045 Might as Well Take a Look

Los Angeles, United States.

Li Daniu set foot once more on American soil, but his feelings were now utterly transformed—not only because he had truly embraced his identity as a king, but also thanks to his personal growth in strength.

In the past couple of months, Li Daniu’s greatest fear had been the possibility of dying unexpectedly. The dangers of the real world he could set aside, believing he was not so unfortunate as to fall victim to them. What concerned him most was the peril he might face within the worlds of the movies.

When one lives in constant apprehension, it is impossible to be at ease. But, most fortunately, in his second film, Li Daniu had succeeded in acquiring the means to protect himself.

Thus, on this journey, Li Daniu was accompanied only by his lawyer, Castro. He had not brought along the two bodyguards that Burns had always insisted must follow him everywhere. After all, Li Daniu could easily take down a dozen men like them single-handedly—what use would bringing them serve?

Waiting for him at the airport was Louis from Sunshine Publishing. Louis had staked everything on Li Daniu’s future and was eager to finalize the publication of “The Lord of the Rings”—either to fail quickly and move on, or to prove himself a keen judge of talent.

After the customary pleasantries upon meeting, they settled in a café where Li Daniu had Castro hand over his contract with Moon Publishing to Louis, while Louis passed his own contract to Castro.

As the royal attorney of Tuvalu, Castro’s previous appearance had been less than stellar. Determined to redeem himself, Castro was resolved to perform flawlessly this time. Of course, he would never admit that Li Daniu had brought him again solely because Tuvalu had only two lawyers, and the other was threatening to resign.

The contract Li Daniu had previously signed with Moon Publishing was exceedingly simple: self-publication, with little content to scrutinize.

Louis finished reading the contract quickly, then smiled and said, “There’s no problem with this contract. It won’t affect our agreement at all. I must say, Mr. Harry has thoroughly disgraced all editors in the publishing world this time.”

“I think so too,” Li Daniu replied, noticing Castro still poring over the contract’s clauses. Curious, he asked, “I’m truly interested, Mr. Louis—what gives you such confidence in me?”

Louis was momentarily taken aback, not expecting such a question.

“Your Majesty, as an editor, my role is to discover outstanding works. On a personal level, I genuinely love your novel. And I firmly believe that the vast majority of people in this world will not be able to resist your story.”

Li Daniu was very pleased with this answer. At the very least, Louis addressed him as “Your Majesty,” unlike that previous Harry, who dared to call him Tarek by name, as if the kingship were nothing but a facade.

“I’d like to ask you something,” Li Daniu said after a brief pause. “In the current market, what kind of novel is in the shortest supply? I mean the type for which there’s a huge demand, but whose needs are not being met.”

This was Louis’s area of expertise. He answered earnestly, “I believe I understand your question. If we compare the various genres, aside from books with special significance, fairy tales have the highest sales. Moreover, fairy tales are always the most lacking genre, because a child’s curiosity can never be fully satisfied.”

Fairy tales? The reason Li Daniu asked was to gather information for his next journey through the movies. Still, regardless of the world, there seemed to be an abundance of fairy tales—like those by the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen. He had already checked; such stories existed here and were much the same as in his previous life.

“The contract is fine,” Castro finally announced, handing it back to Li Daniu.

“So, Mr. Louis, can we sign now?” Li Daniu didn’t bother with another look; he trusted that a professional lawyer like Castro could handle such minor matters.

“Of course. Thank you for your trust, Your Majesty,” Louis replied. Despite his lingering anxiety, he maintained his composure. Once a choice was made, doubts could remain, but hesitation was fatal—otherwise, one would end up with nothing.

They both signed the contract, finalizing the publication of “The Lord of the Rings.” One less thing for Li Daniu to worry about. With a professional like Louis promoting it, he was confident the book would soon become a sensation.

When that happened, not only would the royalties pour in, but fame would follow—sometimes, fame itself was even more valuable than immediate profits.

Politely declining Louis’s offer to arrange board, lodging, and entertainment, Li Daniu set off with Castro to attend to his own affairs.

Opportunities always favored the prepared. Though Li Daniu had no idea what kind of movie he would travel into next, it was always wise to make preparations in advance—if not this time, then perhaps the time after next.

Li Daniu had given the matter some thought: the benefits that the film worlds could bring him fell into a few categories.

First, treasures that could be sold for money, like the gemstone he brought back from “Running Out of Time.”

Second, works ripe for plagiarism—novels, songs, films, and so on. The worlds he could travel to were all based on his previous world, so many works from that life existed there, like “The Lord of the Rings,” which appeared in “Running Out of Time.”

The world in which Li Daniu now lived, though not his former one, had similar history and customs, so bringing those works here would have nearly the same impact as before, with little risk of failure.

Third, technological items. Whether futuristic products from science fiction films or pieces of black technology, if introduced to the real world, these could bring far greater profits than the previous two categories. Of course, with great reward came great risk—technological items could just as easily spell disaster for Li Daniu and his nation.

Fourth, personal abilities. Just as he had gained the “Nine Yang Divine Skill” in the last film, many cinematic worlds contained methods or artifacts that could elevate an individual’s abilities to extraordinary levels—perhaps even with the promise of immortality.

To fully exploit these four kinds of benefits, Li Daniu had a great deal of preparation to do.

An auction house for selling treasures was essential. He couldn’t always take valuables to someone else’s auction house—after a while, who wouldn’t get jealous seeing so many treasures?

A media group of his own. Publishing novels was straightforward, whether through his own company or another’s, or even online. But for songs and movies, he needed to retain control. How much money could he make just by selling songs or scripts? But if he used them to promote celebrities under his own banner, the profits would multiply. Besides, with so many works across genres, people might accept a genius, but a freak must be suppressed.

A research center and technology company. Advanced technology could not simply appear out of thin air. Even if he had a sudden flash of inspiration, there had to be a development process. With a research center, Li Daniu believed he could at least make the emergence of such technologies seem less abrupt.

Naturally, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Li Daniu couldn’t possibly finish all his preparations at once—not only was manpower and energy lacking, but funding was also an issue.

This time, his purpose in coming to America—specifically, Hollywood—was to acquire an entertainment company. He chose this as his first step because new entertainment companies sprang up in Hollywood every day, and just as many went out of business.

Preparation should start with what was simple, easily achievable, and required little investment.

“Your Majesty, an entertainment company we’ve contacted said that if we increase our offer by another hundred thousand dollars, they’ll throw in two model contracts.”

“Model contracts?” Li Daniu was entirely unfamiliar with the term.

“Contracts for two models.”

“What use is that? A contract is just a contract, not a deed of sale. There are too many models in Hollywood. If I wanted to, I could sign ten for a hundred thousand dollars.” Li Daniu figured the owner of that entertainment company must think he was an easy mark.

“He also sent over photos of the two models,” Castro said awkwardly. “From the way he put it, it seems… they might be available for… you know.”

You know? As a man, Li Daniu naturally understood what Castro’s embarrassed hint meant.

“No way,” Li Daniu replied flatly. He knew well that, outside of Africa, America had the highest number of AIDS cases—especially in a place as chaotic as Hollywood. He had no desire to contract some incurable disease due to a moment’s carelessness. Besides, he was aiming for small investments and big returns; a hundred thousand dollars could buy a week’s worth of bottled water for everyone in Tuvalu—he couldn’t bear to waste it.

After a while, Li Daniu suddenly said, “Let me see the photos. It doesn’t cost anything to look.”