vstars Chapter 135 The Hidden Truth
Chapter 135 The Hidden Truth
Chapter 135 The Hidden Truth
Los Angeles awakens in the morning sunlight, with Hollywood Boulevard bustling with traffic and incredibly crowded.
Fred Weintraub was driving his Bentley slowly through the traffic heading to Burbank Studios.
The air conditioner was humming, and a light country song was playing on the radio; everything seemed perfectly ordinary.
"Damn traffic, another traffic jam!" He rolled down the car window listlessly, and his gaze swept over the newsstand on the street corner, and he couldn't help but be stunned.
The line was incredibly long: office workers in suits, restaurant staff in aprons, and even a few housewives with dogs.
"What's going on?" He pushed open the car door, strode into the crowd, stuffed a ten-dollar bill into the hand of the person at the front of the line, and then grabbed a copy of the Los Angeles Times from the newsstand.
My gaze fell on the front page of the newspaper: "Oscars Horror: Just Ten Minutes Away from Destruction! Deadly C4 Explosives Nearly Destroy Hollywood!"
Below the title is a black and white photograph showing several large pieces of C4 explosive strapped to the pillars of the Dorothy Chandler Theater!
Fred felt as if the air around him had been sucked away in an instant. The noise of the crowd and the honking of cars quickly faded away, turning into a dull ringing in his ears.
C4 explosives? At the Dorothy Chandler Theater?
That very night, I was sitting in the second row of the theater with Ashley, Bruce Lee and his group, talking about Marlon Brando's absence and the protests of the Native American girls!
If this pile of high explosives is detonated—
Fear, like a thousand venomous snakes, gnawed at his heart, his legs trembled uncontrollably, and his mind replayed every detail of the awards ceremony: "Fred, find a secluded place—I want to use the Oscars as a live-fire exercise for Han's Security Company!"
"Have Bill get my security team a 'site security assistance' permit —"
"I have something urgent to attend to and need to go out. I'll be back in about an hour."
When Qin Han sat back down, he clearly remembered that the young man from the East had a chilling aura about him.
Those usually deep and gentle eyes concealed a chilling gloom.
"My God—"
An exercise? That wasn't a rehearsal for the UFC press conference at all!
Qin Han, that madman, knew all along that there was a bomb in the venue!
He was fighting for his life against a group of terrorists armed with explosives, right under the feet of all the Hollywood giants and political and business luminaries!
Fred turned abruptly, stumbled back into the Bentley, and sped off toward the villa in West Hollywood.
"Bang!"
The solid wood door was violently kicked open. Fred, covered in sweat, looked at Qin Han sitting on the sofa and gasped for breath: "Qin!"
You—
""
He waved the newspaper in his hand, and the question had just reached his throat when the sharp ring of the telephone suddenly rang out.
Qin Han raised his right hand, made a shushing gesture, and answered the landline receiver.
"Qin! Did you see those damn newspapers?!"
Through the receiver, Lorna Barrett's voice was almost ear-piercing; the elegance and composure of the Hollywood gossip queen were completely gone, replaced by hysteria.
"Lorna, Fred just brought the newspaper to me."
"They censored my reporting! Those bastards sitting in the White House offices, they dissected the truth!"
A furious roar came from the other end of the phone: "International extremists? To hell with international extremists! It's clearly stated in the draft I sent them; they're a Japanese far-right organization! They're Japanese assassins lurking in Los Angeles!"
"And Han's Security! It was your men who dug out those bombs! It was you who wiped out those bastards at Long Beach Harbor!"
"But what did those press releases say? An unnamed patriotic militia organization?! They wouldn't even use a single word related to Asians!"
Lorna's voice trembled with anger: "This is so unfair! Qin, this should have been an opportunity for Han's Film Company, for you and Bruce Lee to achieve legendary status!"
"I can't let this go. I still have connections in the underground publishing world. I'm going to get the manuscript out there! I want all of America to know that those politicians are protecting the Japanese, and that it was the Chinese who saved them—"
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"Lona, wake up." Qin Han interrupted Lona's fervor with a firm tone.
"Nixon needed this news more than anyone else to divert the attention of the entire American public; it was his only lifeline."
"But would you expect him to publicly admit that a group of Chinese people overstepped their bounds and saved Hollywood, a symbol of American elite culture?"
He sneered: "Politics is never fair, it's always about weighing the pros and cons."
"The White House needs to purge its Japanese faction," but that doesn't mean Nixon is prepared to completely sever ties with Japan at this critical juncture.
"Lorna, take the steps the White House is offering. At this time, don't provoke the president. Understand?"
There was a deathly silence that lasted for more than ten seconds.
"—I understand, Qin." Rona's voice finally regained its composure. "I will seal the original manuscript and only provide follow-up reports. I will never cross the line."
"Great. We'll contact you again later." Qin Han hung up the phone decisively.
He turned his head and his gaze fell on Fred across from him.
This Warner Bros. producer is currently huddled in a large leather sofa, full of complaints but with nowhere to vent them.
"Have some water, Fred. You look like you've spent the night in the morgue." Qin Han pushed a glass of warm water toward Fred.
Fred picked up his water glass and gulped down a large mouthful: "Qin—what's written in the newspaper, is it all true? That night—"
"If the Hans had failed, we would probably all be buried under the ruins of the Dorothy Chandler Theatre."
"Feel your heartbeat, Fred. We're all alive because of the blood that the Han's security team sheds in the dark."
Fred pictured the scene in his mind: everyone laughing and chatting on stage, while in the dark corner beneath their feet, cold explosives could detonate at any moment.
The extreme fear of narrowly escaping death caused his entire body of fat to tremble uncontrollably.
"But Fred, we're going to turn this fear into greenbacks!" Qin Han suddenly laughed.
"The White House has concealed the name of Hans Security, but that doesn't mean we can't profit from this storm."
He looked Fred straight in the eye: "Go back to Warner Bros. immediately and tell Ted Ashley this is a once-in-a-lifetime publicity opportunity!"
"While the news reports were blocked by the White House, gossip knows no bounds. Don't forget, before this bombshell news, everyone already knew that extremists had infiltrated Los Angeles."
"Get Warner's PR department moving immediately, subtly leaking information throughout Hollywood."
"This implies that the mysterious armed force that saved Hollywood last night was none other than the team behind kung fu superstar Bruce Lee!"
Fred's breathing suddenly became heavy: what kind of terrifying chemical reaction would occur when those people in the Oscars last night learned that it was Bruce Lee's men who saved their lives, a mixture of gratitude, awe, and mystical worship of kung fu?
"Warner Bros. should immediately launch a pre-roll ad campaign for 'Enter the Dragon'!" His eyes gleamed, his fear of death completely washed away by the tens of millions in box office revenue.
"I'm going to Warner Bros. right now, I absolutely won't let this opportunity slip by! God, all of Hollywood will go crazy for Bruce!"
The car engine noise quickly faded into the distance. Qin Han returned to the mailroom, picked up the black phone with international long-distance calling privileges, and dialed a number.
"This is Qin Han. I'm looking for Boss Zou."
Hong Kong, Golden Harvest Film Company President's Office.
It was already late at night when Raymond Chow was looking at the financial statements on his desk. When he heard his secretary mention Qin Han's name, he immediately picked up the receiver.
"Ah Han? How's everything going in the US? I saw on the news that things are in Los Angeles—"
"Mr. Zou, to make a long story short, the situation is even more intense than reported in the news, but for us, this is an excellent opportunity."
Qin Han didn't waste any words and went straight to the core business: "Golden Harvest's top priority right now is to get 'Fist of Fury' ready as quickly as possible."
"All copies and all promotional materials."
On the other end of the phone, Raymond Chow keenly sensed the urgency in Qin Han's tone: "Fist of Fury? Wasn't it supposed to be scheduled for late April? The copies are almost done, but the materials—"
"All by air! Using the most expensive express freight channels! Regardless of cost!"
"Within 48 hours, get these copies in the Los Angeles Customs warehouse. Boss Zou, we must ensure this film is ready for a full theatrical release in North America within a week! We need to stock up on ammunition for the upcoming 'revenge viewing'!"
Although Raymond Chow was in Hong Kong and unaware of the political upheaval that had occurred in the United States, he had long placed unwavering trust in Chin Han's business acumen.
"Great! I'll personally go to the warehouse to oversee the shipment. The goods will definitely arrive in Los Angeles within forty-eight hours!"
"Thank you for your hard work. When the box office results for this film are in, I'll bring champagne back to Hong Kong to toast you."
After hanging up the transoceanic call, Qin Han grabbed a trench coat and put it on, strode out of the villa, and sped off towards "Black Tower".
Sidney Sinberg's situation wasn't much better than Fred's.
Even this Jewish executive, known for his shrewdness and competence, was sweating profusely. He crumpled up the Los Angeles Times and threw it on the edge of the wastebasket.
When Qin Han pushed open the door and entered, Sidney almost jumped up from his chair.
"Qin! Have you read the newspaper?"
Before he could speak, Qin Han strode to the desk and said, "Sidney, I'm still alive, and you're still alive. This is the best outcome."
"Immediately break the existing screening schedule and move the release date of 'Fist of Fury' from late April to next week!"
"Are you crazy?!"
-
Sidney was taken aback at first, then seemed to hear the most absurd joke in the world: "Next week? Less than seven days!"
There was no pre-launch hype, no extensive advertising, and not even enough time to communicate with theater managers!
"This hasty, unannounced release is tantamount to suicide for this film! Qin, there are rules to commercial distribution; you can't gamble with Universal's hard-earned money!"
Qin Han straightened up and slowly paced around the desk: "Sidney, haven't you realized that this is the ultimate frenzy of emotional consumption?"
"What do you mean?" Sidney frowned.
Qin Han stopped and turned to look at him: "The White House press release has removed the nationalities of the extremists, but that can't fool those who are interested."
"I need you to use the channels of Global PR to hire online trolls and bribe those low-class tabloids."
The truth that the White House deliberately concealed—that the attack on the Oscars was actually carried out by Japanese right-wing groups, and that Chinese organizations were the ones who saved everyone—was spread as a conspiracy theory!
Sidney's breath hitched; his years of media experience allowed him to instantly sense the terrifying energy contained within this plan.
The American public is inherently filled with anti-intellectualism and distrust of the government.
Once such conspiracy theories, imbued with strong racial conflict and political shady dealings, take hold among the public, the suppressed anger and fear of terrorist attacks will coalesce into an extremely powerful social sentiment.
"And at the height of this emotion," Qin Han slammed his hands heavily on the desk, staring at Sidney, "we took the opportunity to smash 'Fist of Fury' in their faces!"
"Sidney, think about the plot of 'Fist of Fury'! The Chinese hero Chen Zhen, to avenge his master, kicked down the plaque that read 'Sick Man of East Asia,' and single-handedly stormed into the Hongkou Dojo, beating those arrogant Japanese like dogs, leaving them scrambling for their teeth!"
"In reality, when the Japanese tried to bomb Hollywood, it was the Chinese who saved everyone; on the silver screen, Chinese heroes are fiercely fighting off the Japanese invaders!"
"This is no longer a kung fu movie! When those American audiences, filled with panic and fueled by conspiracy theories, buy tickets and walk into the theater, they're not watching a movie!"
"They are venting their anger against terrorism! They are voting with dollars to support the Chinese heroes who saved them!"
"This is the highest level of emotional consumption! Once this spark is ignited, 'Fist of Fury' won't need any preheating at the box office; it will sweep across North American theaters like a hurricane!"
A deathly silence fell over the office.
Sidney Sinberg's mouth was agape, and his chest heaved violently like a bellows.
He looked at the Eastern devil in front of him who seemed to be able to control people's minds, and his excited emotions gradually eroded the remaining rationality in his mind.
Screw the issuance rules!
Faced with such overwhelming social sentiment, any conventional marketing approach is like a piece of waste paper.
This is exploiting the anger of the American people to carry out an unprecedented box office robbery!
A burning greed blazed in the Jewish man's eyes. Without hesitation, he turned, grabbed the intercom on his desk, and roared into the receiver, "This is Sidney! Now, immediately, clear out every single available film slot at Universal Cinemas for next week! Get ready!"
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"Notify all theater managers to prepare for maximum capacity operation! Tell them that starting next week, Bruce Lee is going to wreak havoc across America!"