Chapter Twelve: The Central Horse is Easy to Persuade

"Nana, and you two gentlemen, please have a seat. I'll go get you some water."

Ma Dongmei played the hostess, bustling about like a housewife, while Wang Lei sat unmoving like an old patriarch, which made Lin Na feel rather displeased with him.

"Mr. Wang, hello. We're from the Capital Three Dreams Theater. We apologize for barging in, but we'd like to discuss the story you posted on Swiftcast."

"Oh, you want to adapt my story?" Wang Lei had already guessed the purpose of these two "literary workers." He overheard Ma Dongmei's conversation at the door, and it caught him off guard. He knew "Charlotte's Troubles" was a good story, but he wasn't famous, nor was he from the entertainment circle. He thought it would take quite some time for "Charlotte's Troubles" to become a play or a film. Yet now the theater owner had come personally—much like "Charlotte's Troubles" had been a hit stage play before it became a film in its original world.

"Yes, that's exactly it. We've read your story—it’s very visual, and it would make a great stage play, or even something else. Of course, if our theater adapts your story and it becomes popular, that would be quite beneficial for you as well," Zhang San said, careful not to spell out everything, preserving his dignity so he could negotiate with Wang Lei later.

"Wait a moment—which theater did you say you're from?" Just as Zhang San and Wang Lei were about to continue the conversation, Ma Dongmei, who had gone to pour water, suddenly came out. She seemed to recognize Zhang San’s theater.

"It's called Three Dreams Theater, just off the Fourth Ring. Our theater isn't big, but it has considerable influence; many excellent stage actors have performed there," Zhang San replied, realizing he needed to uphold his theater’s reputation—after all, a theater on the verge of bankruptcy would hardly win Wang Lei’s support.

"Lei, we've been to that theater, remember? It's four stops from our place. You took me out during New Year, and we watched half an hour of a play there. You thought it was too noisy, so we left," Ma Dongmei reminded him.

Wang Lei recalled it—it was three years ago, when the theater had just opened. He’d taken Ma Dongmei for a walk, saw the lively crowd, bought tickets, and watched for a bit.

"Ah, yes, that’s right. Your theater isn’t big, but I remember the poster said the play was directed by a director from the People's Art Theater," Wang Lei said.

Indeed, when Zhang San’s theater first opened, he made a splash, hiring a relatively unknown director from the People's Art Theater to stage a play. But the run lasted only a few days—no one came to watch. Frankly, a melodramatic tragedy isn’t appealing during New Year.

"Oh, you’re from the capital! I truly didn’t expect it. Yes, our theater isn’t large, but we do have resources," Zhang San said.

"Third Brother, let’s not keep up appearances. These two are smart—they understand. Let’s just be honest," Li Si interjected, seeing Wang Lei and Ma Dongmei had the air of people who could actually get a play produced. Li Si didn’t want Zhang San to keep bluffing—they lacked both the strength and the time.

Hearing Li Si’s frankness, Zhang San saw the wisdom in it. There was no point in deceiving them; these two sounded like genuine old Beijing natives, possibly with connections. Even if they managed to secure the copyright through trickery, a single word from these people could ruin them. Rather than bluff, it was better to put everything on the table and let Wang Lei decide—betting everything on this one chance.

"Mr. Wang, since you know our theater, I’ll be forthright. Honestly, coming here like this is bold, but I had no choice. Our theater has been open for three years, and now we’re at our limit. By September, I’ll be bankrupt. I know this visit is presumptuous, but I can't bear to watch the theater I built with my own hands collapse. If I go bankrupt, it's fine—I’ll just go back to my hometown and farm. But my colleagues, who have dreams, shouldn’t have to scatter. I’m here for two reasons: first, to ask your permission to adapt your story for our stage; second, to see if you’d consider investing in our theater. The shares are negotiable—as long as our actors can earn enough to eat, that's all I ask," Zhang San spoke with as much sincerity as possible. He did have some acting talent; his usually smiling face now looked genuinely earnest.

Wang Lei was already tempted—not so much by Zhang San’s sincerity, but because he knew entering the entertainment industry was no easy feat.

Wang Lei had some fame, but not enough for film studios or renowned producers to notice him. "Charlotte's Troubles" was undeniably a good story, but people in show business are cautious—they ultimately seek profit. A story written by an ex-basketball player with no reputation or entertainment experience would hardly win them over. If someone did want his story, they’d likely just buy the rights and make the project without him.

But before Wang Lei could speak, Ma Dongmei chimed in.

"Lei, it sounds pretty good to me. You should give it a try—a theater doesn’t cost much, and as the boss, you can oversee their rehearsals. Not bad," she said.

Ma Dongmei was more concerned about Wang Lei's next move; if the theater deal went through, he could return to the capital. Their home was close to the theater, and they were neighbors. If Wang Lei moved back, her father could look after him.

Ma Dongmei knew her mother was deeply prejudiced against Wang Lei, but she also knew her father well. Her grandfather, "Old Ma," was a stubborn eccentric, while her father, "Middle Ma," was far more amiable—a native son of the capital, yet with the temperament of a Shanghai "little man," which had always frustrated "Old Ma" and others.