Chapter 514: Building the Platform

Chapter 514 Building a Platform

In the anime world, legendary manga artists or professionals are quite numerous in Japan, or rather, the well-known ones are mainly concentrated in Japan. There are certainly some in North America and Europe, but fewer—at least individually, far fewer—with more being famous in the form of studios, such as several major North American studios renowned for animation production.

Before New Year’s Day, Meng Fan had already entrusted Takahashi from Kodansha to help him find suitable candidates. So far, he had contacted many industry professionals, including legendary manga artists, famous voice actors, renowned animation directors, and voice actress groups. Several had accepted the invitation, but finalizing the rest would take more time.

However, there was an unexpected surprise from the North American animation studios—the surprise came from Steve, the husband of his fourth sister, Meng Caihe. Yes, after meeting the family, they had already gotten married and finished their honeymoon. Meng Fan had never asked about Steve’s family background before, only learning after their marriage that his family was quite prominent on the East Coast of North America—in short, they came from a Jewish financial group.

Coincidentally, his family was one of the shareholders of Disney Studios and also held shares in its subsidiary, Pixar Animation Studios. Though not a large stake, it was enough to get in touch with some big names in the animation industry. As a result, good news came from North America even earlier than from Japan.

The confirmed list included a heavyweight: Peter Hans Docter, a North American animated film director, screenwriter, and producer. He had directed, written, and produced animated films such as *Inside Out*, *Up*, *Monsters, Inc.*, *WALL-E*, and *Toy Story 1 & 2*. Most people in China might not know his name, but his works were certainly familiar.

Of course, Meng Fan spent a lot of money, used various connections, and relied on his reputation to bring these big names—whether from Japan, North America, or Europe—not just to hand out awards and leave. The main purpose was to seek opportunities for cooperation, and the ultimate goal was, of course, to strengthen and expand Chinese animation. That original intention could not be forgotten.

After all, it was impossible for so many big names to collaborate only with Shanhai Animation Studio. Even if they were willing, they couldn’t all work together. So Meng Fan also had Bilibili and Tencent Animation Network reach out to many animation studios and even companies, essentially using this opportunity to build a platform for everyone. Whether it would succeed and how big the platform could become was still uncertain. This required not only Meng Fan’s efforts but also the efforts of others. Whether everyone would be willing to work together was another matter entirely.

It was only when Meng Fan truly started doing these things that he realized how naive, innocent, and idealistic his initial thoughts had been. This involved too many interests, far more complex than anything he had done before. But precisely because of this, Meng Fan felt it was necessary.

Cooperation between Chinese animation and foreign animation had always existed, especially in animated films, with various methods. But no one had ever done what Meng Fan was doing—setting up a stage for others to perform. Ultimately, it came down to interests; cooperation was also based on interests. Meng Fan’s approach seemed somewhat like throwing money away.

Of course, if you really looked at it, the extra investment wasn’t that much.

Meng Fan wasn’t asking for anything else. Many things always needed someone to take the first step, and he was willing to be that person.

In fact, in other fields, including the film industry, there were people who had taken a similar first step as Meng Fan, some even going further. There was more than one such person, mostly those who had achieved fame and wealth and were no longer chasing money but only a legacy. However, in the field of Chinese animation, no one like that existed yet, and Meng Fan was the one who best fit this “aura,” naturally becoming the one to take the first step.

“Are you sure you’re not going?”

It was the twentieth day of the twelfth lunar month. After finishing a commercial performance in Hangzhou, Shi Shiwu came to Shanhai Animation Studio and happened to run into a head of the Spring Festival Gala team who had come to Hangzhou for the second time to invite Meng Fan to participate in the gala. At this point, the gala program had entered its final rehearsal rounds, and inviting someone at this time showed how eager they were.

However, Meng Fan refused again. Counting the earlier times—once backstage at the National Day Gala and once during a recording in the imperial capital—this was the fourth time Meng Fan had politely declined.

He simply didn’t have the time.

The rehearsals for the Spring Festival Gala were notoriously “troublesome,” which was why Meng Fan had refused the first two times. For the latter two, although the program team said they would give Meng Fan’s performance a green light, he was busy with the animation awards.

Still, Meng Fan didn’t dare refuse too harshly. He agreed to the invitation for the Lantern Festival Gala instead, as by then both the Lawrence Awards and the animation awards would be over.

“You’re a bit too busy!”

Seeing Meng Fan nod, Shi Shiwu didn’t know what to say. After finishing his commercial performance in Hangzhou, he would go to Shanghai for another event, basically wrapping up his work for the lunar year. Then he would return to Lion City for the New Year and a vacation, with his first work of the new year being the animation awards.

In fact, many celebrities who knew Meng Fan, even his non-industry friends, found it hard to understand why he was doing the animation awards. The more they knew about his role in it, the harder it was to comprehend. The biggest feeling was that it was a thankless task—what couldn’t he do that would be more profitable, easier, and more popular?

Shi Shiwu was one of the few who could somewhat understand. After all, he also had hobbies outside of music that he was willing to spend time and energy on—namely, gaming. Some people had told him he could do better things with that time, but Shi Shiwu didn’t think so. In his view, he could fully focus on making music while also playing games; he was just allocating time that would have been spent on other things to gaming. It was like someone working hard at their job and then doing something they wanted and enjoyed after work—a perfectly normal thing.

Shi Shiwu stayed at Shanhai Studio for a while, waiting for Meng Fan to finish his work before they went out for a meal. They had been meeting almost every other day lately, but now they wouldn’t see each other for at least half a month. He was already starting to miss him—this was like missing someone before they even parted. After all, with Meng Fan’s fast reflexes and skill, Shi Shiwu could coast to victory in any game they played together. Once they separated, getting him to team up for a game would be nearly impossible.

After the meal, Shi Shiwu hesitated for a few seconds before dragging Meng Fan to play a game together. They didn’t let him go until after midnight, and Shi Shiwu himself went to Shanghai in the middle of the night. He would probably get only a few hours of sleep before having to get up and prepare for his event.

School was already on break, and most companies had closed for the holidays, but Shanhai Animation Studio still had to work. The same went for Damei Studio, which was responsible for many tasks related to the Shanhai Animation Awards. Based on the current situation, most members probably wouldn’t be able to go home until after the twenty-fifth of the twelfth lunar month. They were busy, but at least the year-end bonuses and red envelopes were generous.

(End of Chapter)