My Landlord is an Idol Singer - Chapter 123

Gu Zhinan was lost in thought. He happened to have the full script of A Little Thing Called First Love on his phone, he just hadn’t printed it out for Lai Jingming yet.

Back again at the small building that served as Lai Jingming’s studio, Gu Zhinan looked up at the shabby three-story structure, struggling for survival on the outskirts of Hangzhou.

Lai Jingming opened the door. The first floor was completely empty now. Without a word, he led Gu Zhinan straight to the third floor.

Gu Zhinan took a moment to glance around the second floor as they passed. It was mostly bare too, just a few desks and some leftover computers.

Pathetic. He remembered that during his last visit, there had at least been quite a bit of equipment here. Only the third floor remained as it was. After all, it was Lai Jingming’s personal space, his “kennel,” as he called it.

“This building was originally leased by Lu Gao Chi. Two-year lease. There’s still half a year left. The studio used to have more than a dozen people, some of them were my classmates from Beijing Film Academy. But now, they’ve all followed him to Nation’s Star Entertainment,” Lai Jingming said, sitting casually on the couch.

He had been drunk last night, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember everything. He recalled clearly what Gu Zhinan had said to him.

Some people were worth it. Some weren’t.

So, at this point, there was nothing left to hold him back. That Lan Fang had promised to be with him, yet they had never even done anything, not even a kiss, just a hand-holding incident!

Ridiculous!

“Well, now you’ve got the perfect place for a comeback, haven’t you?” Gu Zhinan said lightly.

He walked over to Lai Jingming’s desk, turned on the computer, and transferred the script file from his phone. Then he printed it out. The sound of the printer echoed through the room. Lai Jingming looked over curiously, just in time to catch the freshly bound script that Gu Zhinan tossed his way.

“Here. Full script for A Little Thing Called First Love. See if it meets your standards.” Gu Zhinan’s voice was casual, almost indifferent.

“Read it carefully. Don’t bother me, I need to write. If I skip another update, my editor might kill me.”

Lai Jingming laughed awkwardly. He felt a bit guilty, after all, Gu Zhinan had come to Hangzhou for his sake. That’s why the novel hasn’t been updated today.

He picked up the thick script. He had already read the initial outline before, but this was the completed version. He was genuinely curious to see how Gu Zhinan’s unusual mind had fleshed out the story into a full screenplay.

As he flipped through the pages, the beginning was as expected. But then, characters began to appear, each one carefully described with notes on their personality and how they should be portrayed. There were instructions on how they should feel in particular scenes.

Scene setups, camera angles, everything was included. Even the dialogue was all there, fully written!

Lai Jingming glanced over at Gu Zhinan, who was hunched over the desk, furiously typing away.

What kind of brain does this guy have? He writes songs, novels, poems, and now screenplays? What kind of monster is this? No wonder the script was so thick, over 40 pages, densely packed with content.

Lai Jingming was stunned. Reading it felt like diving into a youth novel. The deeper he went, the more amazed he became.

If this movie was made… it would be a hit. No doubt about it.

This was how a director should feel about a script.

A few times, he wanted to ask Gu Zhinan how he had come up with all of it, but seeing the focused look on his friend’s face, he stayed silent.

He didn’t want to get kicked.

So, he kept reading, shifting into director mode, imagining how he would shoot each scene, interpret each facial expression, and follow each suggested camera angle. If the script hadn’t specified something, he filled it in himself using his professional knowledge.

Eventually, he realized, most of the choices he’d make matched what Gu Zhinan had already written. And in some cases, what Gu Zhinan suggested was even better.

This guy was a natural-born director!

Lai Jingming looked at Gu Zhinan with blazing admiration.

If this script was written without formal training, then with a bit of proper education at Beijing Film Academy, Gu Zhinan could be a supernova in the film world. Though these techniques hadn’t yet been tested in practice, Lai Jingming knew this script was solid. If it were filmed according to the plan, it would absolutely work.

Two hours passed.

Both of them were lost in their own worlds, until Gu Zhinan stretched and stood up, glancing over to see Lai Jingming still poring over the script. 

He smiled. He walked to the sofa across from him and poured himself a glass of water. “So? Can you shoot this or not?”

Lai Jingming looked up, eyes bloodshot but glowing with excitement. “Even an idiot could shoot this! Let alone a directing genius like me!”

Then he hesitated and asked in a low voice, “Did you run into some enlightened master who guided you recently?”

“…What?” Gu Zhinan blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Lai Jingming explained seriously, “Think about it. Before I transferred schools in middle school, you were what? An average student at best. Am I wrong? But now look at you, writing songs, poetry, novels, and now a full-blown script.”

“Get lost.” Gu Zhinan rolled his eyes.

Lai Jingming chuckled. It wasn’t easy to get under Gu Zhinan’s skin, but that one definitely did it. “Too bad we can’t start yet,” Lai Jingming said, calming down. “Can I hold on to the script for now? Give me two years, I’ll direct it myself.”

But Gu Zhinan shook his head. He looked seriously at Lai Jingming. “Fatty, how much money would you need to shoot this film?”

Lai Jingming could tell from Gu Zhinan’s expression that he was serious. He picked up a pen and started scribbling on an A4 sheet.

About ten minutes later, he looked up.

“If we recruit actors from Haipu Drama Academy or Beijing Film Academy, we can keep salaries low, new faces, but skilled. Most of the scenes are set in a school, and I know some good shooting locations in Hengdian.”

He took a sip of water and continued.

“Props are the least of our concerns, this script doesn’t need special effects. There’s crew salaries, equipment, and the biggest one, finding a good cinematographer who can sync up with me. All told, including post-production and marketing, we’d need at least four million yuan.”

Gu Zhinan zeroed in on that figure, four million. He slumped back in his chair.

All his assets combined barely came to 2.6 million, and last month’s royalties hadn’t come in yet. He checked, way lower than the first month, just 600,000. Of course, nothing compares to a debut month’s hype. There were tons of rewards then. He remembered Wang Lang had even tipped 100,000 once.

Things had since stabilized. He had also told readers not to send rewards, just keep reading and subscribing.

Generous at the time. Now… he was starting to regret it.

After the platform took its cut, he only got 600,000. The Legend of Sword and Fairy was still incredibly popular, though.

Cheng Mengxi, his cunning editor, claimed she was negotiating publishing rights and decided to pay royalties every two months to “discourage slacking.”

So now, every two months, he’d experience a short burst of wealth.

He wanted to argue but she pointed out he kept skipping updates, accepting awards one day, taking leave the next. Readers were full of complaints.

Those Cheng sisters were both evil!

He had already transferred his royalties, over a million yuan, to his mother Chen Ru’s bank account. When he told her, she scolded him for hours, even suspecting he’d done something illegal. It took a lot of persuasion before she accepted it.

Even then, she only agreed to hold it for emergencies or if he needed a down payment on a house. She was never going to actually use it.

Gu Zhinan fell silent.