Just as Jihoon was fully absorbed in his film work in LA, something extraordinary was unfolding on the other side of the world—completely outside his awareness.
And it all began with one simple proposal Han Sanping casually tossed out back at the Cannes Film Festival: import Buried into China using his special quota privilege.
Jihoon had agreed without thinking much of it.
He never expected that single decision to create such a chain reaction.
Right now, inside the CFGC office in Beijing, Han Sanping sat frozen in his chair, staring blankly at the report in his hands.
This… was not what he expected.
Not even close.
His original intention was simple—almost embarrassingly simple.
His original intention had been painfully simple.
He merely wanted to give Jihoon a "taste of Chinese-style sweetness"—just a small gesture, a friendly sample of the incentives and privileges China could offer if Jihoon ever chose to expand his filmmaking career there.
Because China needed global media influence.
And the reasoning was straightforward: the outside world needed to see China as a developing country worth investing in.
Media was the most efficient way to shape that perception.
But real results?
Actual box office traction?
Han Sanping never expected any of that. He wasn't even aiming for it.
Yes, Buried had won Best Actor at Cannes this year.
But to someone like Han Sanping, who had been in this industry long enough to outlive multiple waves of hype, international awards only held real marketing power in Western countries or already-developed regions—places where the public understood and cared about such accolades.
China in 2008 was a completely different ecosystem.
Social media? Almost nonexistent.
The "internet era"? Barely flickering.
While America already had Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube reshaping culture, China still relied on state news broadcasts, newspapers, and traditional advertising.
Those were the tools.
Those were the limits.
Given that reality, Han Sanping expected Buried to perform… decently at best.
Perhaps respectfully.
Nothing more.
Because at the year of 2007 China only had roughly 3,500 cinema screens nationwide.
And as chairman of CFGC, Han Sanping had every statistic memorized: the highest-grossing film of 2007 barely hit 28 million USD.
A number that wasn't even a fraction of what Jihoon routinely achieved in Korea or America.
That was why, back at Cannes, Han Sanping's pitch to Jihoon wasn't about immediate profit—it was about potential.
He wasn't selling China's present.
He was selling China's future.
And he believed the only way to attract renowned filmmakers like Jihoon was through policy advantages, privileges, and opportunities that hinted at something bigger down the line.
Because China in 2008 was… awkward.
A developing nation building its foundations brick by brick.
Even its entertainment industry was only beginning to take shape.
But anyone from the future—anyone who knew what China would become—understood the truth.
China, at this moment in history, was the sleeping dragon.
Just like Smaug from The Hobbit, resting atop a mountain of unused treasure, waiting for the moment it would awaken.
China's economy might not look impressive in 2008.
Its growth might seem slow, scattered, or unremarkable.
But that wasn't going to last.
It wasn't going to remain "developing."
At some point—inevitably—the dragon would spread its wings, rise, and shake the entire world.
And right now, without Jihoon even knowing, the first tremor of that awakening had begun.
Realistically speaking, without bias, and without defending any side.
Anyone who genuinely understands China's history would admit something strange of this whole country is.
First the whole damn country feels like it was written out of a novel.
If you step back and view China from a bird's-eye perspective and observing its entire historical timeline as one continuous narrative—and imagine the entire nation, or even the Chinese ethnic group, as a single protagonist, the resemblance becomes uncanny.
Because by than we could reliase that China fits the role of an underdog main character almost too well.
Just like a classic face-slapping story, the structure is all there:
First in order, just like how a novel MC would be their early arc would be bullied, invaded, humiliated, and fractured.
Then the middle arc: weak-to-strong progression, rebuilding through determination and sheer stubborn endurance.
Follow by the turning point: rising from the ashes, reclaiming power, rewriting its place in the global stage just like we seen in the present world now.
And now, the face-slapping climax: shocking the world with growth that feels almost like miracle-level ecstasy—moving forward at a pace that doesn't even seem real to any people.
Now when we view it like that, the entire nation's journey feels absurdly "novel-like," almost following a script where the protagonist suffers first, awakens next, and then returns to overturn the entire board.
So… am I right, or am I right?
Or is it just me who feels this way?
Well, bullshit aside, looking from that perspective, it's easy to tell that one day China's economy would climb into the top five of the global GDP ranking.
That trajectory was obvious—painfully obvious—to anyone paying attention.
And now, back to the surprise China had just thrown at Jihoon: the box office performance of Buried in the Chinese region.
Keep in mind, the country's top-grossing film last year made only 28 million USD, and China's total national box office for 2007 was around 433 million.
On top of that, domestic films—protected by import regulations—still dominated the market with 54%, while imported films only held 46%.
From those numbers alone, you could clearly see how tightly protected China's showbiz industry was.
CFGC wasn't just a regulator—it was a wall, a gatekeeper, ensuring that foreign films wouldn't come crashing in and bankrupt the local industry.
Which is why Han Sanping's quota ticket for Jihoon was practically a divine blessing.
Even the Hollywood Big Six didn't get that treatment.
They were still bound, restricted, and handcuffed by the import rules.
Jihoon was the first to be handed a taste of that sweetness.
Maybe CFGC considered the Big Six too big of a threat.
Because anyone with functioning math skills could see what would happen if any of those studios entered freely: they'd flood the market with money, resources, and production power no local studio could match.
The difference in scale was absolute.
Meanwhile, Jihoon's company, JH, wasn't a threat yet—which was probably why he was allowed in.
And now back to the financial report in Han Sanping's hand.
The numbers were all positive, and the graph was moving upward just like a bull market on Wall Street.
Green was the color, and Benjamin Franklin was throwing him a peace sign, saying, "What's up, chigga…"