After the Divorce, I Could Hear the Voice of the Future

Lu Liang's brows were furrowed as he searched domestic and foreign websites, and he finally found a piece of news that seemed to be the reason.

Tesla Motors, eleven years since its establishment, had to date delivered 4,750 cars, with production seriously inadequate and frequent delays in delivery.

A few years ago, there was also a time when the stock price was halved, after the release of the first Roadster sports car.

Upon its release, it had caused a sensation in the European and American car circles, with a price tag of one hundred thousand US dollars and 2,100 pre-orders received on the first day.

Ultimately, due to misestimated costs and an overestimated production capacity, the actual cost had risen above $120,000.

Musk could only issue a public apology, as he raised the price to $110,000 and was willing to take responsibility for the breach of contract, surrendering half the orders, which provoked strong dissatisfaction among customers.

At that time, Wall Street speculators also sniffed out an opportunity, heavily shorting Tesla's stock from a market cap of $9.8 billion down to $4.2 billion, nearly driving the company to the brink of delisting.

In the end, it was only after Lucian and the Secretary of the Energy Department visited the Tesla factory that they granted a low-interest loan of $465 million, which allowed Tesla to catch its breath.

"Could it be that history is about to repeat itself?"

Lu Liang stroked his chin, falling into deep thought.

After all, the Modu super factory was currently nothing but a wasteland overgrown with weeds and some self-built houses; dealing with these miscellaneous issues would take at least a year and a half before construction could even start.

Tesla was unable to enjoy the benefits of a populous nation or a mature industrial chain, and building in the US incurred particularly high costs.

The pre-order deposit for a Mao Dou X was just $2,000, but its cost of production was likely over one hundred thousand dollars.

If each unit required an advance of one hundred thousand, once the orders started piling up, it wouldn't be stacks of green bills but rather a death knell.

With this thought, Lu Liang called Li Bing, "Hey, Mr. Li, has the first day's order volume for the Mao Dou X come out?"

Li Bing was surprised that Lu Liang would call him at this time to ask about such trivia, but he informed him truthfully, "Not yet."

"Do you know the reason?" Lu Liang pressed.

"It's probably just not tallied yet; there's always a bit of a delay between online and offline."

"And your prediction for the total order volume?"

"There should be more than 3,500 offline orders."

Li Bing was confident, for not saying didn't mean they had no way of knowing. For instance, Li Xiang, who was particularly crafty, had directly dispatched a few people to watch over the business rooms in various showrooms.

Whenever a staff member came out smiling and shaking hands with a customer, they would include it in their tally.

Li Bing said with a smile, "I don't know how accurate it is, but judging by Li Xiang's expression at the time, it seemed pretty accurate."

"Thanks," Lu Liang said, amusedly laughing once again at the down-to-earth nature of business warfare.

His fingertips drummed on the table; now it remained to be seen whether Tesla would keep the death under wraps.

The longer they delayed, the greater the possibility, and when they couldn't hold out any longer, the stock price would blow up.

At twelve-thirty, Lu Liang received a call from Zhang Chen, who was in such an excited state that he was almost incoherent, "Mr. Lu, have you, have you rested yet?"

Lu Liang chuckled, "Not yet, I just finished watching a movie, it was very well made. How was the first-day box office?"

"Mr. Lu, the first-day box office was 35 million, with a DouBan rating of 8.4," said Zhang Chen, almost moved to tears.

Although Xia Luo's Worry had a good reputation during its preview screenings, it was not uncommon for movies to be well-reviewed but not do well at the box office.

Only after the official release, the actual box office earnings mattered.

A first-day box office of 35 million, a Maoyan rating of 9.4, and a DouBan rating of 8.4, with several media outlets forecasting a total box office of 520 million.

This finally allowed him to relax.

The past week, Zhang Chen had barely slept well a single night, and it seemed the coming days would be the same.

But unlike the restlessness and anxiety of the previous week, the following days would be filled with excitement and agitation.

"What did Wanda say?" Lu Liang asked, smiling.

Normally, a movie involves producers, distributors, and exhibitors; he was an investor on the production side, while Wanda, with their deep pockets, took care of distribution and exhibition.

"Mr. Lu, President Lin of Wanda plans to use the highest possible budget for the marketing campaign of Xia Luo's Worry."

Zhang Chen looked a bit dazed, suddenly remembering the day they had signed the investment contract.

That day, Lu Liang had mentioned he hoped they could increase the marketing budget to 300% of the cost, which would be 60 million.

He had not expected that now they indeed were maxing out the marketing expenses.

"Calculate how much you'll need and send the figure to me when the time comes," Lu Liang said, preparing to hang up the phone.

"Mr. Lu, would you like to come over?" Zhang Chen hurriedly asked with caution.

Lu Liang pondered for a moment and couldn't help but smile, "Then I'll have Mr. Tang make a trip over."

Producing, distributing, and screening—after a film is finished, the status of these three players is completely reversed. In other words, the screening party holds the most power, followed by the distributor, and lastly, the producer.

The principle behind box office revenue sharing for a film is usually based on a 43/57 split, with both the producing and distributing parties sharing 43% of the shared box office revenue, and the screening party taking 57%.

But that's just in principle.

Because cinema chains often bully smaller companies, the actual share that producers and distributors see is far less than 43%.

After all, when compared with Wanda Cinema, Happy Mahua is like a tiny ant that can be squished effortlessly.

But Lu Liang is different; he's a capital mogul with funds at his disposal; even Old Wang has to treat him with respect.

Therefore, Zhang Chen hoped that Lu Liang would step in to offer support to their production side, to avoid getting squeezed too hard by the cinema chains.

"Thank you, Mr. Lu, for disrupting your rest."

Joy appeared in Zhang Chen's eyes as he repeatedly expressed his gratitude.

Meanwhile, online entries related to "Xia Luo's Worry" also surpassed the sales entries for the Tesla Mao Dou X.

A movie ticket costs a few tens of dollars, and a car is over a million. Netizens can relate more to the former.

"Production cost of 20 million, opening day box office of 35 million—the dark horse of the year has already been born."

"Didn't expect such a cliché story to be made so brilliantly; it's really good."

"In one sentence, prove that you watched 'Xia Luo's Worry'."

"No~ Qiu Ya~"

Online discussions were heated; some forces lurking in the film industry started to grow restless.

Though the movie had been released, it didn't mean there were no profits to be made; promotional and marketing expenses could be considered a kind of financing.

Happy Mahua, a newcomer to the film industry, might not be able to come up with 43% of the marketing expenses, and they would be only too happy to provide the service.

Perhaps some film investors couldn't produce their share of the promotional expenses either, and they too were eager to help.

At worst, it could lead to making new friends. The return of invested capital in movies is slow and complicated, and box office revenues could still collapse later on.

Assuming a total box office of 500 million, after applying a discount of seven or eight tenths, they would be more than willing to buy back shares to take on the risk.

In short, Happy Mahua, with a production cost of 20 million and possibly breaking 500 million box office, had become a juicy piece of meat that everyone wanted to bite.

Thus, they searched and searched...

In the end, they found Lu Liang, who invested for a 25% stake, and everyone, as if seeing a ghost, lost interest all at once.

After all, the news that Tianxing Private Equity's net value had increased by 84% in the first month had already spread throughout the circle.

Countless tycoons were lined up, waving their cash, anticipating the second fund from Lu Liang.

Now, to offend Lu Liang, they figured they wouldn't even need him to act personally; others would surely help out.

He had become a new power on the scene.

...

It was just past one in the morning when Lu Liang finally finished his work.

He took out two ticket stubs, snapped a photo, and uploaded it to Weibo: "Good to watch, love to watch, everybody go see it."

After all, he had a 25% investment share; no one could dilute his equity. The higher the box office, the more he could earn.

Lu Liang tossed aside the ticket stubs, put away his phone, and didn't bother to respond to netizens asking whom he went to see the movie with.

He walked over to the rest area and saw Su Wanyu curled up just like a cat, her eyelids fluttering in a battle of sleep.

It seemed like she was asleep, but also not. Her eyes were vacant, without a gleam: "Are you done?"

"All done, let's go back to sleep," Lu Liang chuckled, asking softly, "Or do you want me to carry you?"

Su Wanyu suddenly became alert, her eyes opening wide with a mixture of anticipation and hesitation, "Can you?"

"If you're not too heavy."

"I'm just over a hundred pounds."

Excited, Su Wanyu jumped onto Lu Liang's back, feeling his broad shoulders, and contentedly remarked, "So broad, so comfortable."

"Let's go then. We're heading back."

Lu Liang couldn't suppress his smile, asked his cousin to lock up the place, and then went back to sleep. He drove himself home.