After returning to the company, Shen Qianzhan first sought out the legal affairs department to review the contract.
Qiandeng’s work efficiency had always been high, especially when it coincided with meal time—the legal counsel, eager to grab food, provided feedback in less than half an hour: “The Party A’s requirements are reasonable. This contract has three points of contention. First is our constraint regarding Party A’s requirement of not involving personal emotions, which is actually not that standardized.”
The legal counsel was a young man. When giving feedback, his gaze fell on Shen Qianzhan’s face—with features that perfectly aligned with masculine aesthetics—and nodded with great understanding: “However, I think if the other party has no objections, it’s harmless.”
“Second is the remuneration issue, which can be discussed together with the third point of contention.” The legal counsel tapped the contract clauses he had circled with red pen: “Qiao Xin told me this Party A is rather special, a technical investor daddy. The other party doesn’t want remuneration, choosing priority control rights instead. For us, this is a trap clause.”
Shen Qianzhan also felt that this clause Ji Qinghe had added had an indescribable strangeness to it. The wording of the clause seemed similar to priority cooperation rights, but upon closer examination, it didn’t quite seem to be the same thing.
Seeing her understanding, the legal counsel glanced at his watch and directly doubled his speaking speed: “This contract needs to be viewed together with the investor’s investment terms. I vaguely feel this financial daddy is wealthy and powerful, with possessiveness and control desires beyond ordinary people. He might want to cover all expenses of the entire project, replacing the concept of joint production between us and him with exclusive investment, making you instead a producer hired by Party A, employed by Party A.”
Hearing this, Shen Qianzhan clicked her tongue and secretly thought Ji Qinghe was cunning.
This was one of the conventional cooperation methods between film and television companies and investors. The investor invests in the film and television company, the producer’s affiliated film and television company is employed by them, developing projects, belonging to joint production.
Shen Qianzhan’s cooperation with Jiang Yecheng belonged to this type—Shen Qianzhan provided content creativity, Jiang Yecheng authorized official resources and post-production publicity channels, having certain discourse power. The cooperative relationship with Qiandeng belonged to joint production cooperation.
Before Jiang Yecheng introduced Ji Qinghe to Shen Qianzhan, her original plan was for Qiandeng to fund the project development stage, then seek investment after producing the script. Most investment parties sought would choose film and television companies with abundant funds in the industry for joint development to spread risk.
If Qiandeng Pictures had sufficient strength, Shen Qianzhan wouldn’t even want to share the pie with others.
Unfortunately, Qiandeng’s funds were insufficient, completely unable to bear all expenses from development, filming to post-production publicity for a high-investment tribute drama.
As for what Ji Qinghe was planning, simply put—only provide money, not effort, exclusive investment, sitting back and enjoying success through lip service.
The calculation was both precise and detailed, not knowing where such confidence came from.
And he called her an ambitious person—truly shameless, a capital daddy standing atop the pyramid, ignorant of worldly suffering.
Seeing her expression change unpredictably, the legal counsel feared this ancestor might impulsively detain him to negotiate on-site. He rubbed his hands together, tentatively asking: “Sister Zhan, may I go eat first?”
“Go go go go go.” Shen Qianzhan impatiently waved her hand, turning to head to Su Lanyi’s office on the top floor.
This sister usually didn’t eat meals, only drinking dew—she should still be catchable right now.
—
After an hour of secret discussion, Shen Qianzhan returned to her office to pack necessary documents, then took Qiao Xin to Time Hall.
Once familiar, twice easy—by Shen Qianzhan’s fourth visit, she had grown bold enough not even to open navigation, racing all the way along Beijing’s Second Ring Road, treading the high-voltage line of speed monitoring.
Meng Wanzhou was waiting for her at the shop entrance.
After Shen Qianzhan had casually complained about Time Hall’s difficult parking last time, every time she came over, Meng Wanzhou would actively help her park.
Such an enthusiastic, pure-hearted, and considerate person—how could he be cousins with that cunning, scheming, thoroughly bad man Ji Qinghe?
This world was too perplexing.
Shen Qianzhan spent three minutes exchanging pleasantries with Meng Wanzhou about recent situations—the first minute caring about Time Hall’s recent business, the latter two minutes entirely devoted to probing whether Ji Qinghe was in a good mood today and easier to talk to.
Meng Wanzhou was so idle he was practically growing fur. As long as Shen Qianzhan was willing to chat with him, even about Ji Qinghe, he was willing. He immediately became eloquent, forcibly extending the conversation to five minutes before concluding: “Whether Ji Qinghe’s mood is good or bad generally follows no pattern, except every time you come, he seems to be in a decent mood.”
Shen Qianzhan felt something odd about these words.
Ji Qinghe, as described by Meng Wanzhou, sounded like a reform-through-labor convict holding back iron window tears—did that make her a prison visitor?
She was amused by her own strange thought, her steps instantly becoming much lighter.
When they reached the back courtyard, Ji Qinghe was sitting in the Clock Collection Association’s activity room brewing tea.
Ming Jue sat restrainedly on the left side, seemingly waiting for the two of them to arrive.
Shen Qianzhan stepped over the threshold, first sizing up Ji Qinghe.
Different from the well-dressed, noble-bearing President Ji she’d seen in the morning, Ji Qinghe sitting at the long table wore only a thin deep gray sweater, sleeves rolled up, revealing well-defined wrist bones.
He wore a platinum-colored watch on his wrist, making his bone structure appear proportioned and his wrist shape extremely aesthetically pleasing.
Hmm?
This drama focused on watch restoration and manufacturing—there should be quite a few slow-motion shots of hand details. Ji Qinghe’s hands, if chopped off to use as hand doubles, then edited and put into promotional videos…
Tsk!
Who knows how many girls would cry and shout wanting to place these hands on their chests.
Her mind was wandering with improper thoughts, but her surface remained dignified, finding a seat near the door with Qiao Xin in a perfectly gentlemanly manner.
As soon as Shen Qianzhan sat down, Ji Qinghe looked up, casting a light glance: “My humble abode is simple, Producer Shen, please make do.”
Shen Qianzhan surveyed this “humble abode” with lingering fear: “President Ji calls a Second Ring courtyard house a humble abode? Qiao Xin.” She turned her head, fingers slightly curved, tapping on the long table: “Quickly revise the electronic contract—that investment amount is simply insulting President Ji’s net worth.”
Suddenly cued, Qiao Xin was struck by the word “net worth,” triggering some memory switch, her mind filled with last night’s lingering echo of “too precious, who could afford diamond-studded ones.”
She quietly covered her face with the back of her cool hand, wisely remaining silent.
Due to Su Zan’s treacherous defection this morning, she had been holding her breath when facing Shen Qianzhan. Despite trying to appear uninvolved, Sister Zhan still found fault with everything about her, nitpicking all afternoon.
Finally, during work reporting, she even propped her chin, staring without blinking with loving eyes, yet her voice pressed down shadily, adopting a husky tone to ask her: “The sleep talk I said last night, you heard it all, didn’t you, hmm? Little Xinxin.”
So she had been holding this breath all along, all the way to Time Hall, to meet the male lead from Shen Qianzhan’s spring dream.
Qiao Xin forcibly controlled herself from investigating where President Ji had diamonds embedded. She took out her computer, booted up, and began inputting meeting records as quietly as a chicken.
—
Regarding the special consultant employment contract, Shen Qianzhan directly pointed out the key issues according to the talking points she had prepared.
She didn’t mention that Qiandeng’s legal counsel thought this clause was an accessory clause to the investment contract, a trap dug by Party A for them. She diplomatically expressed that the wording of priority cooperation rights wasn’t rigorous enough, circling the clauses she had asked legal affairs to modify after coming out of Su Lanyi’s office with red pen, pushing them in front of Ji Qinghe.
Shen Qianzhan had just exchanged moves with Ming Jue. Looking at this special assistant who spoke little and had an almost undetectable presence when standing behind Ji Qinghe, when it came to company business, those eyes stared at people just like Ji Qinghe’s—containing only four words: “devour alive.”
She immediately felt at a disadvantage, regretting not bringing along those sharp-tongued young ladies from the legal department.
The person in question unhurriedly brewed tea. Seeing her press her lips and look over, he even had the leisure to ask what kind of tea she preferred: “After you’ve visited several times, Meng Wanzhou specifically bought some flower teas. Do you girls prefer rose, hibiscus, or…?”
Shen Qianzhan replied: “White lotus flower.”
Ji Qinghe paused, giving her a meaningful look, still speaking in an unhurried manner: “Business negotiation is a process of both parties maximizing their interests. If you want peace of mind, that depends on who finds the balance point first.”
He used a tea spoon to scoop some roses from the tea canister, leisurely enlightening her: “Displaced anger and unnecessary negative emotions are most ineffective.”
Shen Qianzhan simply stopped beating around the bush: “You want exclusive investment, handling all expenses from project development, filming to publicity?”
Ji Qinghe countered: “Saves you from seeking investors after project development, isn’t that good, hmm?”
For a producer with only creativity and concepts to seek investor cooperation tested the cooperation partner’s trust level significantly.
With Qiandeng backing her, Shen Qianzhan had Qiandeng’s investment for early project development, making it much easier compared to independent producers. Plus the connections she’d built in the industry over the years, attracting film and television companies for joint production wasn’t difficult. But this contradicted Ji Qinghe’s starting point—he had no interest in joint production; he only wanted exclusivity.
Shen Qianzhan felt somewhat troubled.
She understood Ji Qinghe’s intentions when legal affairs pointed out this clause’s meaning.
The capital market was naturally “whoever pays is the boss.” With Ji Qinghe’s exclusive investment, it basically meant monopoly, making her an emotionless working machine.
Perhaps her expression of despair was too obvious. Ming Jue glanced at Ji Qinghe, seeing he didn’t object, reminded: “Producer Shen, I reminded Strategist Qiao yesterday to produce the contract first. Perhaps my hints weren’t obvious enough. Our side trusts Producer Shen’s professional capabilities and, without harming our interests, fully respects the producer’s wishes.”
Shen Qianzhan blinked, instantly reviving: “Not interfering with specific project matters, purely being a money-throwing financial daddy?”
Ming Jue glanced at Ji Qinghe again, seeing that barely perceptible smile at the corner of his eyes. While sighing that President Ji would have been a potential candidate for “playing with beacon fires to amuse lords” in ancient times, he supplemented: “Can’t be that optimistic, Producer Shen. Your basic estimate for this project is 300 million, right? Throwing 300 million in cash for fun would take several days of throwing.”
The implication was: 300 million investment, managing and asking nothing—Bu Zhong Sui ran a business, not a charity for poverty relief.
Shen Qianzhan now looked at Ji Qinghe like looking at a father, her eyes and brows full of fawning smiles: “Successful people truly are pillars holding up the sea and sky, yet know how to employ people well, deeply understanding the way of delegation.”
Ji Qinghe sipped his tea, teasing her: “Pillars holding up sea and sky—have you seen them?”
Shen Qianzhan smiled sweetly, ready with suggestive words: “Others haven’t seen them, but I’ve fortunately witnessed President Ji’s grand strategies and great plans.”
She was in an excellent mood now, finding Ji Qinghe more agreeable than ever before.
Ah, who wouldn’t love a financial daddy coming to deliver money!
Qiao Xin, inputting meeting records beside them, remained expressionless but with trembling fingertips: I suspect you’re driving, but I have no evidence.