United States to recreate the historical setting," Chang explained. "Director King Hu is meticulous about costumes and production design. A significant portion of the budget will go toward building authentic sets."
It was easy to see why foreign investors had hesitated.
But to Aaron, the financial scale was modest.
After a moment's thought, he nodded. "All right. I'll have Twilight Pictures handle the investment. You can proceed with pre-production."
Chang's face lit up. "Thank you—truly."
---
Back at Joey's high-rise apartment overlooking Victoria Harbour, she still seemed surprised.
"You agreed that quickly?"
"What else was I supposed to do?" Aaron teased, pulling her into his arms as they sat on the sofa. "You asked. I had to give you face."
He kissed her softly.
"Dawnlight's share is only about three million dollars. It won't affect us much. And I'm curious to see how this subject plays out on screen."
Joey smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're too good to me. How should I thank you?"
Aaron's hand traced lightly along her waist as he leaned closer. "Weren't you rather enthusiastic yesterday?"
She laughed softly, her voice lowering. "No man could resist that kind of temptation?"
He grinned. "Exactly."
"Then," she whispered, "let's start with a shower."
The harbor lights shimmered beyond the glass, as Hong Kong's skyline glowed against the night—restless, ambitious, and poised on the edge of change.
Aaron scooped her up in one swift motion. Amid her startled laugh, he carried her straight toward the bathroom.
"Come on," he said with a grin. "Let's take a proper two-person bath."
---
After agreeing to invest in The Blood and Tears of Chinese Laborers, Aaron immediately called Los Angeles and instructed Twilight Pictures to coordinate the project.
Director King Hu soon arrived in Hong Kong to begin formal pre-production. As expected, Joey Wong would take on the female lead.
---
Across the border in Mainland China, however, the domestic film industry was struggling. The rigid planned-economy system—where production and distribution were centrally controlled—had left the market stagnant and uncompetitive.
This year, the Ministry of Radio, Film and Television finally initiated structural reforms. Instead of China Film Corporation monopolizing the nationwide distribution of domestic features, studios would now negotiate directly with regional distributors. The goal was to push state-owned studios into a more market-oriented framework.
Aaron, however, wasn't optimistic.
As long as the entire industry remained state-run, with no room for private distribution or independent production companies, meaningful change would be difficult. Local studios lacked both distribution expertise and a sense of commercial storytelling that resonated with audiences.
Without opening up the system more fundamentally, the market would remain sluggish. Real reform required competition.
---
At the Shangri-La Hotel in Hong Kong, Aaron met Raymond Chow for afternoon tea.
"They're discussing the possibility of importing foreign films under a box-office revenue-sharing model," Chow said. "China Film is proposing it—to revive the domestic market by bringing in first-rate international films and using the revenue to support cinema development in less-developed regions."
Chow had long kept an eye on the Mainland's vast population. Hong Kong's market was small; expansion northward was inevitable.
Aaron smiled faintly. "There must be significant resistance."
Chow nodded. "Quite a bit. Some argue that allowing American films in would let them dominate the Chinese market—using Chinese ticket revenue to enrich foreign studios. They worry it will squeeze domestic productions and destabilize the industry."
Aaron shrugged. "Without pressure, there's no motivation. It's the catfish effect. They're afraid of competition because it threatens their comfort."
He paused.
"If you don't measure yourself against the outside world, how can you improve? How can an industry grow if it never sees what global standards look like?"
Chow sighed. "Hong Kong is already losing ground in Taipei to Hollywood blockbusters. We can't compete with their scale and spectacle. Losing Taipei will be disastrous."
He looked thoughtful.
"The northern market—we have to take it seriously."
With 1997 only a few years away, closer integration was inevitable. Co-productions between Hong Kong and the Mainland had begun, though results were still modest.
---
That night, standing by the suite window overlooking Victoria Harbour, Aaron found his thoughts drifting elsewhere—to technology.
In September, a Chinese company named Wan Yan had produced the world's first VCD player. The initial batch of 1,000 units sold out quickly.
"Joey," Aaron asked, turning toward her, "have you heard of Wan Yan? The VCD manufacturer in China?"
She nodded from the sofa. "I think so. They're based in Hefei, Anhui Province."
She smiled lightly.
"My ancestral home is in Anhui. I even went back last year to pay respects."
"Really?" Aaron glanced at her, intrigued.
"It's true."
He nodded slowly.
VCD technology itself wasn't particularly complex—essentially CD decoding hardware. It wouldn't take long before countless Chinese brands flooded the market. Patent enforcement was still weak, and barriers to entry were low.
A new battlefield was forming—not just in cinemas, but in living rooms.
And Aaron had already begun thinking several moves ahead.