Chapter 169: The Scheduling Dilemma
A long time had passed since the filming of Fearless Life had been completed. During that period, Lu Xu had taken an extended vacation and attended three major award ceremonies—the Contention Awards, the Golden Flame Awards, and the Critics’ Awards. After a series of engagements, the film’s release was naturally scheduled for the Lunar New Year period.
This was not Lu Xu’s first time participating in the Lunar New Year box office season. His previous film, Deception, had also been released during this period. Even though Deception did not quite align with the festive atmosphere of the holiday, it had still achieved impressive box office results.
Compared to Deception, Fearless Life was actually a much better fit for the Lunar New Year schedule.
The challenge with the Lunar New Year period was that securing screenings was much more difficult than in other seasons. However, since the film’s theme was somewhat compatible with the festive season, Fearless Life was expected to receive more screenings than Deception had.
At least, that was what Lu Xu and the core creative team of Fearless Life had initially believed.
A trailer for the film was released first. Once the promotional material was out and the release date was set, Miao Zhi began negotiating with theater chain executives he was familiar with, hoping to secure more screenings for the film.
However, the results were disappointing.
Even though Fearless Life was Lu Xu’s first film to be released after he won Best Actor at the Contention Awards, in the fiercely competitive Lunar New Year season—where scheduling equated to revenue—such a credential was clearly not enough.
In another time slot, it might have been sufficient, but not for the Lunar New Year period.
That being said, Fearless Life was not facing a terrible screening situation either. On its opening day, its screenings were expected to account for more than 10% of the schedule. Subsequent screenings would be adjusted based on box office performance, meaning everything depended on how well the film performed.
This year’s Lunar New Year season featured two particularly noteworthy films: Soaring Ambition and Uncertain Return. While neither was a massive blockbuster expected to rake in billions at the box office, both had three crucial advantages—an acclaimed director, strong lead actors, and good relationships with theater chains.
Especially Uncertain Return. While Miao Zhi was struggling to negotiate with theater chains, an industry insider leaked information about the film—it was directed by a student of Liu Rennong, was partially funded by Liu Rennong himself, and the theater negotiations were also handled by him.
It was no secret that Liu Rennong and Miao Zhi did not get along. This was common knowledge in the industry.
Despite not directing a film for several years, Liu Rennong had maintained strong ties with theater chains. His career had peaked with How Much Do You Know, which grossed over 4 billion yuan at the box office—a rare achievement at the time. However, according to rumors, neither Liu Rennong nor his production team had earned as much as people imagined from the film. The theaters had taken the lion’s share of the profits.
Theaters always claimed a significant portion of a film’s revenue, but How Much Do You Know was frequently cited because the share taken by the theaters was said to be far greater than expected.
Even with such rumors circulating, no one dared to disclose the exact numbers. The only information that leaked was that the figure was shockingly high, sparking endless speculation.
Of course, speculation was just that—there was no concrete evidence. However, Liu Rennong’s close ties with theater chains were not mere gossip; it was a well-established fact in the entertainment industry.
Since Uncertain Return had Liu Rennong’s backing, it was guaranteed a strong share of screenings. In the fiercely competitive Lunar New Year period, where even a 0.1% increase in screenings could mean millions in box office revenue, Uncertain Return had already secured a spot among the top contenders.
Lu Xu didn’t want to be pessimistic, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Liu Rennong’s enthusiasm for Uncertain Return wasn’t entirely coincidental.
“This isn’t the first time,” Miao Zhi commented, uncharacteristically open about Liu Rennong’s hostility toward him. “He usually does it under the guise of funding or mentoring new directors. He rarely confronts me directly.”
The two directors had risen through the industry in the same era. When they first became directors, the concept of box office revenue didn’t even exist in the country. Few filmmakers made commercial films, as most directors were solely focused on winning awards.
During award seasons, Liu Rennong and Miao Zhi frequently found themselves competing against each other since their films were often released around the same time. However, after their relationship soured, their works never seemed to overlap again.
Both were prolific directors, producing one film after another over the years. Yet, not once had their films gone head-to-head in direct competition.
Miao Zhi found it hard to believe this was purely coincidental.
When it came to theater distribution, his connections simply weren’t as strong as Liu Rennong’s.
Or rather… he had less room for compromise.
For Fearless Life’s Lunar New Year release, Miao Zhi had already reached out to his former mentors, classmates, and close industry connections to negotiate with the theaters, but the results were far from satisfactory. While he refused to give up, one of his old classmates actually advised him to let it go.
From what his classmate implied, Uncertain Return had already made significant sacrifices, meaning it would be extremely difficult to carve out additional screening slots from that film.
Miao Zhi had a good relationship with this former classmate. Though the classmate had not become a director after graduation, he had remained in the film industry. Over the years, he had often advised Miao Zhi to be more flexible, more tactful, and to build stronger connections across the industry—especially since Miao Zhi’s career had not been as smooth as Liu Rennong’s.
Yet, this time, when Miao Zhi fought for more screenings for Fearless Life, his classmate actually found himself appreciating Miao Zhi’s lack of tact. Because if every film followed Uncertain Return’s competitive strategy, it would do nothing but harm the overall development of the industry.
Though his classmate was someone who navigated the industry with diplomacy, at heart, he still hoped for a healthier film industry. And while Miao Zhi lacked a smooth, diplomatic nature, that very trait ensured he would never compromise his principles as a director for mere profit.
Some people, however, were willing to abandon everything.
His classmate didn’t say much more. He simply promised to try again for Fearless Life, but he would rather the film maintain its current screening schedule and rely on audience word-of-mouth to earn its place in the Lunar New Year box office—fair and square.
“There’s no need to do anything else,” the classmate said. “I believe Fearless Life will do just fine at the box office.”
“It’s been so many years, and you finally put yourself out there again. A film you put this much effort into must be a great one.”
It was rare for Miao Zhi to ask for a favor. When he called to fight for more screenings for Fearless Life, his classmate was genuinely surprised. Given Miao Zhi’s personality, if he was willing to go this far for a film, it had to be something special.
Back when the rivalry between Liu Rennong and Miao Zhi had started, his classmate had naturally leaned toward Miao Zhi’s side.
After all, it was clear to everyone—Miao Zhi’s films were, without a doubt, superior to Liu Rennong’s. His works were more delicate, his character portrayals more layered and three-dimensional.
…
Lu Xu was unaware of all the effort Miao Zhi had put in, nor did he understand the complex power plays behind the film’s scheduling. However, after Fearless Life released its official trailer, Lu Xu not only shared it on Weibo but also wrote a long personal essay to accompany it.
The central theme of his post: Fearless Life was a film that had transformed him.
Lu Xu’s words were heartfelt. He shared his thoughts on playing Bai Qianshan, the emotions he experienced while filming, the people he met, and the conversations he had. After spending over two months in near-isolation—reading books, watching films—he had significantly improved his ability to articulate his thoughts. He had also grown noticeably calmer and more composed.
In fact, his fans had already sensed the change ever since he returned to City C after wrapping up Fearless Life.
[If you want to see a different Lu Xu, please support Fearless Life.]
[We definitely will!]
[I feel like Puppy is really confident about playing Bai Qianshan. Since that’s the case, I’ll definitely go to the cinema to support him!]
The trailer for Fearless Life only featured the scene where Bai Qianshan saved someone, yet it left a deep impression on many fans. Through Lu Xu’s performance, the character’s vibrancy leaped off the screen—as if the Bai Qianshan that existed in people’s memories had suddenly come to life.
Lu Xu was the one acting, but in the trailer, they saw only Bai Qianshan.
Even though Lu Xu didn’t look particularly striking in the film, and Bai Qianshan wasn’t the type of stylish, cold-blooded villain that typically stood out, the short two-minute trailer still managed to fully convey the character’s sincerity and passion.
Whether it was the way he kicked his colleague out of the lab or his heartfelt musings about epitaphs, these moments instantly made Bai Qianshan feel rich and multidimensional.
After Fearless Life officially announced its release date, many of Lu Xu’s fans had already decided to watch it in theaters, even before seeing the trailer. But for other moviegoers, both Bai Qianshan’s character and the preview released by the production team became compelling reasons to buy a ticket.
[I’ve watched documentaries about Bai Qianshan. I want to see how he’s portrayed in the film.]
[Biographical films like this can sometimes be disappointing—both the crew and the actors end up failing the character. But at the same time, I think it’s important for these films to be made and for audiences to watch them. If even we aren’t willing to support these stories, then who else will remember them?]
[+1. I’ve watched many biographical films from overseas, and they’re usually very moving. But when I occasionally look up the real people behind them, I often find that they weren’t exactly as portrayed. These films tend to romanticize their subjects. As for domestic films… Personally, I think Bai Qianshan was an incredible person, yet there are still people who fear he’ll be depicted as too great, as if that would turn the film into propaganda.]
[Ah, you just said exactly what I was thinking!]
[I just hope the production team does justice to Bai Qianshan. A remarkable figure like him deserves the deepest respect. For that, I’m more than willing to pay for a ticket—heck, I wouldn’t mind buying several.]
[Hahaha, I can’t help but recall all the historical figures that were butchered on screen. If there aren’t clear records in historical texts, that’s one thing—China has a long history, and a bit of creative liberty is fine. But when it comes to modern figures, people whose stories are well-documented and not even a few decades old, it should be impossible to mess them up. And yet, somehow, there are always directors and screenwriters who manage to do just that.]
Some audiences came for Lu Xu, while others came for Bai Qianshan. Although Fearless Life only secured 14.7% of the first-day screenings—placing fourth among the newly released Lunar New Year films—and its scheduled showtimes weren’t particularly favorable, its situation wasn’t as dire as Miao Zhi had feared.
On its opening day, amidst the lively Lunar New Year atmosphere, Fearless Life set a new record—it had the highest occupancy rate per screening.
In other words, for the same number of showings, Fearless Life had fuller theaters compared to other films. This also meant that its per-theater revenue was higher than the rest.
