Chapter 104: Premiere

[Say it! Just say who you mean!]

[Hahaha, I’m dying—he’s so bold!]

[Legendary roast incoming!]

[Big guts! Lu Xu, do you even know how many enemies you’re making right now? (Pointing fingers)]

[Please don’t take it personally! Lu Puppy didn’t imply anything; he was being completely explicit! 23333~]

Lu Xu’s response was so blunt it felt like a direct slap to Li Tianhou’s face.

Adding fuel to the fire, Yue Hui chimed in: “Then I must be incredibly lucky to have overcome so many disadvantages.”

This comment reminded the audience of an interesting detail: Yue Hui, who had been nominated in the same year as Lu Xu, had won Best Actor for playing a villain—a character type not typically awarded. He had even beaten Lu Xu to the award.

[So the Stellar Awards only decided to break traditions for Lu Xu this year? (doge) (doge)]

[Maybe the Stellar Awards just have a vendetta against Li Tianhou. The moment he’s nominated, they break tradition, haha!]

[LOL, speaking of the eye-rolling part, during the year Yue Hui won his award, I also caught a GIF of Lu Xu rolling his eyes at him.]

[One person rolling their eyes isn’t as entertaining as everyone doing it together. If this is considered evidence, it just proves that Teacher Li is straightforward—because most people wouldn’t be this blatant about showing they’re being a sore loser.]

[What’s the point? Isn’t this just giving Deception free publicity?]

It seemed the marketing account that wrote the long article and Li Tianhou were inadvertently giving Deception a promotional boost. Prior to this, Yue Hui had been struggling to find creative angles to promote the film. Just as he was running out of ideas, Li Tianhou “delivered a pillow while he was dozing off.”

The other nominees, Xia Zhenrong and Yuan Lai, who were dragged into the article’s drama, reposted Deception’s trailer to clarify their stance.

Previously, Lu Xu’s fans had criticized the late release of Deception’s trailer. With so many quality films dominating the Spring Festival season, audiences might lose interest in Deception by the time its trailer dropped.

However, with Lu Xu and Yue Hui trending in online discussions, the timing for Deception’s trailer release turned out to be perfect.

Feeling cornered after being collectively ridiculed by Yue Hui and Lu Xu, Li Tianhou couldn’t hide his embarrassment. On the same day Deception’s trailer was released, he deliberately shared promotional posts for Eternal Night and The Train Home to show his support for those films instead.

Unfortunately for him, neither of the two production teams responded to his posts.

[Is it because Lu Xu is too sharp-tongued?]

[LOL, probably residual trauma from The Swordsman. No one wants to get caught up in the ‘curse.’]

[Come on, they’re all industry veterans. You’ve already lost. Why not save some dignity?]

[I still want to know—who’s paying these marketing accounts to give Deception all this free publicity? They’re way too nice!]

The Deception team was equally baffled by the situation. They chalked it up to the intense competition of the Spring Festival season, with controversies and drama popping up left and right. Even something like Li Tianhou’s “like” on a controversial post seemed like a minor skirmish, hardly worth serious concern.

[Still, Lu Xu’s words were a bit blunt. Can he guarantee he’ll stay popular forever?]

[Hmm… out of all the past Stellar Award winners, why do marketing accounts only target Lu Xu? And why did Li Tianhou dare to like that post? It’s because Lu Xu is young, right?

Let’s not talk about Li Tianhou being straightforward—if he’s so straightforward, why only pick on the easy targets? This was his second time being nominated, wasn’t it? Why didn’t he go after the winner from his first nomination?]

[The winner that year was Wu Zixing. Would he dare? One squeeze, and Wu Zixing would have him crying.]

[If you can’t win, you can’t win. What else can you bring up? Seniority? Acting skills? The story itself? He doesn’t even have the guts to take it up with the Stellar Award committee.]

Meanwhile, on Lu Xu’s side, there was no shortage of lengthy posts by marketing accounts. Feiyang Entertainment decided to counterattack, hiring their own marketing account to analyze and critique Li Tianhou and his work, particularly the shortcomings of the drama Both Sides of the River, which he starred in.

This counter-post was even harsher than the original critique of Lu Xu, sticking to one brutal theme:

[Stellar Awards, you’ve lost your mind. How could something as outdated and overdone as Both Sides of the River even get nominated?

[The core theme of Both Sides of the River is suffering—nothing but suffering. The entire drama focuses on how hard life is for farmers, without offering any solutions to their problems.

[The series claims to be shot on location and to tell a story rooted in reality. But does the character Li Tianhou portrayed even exist in real life?

[Did Li Tianhou truly understand the role he played? Has he ever set foot in a field? All he does is mourn and wax poetic, failing to portray the hardworking and honest spirit of farmers. After the drama aired, many locals from the depicted area pointed out that the series didn’t accurately reflect their real lives.]

The post targeting Li Tianhou reached a dramatic crescendo:

[I’ll even go as far as to say that Li Tianhou’s performance in Both Sides of the River lacked authenticity. Trying to portray a grounded, down-to-earth character with such an ungrounded, detached performance—isn’t that inherently contradictory? That’s the real reason Li Tianhou didn’t win the Stellar Award.]

While the original marketing post criticizing Lu Xu merely argued he didn’t deserve the award, Feiyang Entertainment’s chosen counterattack didn’t hold back, flat-out declaring that Li Tianhou didn’t even deserve a nomination!

[If it weren’t for his age, do you really think he’s worthy of a Stellar Award nomination?]

By the end of the post, netizens were questioning if the author might actually be an industry insider. The level of detail was astonishing—contrasting with the relatively superficial critiques of Lu Xu. The post meticulously dissected Li Tianhou’s acting style across his entire career, particularly his performances in Both Sides of the River and another previous Stellar-nominated drama. The conclusion?

[Getting nominated was generous enough. What more do you want?]

To top it off, the post pivoted back to Lu Xu’s history with the Stellar Awards, pointing out that this wasn’t his first nomination.

[He’s been nominated before for Son of Heaven and The Path of Bones. If you argue that he didn’t deserve to win for When I Was 18, then were those nominations for his other works also unjustified?]

This prompted widespread speculation: could this post have come from someone within the Stellar Awards committee?

[Who else could speak so authoritatively if not an insider?]

And what about Li Tianhou’s earlier like? It backfired spectacularly, with many pointing out that his criticism ultimately undermined the Stellar Awards’ integrity, not Lu Xu’s.

Meanwhile, the Deception crew found themselves unexpectedly grateful for the drama. Without Li Tianhou’s sudden antics, they wouldn’t have gotten so much free publicity. Thanks to him, even the other nominees like Xia Zhengrong were reposting the movie’s trailer, and Deception managed to hit trending topics multiple times.

The day the trailer dropped, Lu Xu cheekily posted on Weibo:

[Thank you, Teacher Li, for helping with the promotion. It’s an honor.]

The audacity of the post left netizens in stitches:

[HAHAHA! Lu Xu, you madman!]

[The sheer confidence—he’s treating this like a mutual collab!]

[This man does not miss. Teacher Li, what do you think of this?]

[It’s official—Li Tianhou is the best free PR Deception could ask for.]

As a result, Xia Zhengrong reposted this Weibo: [I also have to thank Teacher Li.]

Yue Hui: “…Then I also?”

[LMAO, how disliked is Li Tianhou?]

[Think about it carefully, at the Stellar Awards ceremony, he looked like someone owed him eight million. If he says he’s usually so kind, who would believe it?]

[Enough talk, I also want to thank Teacher Li.]

This Weibo post from Lu Xu had tens of thousands of reposts, meaning Li Tianhou had been thanked tens of thousands of times.

However, his temper was well-known in the industry for being stubborn. Even though Yue Hui and others had subtly or directly mocked him a few times, he still hadn’t removed his like.

Lu Xu then quietly liked the article “I Don’t Agree with Li Tianhou’s Nomination for the Stellar Award.”

Come on, mutual harm!

A little bit of heat turned into a sea of trending topics for Deception.

In the “Break Even” group chat, Gao Xingchuan told Lu Xu it was fine:

[Let me do the praising this time. You don’t need to take the lead in everything.]

— After Lu Xu’s maneuver, the trailer for Deception actually surged to the top two in views among the ten new films slated for the Spring Festival release, second only to Eternal Night.

Netizens closely following the entertainment world knew that the most quarrelsome figure in the industry, Lu Xu, had made a movie.

From the director’s perspective, Gao Xingchuan was genuinely touched.

It was just so effortless.

While Lu Xu’s dissing others was great for promoting Deception, it wasn’t necessarily beneficial for himself. When Gao Xingchuan mentioned this to Lu Xu, the latter simply said that he was just speaking his mind: “They started it first.”

Even if Lu Xu spent ten days and nights brainstorming, he couldn’t have come up with such an unconventional way to clap back at his critics.

Gao Xingchuan thought about it and found it reasonable.

When the Deception trailer debuted on Weibo, it also launched simultaneously in major domestic cinema chains.

By this time, the Spring Festival season was already engulfed in competition, with family-friendly films, cop dramas, and romantic love stories all undergoing intensive promotional campaigns in theaters, and even movie merchandise being delivered to cinema chains.

Deception was an eleventh-hour addition.

The pre-Spring Festival period in theaters exuded a chilly atmosphere, arguably the quietest time of the year. Films of even slightly better quality would typically avoid being released during this window.

During this period, Xi Yue accompanied a friend to watch a fan-centric film—an imported fan movie, no less.

The international celebrity had very few fans in the country, so Xi Yue had already mentally prepared herself for how deserted the theater would be. Before coming to the screening, she had read some reviews and knew it was a mediocre fan movie. Her friend, however, had endured watching it twice.

Before the movie started, the screen displayed trailers for several Spring Festival films. Xi Yue had already seen the first two trailers, but the third one caught her attention—

The trailer opened with a casino-style room, dominated by a massive roulette table at the center. Seated at the table’s heart was a cunning, fox-like man, his every wrinkle seemingly etched with schemes.

“Let the game officially begin.”

Accompanied by the man’s distinctively sinister tone, the expressions of the people around the table varied—some appeared nervous, while others feigned nonchalance.

The game began!

The somber music abruptly transitioned into a lively Bohemian-style melody, as if encouraging participants to up the stakes and dive deeper into the game.

After a chaotic flurry of shadows and intricate exploration, the music suddenly halted. In the next moment, the roulette spun and pointed to a specific name.

Before Xi Yue could fully process what was happening, a pair of hands was abruptly slashed open. Blood spattered across the roulette table, staining its surface.

But compared to the hellish scene surrounding the table, the focus shifted to the unbridled joy of the winner’s friends and family—reveling in wealth, indulging in fine wine, beautiful women, money, and jewels. As long as you won, the game would grant you anything you desired.

“But remember, you have to win.”

That same distinctive voice delivered the words, sounding as though they came straight from the devil himself.

“There will be punishment.”

The screen went black for a moment. When the light returned, amidst the music, laughter and screams intertwined—

“February 22nd, Deception awaits you.”

Xi Yue: “…”

What kind of person invites audiences to watch this during the New Year?

But still! The plot looked incredibly intriguing, full of suspense. It instantly became the Spring Festival movie she most wanted to see after watching the trailer!

Although, to be fair, this genre often started strong but fizzled out—typically hooking viewers with curiosity, only for the entire crew to collectively drop a dud in the end.

Xi Yue had been deceived too many times in the past, so even though Deception piqued her interest, she didn’t dare rush to buy a ticket immediately.

At the very least, she needed to wait for online reviews.

She had been burned too many times and was determined to save her money.

Movies of this genre were rare in the domestic market. For a while, she had followed quite a few foreign films in the same genre. Still, only a handful managed to balance pacing and suspense effectively.

When she got home, Xi Yue specifically searched for information on Deception and found out that it starred Lu Xu and Yue Hui. She recalled the trailer carefully and realized that Lu Xu’s face hadn’t appeared at all.

Curious, she opened Weibo and navigated to the official account of the Deception production team, replaying the trailer.

The trailer didn’t feature close-ups of all the participants in the game, but Xi Yue managed to vaguely recognize some of the cast. Among them, the only one she couldn’t be sure of was a bespectacled man with thick glasses. Judging by his profile, he seemed to be Lu Xu.

If not, could it be the wrinkled, fox-like old man?

That old man was probably Yue Hui.

Still, it didn’t matter which role Lu Xu played. What mattered most was the quality of Deception.

Xi Yue had seen it too many times before: actors with massive popularity in the TV drama industry attempting to break into film, only to debut in a massive flop. It was almost like a rite of passage to enter the film world.

Although Lu Xu’s reputation was excellent, she couldn’t help but wonder if the Deception production team only intended to capitalize on his popularity.

She scrolled through the comments and noticed that Lu Xu’s fans were all expressing eager anticipation.

While Xi Yue didn’t usually follow celebrities, Lu Xu’s name had been everywhere in the past two years. The quality of the series he acted in was undeniably high, and he had even won several acting awards.

Moreover, Lu Xu was particularly skilled at keeping his fans in line. Although he frequently trended on social media, Xi Yue had never seen his fans embroiled in arguments that made headlines.

She made up her mind: she would wait to see the reviews for Deception before purchasing a ticket—if the film’s word-of-mouth turned out to be good, she’d give it a chance.

Xi Yue’s interest in Deception was sparked by the trailer she saw at the theater. After its release, the trailer indeed captured the attention of fans of suspense films and murder mystery-style narratives. However, many of them felt that releasing Deception during the Spring Festival might not be the best choice.

[Considering the film’s low production cost, releasing it during the Spring Festival could help it recoup expenses faster.]

[If the story is gripping enough, any genre can make money during the Spring Festival. Don’t underestimate the audience’s tolerance for diverse themes.]

[+1. Our film market is still in its early stages. We don’t even have a mature ‘family-friendly’ genre yet, let alone an essential Spring Festival must-watch.]

With this, the Spring Festival film season officially kicked off, and Lu Xu began his promotional tour for the film.

The premiere of Deception was scheduled for the first day of the Lunar New Year. Due to limited funding, the production team didn’t host a formal premiere event. In contrast, competitors like the teams behind Eternal Night and The Train Home held grand premiere ceremonies with fellow celebrities, complete with red carpet events.

[Such luxury] Lu Xu remarked in the “Break Even” group chat.

[Luxury +1] Yue Hui chimed in.

As the senior member of the cast, Yue Hui displayed his generosity by distributing ten red envelopes in the group, totaling 2,000 yuan. Lu Xu managed to snatch several hundred yuan and immediately spammed the chat with stickers saying, “Thank you, China’s richest man!”

A while later, Gao Xingchuan came online and grabbed a few envelopes as well.

Lu Xu watched in real time as the director changed his nickname to: “Still 199,XXX,XXX.XX yuan short of breaking even,” with even the decimals calculated.

Lu Xu: […Isn’t that a bit much? Are you counting the red envelope money too?]

Gao Xingchuan replied confidently, [That’s enough for more than ten movie tickets, isn’t it?]

Lu Xu: […I have an X Ticket membership. Do you want to borrow it?]

[Thank you, you’re so kind] Gao Xingchuan replied, not missing a beat.

He even complained about how WeChat nicknames were too short, preventing him from fully showcasing the gravity of Deception’s financial struggles.

Lu Xu: “…”

Honestly, those trailing digits in Gao Xingchuan’s nickname were a statement in themselves.

Sometimes, Lu Xu couldn’t help but feel sorry for him and would consider sending the director a few red envelopes.

But every time he sent one, Gao Xingchuan would update his nickname again to reflect the new balance, which felt too pitiful. Lu Xu couldn’t bear it.

They really were so frugal and so pitiful!

Movies released during the Spring Festival season came with box office predictions. Platforms would estimate a film’s performance based on pre-sales and adjust the forecasts once the movies officially hit theaters.

The predictions for Eternal Night and The Train Home both exceeded 3 billion yuan, generating buzz before their release.

Deception’s prediction was a modest 500 million yuan.

Still… at least it was a breakeven projection. There were no ominous predictions of financial disaster for the production team, which was something to be grateful for.

But the disparity was undeniably stark.

To some extent, though, these predictions also reflected cinema chains’ expectations for a film.

Highly anticipated films like Eternal Night and The Train Home naturally received a greater share of screenings.

Deception, unsurprisingly, was assigned significantly fewer slots. On its opening day, it was scheduled for just 7.7% of screenings.

However, Deception wasn’t the worst off. With over a dozen new releases in the Spring Festival lineup, a screening share above 10% was already above average. Even Eternal Night and The Train Home didn’t exceed 30%.

After the first promotional event, Lu Xu noticed that his Weibo homepage was flooded with posts about other Spring Festival movies.

Photos of celebrities attending promotional tours, interacting with audiences, and the first wave of audience reactions dominated the trending topics.

Among these, Deception was practically nonexistent.

Although… when Lu Xu clicked on the hashtag for Deception, the engagement metrics—views, shares, and likes—were no worse than those of the movies trending on Weibo.

Shortly afterward, the first-day box office results were released.

Eternal Night ranked first with a box office haul of 477 million yuan.

The Train Home came in second with 413 million yuan.

Five movies broke the 100 million mark on their opening day.

Deception’s first-day earnings were 78.96 million yuan.

Gao Xingchuan immediately updated his nickname from “100 million and several hundreds of thousands short” to “100 million and tens of thousands short.”

Breaking even… seemed easier than expected.

The numbers weren’t especially impressive—after all, Eternal Night didn’t have five times as many screenings as Deception, yet its box office gross was already more than five times higher.

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