“Inspirational film!” Lynch’s single comment lit up Shawn’s eyes.

“Yes, yes! Inspirational film—Mr. Lynch, that’s exactly what I was trying to say!”

Shawn’s mood improved, and he became a bit excited—typical of intellectuals.

They’re proud, even if they don’t show it. In an era where college education isn’t yet widespread, culture and the arts are seen as highbrow. Not everyone can understand what an artist wants to express, which only makes them prouder.

You can’t even understand what I’m trying to say—why should I take you seriously? That’s likely their most honest thought. They may act humble, but deep down, they look down on you.

Shawn probably didn’t even think much of Fox Jr.. If not to prove himself, he wouldn’t bother socializing here at all.

Fortunately, he came—and met a boss who understood him. That instantly put him at ease.

It’s a feeling only kindred spirits know. He believed Lynch could relate—struggling in this filthy world, only those of the same kind could understand his loneliness and isolation.

Shawn was an interesting man. He loved literature and had published a few works as a student that received praise.

Since then, he’d chosen a difficult path. After college, he started a long, unsuccessful writing career.

Twenty years—no success. At most, he wrote cheap articles for minor magazines, or occasional racy fiction for third-rate publications just to get by.

He had big dreams. He wanted to be a world-famous author, someone people adored and celebrated.

But after twenty years and countless rejections, he started doubting the world itself.

The worst blow came when his wife divorced him a few years back—she’d asked him to become a damn plumber.

To put down his noble pen and pick up a wrench.

He refused. They had a huge fight. Then came the divorce.

He thought it would break him—after all, they’d lived together for more than ten years.

But what hurt more was losing someone who handled life’s daily burdens. After the divorce, nothing went right—he couldn’t even manage dinner.

Then came his current wife—his ex-wife’s younger sister.

She had lived with them for years. Since Shawn worked from home, he had more time to care for the family, so the little sister had stayed with them.

To her, Shawn was the greatest man in the world.

He knew fascinating stories and told them like no one else.

He created magical worlds—yet no one understood him. Not even her sister. She never grasped the brilliance beneath his cold, quiet surface—his heart was a volcano burning with passion.

After the divorce, the younger sister willingly jumped into this “fire pit.” Their relationship was doomed from the start. Her father once showed up with a shotgun and beat Shawn half to death.

Still, she believed in him. Believed that he would succeed.

Now, her eyes were fixed solely on Shawn. He was glowing.

“Mr. Lynch, what you said really inspired me. I think I finally understand what I’ve been missing all these years.” Shawn looked emotional, deep in thought.

He gripped Lynch’s hand tightly. “If only I had met you sooner!”

Lynch smiled. “It’s not too late, Mr. Shawn. Like I said, this is a great story. I believe it can inspire people to chase their dreams through perseverance.”

“It’s great because it’s rooted in the life of ordinary people.”

“Literature doesn’t have to be incomprehensible. If it’s only for the author or a select few, it loses its value.”

“Whether it’s literature or anything else born from words, it should serve humanity. Only by staying close to life can we discover its truth. Only the brilliance found in ordinary people can truly move us all.”

“I think this project is worth producing. Let’s greenlight it when we get back.”

“But I do have one suggestion—if we’re making a film, I think we should change the title.” He raised his glass and looked at the three around him.

Shawn nodded, eager to listen.

“After the Hardship (Rainbow After Rain / Sweetness After Struggle / Light of Hope in Despair / …).”

If a person could emit light, Lynch was glowing in Shawn’s eyes—radiant like a saint.

Shawn had thought A Bright Future was a perfect title—full of hope and drive.

But compared to Lynch’s After the Hardship, it fell short in tone and depth.

“Mr. Lynch, that title is perfect. It’s given me new ideas for the script. I… might need some time to revise it.” He spoke cautiously, glancing at Fox Jr.—seeking permission to leave.

Fox Jr. frowned. He didn’t enjoy working with these slightly manic types, but since Lynch backed the project, he hesitated only briefly. “You can book a room. If I need you, I’ll call.”

Shawn nodded repeatedly. “Perfect!” He looked at Lynch. “Mr. Lynch, you’ve given me so much inspiration. You’re a remarkable person. My mind is overflowing—I need to go.”

“When all this is over, I hope I can visit and have a deeper conversation with you!”

“No problem—if you can find me.”

Lynch shook his hand and watched the two leave. Fox Jr. didn’t look pleased—Shawn’s abrupt exit was embarrassing. He was the boss, and Shawn was just an employee. Walking out like that? Not a good look.

Lynch clinked glasses with him. “You need a new perspective. Guys like him are easy to control. No one will steal him if you respect him. And once you have that…”

He chuckled. “This project is solid. Budget won’t be huge. Find a good art film director who can highlight the brilliance in it.”

“By the way, you can take the script and apply for government cultural subsidies. The people in charge of cultural programs will love it.”

Once society began to restart, inspirational films quickly rose in popularity.

Nagaryll’s emergence allowed the federal economy to stabilize effectively. With international trade booming, various industries rebounded faster than expected.

During this period, although the spirit of adventure remained mainstream, it was slightly overshadowed by inspirational stories that encouraged people to strive and persevere.

The difference wasn’t huge, but the focus had shifted.

The federal government would support this type of theme. In fact, Lynch believed the project could be positioned as an export film, taken to festivals around the world. On one hand, it held considerable economic potential; on the other, it could promote the Federal Spirit globally.

After discussing it briefly with Fox Jr., the latter excused himself. He had his own engagements and had already taken up too much of Lynch’s time.

Once Fox Jr. left, more and more people came over to talk to Lynch—many of whom he didn’t even know.

But this was how networking worked in the Federation. Success only came to those who were bold and prepared. If you didn’t even have the courage to introduce yourself, you didn’t deserve success.

Most of the people who approached Lynch were from the art world—mainly curators or investors from Eminence’s many art galleries.

As the political, economic, and cultural hub of the Federation, Eminence had a deep artistic atmosphere. Most artists aspired to hold solo exhibitions in the city.

Where there was demand, someone would meet it. That’s the magic of the market.

So all kinds of galleries emerged—some run by respected figures in the art world, others famous for their ability to attract high-profile guests.

Many people treated art as sacred and untouchable, mythologizing it as something pure and noble.

But they failed to understand one thing: art doesn’t have a true hierarchy. Whether it’s a masterpiece in a grand hall or a painting by a street performer, its value isn’t defined by people’s opinions—but by the price tag hanging beneath it.

Using what artists consider the dirtiest thing—money—to price what they call sacred art has always been absurd.

Yet that absurdity became the proof of an artist’s success. An artist whose work sells for ten Sol might be an artist. But one whose work sells for a million? That person is definitely an artist.

An art gallery that could attract rich people and celebrities would instantly elevate its status.

And right now, the most prominent figure among the wealthy was Lynch. Wherever he went, the news followed. If a gallery could get him to simply walk through its doors, it would make the front page the next day.

The businessmen who called themselves curators would never let such an opportunity slip by.

They hadn’t had the chance before—but now that it was here, they weren’t backing down.