The Scum Gong Refuses the Crematorium [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 11

James arrived very quickly. Almost immediately after hanging up the phone, he bought a ticket and flew to China.

Sheng Yan and Guo Hang picked him up together, taking him on a tour of Yanjing and treating him to various local delicacies. After a day of sightseeing, the three of them finally sat down to discuss the movie.

Guo Hang showed James the travel videos he had filmed over the past few days. “Idol, take a look for me—is my filming technique okay?”

“Oh, let me see.” They were in a quiet cafe. James stopped his chat with Sheng Yan, took Guo Hang’s phone, and began watching the videos seriously.

Sheng Yan leaned in too. He had completed countless world missions and held many identities, but being a director was a first. He wanted to learn; you never know when such experience might come in handy.

When the video ended, Guo Hang asked expectantly, “Idol, how was it?”

“Hmm…” James rested his hand on his chin and watched it a second time before answering cautiously. “It’s not bad.”

“Really!” Hearing praise from his idol, Guo Hang couldn’t hide his confident smile. If an international director said so, he must be excellent. Making a global blockbuster was surely just around the corner!

However, Sheng Yan felt Guo Hang was celebrating too early. James’s hesitant expression suggested things weren’t as simple as they seemed.

Sure enough, once Guo Hang’s excitement cooled, James spoke again: “Your technique is very ‘proper.’ For filming travel vlogs, it’s quite good—top-tier photography, even. If you focus on this, you could become a superstar influencer in no time.”

“Uh-huh.” Guo Hang, still missing the subtext, beamed with pride. Sheng Yan didn’t bother to correct him; he sipped his coffee and waited for the show to begin.

James’s tone shifted: “But in my view, this technique is still too amateur. It’s fine for vlogs or short videos, but if you want to put this on the big screen…” He paused, trying not to be too harsh on his fan. “Hang, you need to work much harder.”

Guo Hang’s smile froze. He knew he had been away from his major for too long, so he was somewhat mentally prepared. “Then idol, how much longer do I need to work?”

James replied sincerely, “Go back to film school to relearn your cinematography, then go abroad for a few years of advanced study. After interning under a famous director for a few years, you should be about ready.”

“Should be?” Guo Hang’s expression solidified. By his rough calculation, James was talking about at least ten years. And after ten years, he’d only get a “should be”—not even a definite “yes.”

“Yes,” James nodded. “There’s a Chinese saying: ‘The master leads you to the door, but the practice is up to the individual.’ The film industry is the same. I’m talking about the normal ‘graduation’ time to reach the height you mentioned. As for whether you can actually do it, that depends on you.”

Guo Hang instantly wilted like a frost-bitten eggplant. Ten years? By the time he finished, the opportunity would be long gone. Plus, would Sheng Yan really invest in him for a decade?

This was a non-starter! His dream was shattered. This feeling of having hope dangled and then snatched away was miserable.

Sheng Yan, having seen enough of Guo Hang being kicked down from the clouds, set down his coffee cup. He thought for a moment and asked James, “What if we don’t aim for international awards right away? What if we lower our requirements?”

“Low-budget films?” James asked.

Sheng Yan nodded.

So-called low-budget films or “popcorn movies” don’t require extreme technical skill or deep metaphors. They just need to make the audience laugh.

James thought about it. “That is feasible.”

Guo Hang’s hope reignited. Low-budget was fine too! Being in the industry, he’d heard many stories of people taking a few million, making a movie that became a massive hit, and the whole crew reaching the peak of their lives.

But James added: “However, for this type of movie to make a splash, a good script and good actors are non-negotiable.”

The success of a good movie isn’t the effort of one person, but an entire team working as one. James asked, “Do you have good screenwriters? Good actors?”

Guo Hang’s confidence was extinguished again. He slumped onto the table. They had nothing but money. But he couldn’t just waste Sheng Yan’s money; in a bank, it earns interest—investing in him might just be throwing it into the ocean.

Sheng Yan, however, wasn’t discouraged. He asked James, “If we have no writer and no team, but still want to make something good, what then?”

James suggested, “You could try making micro-movies (short films).”

“The investment is small, and you don’t need famous actors. As long as the story is interesting and the filming isn’t too crude, they usually get a decent amount of attention.”

James usually did blockbusters, but he kept up with internet trends. Since Guo Hang’s “team” was so raw, it was better to start from the basics: grab the public’s eye first, then improve step-by-step.

Sheng Yan’s eyes lit up. He wasn’t from this industry, but he knew about micro-movies. With the rise of short-form video platforms and people’s dwindling patience for 45-minute TV episodes, many preferred relaxing with videos that were only a few minutes or even seconds long. On a platform with a massive built-in audience, a high-quality short film could gain as much traction as a feature-length movie.

Guo Hang sat up straight and thought it over. It was doable. One: the investment was low—he could even pay for it himself. Two: if it failed, he didn’t have to worry; he’d just learn and try again. Three: he could work boldly without pressure.

James smiled. “I think you’ve decided on the micro-movie.”

“Yes,” Sheng Yan replied.

“Excellent,” James clapped. “I happen to want to stay in China for a bit longer. You can start thinking about your direction and script. Once you have a goal, I can help you review it.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. James!” They were thrilled. Starting out with a world-class director’s guidance was an incredible advantage.

“Don’t mention it,” James shook his head. “You are Moon’s friends, which means you are my friends. Feel free to ask me anything.”

This made Guo Hang curious. “Idol, how did you meet Lu Mingyue—I mean, Moon?”

One was a computer scientist, the other a filmmaker, and there was a huge age gap. How did they become such close friends?

“That is a long story,” James relaxed. “He once saved my life.”

While James was vividly describing his history with Lu Mingyue, Lu Mingyue wasn’t idle either.

To get his project launched as soon as possible, he set up a cot in his office. Aside from returning home to change or relax occasionally, he spent most of his time at the company, napping between bouts of coding.

Jiang Huaisu visited the office occasionally. She had to; her money was flowing out like water, and she was worried. She and Lu Mingyue had a history. If he decided to screw her over, she’d have nowhere to cry.

However, every time she arrived, she saw a diligent, meticulous Lu Mingyue. She was happy the money was being well spent, but looking at his face which showed no signs of aging despite the all-nighters she felt conflicted.

How can his face still look this good after staying up so late? And why is his hair getting thicker? No signs of balding at all!

She was relieved Sheng Yan wasn’t working at the company anymore. If those two were together every day, who knows what “improper feelings” might develop? She no longer cared about Sheng Yan’s resignation. As long as he wasn’t tangling with men, he could do whatever he wanted.

As soon as she left, Lu Mingyue, finally catching a break, messaged Guo Hang: “How is the micro-movie prep going?”

Guo Hang replied instantly: “Equipment and staff are ready. We just lack a direction for the shoot.”

Lu Mingyue: “Can’t think of what to film?”

Guo Hang: “Yeah. There are too many types, and the ones that stand out are all over the place. I can’t find a unique angle.”

Lu Mingyue suggested sincerely: “Instead of trying to be unique, why not start with what you’re good at?”

Like writing code—it’s hard to be innovative from scratch, but easy to write what you know. You innovate on top of a solid foundation.

Guo Hang replied with a bitter smile: “Easy for you to say, Brother Lu. I haven’t touched a camera since graduation. My days are spent managing the bar and guests. What am I ‘good’ at?”

Lu Mingyue smiled: “Isn’t the bar what you’re good at?”

Guo Hang froze.

Lu Mingyue sent another message: “A bar is a place full of topics. Think about it! You could make a ‘Bar Series’ about interesting things that happen there. People would be very interested, and it’s free advertising for your bar.”

Guo Hang was electrified. “Great idea, Brother Lu! We wouldn’t even have to find a filming location!” He sent a string of kissing emojis. “I love you, Brother Lu! You just solved two of our biggest problems.”

Lu Mingyue shook his head. Ever since he introduced James to them, Sheng Yan’s friends had been incredibly warm toward him, constantly chatting with him. This allowed him to understand Sheng Yan’s world even better.

Thinking of Sheng Yan, Lu Mingyue recalled his words at the bar: “So now it’s my turn to be unable to escape the palm of your hand.” It was a joke, but it made Lu Mingyue’s face flush. It really felt like he was in control. Working at his company, dealing with his ex-lover, even following him to a bar for a kiss…

Wait, his original goal was just to get paid. How did it warp into this? He couldn’t figure it out.

Nevertheless, he reminded Guo Hang: “Don’t tell Sheng Yan I suggested this. Tell him it was your own inspiration, okay?” If Sheng Yan misunderstood and thought he was trying to “control” him, he’d never be able to clear his name!

Guo Hang replied: “Got it!”

Lu Mingyue felt relieved.

Seconds later, Guo Hang handed his phone to Sheng Yan, who was stroking his cat on the sofa. “Brother Sheng, Brother Lu gave us a suggestion. I think it’s brilliant. Take a look.”

Sheng Yan leaned in and immediately saw the message where Lu Mingyue told Guo Hang not to tell him. He raised an eyebrow, calmly scrolled up, and read the actual advice.

Guo Hang looked at him expectantly. “Brother Sheng, what do you think?”

Seeing Guo Hang’s renewed confidence, Sheng Yan finally nodded. “It’s very good.”

“Right? Right!” Guo Hang beamed. “Then we’ll settle on this.”

“Okay.”

“Great, I’ll let Brother Lu know,” Guo Hang started typing. “I’ll invite him to the set and treat him to dinner.” He then added a reminder: “Brother Sheng, you can’t be like last time. That was inhumane.”

Sheng Yan’s hand on the cat paused. “Mhm.”

Last time, Lu Mingyue had stayed up chatting about movies and drinks until the early hours. Everyone was wasted. Lu Mingyue was unsteady on his feet, trying to call a cab. Guo Hang had asked Sheng Yan to give him a ride. Sheng Yan had opened the door to his luxury car, looked at Lu Mingyue, and said indifferently:

“He has legs!”

“Eight of them!” (referring to a crab)

Then he had slammed the door and passed out in the back seat.