Chapter 25: It Doesn’t Add Up

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Shen Yan was genuinely grateful to Zhang Wuchou.

After spending this much time together, he had come to realize how well Zhang treated him.

Extras were actually not much different from migrant laborers.

Their general quality was rather poor—drinking, womanizing, gambling, and the like.

Although Zhang Wuchou was well versed in all of that himself, he never dragged Shen Yan along. Whenever he had the chance, he even brought back some late-night snacks.

According to Zhang Wuchou, he had dreams.

What those dreams were, specifically, he could not quite say himself.

If one were to call it an actor's dream, then perhaps it involved becoming famous and earning recognition.

The acting and entertainment industries were glamorous professions: dressing in fine clothes, being admired by others, and earning a handsome income.

It was certainly an alluring prospect.

Perhaps he had once felt that way, but after nearly five years in the business, that dream had long since been extinguished.

In China's entertainment industry, the first requirement for becoming famous was resources.

Zhang Wuchou was already thirty-eight.

His looks were ordinary as well, so it was unlikely that anyone would invest in him.

Shen Yan had once asked him why he did not change careers.

His answer had been, “If I quit this line of work, I wouldn't know what else to do.”

Put optimistically, one could say he was following his passion despite the passage of time.

Put pessimistically, it was simply the best choice after weighing the pros and cons.

Besides, he was too lazy to do anything else.

And his current income was not bad. He averaged seven or eight thousand yuan a month, and he even had a little reputation within the industry.

After thinking it over, Shen Yan said, “Uncle Zhang, have you ever considered making some short comedy sketches and putting them online?”

“What are short comedy sketches?”

“Those little stories that only last a few minutes.”

After thinking for a moment, Shen Yan opened a folder and found The Happy Little Idiot.

“Something like this. Take a look.”

Zhang Wuchou put on his slippers and sat down beside him.

Shen Yan had downloaded these short dramas long ago.

After all, in later years, it would be extremely difficult to find copies of them.

…

The Happy Little Idiot was created by the team behind Con Men—or, more accurately, by the production crew behind The Story of College Students Living Together. Its lead actor was Xing Dongdong.

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It was an extremely short-form series consisting of twenty-five episodes, with each episode lasting between two and five minutes.

The producer was Li Hongchou.

Li Hongchou was an extremely arrogant man. He refused contact with the outside world and rejected any attempt to industrialize the production process of his team and its works.

He was obsessed solely with his own employees and his own scripts, and possessed practically no understanding of professional film and television production.

As a result, when filming, he focused only on the logic of his scripts while neglecting nearly every other aspect, including composition, lighting, cinematography, and special effects.

The most typical example was The Record of Strange Objects.

Many people said the team had no money for special effects, but that was not really the case. It was not that they lacked the money; they simply had no idea how much decent special effects were supposed to cost.

For example, if a special-effects shot would normally cost a professional production crew one hundred thousand yuan, he might decide that thirty thousand was the absolute limit.

With special effects, you got what you paid for. Something made for thirty thousand yuan simply could not compare with something made for one hundred thousand.

Furthermore, many of his series never went through a proper sound-production process.

Could anyone imagine that professional works created by a ten-year-old production team for public audiences had never undergone sound post-production?

The dialogue was recorded in residential neighborhoods with someone holding up a boom pole. Audio repair was done by an editor adjusting things with a mouse in Adobe Audition. Music and ambient effects were created directly in editing software, and all the source material came from free downloads on the internet.

As for mixing, that simply did not exist.

That was why several of Li Hongchou's online films felt so uncomfortable to watch.

Of course, the Con Men series really was a miracle.

Con Men was built around the grassroots nature of Li Hongchou's crew: a group of amateur college graduates and a single DV camera. They were legends of their era.

The first two seasons relied primarily on copying the British series Hustle. By the third season, they had somehow produced an original script. A battle of wits was difficult enough to write as it was, and yet it had come from the hands of this very grassroots team.

Most importantly, their craftsmanship grew more refined with every season.

The third season of Con Men received a rating of 9.7 on Douban. The main reason for its extraordinary reputation was that the audience could see the team's abilities improving within a single work.

That was something rarely seen in other film and television productions.

Usually, one saw a consistent level of quality. Whether that level was high or low, it remained more or less the same from beginning to end.

But the Con Men series gave its audience pleasant surprises.

Anyway, back to the short drama.

After watching two episodes of The Happy Little Idiot, Zhang Wuchou looked puzzled.

“This short drama doesn't seem to do much.”

Shen Yan said, “How can you say it does nothing? Every episode gets more than a million views. It may not earn much money, but it raises your profile. Didn't you say that the most important thing for an actor was to become famous?”

Zhang Wuchou pointed directly at Xing Dongdong on the computer screen.

“You mean this guy? Do you even know his name? After acting in this, did anyone offer him more roles? Have you ever seen him on television?”

“Uncle Zhang, this is the Internet age.” Shen Yan shook his head. “Popularity online represents fame just as much as anything else.”

Zhang Wuchou shook his head.

“I don't buy it. If he hasn't even appeared on television, how is he famous? How much do you think his acting fee is?”

Er…

“Forget it. I'll just tell you directly.” Shen Yan waved a hand. “I'm planning to go to Hengdian in a while and shoot some short dramas with a few extras.”

“Like this?”

“Exactly. Absurd comedies.”

“With extras?”

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“Of course. You can play the lead.”

“Is that really reliable?”

“Youku offers rewards for original videos. The cost isn't high anyway, so why not give it a try?”

Zhang Wuchou hesitated. “You want to pay for the production?”

“You could spend a little money yourself.” Shen Yan shook his head. “This sort of thing isn't complicated. Just edit it together and find some free background music online…”

Zhang Wuchou shook his head.

“You think it isn't complicated? To make these short dramas, you need actors, cinematography, post-production, and a script. All of that costs money.”

“I'll write two episodes for you. You can find someone else to write the rest.”

“Forget it. If you really want to help, just buy me two cartons of cigarettes.”

As he spoke, Zhang Wuchou got up and returned to his own bed. Then he picked up his phone and began chatting with someone.

Clearly, he was not interested in the slightest.

Damn it.

Shen Yan was speechless.

He had been planning to have Zhang Wuchou make several episodes of Unexpectedly.

He had even intended for Zhang Wuchou to play Wang Dachui.

Unexpectedly. My name is Wang Dachui…

With its image of a loser, lifeless fish eyes, and a series of bizarre yet internally consistent parody plots, the short drama became an instant online sensation when it was released.

This was Bai Ke's meal ticket and retirement fund.

Many people said its explosive popularity was simply a product of the times.

That was undeniable. Without the push provided by the Internet, Unexpectedly probably would not have become such a huge hit. But short comedies capable of making people laugh hysterically never went out of fashion, no matter the era.

If Unexpectedly had been born in the age of short videos, it would have spread even more widely.

Even so, Shen Yan felt that the series would become popular now.

After all, it was simply too quotable:

“My life has no regrets. When I think back to that run beneath the setting sun, that was my lost youth.”

“It won't be long before I get promoted and receive a raise, become general manager, take the position of CEO, marry a rich and beautiful woman, and reach the peak of life.”

And yet Zhang Wuchou had actually refused.

Did he even know what he had turned down?

Shen Yan glanced at him, intending to persuade him one more time.

But Zhang Wuchou clearly had no interest in continuing the conversation.

Forget it. Since he wanted two cartons of cigarettes, Shen Yan would buy him two cartons of Soft Zhonghua tomorrow.