298: Chapter 298 Hollywood Director Slides to His Knees

Inside the luxurious banquet hall of Beverly Hills, time seemed to have frozen for half a century.

Until the plaster dust peeling from the walls gradually dissipated.

A full half-minute passed.

Standing in the corner, the accompanying medical staff, who had long been stunned, finally shuddered as if waking from a dream.

"Quick! A stretcher! Bring a stretcher over!"

Two white doctors scrambled forward with a folding stretcher, frantically pulling Tai Shan out from where he was embedded in the shattered wall.

After a simple palpation, the attending physician's face turned pale.

"Extensive contusion of the sternum, three broken ribs on the left side, and one of them almost pierced his lung!"

The doctor, covered in sweat, roared into the walkie-talkie: "The patient is in a deep coma, prepare the ambulance! Send him to the hospital immediately!"

Hearing the diagnosis of "three broken ribs".

The surrounding Hollywood celebrities in suits and the action superstars who usually considered themselves tough guys all uncontrollably gasped, feeling their own chests ache in sympathy.

One punch.

Within a burst distance of less than an inch.

Through thick pectoral muscles, he had forcibly shattered three ribs of a 250-pound UFC fighting champion.

If they hadn't seen it with their own eyes, who would believe that this kind of lethality, which only existed in Eastern martial arts novels, could actually happen at a real-life party in Hollywood?

And under the gaze of the audience, filled with a mix of awe and fear.

Su Zhe.

This man, who had just displayed destructive power like a tyrannosaurus.

At this moment, he slowly lowered his arms.

He lowered his rolled-up shirt sleeves, his bony fingers gripping the cufflinks of his high-end suit, fastening them with elegant composure.

It was as if the person who had just punched a grizzly bear away wasn't him at all, and he had merely done a simple warm-up exercise before the meal.

Su Zhe turned around, strode forward with his long legs, stepping on the expensive glass shards covering the floor.

Step by step, he walked toward the bearded Hollywood director at the front of the crowd—Smith.

Watching Su Zhe approach.

Smith's tall body stiffened involuntarily; he even subconsciously wanted to retreat, but his legs refused to obey, as if they were filled with lead.

Su Zhe stopped in front of Smith.

He didn't look at Smith's pale face, but instead picked up another glass of bubbling chilled champagne from the tray of a trembling waiter nearby.

"Mr. Smith."

Su Zhe gently swirled the goblet, his deep black eyes looking at the other person calmly, his tone flat without a ripple: "You just said that your new movie needs an Eastern punching bag that can display the absolute power of a white hero."

"Now."

Su Zhe took a sip of champagne, his gaze sweeping toward the wooden wall in the distance that had been smashed through: "Do you think my moves just now can display the power you want for your movie?"

This was a rhetorical question that carried little murderous intent, but was extremely insulting!

Director Smith stood there blankly.

His gaze switched back and forth between Su Zhe's calm face and Tai Shan, who was being carried onto a stretcher in the distance.

As a fanatic who had devoted his entire life to action movies.

A magnitude-10 tsunami was raging in Smith's heart at this moment!

What Hollywood stunt coordinator?

What green screen and wires?

What fist and kick special effects made up for by post-production editing?

In the face of the real, lethal techniques that hit flesh with every punch and showed no trace of special effects, those action industry assembly lines that Hollywood prided itself on were simply like a pile of fake plastic trash.

This was the true aesthetics of action!

In Smith's blue eyes, the fear gradually faded, replaced by a near-pathological fanaticism, as if he had seen a rare treasure!

"Rip!"

Under the astonished gazes of all the Hollywood celebrities present.

Smith suddenly pulled out the stereotypical script outline for "Fierce Dragon Agent" from his inner suit pocket, which he had originally intended to use to patronize Su Zhe.

He used both hands to tear the outline, which had cost millions of dollars to develop, into pieces in front of everyone.

Paper scraps scattered on the floor like snowflakes.

Immediately after.

This action director, who usually held sway in Hollywood and was arrogant.

Regardless of everyone's gaze, he bent his knees, bowed deeply at nearly ninety degrees, and performed a comical yet sincere "kneeling slide" toward Su Zhe!

"Oh my god! Bruce Lee!"

Smith excitedly shouted out that name, which represented the totem of Chinese Kung Fu in the Western world, in broken Chinese.

He looked up sharply, grabbed Su Zhe's arm, his eyes fanatical: "Su! It was me who was blind, it was me who was blinded by those stupid Hollywood prejudices! That damned villain clown role is simply a blasphemy against a martial arts master like you!"

Smith incoherently and quickly expressed his stance in English: "Please, you must join my new movie! No! Not a cameo! I want to change the whole script! I want to set you as a co-lead equal to the male lead. An Eastern master who is deep, powerful, and possesses ancient killing arts. At the same time, I beg you to take on the position of [Action Director] for this movie!"

To express his sincerity, Smith waved his hand to have his assistant hand over a checkbook.

He pulled out a pen, signed his name on it, and then presented a blank check with both hands: "This is a deposit, fill in any number you want! As long as you can bring that kind of real Chinese Kung Fu to the big screen, you will be the next king of action in Hollywood!"

Watching Smith's near-manic fanatical appearance.

The surrounding Hollywood capitalists and superstars were so shocked their eyeballs were about to fall out.

A co-lead in a major Hollywood production! Plus Action Director! Plus a blank check!

This kind of treatment has never had a precedent in the entire history of Asian cinema.

However, Su Zhe did not show any sign of being flattered.

He didn't even glance at the blank check.

"I'm not short on money."

Su Zhe placed the champagne glass on the table, looked down at Smith with a cold gaze, and directly threw out his bottom line: "I can take this movie, but I have three conditions. If one is missing, you can hire someone else."

"You say it! Please, just say it!"

Smith nodded repeatedly like a garlic masher.

"First, all Chinese cultural elements, costumes, and lines that appear in the movie must be personally vetted by me. Absolutely no Hollywood-style stereotypes or politically correct smears are allowed.

Second, the original foreign martial arts instruction team must be completely disbanded. The action team will be formed by me bringing people over from the country.

Third."

Su Zhe leaned forward slightly, his eyes revealing an unquestionable dominance: "On the action set, my rules are the rules. Even if it's a Hollywood superstar with a 20-million-dollar paycheck, in my venue, they have to behave themselves."

Once these three rules were put forward, it was equivalent to carving out a lawless land in the Hollywood crew that was absolutely ruled by Chinese people!

Smith gritted his teeth, but as he replayed the "inch energy" that blew Tai Shan away in his mind, all his hesitation vanished instantly.

"Deal!"

Smith extended his big hand: "Director Su, happy cooperation!"

...

The next morning.

On the outskirts of Los Angeles, in a massive open-air film set belonging to one of the eight major Hollywood studios.

Inside the action team camp of the "Fierce Dragon Agent" crew.

Dozens of blond, blue-eyed, burly foreign stunt doubles and martial artists were gathered in twos and threes, smoking and drinking coffee.

Their complexions were ugly, and their eyes were full of unconvinced resentment.

"Did you hear? Director Smith fired our boss Tai Shan last night."

"I heard. They replaced him with a pop singer from China as the action director. It's simply crazy!"

"What does that pretty boy know about Hollywood explosions? What does he know about car stunts? Let us elites who have won world stunt awards listen to the command of an Asian layman?"

"When he comes later, let's give him a taste of our power and let him know that a Hollywood rice bowl isn't so easy to hold!"

Just as these foreign martial artists were gearing up to give the new director a hard time.

Screech...

A black off-road vehicle stopped at the entrance of the film set.

The door opened.

Su Zhe was wearing a sharp black windbreaker, wearing sunglasses, and walked down with big strides.

Following behind him were Tie Niu and Yin Hua, who had bought plane tickets overnight from the country to fly over.

The three walked to the center of the action team camp.

Facing the dozens of blue eyes around him filled with provocation and disdain, Su Zhe didn't even take off his sunglasses.

He didn't make any inauguration speech, nor did he try to reason with these foreigners.

To deal with this bunch of brutes who only recognize fists, the only way is to crush them with power they cannot understand!

"Tie Niu."

Su Zhe snapped his fingers.

"Understood, bro!"

Tie Niu grinned and directly called over a few bewildered crew prop staff.

In the astonished gazes of all the foreign martial artists, thick logs sharpened to points were hammered into the muddy open space next to the set by a heavy pile driver.

Each log was two meters high above the ground, but the landing area at the top was only the size of a bowl.

There were thirty-six of them, arranged in a strange, staggered formation.

It was precisely the ultimate training equipment for traditional Chinese martial arts—the Plum Blossom Stakes!

After the stake formation was built.

Su Zhe walked to the edge of the mud.

He took off his sunglasses, his cold black eyes scanned the audience, and his powerful aura instantly extinguished the whispers of those foreign martial artists.

"I know you're not convinced."

Su Zhe pointed to the Plum Blossom Stakes standing high above the mud, his tone revealing a wild and domineering coldness: "On my set, we don't talk about Hollywood seniority, we only follow Chinese rules.

Don't you think Chinese Kung Fu is acrobatics? Now, whoever can stand on these thirty-six logs for a full minute without falling into the mud pit without a harness, I will give this position of Action Director to him on the spot."

Su Zhe paused, his voice suddenly raised, like a thunderclap: "Otherwise! Shut the hell up! And obediently follow my rules—practice!"