Chapter 148: Luzhou Studio

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An exceptional screenwriter can never become a writer, yet a writer can easily transition into an exceptional screenwriter. Haiyan, who wrote the Haiyan dramas; Wang Shuo, who penned the New Year comedies; Duliang, who crafted military dramas; Liu Zhenyun, the author of *Back to 1942*; and Shi Kang, who wrote *Struggle*—all of them were exceptional writers first, who later received invitations for television and film adaptations and shifted their careers to screenwriting.

The fundamental reason behind this phenomenon is that writers possess the imagination for original storytelling, whereas screenwriters merely possess the ability to process finished products. Imagination is innate, while processing skills are acquired through training. Many domestic screenwriters in China are flawless in terms of technique, and the scene transitions in many of their scripts are remarkably outstanding.

However, they simply lack imagination.

Therefore, no matter how structurally complete a script is written, after it is filmed, it may still turn out to be a piece of crap.

As early as the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, the works of many great literary masters, works brimming with profound philosophical thought, were adapted into scripts—the most representative being Yu Hua's *To Live*. These adaptations utilized artistic techniques to tell the stories, winning high acclaim and numerous international awards.

Yet, when the era of commercial cinema arrived, lacking the support of literary works and requiring screenwriters to unleash their own creative abilities, things fell apart completely. Nine out of ten screenwriters flopped, cementing the notorious reputation of domestic box-office bombs. It was only with the rise of internet literature and the subsequent increase in original IP content that a batch of high-quality television dramas and films finally burst onto the scene.

Thus, right from the beginning, many people in the film and television industry got the status of authors and screenwriters completely upside down.

They believed that screenwriters were the ones who made film and television works successful. When a movie or television show became a hit, the credit was given to the director, the actors, and the screenwriter, while completely forgetting to account for the contribution of the original author. Some screenwriters even brazenly believed that their adaptation skills were exceptionally strong and that the success was due to their own talent rather than the original work—arguing that they merely happened to choose a certain novel to adapt.

This is perhaps one of the bizarre phenomena of the film and television industry.

It was a midsummer day in August, the hottest time of the year.

The air conditioner inside the small Western-style villa hummed, blowing out cold air. Zhang Tan hid inside the air-conditioned room, in secluded seclusion to write his script.

He had never formally studied screenwriting. To be honest, outsiders rarely write scripts directly, but Zhang Tan's screenwriting capability was no empty boast. A television drama is essentially the finished product of a script. Before writing a script, many screenwriters watch numerous television dramas of various genres to establish a conceptual framework for their scripts in their minds.

Undoubtedly, the most difficult part of a script is breaking it down into specific scenes and shots—every single detailed scene and shot. This was an ability Zhang Tan lacked.

However, Zhang Tan's advantage lay in the fact that his mind was filled with readymade products. The 1983 and 1994 versions of *The Legend of the Condor Heroes* were practically ingrained in his heart, and he had also watched the 2003 CCTV version of *The Legend of the Condor Heroes* several times. It is safe to say that many of the classic scenes within them were deeply engraved in his memory. Of course, relying solely on these memories was not enough to write a script.

A script is an exposition of the entire directorial process; how to transition scenes, how to employ white space, and how to allow actors room for spontaneous performance all have strict requirements.

Fortunately, although Liu Changshan and his two companions had left, they had left behind their semi-finished script.

Zhang Tan was not so squeamish as to refuse to use a semi-finished product when it was available. In fact, although the version by Liu Changshan and the other two was a bit rough around the edges, most of the transitions and foreshadowing were handled quite well and could be directly adopted and applied.

A semi-finished script combined with Zhang Tan's classic visual imagery.

A script synthesized in this manner would absolute not turn out poorly.

This was the source of Zhang Tan's confidence.

"During the summer holidays back then, every single television station broadcasted Jin Yong's martial arts dramas. Even if you wanted to change the channel, there was nowhere else to turn, forcing you to watch them over and over again until it almost became a nightmare. Now is the time for these martial arts dramas that tormented me for years to repay the favor. Whether you can recreate your past brilliance depends entirely on the success or failure of this script."

*Clack.*

His fingers tapped the text onto the keyboard.

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Ext. Day.

Int. Day.

Scene So-and-So.

A number of prop descriptions.

Actor So-and-So delivers such-and-such line.

Where facial expressions and physical actions need to be added.

The relative weight of the content between the first scene and the second scene.

Zhang Tan's speed in writing the script was like a gushing fountain of inspiration, capable of producing a scene in mere minutes. The impressions in his mind had frantically welled up when he wrote novels, and now they were similarly bursting forth as he wrote the script. Even where there were ambiguities, Zhang Tan's method of handling them was simple: he left them as blank spaces for interpretation.

No matter how perfect a script is, a director executing it will not necessarily follow it with absolute strictness.

On the contrary, a director's impromptu improvisation on the spot is also a relatively important component. A good screenwriter knows how to leave blank spaces where appropriate, allowing directors and actors room for their own creative expression. With the semi-finished script serving as a foundation, Zhang Tan—though still a novice—could undoubtedly be considered half a good screenwriter already.

...

Zhang Tan closed his doors to visitors, but the world did not stop spinning because of him.

Under the leadership of producer Zhang Jizhong, Yu Min, Zhao Jian, and others, *The Legend of the Condor Heroes* had already preliminarily selected the exterior shooting locations required for the television drama. The Inner Mongolian grassland scenes would be filmed in Inner Mongolia, while the Peach Blossom Island scenes would be shot at a Peach Blossom Town in Zhoushan.

Several other locations would be filmed at the Zhenbeibao Western Film Studio and the Hengdian World Studios.

Meanwhile, news regarding the casting of actors had gradually leaked. The male lead was basically confirmed to be Li Jixiong, a male star who had been the male lead in the previous martial arts film produced by Zhang Jizhong's studio. Negotiations were currently underway with Zhao Yanzi for the female lead; if possible, Zhao Yanzi would be invited to play Huang Rong. For the second male lead, Yang Kang, they had selected mainland quality idol Lu Jian, and for the second female lead, Mu Nianci, they chose Song Yingying, a junior martial arts sister sharing the same master as Zhao Yanzi.

The cast lineup essentially revolved around these four individuals. One day there would be hype about who was coming in for an audition, and the next day there would be rumors about who didn't have the time—a chaotic flurry that left people bewildered.

This was also Zhang Jizhong's consistent promotional tactic.

While *The Legend of the Condor Heroes* was in preparation, *The Return of the Condor Heroes* was selling like hotcakes.

Borne upon the current popularity of *The Condor Heroes*, the debut of *The Return of the Condor Heroes* made a sensational impact, showing strong momentum to immediately break the milestone of one million copies sold. The Anhui Arts and Publishing House's desire to host a book signing event for Zhang Tan grew even stronger. If not for the consideration that Zhang Tan still had to attend school, they truly wished he could sign books once a week.

Now, the publishing house hoped that every month when a new book was released, Zhang Tan could participate in a book signing event.

To this, Zhang Tan decisively refused.

He intended to settle his mind, and while the martial arts genre had not yet completely declined, he wanted to peacefully create a few more classics. As long as these classics remained in his hands, they would become an endless stream of future income.

In truth, had it not been for a messy trouble that arose, Zhang Tan wouldn't even have wanted to write the scripts himself.

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It was a waste of time.

Regarding this, the president of the Anhui Arts and Publishing House stepped forward in person: "Zhang Tan, you must at least do one or two signings."

"Aren't there still two book signing events left in August? One in Shanghai and one in Wuhan. After finishing these two, I will have done a total of five book signings for *The Return of the Condor Heroes*. It's too frequent; too much of a good thing is bad, isn't it?"

"Then when the final volume goes on shelves on New Year's Day, you can come and do one more signing. That shouldn't be too troublesome, right? I'll contact a bookstore in Beijing and arrange a large book signing event for you there."

Zhang Tan hesitated for a moment: "Uh, we can discuss the details with my studio when the time comes."

His studio had already been registered by Li Yan on his behalf. It was registered as an individual industrial and commercial household, with Zhang Quanxun listed as the legal representative because Zhang Tan was not yet eighteen years old.

For the sake of this studio, Li Yan had nearly run her legs off during this period.

Although the studio currently only handled copyright operations and did not require a formal office space—taking one of the apartments bought by Zhang Tan's parents and using it as the studio was sufficient—a sparrow may be small, but it has all its internal organs. The necessary staff still had to be recruited, and the first priority was for the company to have its own legal department.

Operating copyrights inherently involved legal clauses in every aspect, so the importance of a legal department went without saying.

Secondly came the financial department, which Zhang Tan intended to hand over to his parents to manage. Like ordinary petty bosses, he held onto a bit of nepotistic selfishness. Besides, even if Zhang Tan hadn't thought this way, his parents would have stepped in to take charge directly; since their son was under eighteen, it was only natural for parents to help manage their son's career.

"Dad, Mom, you two go manage the finances at the studio. As for the internet cafe, I think we should just transfer ownership of it. Wearing yourselves out every day for that little bit of money isn't worth it."

With his career now booming and making a fortune, Zhang Tan cared less and less about the small earnings from the family's internet cafe. Moreover, a place like an internet cafe was relatively chaotic, frequently frequented by petty thugs and punks. It's better to be safe than sorry; should something go wrong, the impact would be bad.

Zhang Quanxun and Tan Mingxia felt a bit reluctant to let it go. Although the internet cafe didn't bring in as much money as Zhang Tan made, that was visible money, money coming in every single day. The glorious momentum of the internet cafe showed no sign of fading; even though two new internet cafes had opened in Dayang Town, it still hadn't made their family's internet cafe any less bustling.

However, for the sake of their son's career, the couple reluctantly parted with it and transferred the internet cafe to the eldest cousin from his paternal uncle's family.

The eldest cousin worked at a transformer factory and often went months without any work, making running an internet cafe just right for him. Furthermore, Zhang Tan was quite close to his eldest uncle's family, and his eldest cousin had often taken care of him when he was a child, so naturally, he wanted to repay his eldest cousin. The eldest cousin and his wife were ordinary workers with a child to raise and could not afford the capital. With a wave of his hand, Zhang Tan declared it a debt, to be repaid only after the internet cafe started making money.

This was essentially giving the internet cafe away for free to his eldest cousin's family.

Without the internet cafe, Zhang Tan's parents could dedicate themselves wholeheartedly to the management of the studio. Because Zhang Tan harbored plans to become a director in the future, the scale of the studio would inevitably expand. Therefore, while his parents were busy working at the studio, they were also studying some basic financial knowledge to cope with the future.

Fortunately, both of them were still relatively young, in their early forties, right at the prime of their lives.

Busy and bustling.

Writing scripts, attending book signings, returning to write scripts again—in the blink of an eye, more than a week passed. At the end of August, before setting off for the final book signing stop in Wuhan, Zhang Tan completed the script for *The Legend of the Condor Heroes* and handed it over to the production's director team.

Meanwhile, in Shanghuayuan Residential Community, Hefei City.

A small studio registered under the name "Luzhou Studio" quietly opened for business. (To be continued.)