485: Chapter 485 Three Rules, Capital Enters the Game

The conference room door closed, leaving Chen Chengrui alone in the vast space, save for the screen on the wall with white text on a black background, where three characters hung quietly—Dream Weaver.

The air conditioning breeze pressed down from overhead.

He sat up straight, hands resting on his knees, waiting for the other party to name their price.

In his calculations, money was merely an entry ticket.

If the price couldn't be agreed upon, he could increase the offer; equity ratios could be renegotiated; promotional resources could also be brought to the table.

As long as the other party was willing to speak, he could always find a way to steer the conversation back to the rules of capital.

On the studio side, Lin Que picked up the glass that had long since gone cold and took a sip, tapping his fingertips lightly yet firmly against the tabletop twice.

"Young Master Chen, you just said that you would only provide funding, not interfere with the creative process, and not force people into the production crew."

"Correct." Chen Chengrui replied quickly. "I keep my word."

"I've heard that before." Lin Que's tone was flat, without the slightest fluctuation.

"On the day investors sign a contract, they all say the same thing. Full of sincerity, lowering their posture more than anyone else."

He paused for a beat. "Once the filming is halfway through and the money has been poured in, the tune changes. The male lead must be replaced by someone they are promoting, the script must add scenes that can trend on social media, and the ending must be changed to suit what the data likes to see."

"That phrase you keep saying about never interfering with the creative process—when faced with real money, it doesn't even amount to a line of fine print on an addendum to the contract."

The smile on Chen Chengrui's face froze instantly, and the corner of his eye twitched. He was used to being flattered in the industry; this was the first time anyone had so ruthlessly exposed his tactics to his face.

He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the irritation that surged up. He remained silent for two seconds, then sat up straight again, folding his hands and resting them on the edge of the table.

Since pleasantries couldn't suppress the other party, Chen Chengrui quickly switched his negotiation strategy. He stopped talking about sincerity and started talking about resources. Resources were the hardest bargaining chip on the capital table.

"Mr. Dream Weaver, I understand your concerns." Chen Chengrui tapped his fingers on the edge of the table.

"I've seen more cases in this industry of people forcing their way into the crew with money and ruining good scripts than you have. But I'm not like them."

"Behind me, I have the entry points for Chen's long-form video platform, short-form video promotion teams, an artist business matrix, and homepage resources from several top-tier channels."

"During the pre-heat phase, I can spread topics; during the launch phase, I can push within the platform; and once a hit point emerges, I can connect it to trending topics and commercial collaborations."

"In terms of publicity and distribution, the resources I can mobilize are far greater than those of an average production company."

"As long as the publicity and distribution for this drama are handed over to me, from scheduling to traffic pushing, it will receive the industry's top-tier treatment."

He steadied his voice. "I am bringing these resources to the table, and in return, I want a co-production seat for the project, a credit in the publicity, and the right of first refusal for subsequent derivative development."

He emphasized the word "first" slightly.

Lin Que listened without taking the bait on the platform entry points and traffic resources he had thrown out. "The position can be discussed. But the rules must be established first."

"First rule." His speaking pace slowed down, each word pressed firmly. "The startup capital for the derivative drama must be deposited into the project's joint management account in one lump sum."

"Account expenditures will be initiated by Director Guo, executed by a third-party finance department, and tracked by an auditing firm."

"How the money is spent and where it is spent, as well as filming execution, will be decided by Director Guo. Expenditures involving core characters, world-building, and main storyline direction must follow the plan confirmed by the original creator."

"The production crew's finances will be independently accounted for, and you will be provided with a third-party audit report every month."

In the conference room, Chen Chengrui's brows furrowed. "Mr. Dream Weaver, this isn't the standard way of doing things, is it?"

Chen Chengrui leaned toward the screen. "Where is the logic in an investor pouring in tens of millions only to wait until the end of the month to look at a report?"

His knuckles tapped on the edge of the table, his speaking pace half a beat faster than before. "I have a board of directors behind me; if this money is invested, I must at least have the right to confirm project milestones and the right to halt the project in case of budget anomalies."

"I can look at financial statements and check capital flows, but if I can't touch the process in between, I won't be able to answer to my superiors when I go back."

"If the board needs an explanation, that's fine." Lin Que's voice didn't soften in the slightest. "Third-party audit reports, periodic budget filings, warnings of major overruns, and explanations of finished product milestones—all of these can be provided to you."

"You can audit the accounts, you can issue warnings, and you can request explanations, but you cannot turn financial supervision into creative direction."

"The production crew's money serves only the filming itself. Investors can supervise the results, but they cannot turn the process into an administrative meeting with layers of reporting."

"If you don't trust Director Guo, you can leave now."

"Young Master Chen, you can see the value of this drama, and others can too."

Lin Que's voice was calm to the point of being cruel. "What this project lacks is money that follows the rules; it does not lack people wanting to enter."

The words on the tip of Chen Chengrui's tongue stopped. He stared at the three characters "Dream Weaver" on the screen, realizing for the first time that what the other party had given him was by no means a standard licensing agreement.

It was a line. On this side of the line, capital could enter. On the other side of the line, whoever reached out would be out of the game.

Before he could recover, the second rule followed closely. "Second rule," Lin Que said.

"The core outline of the derivative drama, the choice of director, and the male and female leads must be written into the pre-licensing terms. Following the original creator's bottom line, I reserve the right of veto."

"If this isn't signed, there's no need to discuss the licensing agreement any further."

"Anyone recommended by your side cannot join the production crew as a main character, fixed supporting character, or core unit character without auditioning for the director's team and being confirmed by the original creator."

"Ordinary cameos can go through the process, but nepotism hires cannot." "Cameos can be discussed, but nepotism hires cannot."

Chen Chengrui's expression changed completely. He couldn't control the money, and he couldn't force people in. As an investor, he had been stripped down to almost nothing more than a funding channel.

He had to provide the money and the resources, yet control was blocked outside the creative line.

He clasped his hands together, his knuckles tensing involuntarily. Having worked in this industry for so many years, he had signed dozens if not hundreds of contracts, yet he had never encountered an agreement that suppressed an investor so thoroughly.

"Mr. Dream Weaver, you are tying the investor's hands and feet completely." His voice was somewhat tight.

"Changing the script, replacing the leads—I don't ask for any of that. But surely the investor should have some sense of participation?"

"Even if it's just holding the nominal title of producer, occasionally visiting the set to check on progress—that request isn't excessive, is it?"

"I can't just throw in tens of millions and end up not even knowing which way the studio door opens."

On the studio side, Lin Que raised his hand and clicked on the document on the right side of the screen. After Director Guo Changhe's email about "Chen Chengrui's sudden arrival" arrived last night, he had conveniently checked Chen's public information from the past two years.

Press releases, business registration changes, project filings, platform playback data, investment changes, and several rumors of withdrawal of capital—true or false—were cross-referenced and organized into a simple table.

These materials couldn't reveal insider secrets, but they could show trends. The projects Chen Chengrui had publicly attached his name to in the past year had clearly slid from core dramas to derivative licensing and peripheral projects.

"There isn't much you can find in public records, but it's enough to piece together an outline." Lin Que's tone suddenly turned cold.

"After the Chen board reorganization last year, your cousin attached his name to three consecutive S-tier dramas, and the core resources of the film and television sector began to tilt toward him."

"And on your end, the projects that can be publicly found are increasingly concentrated on derivative licensing and peripheral projects."

Chen Chengrui's fingers, resting on the edge of the table, stopped abruptly. In that instant, a tiny crack appeared in the composure on his face.

On the screen, Dream Weaver's voice continued to fall. "Young Master Chen, life hasn't been easy, has it?"