Went Abroad to Be a Director, Shook Hollywood’s Box Office - Chapter 4

“You go ahead and speak first.”

Qin Feng said calmly, “You can decide on the director. But when filming begins, I want to be present on set. Give me a position as assistant director or director’s aide.”

“As for the pay, I don’t want a single cent for that. I’ll only take the writer’s fee that’s already agreed upon.”

“If even that’s unacceptable, then I’ll have to take my script to another studio.”

Kennedy’s eyes flickered with interest.

This young man was that desperate to direct—willing to work as an assistant, even without pay?

She studied Qin Feng carefully for a moment, then nodded inwardly. She admired him.

At least, she thought, his desire to direct wasn’t driven by money.

He was a young man chasing his dream.

And precisely because of that, she couldn’t let this script fall into someone else’s hands.

“Alright, no problem,” Kennedy said with a smile. “I can make that decision myself. Also, I’ll raise your script’s advance payment to 150,000. The 5% revenue share remains the same.”

“Qin Feng, you can sign the contract today and collect your advance.”

“Agreed,” Qin Feng replied without hesitation.

“We’ll hold an internal meeting shortly. Tomorrow at nine in the morning, come to the office—you’re officially part of the team.”

She called the HR director and gave a few specific instructions regarding the contract details.

Before Qin Feng left the office, both Kennedy and Koepp stood up.

“Qin Feng, looking forward to our cooperation.”

“Likewise,” Qin Feng said, shaking hands firmly.

He followed the HR director to sign the contract, then visited the finance department. Soon after, 150,000 U.S. dollars were transferred to his account.

Stepping out of Universal Studios’ headquarters, he was greeted by bright sunlight.

In the clear sky above, a passenger jet streaked through the clouds.

Qin Feng’s heart surged with emotion.

The advance payment was in his hands now.

I’ll prove to the whole world that as a Chinese filmmaker, I can become one of the greatest directors of science fiction cinema!

The humiliation and failures of his past life—would never happen again!

—Screech!—

As he walked, a sleek blue sports car pulled up a short distance ahead, kicking up a thin trail of dust.

Its body gleamed like a sapphire panther—powerful, graceful, alive with speed. It immediately caught Qin Feng’s eye.

Damn, that’s gorgeous!

The door opened, and a man stepped out—his movements smooth and athletic.

He had short-cropped hair, striking good looks, deep blue eyes, and a confident, sunny smile.

Qin Feng instantly recognized him.

The man who, in his previous life, had passed away in 2013—the star of Fast and Furious, Eight Below, and Running Scared…

The one and only Paul Walker.

As they brushed past each other, Qin Feng suddenly stopped.

“Mr. Walker.”

Paul paused mid-step and turned, smiling warmly. “Ah… you calling me?”

“Yes.” Qin Feng thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m a big fan of yours. I just want to offer you one piece of advice.”

“Go ahead.”

“If possible… please stay away from racing. It can be dangerous.”

Paul blinked, slightly taken aback. The stranger didn’t seem like he was joking.

After a moment, he smiled faintly. “Thanks for the advice, brother.”

“But tell me—don’t you have something you love, something you can’t give up either?”

“…Yes, I do.”

Paul grinned, sunlight catching his features.

“Then you understand—it’s not that simple, brother.”

With a wave, he turned and headed toward the studio entrance.

Qin Feng stood there, watching his retreating figure.

That’s right… everyone has their passions and obsessions.

And I’m no different.

———

When he returned to his apartment, calls from Warner Bros. and Fox were already waiting. Both studios made fresh offers, but Qin Feng turned them down.

He wanted to focus entirely on the film’s pre-production.

Opening his laptop, he reviewed the script again from start to finish, then immersed himself in research—reading about dinosaurs and genetic engineering until night fell without him realizing.

———

The next morning.

Qin Feng arrived at Universal Studios to report for work.

The staff handed him an ID badge, printed temporary business cards, and arranged a small office for him.

After settling in, screenwriter David Koepp called him to a meeting.

When Qin Feng entered the conference room, over a dozen people were already seated, their eyes turning toward him.

He and Koepp took their seats.

Kathleen Kennedy smiled. “Today, we’re holding a script review meeting. Everyone’s read the script for Jurassic Park by now. We plan to move into production as soon as possible.”

A heavyset man across the table asked, “Manager, we’ve never shot a sci-fi film of this type before—it’s uncharted territory. Who’s going to direct it?”

Kennedy checked her watch. “He should be here any moment.”

Moments later, the conference room door opened.

An elderly man entered—his hair and beard streaked with white, round glasses perched on his nose, eyes bright with intelligence and good humor.

His presence radiated calm confidence, wisdom, and quiet power.

Everyone in the room was stunned. They all knew exactly who this man was.

Universal had many directors—dozens of promising young ones—but few could command this kind of respect.

To bring him in for this project showed just how important this script was.

Even Qin Feng, though from China, recognized him instantly.

The legendary Hollywood filmmaker—Steven Spielberg.

One of the greatest directors of the modern era, celebrated for his boundless imagination, breathtaking visuals, and deeply human storytelling.

Even though, in this world, he had made fewer science fiction films, his reputation was as towering as ever.

Indiana Jones, The Terminal, Saving Private Ryan, Schindler’s List, E.T., Jaws…

Every single one—an undeniable classic.

Qin Feng quietly exhaled. In his previous life, Spielberg had directed this very film.

And now, even in this world, fate had brought the story back to him.

“Sorry to keep everyone waiting,” Spielberg said with an apologetic smile.

“Alright,” Kennedy announced, “now that everyone’s here—let me make it official. The director of Jurassic Park will be Mr. Steven Spielberg.”

She turned toward Qin Feng. “And this,” she continued, “is our new team member—the film’s head screenwriter, Mr. Qin Feng.”

Qin Feng stood and bowed slightly. “Hello, everyone. My name is Qin Feng. I’m from China. It’s a pleasure to work with you all.”

“What? You’re the one who wrote this script?” Spielberg exclaimed, turning toward him in surprise.

He had received the script only the previous night. After glancing at the title, he’d put down his dinner and read through the entire thing without pause.

By the end, he’d been speechless.

The writer—this young man—was a genius.

Spielberg himself had long dreamed of making a film about dinosaurs and prehistoric life, but he’d never found the right story.

Until now.

He’d even called Kennedy late that night, too excited to sleep, overflowing with ideas.

So this morning, he’d arrived late—but his excitement hadn’t dimmed a bit.

Now, looking at Qin Feng in person, his eyes shone with genuine admiration.

He rose from his seat, walked over, and extended his hand.

“Qin Feng, your work on this dinosaur story is simply phenomenal. It’s an honor for me to direct it.”

“Thank you—for writing such a magnificent piece.”

(End of Chapter)