Chapter 72: World Two [42]

Director Zhang hadn’t had his authority challenged so brazenly in years. Worse still, the one doing it was a junior he looked down upon. For his pride, it was a double-barreled blow.

“I am the Chief Director. I’m responsible for overseeing the content of every unit. I believe adding a character is a good move—it can enrich the creative content and give the final film more dramatic tension,” Director Zhang said, frowning.

“As for you, you’re not a member of our film crew. Please refrain from meddling in our internal arrangements,” he emphasized, placing heavy stress on the word internal.

In Director Zhang’s view, changing his initial stance in front of everyone was already embarrassing enough. If his authority was undermined to the point where he couldn’t even squeeze a minor character into the cast, what dignity would he have left? Wouldn’t he become a laughingstock in the industry?

Besides, he was only adding a non-essential actor. Surely the General Administration didn’t micromanage that much, did it? Did they need to meddle in a side character’s part now?

And this so-called Deputy Director the other party invoked—was it even true? He couldn’t get through to that person directly himself. Did some random young upstart really have that kind of connection?

Director Zhang began to suspect Jing Ke was bluffing. He had never heard of any scion from a powerful family abandoning a prosperous political career to invest in the entertainment industry.

“I’m merely stating a fact,” Jing Ke replied, understanding his implication but unbothered.

“Director Hu, what’s your opinion? Do you think it’s necessary to recklessly insert such an unnecessary character?” Jing Ke turned to Director Hu to gauge her stance.

A look of hesitation crossed Director Hu’s face. After a moment of hesitation, she shook her head. “The script has been finalized and approved by the higher-ups without issue. I don’t see the need to add another character with such a similar archetype. Forcing it in would just be gilding the lily.”

At the critical moment, Director Hu knew where her loyalties lay. Jing Ke had just stood up for her. Even if she didn’t want to tear face with Director Zhang, she couldn’t undermine Jing Ke now.

“Oh? So you feel that I, as Chief Director, cannot intervene in any of your directing choices?” Director Zhang’s face tightened, radiating pressure. “Director Hu, are you sure about that?”

“Director Zhang, post-production takes several months. I believe our priority right now is wrapping up the shoot as quickly as possible and getting a final cut ready,” Director Hu replied, firm yet non-confrontational.

Noticing Director Zhang’s expression was still grim, she reluctantly offered him an out. “If Director Zhang has objections to my decision, we can discuss it in detail later. I can share the core plot and character profiles with you. I’m confident that once you’re fully briefed, you’ll understand my reasoning.”

Jing Ke had been about to say more, but when she felt Shao Qing gently tugging at the hem of her clothes from behind, she let Director Hu handle it on her own.

Jing Ke understood Shao Qing’s intent. She didn’t want Director Hu’s relationship with Director Zhang to become completely rigid. The entertainment circle, after all, was a place governed by seniority. If Director Hu thoroughly offended Director Zhang, she would encounter a lot of trouble.

“It seems you have your own ideas. If you run into trouble later, find a way to solve it yourself. Don’t come bothering me again,” Director Zhang reluctantly stepped onto the offered out, leaving behind a customary parting comment before turning to leave.

Just as the surreptitious onlookers thought the drama had concluded, an abrupt phone ringtone pierced the air, drawing all their gazes to the source—Director Zhang’s phone.

Hearing the ringtone, a bad premonition arose in Director Zhang’s heart. Taking out his phone and seeing it was a call from a certain Deputy Office Director, his heart sank further.

This Deputy Office Director was the person dispatched from higher up to oversee the review and production of the tribute films. Generally, she wouldn’t call him unless it was a matter of significant importance.

His confidence wavering, Director Zhang didn’t dare to hang up on a call from the Deputy Office Director and quickly pressed the answer button.

“Hello, Dean. This is me,” Director Zhang said, his tone betraying no negativity whatsoever.

“It’s… yes, yes. I’m on set right now,” he replied, unable to stop himself from glancing at Jing Ke.

“Understood. I never interfere much with on-set production. I only assumed Director Hu hadn’t found a suitable replacement yet and wanted to recommend one, to avoid any schedule delays.”

“Alright, alright. I understand. Please be assured, Dean, we’ll definitely wrap up filming by the end of May. Production runs from June to July, with final review and adjustments in August and September.”

After the roughly three-minute call, Director Zhang hung up with a strange expression on his face. His previously rigid, stern face awkwardly contorted into a smile.

“So it’s President Jing. I’ve long heard of your esteemed name,” he said, proactively extending his hand. “I sincerely apologize for my rudeness earlier. I thought an outsider was trying to meddle with our work.”

Jing Ke raised an eyebrow. A single phone call changed Director Zhang’s entire persona? Could it have been from someone at the General Administration?

Her guess was absolutely spot on. The weight she carried in certain departments was even heavier than she estimated.

The Deputy Director, who had already been given specific instructions, reported the matter to the Deputy Office Director directly responsible for the tribute film after ending her call with Jing Ke. She told her to make the necessary arrangements on that end and to ensure Jing Ke’s needs were met.

After receiving the task, the Deputy Office Director didn’t hesitate to call Chief Director Zhang, repeatedly stressing that he must properly receive Jing Ke, who was visiting the set.

She stated bluntly: if Jing Ke offered any suggestions, they should adopt as many as possible within reason and avoid opposing her.

Director Zhang was indeed a representative of the conservative faction, but when the iron fist from above came down, he still knew how to handle matters.

In this circle, face was important. But if you didn’t want to lose all substance because of it, you occasionally had to learn to be a bit thick-skinned.

“Is that so? So, Director Zhang, do you still think adding a character is necessary?” Jing Ke smiled, her expression somewhat playful. She didn’t reach out to shake his hand.

“Adding a character is unnecessary. President Jing is right. Director Hu’s arrangements are sound. Both the script and casting have no issues.” Director Zhang strained to keep his smile. “Director Hu, if any issues arise later, you can come to me. We’ll discuss solutions together.”

“It’s getting late, I won’t delay your shoot any further.” After saving some face with a forced smile, Director Zhang left, his retreating figure seeming rather dejected.

Little Yao, who had accompanied him, also realized from that phone call that the Jing Ke before her was not someone to be trifled with. As someone from the upper circles, she knew precisely the weight carried by a Deputy Director and a Deputy Office Director.

If Jing Ke didn’t know someone at an even higher level, there was absolutely no way a single call from her could command them.

The farce ended just like that after two phone calls. The others, now realizing that Shao Qing and Jing Ke were not soft persimmons, began pretending to be invisible.

Especially the group that had deliberately made pointed remarks at Jing Ke earlier—they went quieter than mice, wishing they could find a crack in the ground to crawl into, lest Jing Ke single them out and they end up blacklisted in the industry for, say, stepping out the door with their right foot first.

“I’m truly sorry. I didn’t handle the role situation properly earlier, causing you both undeserved trouble.” Director Hu let out a breath and said apologetically.

“It’s fine. I’m already very happy that Director Hu thought of me. As for a little incident, let’s just treat it as a small accident,” Shao Qing said with a smile.

She knew Director Hu had given her the opportunity despite pressure, so she wouldn’t misdirect her anger at someone who genuinely had her best interests at heart.

“Director Hu, I’ll study the script carefully today. How about we start work tomorrow at 9 a.m.?” Shao Qing asked, proactively extending a bridge.

“Good. I’ll coordinate with the other actors and see if we can finish filming your scenes within five days,” Director Hu nodded in agreement.

–

“Come clean. How did you get to know the Deputy Director of the General Administration? Were you secretly doing something behind my back?” Back at their hotel in Capital City, Shao Qing immediately asked the question she’d been holding in the whole way.

“Nothing like that. After the official collaboration last time, we just never lost contact. I occasionally help them locate some information,” Jing Ke said, touching her nose.

Could her actions even be considered concealment? She hadn’t exactly been hiding it from Shao Qing when she was working on her computer on set or in the hotel room.

“Some information? Like what kind of information?” Shao Qing instantly grasped the key point.

For her to be able to speak directly with someone like a Deputy Director, the “information” Jing Ke referred to couldn’t be something an ordinary person could access.

“Just some classified foreign documents. My hacking skills are relatively good. As long as it’s a device connected to a network, I have ways to read the data stored on it,” Jing Ke blinked, her expression the picture of pure innocence.

“But it’s not exactly a simple matter, so I usually complete about two small tasks assigned by them per week,” she added.

Having seen her share of foreign spy dramas, Shao Qing instantly conjured up a wealth of scenarios in her mind, her expression turning rather odd.

“Jing Ke… you wouldn’t happen to be some kind of Hacker Emperor, would you? Able to cripple foreign networks with a flick of your finger?” Shao Qing asked, her eyes wide.

“It’s not that exaggerated. A full-scale invasion of their networks isn’t that easy. I’d likely need a server room spanning hundreds of square meters, filled with the relevant equipment, just to attempt a temporary network shutdown.”

Jing Ke seriously contemplated the feasibility. “But that would have too significant an impact on this world and cost me a lot of energy. It wouldn’t be a profitable trade for me.”

“Then what about the information you’re finding now? Doesn’t that cost you energy?” Shao Qing asked, a bit dazed, her expression somewhat blank.

Jing Ke shook her head and explained, “I copy the data without their detection. The number of people aware is relatively small, so the energy loss is negligible, far less than what I gain in return.”

“Alright, I understand. I have myself an incredibly remarkable girlfriend,” Shao Qing murmured, doing her best to absorb this revelation that almost shattered and reshaped her entire worldview.