Chapter 23: Investing in a Film

"Brother Lu, you are truly a god."

While processing the paperwork, Zhao Haisheng brought up the market trends for Storm Technology over the past few days.

Last Thursday, the day after Lu Liang liquidated his positions, Storm Technology went haywire again, staging a wild ride from limit-down to limit-up within the same trading session. The daily trading volume hit 1.85 billion, with a turnover rate of 65.7%—an incredible figure for a new stock. It would be no exaggeration to say that there had been a complete change of major stakeholders, which in turn attracted even more speculators, all hoping to see the Storm myth continue.

However, over the next two days, the stock lay flat on the floor, suffering five consecutive limit-down days until it finally managed to break the streak yesterday. The share price plummeted from a peak of 327.15 yuan to a closing price of 191.14 yuan as of yesterday. The entire market was in mourning; not everyone had bought in at the bottom, and many had been left holding the bag at the highs.

Zhao Haisheng was among them. If it hadn't been for the exceptionally strong market this year, which had caused the incomes of brokerage employees to multiply several times over, he would have been heartbroken for quite a while.

"I didn't expect myself to be so prescient," Lu Liang said with a smug look, acting like a backseat driver as he shared his "insights." "I had a gut feeling at the time that things would inevitably decline after reaching their peak."

"That’s a given. My Brother Lu has always had a talent for this sort of thing." Zhao Haisheng put on a complimentary smile, though he was silently scoffing in his heart. He had originally wondered if Lu Liang possessed inside information, but he had completely dismissed that concern now. It was purely a matter of luck; after all, everyone gets lucky a few times in their life. Some people seize the moment to become wealthy overnight, while others miss it and remain mediocre.

By late morning, Lu Liang finished setting up his new account. His trading commission was reduced to 0.012%, and he gained access to international trading channels for Hong Kong stocks, US stocks, foreign exchange, and precious metals. This account also came with a $1 million annual currency conversion quota, which he could manage autonomously through his account without needing to visit a bank. If he required a larger quota, he would have to apply at the bank, as domestic foreign exchange regulations were strict, typically limiting ordinary citizens to $50,000 per year.

Finally, there was the margin financing service that interested Lu Liang the most: by freezing 2 million yuan, he could obtain a 10 million yuan credit line. This money could only be used for market investments and could not be cashed out, effectively granting him an 8 million yuan loan. The daily interest rate was 0.04%, with a monthly rate of 1.2% and an annual rate of 14.4%—just 1% shy of the legal threshold for usury.

Strictly speaking, the total annual interest was likely higher than 14.4% because the 2 million yuan in collateral was also frozen. One had to admit that brokerages and banks were always adept at exploiting loopholes in the law to maximize their own profits.

"Brother Lu, if everything is in order, please sign here. This account will be ready for use by next Monday."

Lu Liang saw through this, but he raised no objections. It was a case of one party willing to pay and the other willing to take; there was nothing more to be said. Afterward, Zhao Haisheng took Lu Liang to the neighboring Bank of China to apply for an international bank card. While RMB could be withdrawn from any domestic bank, it was best to get an international card for US dollar holdings. Only dollars stored on an international card were truly one's own; if stored on a domestic card, they were merely a quota. Every time one used them, the amount would fluctuate based on the daily exchange rate because of the domestic bank acting as an intermediary.

The Bank of China was different; it had an independent international department and had been granted significant authority to facilitate international integration and gain global recognition. Zhao Haisheng offered an analogy: while any branch manager at a domestic bank could easily access the transaction details of a standard card, they had no authority to access an international card from the Bank of China without official legal documentation. After all, dealing with international clients required respect for human rights and privacy, or they would face fierce condemnation from foreign media.

By 2:00 PM, Wu Tianzheng called to say that the Mahua FunAge team had arrived in Shanghai and was at the Tianshui Room in Linjiang Pavilion. Lu Liang’s account and international card were essentially finished, so he told Zhao Haisheng, "I'm sorry, I have something to attend to later, so I can't treat you to a meal. Next time, definitely next time."

"Brother Lu, you are helping me meet my performance targets. How could I let you pay? Next time, I’ll be the one treating you," Zhao Haisheng said with a fawning smile. Lu Liang was registered under his name; the more frequently he traded, the higher the commissions, and the larger his bonus would be.

"Alright then, I'll let you treat me next time. I have to go now." Lu Liang did not stand on ceremony and drove away. Having been an intermediary for many years himself, he understood that both sides were simply getting what they needed and owed each other nothing. If he were to be truly pedantic, Zhao Haisheng really should have treated him to a full day of wining and dining. After all, Lu Liang was the "big boss" providing the capital, while Zhao Haisheng was merely one of many service providers.

Around 3:00 PM, Lu Liang arrived at the Linjiang Pavilion, located in the lower-middle part of Shanghai near the World Expo Park. He checked in and followed a waiter to the Tianshui Room on the second floor, where six people were waiting.

"Mr. Lu, you’ve arrived."

"Let me introduce you. This is Mr. Zhang Chen from Mahua FunAge, this is director Yan Fei... and this is the famous comedy actor Shen Teng, as well as Ma Li."

Seeing Lu Liang enter, Wu Tianzheng beamed and introduced them one by one. They were essentially the core creative team of Mahua FunAge.

"Mr. Shen, hello. I watched your sketches last year; you performed wonderfully." Lu Liang smiled and shook hands with everyone, though among the group, he only recognized Shen Teng.

Suddenly, he understood why Wu Tianzheng and many other investors in the market were not optimistic about this film. Ever since Master Benshan had stepped back from the spotlight, the Spring Festival Gala had become increasingly difficult to watch, its influence waning year by year. If it weren't for the fact that the northern winter made it impossible to go out on New Year's Eve, the gala might have lost its last shred of dignity. Given the current influence of the gala, 99% of the comedy actors it produced could not carry a film’s box office.

While there was a 1% chance of becoming a dark horse, investors were not gamblers. The funding structure of this film made that clear: of the 15 million yuan currently being raised, 10 million came from Mahua Theater, and the remaining 5 million came from independent investors, among whom Shen Teng, Ma Li, and director Yan Fei were all listed. When a film's actors and director start putting up their own money, it is a clear sign that no real investors are interested.

A rustling of paper filled the room as Lu Liang reviewed the detailed script and the project proposal. Everyone except Wu Tianzheng watched him with bated breath, waiting for the final verdict. They were truly out of money, otherwise, the entire creative team wouldn't have traveled all the way from Beijing to Shanghai just to have dinner with Lu Liang.

Ten minutes later, Lu Liang closed the file. His expression was calm, and everyone’s heart sank to the bottom. They had seen this look too many times these past few days and could already guess what he was about to say.

"Still short five million, right? I'll invest it." Lu Liang’s lips curled into a faint smile. "I think this story is quite good. Film it well, and it has the potential to be a massive hit."

Shen Teng, Ma Li, and the others were stunned. Shen Teng was the most emotional. "Mr. Lu, you... you are going to invest in our film?"

"What? Are you turning away investors now?" Lu Liang joked.

"No... no, no, you misunderstood me. I’m just too excited."

Shen Teng was incoherent. He was the core creator of Mahua, an investor, and the male lead. This film was too important to him; it was no exaggeration to call it the most critical juncture of his life. Yet, since the project's inception, it had been a bumpy road, rejected by investor after investor, to the point where the entire team had begun to doubt themselves: was their script really that bad?