3 Conquering the World

Page 1/3

The Rongxin Restaurant was situated on Nathan Road, a thoroughfare stretching through Sham Shui Po and Yau Tsim Mong districts, extending southward to Salisbury Road and passing through the most bustling areas of the Kowloon Peninsula. Rongxin Restaurant occupied a spot on Cameron Road in the Tsim Sha Tsui section. Beneath it was a century-old herbal tea shop. Every Saturday, a silver Rolls-Royce would park outside the tea shop, usually followed by a Toyota carrying a group of black-clad bodyguards. They would surround the Rolls-Royce the moment its occupant stepped out, coldly scanning every passerby through their dark sunglasses.

Every weekend, Zhao Shirong, chairman of the Orange Grain Group and one of the three godfathers of Hong Kong cinema, would come to the century-old Rongxin Ji for morning tea.

Zhao Shirong, sixty years old this year, hailed from the Chaoshan region. His family had once been renowned landowners before transitioning into the textile business. In the 1960s, they relocated to Hong Kong, acquiring some wealth, though not immense fortune. Zhao had initially worked as a producer at TVB, then an agent, before branching out independently to establish the Orange Grain Group, becoming a titan in Hong Kong’s film industry.

His comings and goings were a prime target for paparazzi.

At first, they followed him even for morning tea, but his routine was so predictable that entertainment tabloids lost interest in such mundane news. Gradually, the paparazzi ceased their stakeouts.

At Rongxin Ji, Zhao had a private box by the window, seated in his customary grand chair. From there, he could overlook the bustling intersection below—the ceaseless flow of traffic and crowds fully within his view. Holding the morning newspaper delivered by his personal assistant, he would always feel a sovereign’s ease.

At exactly eight o’clock, Zhao sat upright in his chair. A waitress in a teal cheongsam brewed him a pot of White Hair Silver Needle tea, serving it in a small white porcelain cup no larger than half a palm. The tea was clear and fragrant.

Last night’s heavy rain still lingered in the air, mingling with the sound of car horns below. Steaming baskets of dim sum arrived: crystal shrimp dumplings with translucent skins revealing rosy shrimp, beef meatballs infused with dried tangerine peel the size of a fist, dense and juicy with brown broth dripping onto the plate, golden fried coconut cakes emitting rich coconut aroma, their edges crisp and slightly charred, and a bowl of vermicelli soaked in savory broth topped with glossy roasted goose leg and sprinkled with finely chopped scallions.

Yet Zhao Shirong was indifferent to the flavors before him. Holding a cumbersome black “brick” mobile phone, his golden Rolex gleaming on his wrist, his brow was furrowed.

“I know I lost money speculating on real estate. Hong Kong’s land prices are sky-high; no one expected the economic crisis, the stock market plunged so sharply, billions just vanished. But I’m not the only one facing this—everyone’s losing money. Didn’t Jianhua’s boss jump off a building... No, Andy, that’s not what I mean... I’m not out of touch. Look at you—you get nervous as soon as I say anything. I’m trying to find solutions, okay?”

“I know it’s tough at Orange Grain Entertainment; nobody respects you. They say you only got your position because of me. Two years ago, I’d have given you money to make films and train your own team, but we don’t have the liquidity now. Besides, you say Xie Haihua doesn’t listen to you. How can we possibly produce a second superstar like him? He’s the backbone of Orange Grain. Andy, don’t push him away. Some losses you just have to swallow.”

“Yes, yes. More film companies have emerged recently, making it hard to profit. Most of the money’s gone to Stellar Films, since they nurtured He Jihan... It’s not that I don’t train talents. Superstars aren’t made on demand—they’re born with it. You can tell at a glance if someone has star quality.”

He wiped the sweat from his brow with a white handkerchief.

“You want me to find a loyalist? Where? Asia Television? That’s the He family’s entertainment company. We can’t afford to offend them. I’m not brushing you off. At best, I’m a wealthy businessman; the He family is aristocracy, one of the ten great families. I dare not oppose them. TVB? They haven’t produced any real talents recently; the Xu family has left, and shares have changed hands. They’re no longer what they used to be. Besides, TV dramas are different from films—TV dramas don’t have much prestige.”

“Don’t rush. Some things take time. You’ve only been on the Orange Grain board for a year. First, understand the company’s operations. Build alliances with those willing to support you. Then, gradually deal with the disobedient ones. Eventually, they’ll respect you...”

“I’m not trying to smooth things over...”

“Boss.” Someone interrupted Zhao Shirong.

Page 2/3

He glared at the intruder. “What now?”

Zhao Qicheng, his personal secretary and nephew, lowered his head almost to his chest. “Someone’s looking for you.”

“Can’t you see I’m on the phone? Who wants to see me?”

“A girl.”

“Which girl?” The voice on the other end of the line, He Xiyue, suddenly raised her tone sharply.

Zhao Shirong’s eyes widened. “Which girl? I don’t know any girl.”

“She’s a stranger. She says she wants to be a star and wants to meet you.”

Zhao Shirong’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I’m not a talent agent. I’m the boss. Why are you bothering me with this? Do you bring every random woman on the street to me for evaluation, to see if she could be the next Li Lixia? Not everyone can be a star. Tell her to leave.”

“Third uncle, I suggest you at least see the girl first,” Zhao Qicheng said, his tone strange.

“What for?” Zhao Shirong was genuinely angry now. “I already said no. Do you want to get fired?”

Zhao Shirong had fought in the Hong Kong entertainment industry for over thirty years, cultivating countless top stars. His reputation was immense. Now over sixty, he had become more autocratic. When he lost his temper, the entire Orange Grain Group fell silent. Zhao Qicheng usually feared him terribly, but at this moment, he was unusually persistent.

“I know you’re afraid of him, but please just take a look,” he said. “Once you see her, you’ll know she really can be a star.”

The voice of He Xiyue on the phone quieted.

“Send her in.” After a long pause, she said calmly.

Her words carried weight.

Muttering, Zhao Shirong said, “Fine, bring her over and let me see who’s so brazen.” Lifting his now lukewarm tea to his lips, he warned, “If I find out you’re bluffing me, Qicheng, don’t bother staying by my side. Get lost.”

“Once you see her, you’ll know,” Zhao Qicheng repeated mysteriously, winking. “She says her surname is Sheng, Sheng Jiayi. That name’s rare in Hong Kong. And she’s truly one in a million... I’ll send her up. If you think she’s suitable, you can recommend her to General Manager He.”

Page 3/3

Zhao Shirong thought to himself: Qicheng has been with me for six years. He’s seen countless beauties. If he insists like this, this girl must really be something special. Besides, only someone supremely confident in her looks would dare to recommend herself here. Maybe she’s as beautiful as this year’s newly crowned Miss Hong Kong, He Tingting.

He Tingting had signed a five-year contract with TVB and was poised to become the network’s leading star. Meanwhile, Orange Grain’s number one actress, Pei Anning, had retired after marriage, leaving a gap among young actresses. He Xiyue had yet to discover a promising new star, and the veteran actors at Orange Grain still resisted her authority, adding to her stress.

The film industry was struggling. Outsiders thought it was lucrative, so many jumped into the fray. The media landscape became murky: unable to produce quality films, they made bad ones; when bad films failed, they resorted to risqué productions; when those couldn’t be cast, they resorted to pirated DVDs. A movie’s journey from conception to release could be as short as a week or two, rarely longer than two or three months. All studios rushed desperately, fearing any delay would mean ruin.

The cinemas were packed with similarly titled films. Just in June, there were “King of Gamblers 3,” “Gambling Freak 2,” “Gambler 1,” “Saint of Gamblers 2,” “Gambling Immortal,” “King of Gamblers the King,” “Gambler”...

For years, they vied fiercely, leaving the big studios exhausted. Orange Grain had the worst luck without a powerful background. The boss’s reckless investments coupled with the stock market crash nearly broke their cash flow. Major stars fled to other companies, leaving only a handful of the earliest stars Zhao had nurtured, who still stayed out of loyalty.

Zhao Shirong was a man who did not believe in fate. He felt he had come this far on his own, without support, and that heaven should not have been so cruel to him.

In this world, some bosses had connections, some had money, but he started with nothing—only an unparalleled eye for talent.

Fortune tellers said he would have great luck this year. Just looking at wealth, the stars predicted a purple aura descending, a hidden dragon ascending.

Maybe this newcomer was that hidden dragon.

He heard footsteps drawing near the private room.

At sixty-plus, Zhao’s heart pounded like a drum. For a moment, he felt transported back twenty-two years, when he carried two hundred thousand dollars and, with the unknown Xie Haihua, left TVB to rent a 500-square-foot office on Ya Ma Tei Road to start Orange Grain Films.

At that time, Hong Kong cinema was dominant, but the old giant was declining due to over-monopolization and loss of innovation. TVB, newly established and backed by an old aristocratic family, had endless funds and was making a name in television dramas. The now shining Asia Television and Stellar Films had yet to emerge. The global media industry was rapidly advancing, ushering in a new era for film, and talent from all over Asia poured into this small island.

The Hong Kong entertainment scene was then called the Golden City, filled with glittering gold mines awaiting discovery.

When Zhao Shirong signed his name on the lease contract, sunlight streamed through a narrow pane of glass onto the desk. Outside, bicycles rang their bells as they passed by, the clear chimes echoing in his heart. A powerful premonition surged within him.

His era was finally about to begin.