Went Abroad to Be a Director, Shook Hollywood’s Box Office - Chapter 1

Los Angeles, California, USA.

“Qin Feng, that sci-fi film you directed — The Sinking Village — was a complete disaster. You insisted on doing things your own way, and now the company’s lost thirty million.”

“I’ve spoken up for you countless times to President Xiang, but… he’s deeply disappointed. He trusted you with an important project, and we’ve all had to accept the loss.”

“The company has officially terminated your contract. From now on, you’re on your own here in the States.”

“Good luck, Qin Feng. Take care of yourself.”

Qin Feng held his phone in silence, listening to the cold voice on the other end.
It was the vice president of Third Line Media, his former company.

“…I understand.”

He hung up and stared blankly out the window.

It had been five years since he’d crossed over to this world — to Blue Star in the year 2009.

At this point, full-screen smartphones hadn’t yet taken off. Weibo and Bilibili had just been launched, while WeChat and TikTok didn’t even exist.

The biggest difference between this world and Earth lay in its entertainment industry: it was barren.
Film genres were painfully monotonous, dominated by art films, dramas, and comedies.

The most popular ones were kung-fu or action films — mildly successful at best.

As for science fiction, fantasy, or disaster blockbusters with cutting-edge visual effects?
They were practically nonexistent.
Even Hollywood produced only one or two a year.

In recent years, good scripts had become rare, special effects were crude, and no one even bothered trying anymore.

Qin Feng was a director — a graduate of the Beijing Film Academy’s directing department.

His dream had always been to create real visual-effect masterpieces.

After five years of hard work, he’d finally climbed his way from an assistant director to the director’s chair. He convinced his company to fund his vision and began building his dream.

The result: The Sinking Village.

A film that sank just as its title foretold.

The moment it was released, it flopped disastrously.

Due to endless production mishaps and subpar domestic visual effects, audiences rejected it outright.
The box office bombed, and Qin Feng became the scapegoat.

Online criticism was merciless:

> “What the hell did Qin Feng even direct? Has he lost his mind? The whole village sank underground — seriously?”

“No story, no effects. These CGI shots look like something from a ten-year-old B-movie!”

“With that skill, he should stick to shooting commercials!”

“This guy’s just laundering money. Someone call the tax bureau.”

“Whoever watches The Sinking Village is an idiot!”

The company’s losses reached thirty million.

A week later, Qin Feng’s contract was voided.

Crushed and disheartened, unwilling to let his failure tarnish his family’s reputation, he booked a flight to America.

His work visa — an O-type — restricted him to the arts, film, and television.
He couldn’t take on any other kind of job.

He had only one thousand U.S. dollars left in his bank account and rented a shabby studio apartment.

Everything would have to start over.
But he didn’t even know where to begin.

He felt lost. Depressed.

Qin Feng tossed his phone onto the table and dragged himself to the bathroom.

He looked into the mirror.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with slightly wavy hair and a strikingly handsome face — he looked a bit like a younger Takeshi Kaneshiro.

His sword-like brows framed eyes filled with melancholy.

Then—

Buzz——!

A sharp ringing filled his mind.

Fragments of information — countless, chaotic — crashed through his consciousness like a raging storm.

“Ugh—ahh…”

He clenched his eyes shut, almost collapsing as he grabbed the sink for balance.

Pain shot through his skull. Was this… a system?

No familiar “ding” sound. No interface, no stats.

But he could see them — countless classic films from his previous life flashing one after another through his mind.

Scripts. Actors. Dialogues. Scenes. Behind-the-scenes clips. Box-office numbers—

All flooding through him at lightning speed!

Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!

It was as if a door to another universe had opened.
A kaleidoscopic film world unfolded before his eyes — dazzling light, overwhelming sound, breathtaking images.

He gasped.

And then, as suddenly as it came, the torrent stopped.

Qin Feng slowly opened his eyes, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Holy crap… this is… my golden finger?”

He took a deep breath and focused.

The moment he tried recalling a specific movie, the entire screenplay and every detail played out vividly in his mind — crystal clear, as if written on paper.

Every great VFX film from his past life was there — preserved in perfect detail.
Both Eastern and Western masterpieces.
From classics like Frankenstein, A Trip to the Moon, and The Mechanical Butcher,
to modern hits like The Wandering Earth, Meg 2, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, and Dune: Part Two.

Everything.

“I… I’m going to be rich!”

A thrill surged through him. He wanted to shout, to tell someone, anyone—

But then he looked around.

Only silence.

He was alone in a foreign land.

He washed his face, took a deep breath, and sat down at his desk.

“Make a movie. I’ll make a movie!”

The film library in his head was a weapon — a force that could crush this world’s film industry in an instant.

No one here wrote sci-fi or fantasy screenplays.
No one dared film large-scale visual spectacles.

“Perfect,” he muttered, eyes burning with determination. “That’s where I come in.”

Images flooded his mind — breathtaking, unforgettable scenes that had once stunned audiences around the world.

He needed a start.

Since he didn’t know anyone in Hollywood, he could only begin by writing a script and sending it to film studios via their submission portals.

But which movie should he start with?

He opened his laptop, closed his eyes to think—

And suddenly, an image burst forth:
a tyrannosaurus rex lumbering across the earth, shaking its head, roaring with earth-shattering force.

“ROAR—!!”

His eyes snapped open, a grin spreading across his face.

Dinosaurs. Yes! Dinosaurs!

He remembered the immortal classic from his previous life — Jurassic Park.

Released in 1993. A science-fiction adventure that redefined the genre and ushered in a new era of CGI.

That would be his first film.

Without another moment’s hesitation, bl00d rushing through his veins, Qin Feng opened a blank document and began typing furiously.

In his past life, Jurassic Park had been adapted from Michael Crichton’s novel — though only about twenty percent of the book made it into the screenplay.

But here, that novel hadn’t even been published yet.

Which meant his script would be the first appearance of the dinosaur saga — ever.

Three hours later—

He leaned back and exhaled deeply.

Done.

The screenplay was complete.

After carefully rereading it, he found it almost identical to the original — about ninety-seven percent faithful — with only minor tweaks to dialogue and scene transitions.

Now came the next step: submission.

He saved a copy, trimming off the final third to prevent plagiarism.

A quick search led him to the submission addresses of three major studios: Universal Pictures, Warner Bros., and 20th Century Fox.

“These three will do.”

He hit send.

Whoosh—

Submission successful.

A new journey begins.

Welcome to the world of cinema —
where dreams take the director’s seat.

(End of Chapter 1)