487: Chapter 487 The seed finally fell into the soil.

The second half of the script reading session progressed to the end of the first episode. Director Guo Changhe announced a temporary adjournment, and everyone left one after another, clutching scripts filled with notes.

The meeting room door closed again. At the long table that had just been full of people, only Director Guo Changhe remained.

He remained alone at the head of the long table. The large screen in front of him was still lit; in the center of the black background, the three white characters "Dream Weaver" hung silently.

He stared at those three characters for a long time.

The heat of the script reading session hadn't dissipated yet, and the edges of the scripts spread out on the table were densely packed with notes. But all that was running through Director Guo Changhe's mind was something else.

That Crown Prince of the Beijing Circle—when he entered, he had his legs crossed, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, with the air of someone just there to watch a show. When he left, the sunglasses were tucked into his pocket, and his back was straight as a ramrod.

Director Guo Changhe had been a director for over twenty years and had seen his fair share of capital. He had experienced those who brought their own funding into the production, those who forced people in, those who passed notes, and those who threw their weight around, bossing the crew about just because they had money.

Chen Chengrui was the most difficult type among them. He had money, he had connections, and he had an inexhaustible supply of arrogance.

Director Guo Changhe really couldn't hold back anymore.

"Teacher Dream Weaver." He leaned toward the screen, his voice lowered, carrying undisguised curiosity.

There was no sound from the other side of the screen; it was waiting for him to continue.

"Chen Chengrui is a notoriously difficult person in the industry." Director Guo Changhe tapped his fingers on the edge of the table.

"Last year, an old producer with more experience than me was negotiating a project with him. The contract was almost finalized when he changed the terms with a single sentence, forcing the entire production to halt for half a month."

"A character like that, and you, through the screen, managed to force him back into line with just a few words." He shook his head, recalling the expression on Chen Chengrui's face just moments ago.

"When Chen Chengrui finished his private chat and we came back from outside, my palms were sweating for you."

Over at the studio, Lin Que held that cold glass, and after listening to Director Guo Changhe's stream of words, the corners of his lips twitched. The voice changer suppressed his smile, and the voice coming from the speakers remained that low, dry tone.

"Director Guo, things aren't as complicated as you think."

"He is arrogant because no one has ever touched his weak spot before." Lin Que's speaking pace was slow.

"For this kind of person, sentimentality won't work, and neither will art."

"The only thing that can control him is profit."

"The fact that he came here specifically today shows that this deal is important enough to him. Once you lay all the accounts out on the table, he naturally knows which path will maximize his returns."

"No matter how stubborn his arrogance is, when it meets a life-or-death account, it has to give way."

Director Guo Changhe nodded repeatedly as he listened. "Then this contract..."

"Draft it according to the three points we discussed today." Lin Que's tone settled back down.

"First, the money goes into a joint account, expenditures are initiated by you, and the audit trail is preserved throughout."

"Second, the original author retains veto power over the core outline, the director, and the lead actors."

"Third, copyright is only for limited-term licensing."

"These three points are the bottom line; not a single word can be relaxed."

"Have the legal team write the breach of contract clauses in detail. If he follows the rules, he'll get every penny he's owed. If his subordinates dare to pass notes or push names, the penalty clauses will be triggered immediately, authorization will be terminated, and their co-investment rights will be cancelled."

Lin Que paused for a beat. "As for the rest, you don't need to worry."

"This money only enters the account; it doesn't enter the production."

Director Guo Changhe understood the two layers of meaning: "creative control" and "full funding provided upfront." His hand gripping the pen tightened suddenly, and his eyes lit up.

"That's enough." He was startled by his own outburst and quickly lowered his voice, but he couldn't suppress the excitement.

"Teacher Dream Weaver, you don't know, but when I took on this script, there was always a heavy stone weighing on my heart." Director Guo Changhe leaned forward, his eyes shining.

"Supernatural themes are already difficult, and once money enters the mix, favors, traffic stars, and connected individuals all crowd in. A good story is most afraid of being filmed into something unrecognizable."

"Now it's better." He said, enunciating every word. "Enough money, the right people, and the production crew has the final say."

"In all my years of directing, I've just been missing an opportunity like this to really let loose."

He straightened his back, his words firm and resolute. "Just wait and see. I will definitely film this "soul ferry" into a production that makes the entire industry turn its head. If anyone says supernatural dramas can't be taken seriously, I'll just show them the final cut."

There was silence on the other side of the screen for two seconds. "With those words from Director Guo, I can rest easy." Lin Que's voice softened.

"I'll leave the set to you; film it slowly, don't rush. Let the actors digest the points from today's reading for a few days. I'll still be here for the second reading."

"Understood!" Director Guo Changhe responded loudly.

Lin Que's fingers moved to the control panel. "That's all for today."

"Teacher Dream Weaver, take care..." Halfway through his sentence, Director Guo Changhe realized he was seeing a guest out while facing a screen, and he couldn't help but let a smile break through.

The three white characters on the screen dimmed, and the black background faded out as well. In the meeting room, Director Guo Changhe watched the screen return to its ordinary state, stood there for a good while to compose himself, and then turned to call the people outside.

Over at the studio, Lin Que confirmed the connection was severed. He raised his hand, first taking off the small voice-changing receiver from his ear, then shutting down the output channels of the Brain-Computer Interface System one by one.

The row of cold white indicator lights on the silver-gray panel extinguished one by one, leaving only the low hum of the white noise machine in the room.

He leaned back into his chair, stretched his arms above his head, and gave a long stretch. His joints made a few soft cracking sounds.

From yesterday morning until today, his nerves had been taut for nearly a full day. At this moment, he could finally relax.

Lin Que looked down at the "soul ferry" script on the table, then at the silver-gray briefcase that had already been packed away.

He had been planning this path for a long time. Text is the root, and film is another kind of branch and leaf. The deeper the roots are planted, the more the story has the qualification to cross beyond the pages and reach more people who have never opened the book.

The production of "soul ferry" was his first attempt, using the name "Dream Weaver," to let those brilliant stories from his past life shine in this world in a different way.

Director Guo Changhe was reliable, and the prickly capital that was Chen Chengrui had been pressed into its proper place by the rules. The presentation of more stories and the expansion of more mediums finally had a steady starting point.

This seed had finally fallen into the soil today. As for when it would break through the earth, and when it would grow into a tree capable of sheltering more people, that would be left to time and the work itself.

Lin Que picked up the glass and drank the last mouthful of cold water. An astringent taste spread at the root of his tongue.

He set down the glass and turned his head to look at the wall clock. The hour hand was pointing exactly at half past two.

There were less than twenty hours left until the deadline at 10:00 AM tomorrow. The public review was also not far off.

Lin Que turned his chair back to the computer and performed the three-step verification again. After the three verifications passed one by one, the minimalist black interface popped up on the screen.

He opened his encrypted email. At the top of the inbox, there was a new email. The sender was Editor-in-Chief Wang De'an of New Tide, and there was a red urgent tag in front of the subject line.