Super Zoo

Suming has been incredibly busy these past few days.

That evening, Tony piloted the helicopter, taking both him and Guo Zijian for a spin around the zoo. Suming had thought Guo Zijian just wanted to survey the terrain and being in a helicopter, at most it would be a one-hour affair.

Originally, that was Guo Zijian's intention, too. After all, what could you see in such darkness? A brief familiarization with the environment should suffice.

The problem arose on board the helicopter.

Like cars, helicopters are just another means of transport; the only difference is that one flies in the sky while the other runs on the ground. Cars have high beams, low beams, fog lights, and a whole array of different lighting equipment. Helicopters, of course, are even better equipped; their lights are not only plentiful but also far brighter than the headlights of a car, turning a vast area in front of them as bright as day when switched on at night.

While on the plane, Guo Zijian casually asked Tony something in English.

If it had been any other day, Tony would have made sure to check with Suming first, but that day he had drunk a bit too much, and without consulting Suming, he instinctively replied in English.

Later, Suming found out that Guo Zijian had asked Tony if it was possible for the helicopter to hover in mid-air and shine the searchlight down for him, as he wanted to conduct an on-site inspection. Tony said he could do it as long as it wasn't at a 90-degree angle.

All through the night, Guo Zijian was on the plane, and every time he spotted what he thought might be a suitable scene or location for the movie, he would disembark and personally survey the area, while Tony had the helicopter hovering like a giant flashlight. It was somewhat more tolerable over flat terrain where the helicopter could land, but Suming's nightmare began when there was no landing space nearby—the helicopter would sway from side to side, nearly making him vomit from the motion.

Throughout the night, they meticulously combed over the back mountain, zoo, and reservoir area, not returning until dawn.

The next day, before Suming had even slept for three hours, he got a call from Guo Zijian saying that they had selected twenty-three scenes the previous night. Some of them were suitable for nighttime shooting, and he wanted to revisit them during the day to find locations appropriate for daytime scenes, inviting Suming to join.

Suming promptly refused without hesitation, citing busy work as an excuse, suggesting Tony go with him instead while he slept in at the water pavilion.

After sleeping until three in the afternoon, and just as he got up and found something to eat, the phone rang again.

It was Guo Zijian again, and Suming couldn't understand how the man could have such relentless energy.

This time he couldn't refuse because they needed to confirm the range of actors to consider.

As an investor and producer, Suming knew the selection of actors was technically decided by the director, but it wouldn't be possible without the investor's nod of approval, which sometimes could also be used as a way to incorporate certain actors into the project.

In fact, many poorly produced micro-films and even a few big-budget blockbusters in China are simply rich tycoons using their money to support their favorites and flirt with beautiful women. To ordinary people, investments of several million or tens of millions could be significant, but to the real tycoons, it's just a game.

It seemed Guo Zijian was quite familiar with the affairs of Mainland China's industry, maybe because Xiangjiang's film circle worked similarly. In any event, without Suming's presence, Guo Zijian would definitely not make any decisions about the actors on his own.

Fortunately, Suming managed to catch up on sleep and felt refreshed.

These couple of days were almost entirely spent revising the script and selecting actors.

Not physically tired, but mentally exhausted, casting actors and rewriting the script both require a lot of brainpower, precise judgment, and some inexplicable intuition.

Moreover, selecting actors is extremely important; unlike an exam, where you get an answer sheet afterwards to see if your original choices were right or wrong, casting actors offers only one chance, and no one will ever tell you if your choice was the correct one or if there could have been a better option. Therefore, it was crucial to be cautious before making any decisions.

Another important reason was money. Guo Zijian understood Suming had only so much to invest, and every penny needed to be well-spent, or at least the boss needed to feel it was worth it.

Sometimes doing a job for someone isn't only about completing tasks but also important to make the boss feel you're acting according to his intentions; otherwise, it's a thankless effort.

Guo Zijian, quietly spoken and not a man of many words, was almost forty and had been mixing in the circle for years, and he clearly understood these things.

For the role of the male lead, Guo Zijian listed several potential candidates.

One was a fairly popular heartthrob from Xiangjiang for the past two years, who had starred in "The Duck King 1 and 2" and received awards. He was a good-looking and delicate youth that inspired an urge to protect him. His fee wouldn't exceed two million and the price could even be negotiated down;

"Two million..." Suming pondered for a moment and rejected the suggestion.

The price wasn't high, but compared to this young man's fame in Mainland China, it wasn't worth it.

Suming had watched "The Duck King" and felt this young man didn't leave a strong impression. Handsome, yes, but not the kind to strike it big with one hit; something felt lacking, a certain soul was missing.

The star appeal directly affects the box office. Spending two million for a Xiangjiang heartthrob virtually unknown in Mainland China wasn't a sound investment. Better to spend a bit more and hire a top-tier or high second-tier star directly.

The second suggestion was the TFBoys group, previously mentioned by the female zoo staff member, though only one of them could be chosen. Though they were on the young side, the movie wasn't a romance.

After much deliberation, Suming also decided against it.

From a personal taste perspective, Suming, a man in his twenties, felt indifferent towards TFBoys, whose fanbase was primarily female. Of course, he was making a film, not watching one at home, so casting couldn't be based on his preferences. Instead, he had to consider box office potential and public appeal thoroughly.

If they managed to hire one of the group, the fan economy alone could guarantee a decent box office revenue.

But there were two problems.

First, this was a recently popular group whose current trend seemed to be moving forward or falling back together. It would be difficult to hire just one member, and given their explosive popularity, they wouldn't come cheap.

Second, while fan economics ensured a stable box office from fans regardless of the movie's quality, it also alienated a segment of the audience who disliked them. The group had many fans in China, but also many detractors. The zoo was divided into two factions; those who liked them adored them to death, clamoring about having their babies without considering the legality of relations with minors; those who disliked them sneered and dubbed them "feces-removal boys," wishing the three youngsters would fall into a manure pit and drown, a level of malice that was quite venomous.

Third, the group members were indeed quite young. This film venture was a test for Suming; if successful, he could see it as a sustainable industry going forward. He didn't want to restrict his options right from the start.

A cameo might work, but not as the lead actor.

The third candidate was Wu Yifan, a hot young idol in China. Your next chapter is on My Virtual Library Empire

"This actor is the most suitable person in my mind," Guo Zijian said.