"Thank you, teacher. I'm fine, such a small matter won't affect me," Shawn Carter said. Teacher White was probably saying this because she didn't know he was about to be expelled.

Teacher White stared at the student in front of her for a while, making sure he wasn't just putting on a brave face. Her expression softened into a smile, and she nodded, praising him again: "That's good. Shawn Carter, you're already quite impressive."

Since she still had class, she didn't chat for long.

From the original memories, Teacher White was truly a good teacher, never stingy with praise for her students. As long as you did well, she would always smile and compliment you, making her one of the most popular teachers at the academy.

Shawn Carter suddenly thought of a meme: If, after transmigrating, your deskmate is called something-bin, your teacher's surname is Bai, the school gatekeeper's surname is Qin, the principal's surname is Gao, and the school board director's surname is Hou, what would you do?

What else could you do? This world would definitely get 404'd.

After carefully recalling, he was relieved to find there was no deskmate called something-bin. Shawn Carter went to a café next to the school, ordered a thirty-yuan latte. The coffee wasn't good; after one sip, he didn't touch it again.

Business in the shop was slow with few customers, and the quiet environment suited Shawn Carter's mood. He connected to the shop's WiFi to write scripts and outlines.

Although, from memory, things were a bit more convenient in this parallel world, you still had to file with the National Film Bureau, which required a film outline. The filing process was both online and offline, and rather complicated, so there's no need to elaborate.

"Blake, are you free tonight? Let's have a meal, I need your help with something." Before starting, Shawn Carter called Blake.

On the other end, Blake, though called "brother," was already in his forties—calling him uncle would be appropriate.

The reason he was called Blake wasn't because he was good at talking, nor because he could chug bottles when drinking, but because after drinking, he would brag to everyone that he was buddies with Gao Wang and Lu Guozhu. For convenience, you can think of these two as having a status in the parallel world's entertainment industry equivalent to Zhang Yimou and Jiang Wen—the former was also the chief director of the 2008 Olympics.

Although he liked to brag a bit, Blake did have some connections. He was an "agent" in the entertainment industry. Well-known actors all had agencies, but behind the scenes, people like cinematographers, lighting technicians, and art directors were essential to any crew, yet rarely joined agencies. They either followed a director as part of a team or worked scattered here and there.

Most importantly, there was the line producer. For a mature line producer, saving money was secondary; the main thing was that they could save the crew a lot of trouble.

An agent was someone who connected these people. For the previous "Six Frames" crew, the original owner had assembled the team with Blake's help. From the original memories, the people Blake introduced were reliable and reasonably priced.

"This young man pays quickly, but as for movies—I don't really like watching them." Blake had made a point to go to the cinema, and in all of Beijing, only one theater outside the Fourth Ring had two screenings of "Six Frames." More accurately, of the 450,000 box office, he contributed a share.

"Won't turn back until I hit a dead end, huh?" Blake naturally knew why Shawn Carter was asking him out. The two weren't close, so it was definitely about making another movie.

For Blake, it was business coming to him again, so he was happy.

At eight in the evening, a light rain was falling, but it didn't affect driving a Ferrari solo, nor did it stop Shawn Carter, worth tens of millions, from eating barbecue at a street stall.

Blake arrived at the barbecue stall and immediately spotted Shawn Carter eating skewers.

"Got a new idea again, brother?" Blake was an impatient type. He sat down without even greeting, and got straight to the point, sweat beading on the blackheads on his nose.

"Blake, have some meat. Let's eat and talk," Shawn Carter handed Blake a bunch of beef skewers.

"Then I won't be polite." Blake had already eaten with his daughter at home, but for Taurus and Cancer types, being full was a five, but as long as it was within twenty, eating more wasn't a problem.

When Blake was on his fifth skewer, Shawn Carter spoke up: "Last time, 'Six Frames' was a bit too self-indulgent, so Blake, I have some new ideas. I'm planning to start another crew, and I'll need your help to organize things."

As soon as Shawn Carter spoke, Blake immediately put down his skewer, nodded, and agreed: "No problem, no problem, I'll make sure you're satisfied."

"But brother, as you know from our previous collaboration, to find the right people for you, I need to know the approximate investment and general plot of the film," Blake said.

For example, if it's a costume drama, Blake would try to introduce behind-the-scenes people with experience in that genre. The investment also determines the caliber of people you can hire—just like you can't get Gu Changwei for a crew with only a few million in investment.

"I brought the script," Shawn Carter handed Blake the script he had written and printed that afternoon. He had already registered on the Chinese Screenwriters' Network. Quentin's original script was over two hundred pages, but that included the plots of parts 1 and 2, as well as storyboards and some action design for the female lead.

The pure text version was only ten pages—the one Blake got.

After skimming through it, Blake looked at Shawn Carter, then at the script, poked the table with a wooden skewer, as if wanting to say something but not sure from what angle to start.

"Blake, you're too old to be playing with skewers. You might poke your hand, and more importantly, if you damage the table, you'll have to pay for it," Shawn Carter reminded him kindly.