Chapter 120: Screening

There was a particularly challenging scene for Lu Xu to film. The weather had been poor for several days, and the horse he was riding seemed to feel unwell for some reason. As soon as filming began, the horse became especially agitated. Halfway through the scene, it even attempted to throw Lu Xu off.

This incident gave Liu Chunfeng quite a scare, as he was terrified something might happen to Lu Xu.

The production crew ended up halting filming for two days, worried that Lu Xu might not be able to handle the horseback scenes.

Fortunately, no further accidents occurred afterward.

As the plot progressed, Lu Xu’s portrayal of Nie Yunzhang grew increasingly compelling. On the battlefield, despite the toll of war—draining one’s energy to the point of exhaustion—the more dire the situation became, the brighter Nie Yunzhang’s eyes seemed to shine. He displayed a fearlessness that left a lasting impression.

Nie Yunzhang possessed both martial prowess and wisdom. In the capital, he kept his brilliance hidden, but on the battlefield, his decisions determined the fates of countless lives.

The more perilous the moment, the more he seemed to rise to the occasion.

After accepting the role, Lu Xu carefully read through the script multiple times. As filming progressed, his understanding of the character deepened.

While battle scenes might sound dull on the surface, they served as a vital way for the audience to better understand Nie Yunzhang. The world knew him as a young general and a national war hero, but where did his glory come from? Such details had been too scarcely depicted.

Instead, the screenwriters often preferred to fabricate rumors from history books or, worse, borrow later generations’ fictionalized accounts to craft an exaggerated romantic subplot for Nie Yunzhang.

Certainly, the idea of this young general, also a handsome man, loving only one woman and harboring deep feelings for her was enticing. It was even suggested that he might have been willing to abandon the battlefield for her, seeking a peaceful and stable pastoral life together.

Lu Xu had filmed scenes where Nie Yunzhang ventured deep into enemy territory to slay their commander. He had also filmed the moment when Nie Yunzhang, seeing women and children humiliated, was filled with such rage that his eyes seemed ready to burst. There was even a scene where Nie Yunzhang gently removed his armor and silently prayed for the fallen soldiers.

He was a God of War, but also a mortal.

Nie Yunzhang had once gazed passionately as his subordinates marched toward their deaths. He had also raised his voice in triumphant cheer after conquering new territory.

There were countless facets of this character worth exploring.

In Lu Xu’s view, if Qin Yu’s script could move him, it was bound to resonate with the audience as well—human emotions, after all, were fundamentally universal.

On the day filming wrapped, Liu Chunfeng gave Lu Xu a hearty slap on the shoulder, which immediately made Lu Xu feel an urge to return the favor.

Out of consideration for Liu Chunfeng’s suggestion to collaborate again in the future, Lu Xu chose to let it slide.

“Though I think it’ll be hard to come across a script like Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry again,” Liu Chunfeng remarked wistfully. “It’s not easy for Qin Yu to finish a script like this.”

“Historical dramas are just a cold genre these days,” Qin Yu added. “Unless you find an actor who wants to win awards and is willing to fund the production, these projects usually can’t even get off the ground.”

The fact that Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry was able to begin filming at all was largely thanks to the success of Son of Heaven.

Putting that aside, the combination of Liu Chunfeng, Qin Yu, and Lu Xu was undeniably appealing within the industry.

With the project smoothly greenlit and filming complete, there were no concerns about the series’ broadcast. Liu Chunfeng was confident he could sell the drama, and with Lu Xu on board, Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry could even command a higher price.

As for the later battlefield scenes, they couldn’t have achieved Liu Chunfeng’s desired level of production quality with the original budget. He managed to secure additional funding from a key investor, allowing them to finish filming with funds to spare.

The reason this investor was willing to back Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry was simple: Lu Xu was the lead actor.

The collaboration between Liu Chunfeng and Lu Xu had already created the phenomenon that was Son of Heaven, and Lu Xu’s previous series, Voice of the Dead, co-starring Shao Yao, had generated an equally astonishing level of buzz.

Before Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry, the last drama Lu Xu had filmed was When I Was 18. The overwhelming success of The Path of Bones, Voice of the Dead, and When I Was 18 had once made people believe that the television drama market was entering a golden age. Yet, Lu Xu shifted his focus to movies, filming two back-to-back. Even so, the record for most-streamed dramas still belonged to him.

With so many hits under his belt—including the film Deception, which earned several billion at the box office—Lu Xu’s sharp eye for picking projects had become universally recognized.

When Lu Xu chose to take on Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry, it was a sign that the drama had undeniable merits.

After wrapping up filming for Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry, Lu Xu returned just in time for the promotional period for Feather of Youth.

He had spent the past weeks filming grueling battlefield scenes, covered in sweat and mud every day. His face was even slightly sunburned. When he returned to the company and met with his manager, his rugged appearance left them stunned.

“You can’t let your fans see you like this—you make a living off your face, you know,” the manager exclaimed.

Lu Xu sighed. “They’ve probably already seen it.”

His homepage featured a trending post: ‘Lu Xu’s new drama transforms him into a sunburnt monkey!’

Lu Xu: “…”

Fine, sunburnt, monkey—whatever. He didn’t care anymore.

The truth was, he was just exhausted from traveling and feeling a little out of it, which made him look even more worn out.

Feather of Youth had originally been scheduled for release during the National Day holiday. However, the competition for that window was fierce. While not as crowded as the Lunar New Year season, the films slated for release were still large-scale productions.

In terms of its cast, Feather of Youth couldn’t even compare to Deception. At least Yue Hui had some clout in the theater circuit, which allowed Deception to secure decent showtimes. For Feather of Youth, the draw of “starring Lu Xu” alone wasn’t enough to guarantee good screening slots.

To Lu Xu’s surprise, the film he had turned down earlier, Song of Tears, ended up securing a spot in the same holiday window.

“This one,” Xu Wen said, “has received a lot of support from Liu Rennong’s studio.”

“After National Day, the market is too cold for it. It wouldn’t fit for New Year’s or the Spring Festival either,” he continued.

“Why not push it to the first half of next year?” Lu Xu asked, curious.

“Which period next year would work?” Xu Wen countered. “There are already several awards contenders scheduled for next year.”

Lu Xu nodded, understanding the situation.

A film like Song of Tears, which was deeply melancholic, was indeed more suited for awards season. Liu Rennong’s studio was also skilled at handling awards campaigns. If the film performed well at the box office and received positive reviews, any past controversies surrounding Qi Di would be swept under the rug.

Lu Xu had initially thought that Song of Tears would be released at the same time as Feather of Youth, making for a battle of youth-themed films.

“If he’s going up against you, he’s definitely at a disadvantage,” Xu Wen said. “Qi Di’s scared of being associated with you. He doesn’t want to remind people of his double standards.”

Moreover, the fact that Song of Tears was releasing during National Day was a testament to the strength of its production team—if Lu Xu, who was touted as a top star, couldn’t even secure proper screenings during National Day, then how could Song of Tears?

Yet Song of Tears had managed to secure a spot in the highly competitive National Day slot. The comparison was clear, and the answer spoke for itself.

Lu Xu stopped paying attention to Song of Tears, but he did notice something surprising: Song of Tears featured an unexpected actor—Zhang Che.

He had thought Zhang Che’s film career was essentially over.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Xu Wen shook his head. “Let’s see what the reviews are like once the movie is out. If it gets positive feedback, the production team might release more details.”

Before Feather of Youth was officially scheduled, Feiyang Entertainment had also tried to secure more screenings for the film. Unfortunately, the theater chains had allocated very few showtimes, making it difficult for Feather of Youth to follow the successful path of Deception.

After some deliberation, the production team concluded that if Feather of Youth could only secure less than 7% of the screening slots during the National Day holiday, it would be better to try another release window.

After all, Feather of Youth had a low production cost, and youth-themed films were suitable for viewing in any season or at any time. If the film gained a good reputation, it would naturally attract more and more viewers.

Lu Xu didn’t consider Song of Tears to be a competitor to Feather of Youth, but the team behind Song of Tears clearly didn’t see it that way.

Qi Di, whenever he thought of Lu Xu, seethed with anger. Throughout his acting career, he had never suffered such a humiliating defeat. Yet after going head-to-head with Lu Xu once, he became the subject of ridicule across the board.

By taking on Song of Tears, Qi Di aimed to crush Lu Xu in both box office numbers and awards.

Qi Di was well aware that a film like Song of Tears might not appeal to a wide audience, but it would definitely draw a specific group of viewers. Releasing it during the National Day holiday would at least ensure an initial boost in ticket sales.

To make Song of Tears stand out during such a competitive release window, Qi Di even voluntarily reduced his pay, ensuring that the production team had enough money for marketing.

The production team didn’t disappoint him—major video platforms prominently featured trailers and ads about a young person ruined by their toxic family.

Stubborn parents, and a child who wanted to escape but had their wings clipped.

A dutiful daughter who hadn’t received a single cent of living expenses after starting high school, worked her way through college, but on the day she received her first paycheck after graduation, her parents demanded she “support her younger brother.”

[Want to know what happens next?]

[Watch Song of Tears.]

[A story about harsh realities.]

[A must-watch for every young adult.]

The marketing campaign for Song of Tears was nothing short of pervasive. Occasionally, when Lu Xu rode past a subway station, he would spot a large poster featuring the tearful face of the film’s protagonist.

He only envied others for having more money.

But after watching the trailer for Song of Tears, Lu Xu felt that Feather of Youth was the better film.

That envy quickly transformed into pride.

It was like shopping on an orange app—if he managed to buy the same product for a hundred bucks less than Zheng Xiao, he would feel pretty smug about himself.

Similarly, if Feather of Youth, with its smaller budget, turned out to be better than Song of Tears, Lu Xu would take pride in the excellence of the team he had worked with.

Hu Yan and Guo Yingyu shared the same sentiment.

The three lead actors of Feather of Youth were all young, and Hu Yan and Guo Yingyu were even younger than Lu Xu. As a result, they were much more outspoken in their opinions.

Case in point: the two of them openly mocked Song of Tears.

[What’s this ‘the best youth film you can imagine’ nonsense? Do they even know we exist?]

[Wow, they’re really hyping themselves up, huh?]

[I’ll bet 50 bucks this film will try to tear us down.]

[To be honest, Qi Di’s face on the big screen isn’t even as good-looking as Brother Lu’s, and he’s all sunburned and looking like a black dog.]

Guo Yingyu was so worked up that she accidentally typed “black dog” instead of “black monkey.” Hu Yan didn’t even notice the mistake and kept enthusiastically agreeing.

Lu Xu: “…”

Were they complimenting him or insulting him?

Hu Yan and Guo Yingyu even decided that once Song of Tears was released, they’d sneak into a theater to evaluate it themselves.

[If it’s good, would we give it a low score?]

[Of course! It’s not like we’re saints or anything.]

[This isn’t about giving it a low score—it’s about preventing their team from getting too cocky. Just teaching them a little humility.]

[If we paid for the tickets, it’s fair game!]

Lu Xu: […You know, you can just keep that between you two.]

Just do it privately, quietly, and that would be enough.

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