Chapter 163: Animated Cartoon

Two scions of wealthy families were shooting the breeze, leaving the sycophants surrounding them speechless. The two of you are mutual admirers boasting to the heavens, but should we be applauding right now, or simply keeping our mouths shut?

"William, your animated commercial is quite decent, except that Megatron character is utterly absurd. Weren't they supposed to be energy cubes? How on earth did they turn into grape juice? Changing it to vodka would have been acceptable at least, the Russians would be thoroughly pleased."

"Pfft, pleasing them isn't worth a damn. My game consoles can't even be exported. If I started making commercials for the Russians, wouldn't that make me a traitor to the country? I am a patriot."

"What kind of patriot are you? What if the Russians use that microchip to conquer the moon?"

"Well, that's simple. We'll just have them emigrate to the moon!"

"Putting that aside, though, that CPU really is absolute trash. There is literally zero possibility of it having any military application. It's just a bunch of people with too much time on their hands."

"Sigh, let's not talk about that. How is your animated series coming along? Why aren't you producing it in America? A lot of people are extremely ticked off about that!"

"Hmph, unless they sell Disney to me, I might consider letting Americans make something three to five years from now. You simply don't understand—their current cartoons are garbage."

Patriotism aside, purely from a cost perspective, he would never choose to produce it in America. He is a capitalist, after all, not a charitable foundation.

The biggest issue is work ethic. The Japanese are incredibly diligent, to the point where working themselves to death is practically normal, whereas Americans have no concept of hardship.

Overtime?

You must be joking, I have to take my kids fishing.

The world is profoundly unfair. Asians are noticeably industrious, Westerners prefer leisure, and Africans are simply bone-idle. Yet somehow, all the best things end up in the hands of Europeans and Americans.

William White's first animated series was *Transformers*. Not only do Americans love the stuff, but the Japanese are absolute fans of it as well.

If anyone claims it was produced entirely by the Japanese, that's utter nonsense. The outline and script were both completed in America. If you were to simply take a comic book and adapt it directly, while it might not bomb completely, the result would be rather mediocre.

William White's cartoons are different, however. The plotlines are noticeably tighter, the fights between robots are far more numerous, and all those irrelevant, tedious dialogues are kept to an absolute minimum.

Following their cooperation on the commercial, Toei's capabilities are definitely worth anticipating. As for the cost, the broadcast rights in Japan alone will allow him to recoup his investment, meaning everything else is pure profit.

As for when it will be finished?

That is truly no easy feat. Without a good half-year, you can as well forget about seeing this cartoon. Besides, what's the rush? His factories in China are still under construction, and the Japanese facilities haven't reached his standards yet either.

Think about it: if the Japanese can't even get it done, having this manufactured in America would be an absolute joke.

Some people might say China is cheap, so why bother going to Japan?

There is genuinely no way around it. They only recently opened up, where five yuan for a toy is already an astronomical sum, yet you plan to sell yours for fifty? Are you planning to rob people?

Look at it this way: with average wages hovering around thirty-six yuan, selling it in China is simply out of the question. However, since the production cost is so low, clever individuals will inevitably find a way to make a profit.

Can it be stopped?

It's entirely useless.

So you can manufacture cheap items, and even if they flood the streets, it's no big deal. But expensive items are out of the question, especially limited editions.

Since counterfeit goods can be sold openly on the streets of Japan, the same goes for America. Who told you to price yours so high? For all you know, the police might even buy a couple to take home.

William White is quite ruthless. He never intended to sell them cheaply anyway. From time to time in the future, he'll release a few commemorative editions. Whenever he needs extra cash, he'll just churn out a batch; as long as the total number isn't too outrageous, hordes of people will gladly throw their money at him.

Rest assured, these will invariably be the first things to sell out. You might look at the first-generation Optimus Prime right now and think it's ugly, but let me tell you, this thing is so pricey that ordinary stores won't even stock it.

When you can turn toys into auction items, you start to understand American moral fiber. This is pure, unadulterated commercial hype.

Given how much fun can be made of this, would you dare manufacture them in China?

That society relies heavily on personal connections and human favors. There's no shortage of items mysteriously given away as gifts, not to mention those quietly slipped out the back door.

Don't bother talking about virtue or morality. Those are luxuries you only afford yourself when you're wealthy; when you're struggling just to put food on the table, what room is there to talk about virtue?

"Suzuki, when can the factory in China start production?"

"Boss, they are currently training the management personnel. At the earliest, it will be next March."

"Hmm, have Fujita find some administrators. I'm not worried about their costs, but the quality issues must be resolved."

"Understood, I know what to do."

Having dealt with this bunch of people, William White had to resume his golf practice. This time, he decided to find a reliable instructor. His current proficiency in kickboxing is quite decent, which just goes to show the value of a good coach.

His trainer finds the situation rather absurd as well. Here is a guy who could actually step into a boxing ring to fight professionally, yet he happens to be a multi-billionaire—it's utterly baffling.

From his perspective, learning this stuff is completely useless for his student. With crowds of bodyguards surrounding him at all times, who on earth could possibly pose a genuine threat to him?

After over an hour of training, William White felt like absolute garbage, every muscle in his body stiff as stone. Fortunately, he is genuinely starting to make progress, otherwise, the whole ordeal would be downright depressing.

If you're going to keep hanging out in Texas, you can easily skip learning golf, but Los Angeles is a completely different story. The so-called successful people here are genuine regulars on the golf course.

Fundamentally speaking, golf is just like tennis—it belongs firmly in the realm of the wealthy. That is no exaggeration; if you don't have enough US dollars, footing the bill for the course fees is simply impossible.

Why is China so formidable at table tennis? Because it is a sport for the masses where all you need is to build a concrete table. The Chinese are already bored to tears of winning gold medals, and tweaking the rules won't make a scrap of difference. With a population base that massive, geniuses are born every single year.

"Boss, are you still obsessing over golf? Let's go out and paint the town red!"

"I am physically incapable of movement today. Not a single joint in my body feels like it belongs to me."

"Why on earth are you practicing that garbage? You're practically a British aristocrat—just stick to the tradition of fox hunting and be done with it."

"Sigh, that really won't work. I'll pass for now; you guys go have fun. I've been hounded by reporters lately, so I really have no choice."

"Alright then, keep up the good work."

A depressed William White hung up the phone. Remembering that his Siberian Husky was still locked up, he had no choice but to have someone let the beast out. With that creature around, you can forget about playing any golf, because the moment you drop the ball on the ground, it vanishes instantly.

"You silly dog, time for our run."

Having regained its freedom, the husky began romping around everywhere. Watching the man and dog from a distance, Old Fu felt thoroughly pleased. The only lingering question was just when exactly the young master would finally get his golf game sorted out.

Regarding William White's golf skills, it has practically become a running joke in high-society circles. Fortunately, nobody makes too big a deal of it; the guy is simply too young. If he can't play, he can't play—at worst, people will just stop inviting him to matches.

"What? Building a golf course on Lanai? Doesn't he not even know how to play?"

"Boss, I suspect he wants to go there and practice in secret."

"Haha! That actually sounds like him. Is the scale of it large?"

"Massive. He's hired top-tier designers, so it certainly won't come cheap."

"Sigh, he really does whatever he pleases, doesn't he?"