The Big Ship Division wasn't an independent department at all. It was a temporary team formed by FOX staff and Aiguo staff working together, though most were from 21st Century FOX.
The department only existed to manage profits from the Titanic project.
If a small company bent the rules for a hot moneymaker, that was normal. But when a Hollywood giant did the same, it looked strange. After all, a studio only became an industry titan by developing in every direction.
But the Titanic's merch sales were insane.
"I really don't get it. How can models of an unsinkable ship outsell superhero movie merch?" The department head couldn't wrap his head around it.
Japan had the answer.
"When's Oda-san gonna take me to see Unsinkable?" Remi asked sweetly.
Her tone was cute as always, but Oda Masaki could hear the hidden complaint. He had flaked on her twice already.
"Tomorrow… no, today." He'd meant tomorrow, but some instinct screamed danger, so he changed it fast.
"Oda-san's the best! I already bought tickets." Remi's smile was sugar-sweet.
Looking at her glowing face, Masaki wondered if his sense of danger had been an illusion.
They grabbed a quick meal at Yoshinoya, strolled in the park to digest, then walked hand in hand into the theater.
The place was packed, over sixty percent full. Masaki didn't care for Hollywood blockbusters, always thought they were just effects piled on effects. No matter how fancy they looked, none of them compared to his 2D waifus.He'd been sulky at first, but seeing so many boyfriends dragged there against their will made him feel a lot better. He wasn't alone!
Moviegoing in Japan was quiet. The audience wasn't forbidden to make noise, but nobody did. Individuality wasn't encouraged. Just like how it felt weird for a girl to eat at Yoshinoya alone. Why? Because everyone said it was weird, so people simply didn't do it.
When the movie ended, crowds lined up to buy models. Masaki saw the outrageous prices and thought, that's enough to buy a whole harem of "wives." Were they crazy?
"Who doesn't want to hold Li in the palm of their hand?" Remi said. "If I had the money, I'd buy a set too. Too bad…"
That phrasing sounded off, like something indecent. Masaki was secretly glad she was broke.
"Too bad I don't have enough, so I can only buy a naked one, not the whole set."
"What??" Masaki's eyes nearly popped out.
…
In the movie, Titanic struck an iceberg. Outside the screen, the Big Ship sailed smooth seas, nothing but fair winds and high tides.
No rivals in sight.
A month flew by.
Unsinkable officially wrapped its global run. A few regions in the Middle East and Southeast Asia extended screenings, but overall the box office was set.
North America: $810 million (3rd all-time locally)
China mainland: $590 million (7th all-time locally)
Japan: $151 million (2nd all-time locally)
UK: $120 million (9th all-time locally)
South Korea: $80.43 million (3rd all-time locally)
Other regions didn't break $80 million, so no need to list them. Worldwide, the movie raked in $2.592 billion, straight to #2 in film history. A meteoric rise, fame exploding everywhere!
Note: North America's tally included Canada and Greenland. Hong Kong and Taiwan's box offices were always counted separately.
The record was so "arrogant" it landed Chu Zhi on the cover of Time Magazine's US main edition, not the Asia one.
The cover headline read: "Music and Film, 2412 and 25, Two Numbers Shining at the Center of the World." The photo showed Li on the grand staircase at the movie's end, smiling as he looked down.
The cover practically said Chu Zhi was looking down on Hollywood itself.
Making Time's Asia edition wasn't rare. Plenty of Chinese stars had done that. But appearing on the main edition was nearly unheard of. Time had four editions: US, Europe, Asia, and South Pacific. The only Asians to ever land the US cover were mostly politicians.
[Chu Zhi's leap from music to film has been dazzling. His influence spans the globe, making him China's most famous entertainer.
No celebrity has ever topped Forbes' Celebrity 100 for three straight years, yet Chu Zhi has stayed #1 for four. He's the highest-paid entertainer in the world, and the most supported star in all of Asia.
All Nations, Vol. 1 marks his musical peak. According to IFPI data, just two days ago the multilingual album hit 24.12 million in sales, certified 2x Diamond and 4x Platinum. This was IFPI's first 2x Diamond certification in 21 years.
At 27, this Chinese superstar has shattered Hollywood's racial stereotypes.
Racism in Hollywood has long been routine. Studios avoided hiring minority actors unless forced by backlash, and even then treated it like charity. And they had their hierarchy: Black actors got priority, Asians came after.
Even when Asians landed roles, they were sidelined into token parts, no skill needed, just a stereotype to tick a box.
Chu Zhi's lead role smashing the box office was a lightning bolt of hope for Asian actors in Hollywood.
"I'm amazed by the diversity of cultures I've discovered through learning languages. I want to understand more." He told fans online. "I hope for world peace."
What made him the first true global Asian superstar of the 21st century was his respect for every culture.]
Don't be surprised Time blasted Hollywood. That magazine criticized everything unfair, aside from its corporate sponsors. That was why it stood as one of America's Big Three weeklies. In fact, Time always looked down on Hollywood a little. The Emperor Beast's success didn't change much for other Asian actors there, and Chu Zhi's social media posts had been chopped up before quoting.
Still, the key was this: Time had crowned Chu Zhi a global superstar, the first Asian of this century. Which meant in their eyes, Korean boy bands and Japanese rock legends didn't count.
Second place worldwide shook the industry. Looking at Hollywood Daily's repost of the box office chart, Cameron's grin spread so wide it almost looked deformed. His original goal had been $1.5 billion, cracking the top 10 all-time. That already felt ambitious. Who'd have thought his aim was still too small?
"If only it beat Star Wars 2: Spear of the Dunes," Cameron muttered.
But Unsinkable was still two to three hundred million short. Surpassing it wouldn't be easy.
The main reason Star Wars 2 had pulled in $2.8 billion was pioneering mature 3D tech. Outside America's nostalgic love, the gimmick had been the real driver.
"Japan, Korea, Egypt, China, Brazil… those box offices soared thanks to Chu Zhi," Cameron said to himself. He had a soft spot for ninjas, ever since Japanese pop culture flooded America in the 90s with samurai and ninja hype.
That was why he knew Japan's unique market. Outside anime films, live-action hits were rare. Seven of Japan's top ten movies were anime. Not a single live-action film cracked the top five. Hollywood blockbusters weren't in sight either. Yet Unsinkable still claimed #2.
"It's like the Battle of Midway all over again, sinking four of Japan's main carriers. A miracle," Cameron muttered. "The Japanese just love Chu Zhi."
He wasn't wrong. In Japan's all-time top ten, When I Close My Eyes ranked ninth, Unsinkable second. Only three live-action films in the list at all.
Korea's numbers were great too, but Cameron dismissed them. In his mind, Koreans were shallow, only chasing pretty faces. That stereotype came from a messy story about him and a friend trying to hit on girls once. Not worth rehashing.
Still, staring at the numbers, Cameron couldn't help smiling wider and wider. Until his phone rang.
"Let's celebrate Cameron, the world's greatest director, king of the world!"
The caller's tone wasn't just mocking, it even quoted a line from the movie.
"Need me to get you in touch with Dr. Walker?" Cameron wasn't someone easy to mess with. Just think about his tyrant-like behavior on set, and you'd get the picture.
He continued, "He's a famous psychiatrist, Mr. Davis. If you're sick, you really need to see a doctor."
"Fuck, you damn—"
"You think you're Horman or something? Can't you come up with a new curse?" Cameron saw he'd gotten under the man's skin and straightened up, speaking properly this time. "Can we talk like normal people now?"
On the other end, Davis let out a laugh filled with rage. "Mr. Cameron, it's currently 12:31 a.m. in New York—"
"So what?" Cameron cut him off impatiently.
"The Village Voice Salon. We've been here for over an hour already, we're just waiting for you," Davis said. "Everyone was just talking about whether, now that you've become a big-name director, you don't want to show up at our little salon anymore."
Uh… Cameron felt awkward. Sure, he was sharp-tongued, but he wasn't unreasonable. He had indeed forgotten the time for their monthly gathering with friends from the circle.
"I'll be right there." Cameron hung up. After a moment of mental struggle, he grabbed his treasured 1992 Screaming Eagle Cabernet. If you mess up, you need to apologize properly to your friends. Thankfully, his place wasn't far from Greenwich Village, where the gathering was held. He could get there in under half an hour by car.
The members included a celebrated writer who'd won the National Book Award, a gold-medal screenwriter, and a playwright whose shows always sold out. The Village Voice Salon was the pinnacle of America's cultural and entertainment circle.
New York had plenty of rich neighborhoods, but Greenwich Village was the true cultural heart. Back in the '70s and '80s, over half of Europe and America's renowned writers lived there. Jazz, the Beat Generation, avant-garde thought—all of it had been born here.
The salon's name, "Village Voice," was a tribute to the now-defunct literary review magazine.
Half an hour later, Cameron arrived. When he walked in, everyone in the room looked him over with scrutinizing eyes, saying nothing.
"The hell you looking at? Never seen a director whose looks could rival Chu Zhi in his youth?" Cameron grumbled inwardly. Still, even for a man who'd seen a lot, the stares made him uneasy.
"Cough, cough. I thought our little salon was missing a bottle of wine, so that's why I was late," he said, setting a small case on the table. He opened it, revealing a pristine bottle of red wine.
"Screaming Eagle Cabernet? From '92, no less! That's a rare one. I guess being late makes sense now," Roberts said.
Roberts had been a perennial Nobel Prize nominee, never winning despite three consecutive nominations. Still, he'd won the National Book Award twice and was a household name in North America.
The whole group loved wine. Some grabbed corkscrews, others brought out decanters. Cameron's "peace offering" clearly hit the right note.
As the wine rested, the room filled with chatter.
One playwright complained about his script. He wanted to write a story about the New York slums and had gone to Queens several times for research. But no matter what, the main character's thoughts felt too polished for someone from the slums. Someone suggested letting actual slum residents read it over.
A gold-medal screenwriter butted heads with a director over a project. The director kept making random changes to the script, leading to heated fights on set. If the guy hadn't been into karate, the writer said he'd have already punched him.
Then it was Davis's turn, and he dove straight into sighing mode, his thick brows furrowed into a near-permanent frown.
"Still no actor for your film?" Cameron asked. "You're even pickier than me. Haven't you auditioned basically every male lead in Hollywood?"
"I want someone completely different from anyone else in the world, but he still has to have a human quality. He's supposed to be humanity's savior," Davis said, exasperated. "No one's right."
"Different from the whole world? What, you looking for aliens?" one playwright joked.
"Aliens wouldn't work," Cameron cut in. "They don't have a human aura. I think Davis needs someone from another world."
Warner Bros had been financing Davis's new film, and he'd already been searching half a year for the male lead. Everyone at the salon was sick of hearing about it. If Davis hadn't directed three films that each grossed over a billion worldwide, Warner would've dumped him ages ago. But when someone makes you money, Hollywood puts up with a lot.
"So now that you're the great $4 billion director, Cameron, got any good recommendations?" Davis jabbed back.
The $4 billion director label came from Cameron's cumulative box office earnings, which had just passed $4 billion thanks to Unsinkable. Of course, Davis still meant to point out that his total was higher.
"Someone completely different from the world, huh?" Cameron really did have someone in mind. He asked, "And you want him to be humanity's savior? Like, what kind of savior exactly?"
"In my film, humans live inside a virtual world, and the savior is the one who can lead them out of it," Davis explained.
Real and virtual… Cameron suddenly thought of something. "What about Chu Zhi?"
"That Chinese star?" Davis started to dismiss the idea. "He's too good-looking, it wouldn't—"
But as he pictured Chu Zhi in the role, his thoughts shifted. He'd watched Unsinkable, of course. Chu Zhi really did feel almost unreal, otherworldly. The more Davis thought about it, the more it started to make sense. He fell silent, mulling it over.
The salon moved on. Another director, Hart, was struggling with his script for a new art film.
"Old Hat wants to hit the big three European festivals. Roberts, give him a hand. Any good books lately worth adapting?" Cameron was in high spirits after Unsinkable's success and talked more than usual.
"Sorry, Hart," Roberts said. "The only works that excite me lately are the Chinese poet Huainan's unreleased new piece, Mr. Cogito, and the upcoming English edition of Guatemalan Love by South American author Asturias. Neither would adapt well."
"Chinese poet Huainan?" Hart asked. "I've only read his Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night. Is his work really that impressive?"
"Absolutely," Roberts replied firmly. "Though he often writes about death and life, his way of thinking feels like he has multiple personalities. Each of his collections explores something entirely different. Last year's 巡回 was so bold the bookstores hyped it as a modern Faust. And honestly, I think Huainan might truly reach Goethe's level someday."
"I'm looking forward to Mr. Cogito too," the playwright said. "Just the one released poem hooked me. I've even memorized it. 'At home, I'm always safe. Whenever Mr. Cogito steps outside at dawn, as he crosses the threshold, he meets—the abyss. Not Pascal's abyss. Not Dostoevsky's abyss. This is an abyss crafted just for Mr. Cogito…''"
With both a major writer and a respected playwright singing Huainan's praises, even those outside the poetry scene grasped his importance.
"China again," Hart muttered. "First it's Chu Zhi, now it's Huainan. That country's overflowing with geniuses."
Cameron agreed. "In a way, Chu Zhi's a genius in both looks and music."
It really felt like Chinese names kept popping up everywhere.
"I've decided. I'm definitely inviting Chu Zhi to audition for The 22nd Century Killing Network" Davis suddenly blurted out, startling everyone.