Windfall, Release, and Taking Stock

As far back as his time in Berlin, Wei Jin had used a European consulting firm to establish an offshore company, which legally held the overseas rights to all copyrights owned by Wei Jin Fengliu Studio.

Thus, the more than six million dollars in overseas rights revenue remained in the offshore company's account.

He had originally kept a fallback out of habit, but as it turned out, one misstep had led to a stroke of luck. Since he couldn't participate in the UEFA European Championship from within China, he would do so legally overseas.

The first half of June was perhaps the most nerve-racking period since Wei Jin had transmigrated. The UEFA European Championship concerned not only the funds for his development, but also the confirmation of an idea he had long held.

At first, Wei Jin had determined that this was his original world, but in truth, the scope of what he had verified was extremely narrow. What could a country's land area prove? What could the makeup of the world prove? What could historical events prove?

From the moment he transmigrated, the future he relied upon had become unpredictable. Only if the truly massive events he remembered unfolded along their original course could his idea be even tentatively confirmed. After all, world-line convergence wasn't really a thing.

In fact, the butterfly effect had already occurred on a small scale, as with Huang Bai and Zeng Li. So Wei Jin couldn't be sure whether the result of this UEFA European Championship would be the same as he remembered.

Fortunately, the overseas rights revenue had been an unexpected windfall to begin with. Even if he lost it, Wei Jin's domestic base wouldn't be affected.

As it turned out, Wei Jin, this little butterfly, hadn't made that much of a difference. At least he hadn't affected the UEFA European Championship matches thousands of miles away.

The result was just as Wei Jin remembered: Greece won the championship, and the more than six million dollars he had put in instantly grew more than eightyfold. After taxes, the overseas company's account held 430 million dollars—a windfall from the heavens.

While Wei Jin was collecting his windfall overseas, Buried Alive was enjoying a theatrical run.

Although the film had won an award, its arthouse qualities weren't especially pronounced. China Film Group had high hopes for it and estimated a box office of 15 to 20 million yuan.

On July 1, two days before the film's release, the sale of its overseas rights was announced to the media, immediately stirring up a thousand waves.

"Astronomical rights deal: Beijing Film Academy student becomes a multimillionaire in one stroke."

"Overseas rights set a new record: a way forward for arthouse films."

"Silver Bear director may already be married. Who is the woman?"

Wei Jin, who had kept a low profile for nearly half a year, once again became a media darling. His phone was ringing off the hook.

This time, the calls were more about flattery than congratulations. Earning over 50 million yuan from a single film, he had surpassed the vast majority of domestic directors in his ability to rake in money. The industry was finally taking his status as a Silver Bear director seriously.

Among the callers were Tangren's Miss Cai and Liu Yifei's mother. The former sought a film collaboration, and Wei Jin merely said they definitely would if the opportunity arose.

The latter congratulated him and pointed out that Wei Jin and Liu Yifei were classmates, so they could spend more time together in Beijing. Wei Jin likewise said they definitely would if the opportunity arose.

Most surprisingly, Huayi's Wang Zhonglei also called personally to offer his congratulations. He subtly expressed interest in recruiting Wei Jin and suggested they have a meal together when they had time. Wei Jin readily agreed.

As for when he would have time, Wei Jin figured it would probably be when he was strong enough. After all, he had yet to prove himself in commercial films.

Promotional photos for the film had also appeared online over the past two days. One showed Qin Hao lying in a coffin with despair on his face. The chilling atmosphere was instantly cranked to the max, and it did attract quite a few netizens.

The film was released as the buzz continued to build.

Back in 2004, few films were released domestically, and people had yet to develop the habit of going to the movies. For the whole of July, there were only Buried Alive, House of Flying Daggers, and a Korean film, My Boyfriend's Romance.

Buried Alive opened on Saturday, July 3. With little competition, the theater chains gave it plenty of screenings. Boosted by the holiday period, it unexpectedly broke three million yuan at the box office on its first day. Word of mouth was good too, and China Film Group promptly stepped up its promotional efforts.

As word of mouth spread, more and more grassroots supporters promoted Buried Alive online. Sunday's box office hit a new high of 4.2 million yuan.

It was hard to imagine that a low-budget thriller had taken over 7.2 million yuan in two days. Judging by the word of mouth, its projected box office was around 40 million yuan.

Generally speaking, as long as word of mouth didn't collapse, a film's final box office would be eleven to fifteen times its first-day take.

What followed was no surprise. The film raked in 14.7 million yuan in its second week, bringing its cumulative box office to 21.9 million after nine days in theaters.

But none of that had anything to do with Wei Jin anymore. He was taking stock of the funds on the studio's books.

As of the end of June 2004:

On the novel front, fifteen volumes of Snowstrider had been released, with cumulative sales exceeding six million copies. There were simply too many pirated copies, and Wei Jin didn't want to hold any signing events, so he let things take their course. The rights had brought him 11 million yuan in revenue.

Those Years had sold explosively upon release and had now surpassed a million copies. Talks were also underway with publishers in Taiwan and Thailand. Its revenue had reached 2.6 million yuan.

On the music front, the six hit ringback tones had accumulated over 140 million downloads in more than half a year, generating 280 million yuan in revenue. The studio's share was 98 million.

Those Years, sung by Li Jian, had also been officially released. The market response was good, with many people saying it captured their youth in song. But it had only recently come out, so its revenue was still modest.

As for commercial appearances, Huang Bai's appearance fee had settled at 150,000 yuan as the songs gradually lost popularity. Over the past six-plus months, he had made the rounds of essentially every client who wanted him, bringing in a total of 21 million yuan.

That was despite Wei Jin cutting back his work schedule as much as possible for fear that Huang Bai would drop dead from overwork. Commercial appearances really were obscenely profitable. No wonder so many celebrities later released singles, whether they were human or dog, and went everywhere to rake in money.

Including the three million yuan from the outright sale of Buried Alive, the studio's total revenue since its founding had reached a staggering 130 million yuan.

On the expenditure side, Wei Jin had invested three million yuan in Chinese Paladin. Later, the budget fell short because of the special effects, and Tangren asked for additional investment. With a sweep of his pen, Wei Jin added another five million yuan, bringing his stake in the project to 30 percent. Tangren was so pleased with the collaboration that it brought him another project, New Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio. Wei Jin invested five million yuan for a 30 percent stake.

Among the projects Chen Zhiming had brought to him, there were several Wei Jin remembered, and he invested varying amounts in each, including:

Seven million yuan in Emperor Wu of Han for a 12 percent stake.

Ten million yuan at a premium in World's Finest for a 25 percent stake.

Total expenditure came to 30 million yuan. After the studio's operating costs, it currently had 91 million yuan available on its books.

Looking at the financial statements before him, Wei Jin sank into thought. His initial flag-planting was already bearing fruit: projects were coming to him of their own accord, many of them high-quality. The one regret was that he had yet to assemble a production team. It seemed he would have to set his sights on the school's graduates.

Wei Jin already had some preliminary plans for the funds on the books.

There were still too few cinemas in China. Only by making the pie bigger could he earn more money, and gaining control of theater chains would also strengthen his say in the industry.

When the day came that Wei Jin controlled enough theater chains, he would see who dared raise their voice at him.