Super Zoo

The proposal from elder brother Wu indeed stirred something in Suming's heart.

Making movies was just a spur-of-the-moment idea he had, and after all, it stemmed from Jiao Shou, who would incessantly buzz in his ear every time they spoke on the phone. Recently, as he was particularly short on cash, Suming entertained the thought.

Of course, the film industry itself is indeed highly profitable. Currently, for the mainland box-office revenue sharing method, after deducting about 5% in various taxes and fees, the remaining sum is typically split with 40-50% going to the distribution and production side and 50-60% to the theaters, which is roughly a 55-45 split.

Beyond the mainland box office, if a movie gets a good reception, companies in Xiangjiang, Taiwan, Southeast Asia, and even in the West might buy local distribution rights, and this money goes straight to the distribution and production side. Before Xiangjiang movies were introduced to the mainland, their total box office in Xiangjiang usually ranged from millions to tens of millions, and overseas distribution would often earn more than domestic earnings.

Back in the day, Xiangjiang's top-grossing films only made several tens of millions a year. As the mainland market opened and expanded, that was considered a flop; any decent movie could easily bring in one to two hundred million, and it wasn't rare to see figures between three to five hundred million.

There were numerous instances of making a big return on a small investment. "Love is Not Blind" racked in 300 million box office on less than 15 million in production costs, and "Lost in Thailand", with an investment of 30 million, swept up 1.3 billion at the box office, more than ten times the profit.

Suming's idea was based on this: after all, he had too little money on hand, nowhere near enough to acquire a zoo, and couldn't find other ways to quickly increase its value. Might as well take a gamble with some cash and try. Even if it was a failure, it wouldn't be a crippling loss. If it succeeded, even if it didn't reach a profit ten or dozens of times over, at least it would pave a new moneymaking path.

However, just like elder brother Wu had thought, Suming was practically an outsider when it came to filmmaking, knowing next to nothing.

Among the five key roles in a movie—the producer, the film producer, the director, the executive producer, and the screenwriter—Suming could at best fulfill one and a half of these jobs. He wasn't knowledgeable about the rest, nor did he have anyone in his circle who was.

The producer is the investor, which would undoubtedly be Suming or Taoyuan Entertainment.

The film producer acts as the on-site agent for the investor, somewhat like a construction supervisor or an independent director on the board, responsible for guarding the interest of the investor. The supposed collaboration elder brother Wu talked about was having him fill this role.

The executive producer oversees the artistic quality and market prospects of the entire film. This person is typically a highly skilled director in a certain aspect, for example, Du Qifeng often serves as the executive producer for various gunfight movies. You could say he's the director's right-hand man, but he's more of a 'senior consultant'—not under the director's control, but able to have a say over the director.

It goes without saying that Suming certainly couldn't be the director; he's barely able to use a camera. A good director is not only responsible for filming but also for casting. Based on experience and sharp instincts for movies, they select actors they deem most suitable for the roles.

Misjudging the casting can just as easily hurt a film. For example, in the gambling movie that swept through Xiangjiang's box office, imagine if the roles played by Andy Lau and Chow Yun-fat were swapped, with Andy Lau portraying the domineering "God of Gamblers" and Chow Yun-fat as the flippant young brother—the movie would have turned out awkwardly unconvincing.

The screenwriter's job involves more than just writing a story; it's about adapting it into a script suitable for filming. The same story, when written by screenwriters of varying abilities, can result in vastly different outcomes when filmed. This requires deep familiarity with film production processes and a profound literary base.

Suming had some story outlines in mind, but not even the detailed plotlines, let alone taking on a full-time screenwriter role. That's why he counted as half a screenwriter at most.

Beyond these five key roles in filmmaking, there are script supervisors, prop masters, special effects artists, and various other participants within a crew. At the end of each movie, credits for film staff often roll for several minutes—Suming didn't have a clue on how to put together such a team, let alone know how to start building one.

Then there's the matter of distribution! Connecting with major cinema chains, arranging screenings and movie promotion—each step requires professionals, and Suming simply couldn't handle it all on his own, nor did he know how.

If elder brother Wu came on board as the film producer, these issues would be easily resolved, as with his connections and influence in the industry, he could pull together a team in no time.

Of course, this meant that profits would have to be shared with elder brother Wu.

All in all, excluding all expenses, the mainland box office would need to be more than three times the investment before Suming could start to see any profit.

No single person can earn all the money in the world by themselves. Those who seek to monopolize profits typically end up ****. Between friends, mutual benefit and win-win cooperation are the keys to a lasting relationship.

Moreover, Suming could see that elder brother Wu's proposition for a partnership wasn't really about the business aspect at all; a rookie like himself venturing into the film industry wasn't likely to make a profit. Any reasonably sane person would probably see it as throwing money away.

What the other party truly intended was probably to help him set up the crew, as a way to repay the small 'favour' from last time at the Xiangjiang Jockey Club.

After only a moment's consideration, he agreed to elder brother Wu's request.

"Suming, just what exactly are you planning to do? Let's talk details," elder brother Wu asked from the other end of the phone.

"I... Elder brother Wu, do you have a webcam? Can we do a video call? It's hard to explain over the phone," Suming said.

"Oh... Hold on a moment..." elder brother Wu was taken aback, then there came the sound of footsteps, followed by two people speaking in Cantonese.

It seemed he was talking to his wife. Elder brother Wu asked her to stop posting on social media because he had work to do. His wife quipped that all he did was lounge at home and asked mockingly if he had any real work to do. She said she would post her comeback first and if elder brother Wu couldn't wait, he should use the computer next door. Elder brother Wu muttered something about not being very good with this high-tech stuff and that she needed to stay and teach him...

Suming felt a headache listening to this; first Zhao Yun, now elder brother Wu—all these tough guys turned into docile sheep after marriage. Discover more content at My Virtual Library Empire

It took over a dozen minutes before elder brother Wu's voice came through the phone again, and they added each other on QQ.

Elder brother Wu's QQ was a long ten-digit number, with only a four-star rating level. His profile picture was one of the earliest default avatars, a blond youth with a pointy face, which practically no one uses anymore.

His status message read "Welcome to visit Xiangjiang," making him sound like a low-level clerk at the Xiangjiang Tourism Bureau.

In a short while, his wrinkled face, which resembled knife carvings, appeared on screen; unexpectedly, even at home, the guy was dressed in a crisp suit.