Chapter 170: Premiere
“Lu Xu is so slow.”
Outside the cinema, Zheng Xiao sipped his milk tea while glancing toward the elevator multiple times, but he still didn’t see any sign of Lu Xu.
This time of year was the coldest season in C City. A wave of extreme cold had arrived just before the Spring Festival, making people reluctant to go out due to the low temperatures. Fortunately, there was no rain or snow; otherwise, even fewer people would have been willing to visit the cinema.
Luckily, it was the Spring Festival, so the theaters had no worries about box office sales.
Zheng Xiao looked over a few more times before finally spotting a figure that resembled Lu Xu. The man was bundled up like a brown bear, wearing an ugly hat that looked like it had failed to sell. If Zheng Xiao hadn’t been so familiar with him, he might have struggled to recognize him.
“Did you stuff a broken tire inside your clothes?” Zheng Xiao scrutinized him carefully before realizing that Lu Xu was wearing a new down jacket with the G-brand logo.
This year, the trend was for slightly puffier down jackets.
Zheng Xiao summed it up—if Lu Xu weren’t tall enough and didn’t have that face, even he wouldn’t have been able to pull off this jacket.
He had arranged to watch the movie with Shao Yao and Lu Xu, naturally to support Fearless Life—since it was released during the Spring Festival, there were plenty of paparazzi keeping an eye on Lu Xu. Occasionally, he would fulfill his duties as a brand ambassador.
Lu Xu had already seen the final cut of Fearless Life, but Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao had not.
The two of them had booked a private screening for Lu Xu but had only informed him casually. They didn’t buy trending search promotions either. Originally, Lu Xu had no free time during the Spring Festival, but since he unexpectedly found himself with half a day off, he came over as soon as Zheng Xiao sent him the theater address.
The promotional campaign for Fearless Life was in full swing, and Lu Xu estimated that he would remain busy until early March.
Inside the cinema, the atmosphere was warm. Considering the Spring Festival crowds, Zheng Xiao had deliberately chosen a shopping mall that was away from the bustling city center, hoping for fewer people. However, once they entered, they realized that while the mall was somewhat remote, the cinema itself was still quite packed.
Zheng Xiao handed Lu Xu his milk tea, and the three of them bought some popcorn before leisurely making their way into the theater when it was time.
Compared to the usual movie-going groups—families or couples—their trio stood out as a bit unusual. In fact, within the entire entertainment industry, there weren’t many people like them who spent their free time cycling, fishing, or simply wandering the streets.
They viewed others in the industry as eccentric, but to everyone else, they were no different from oddballs themselves.
“The screenings for Uncertain Return are insane,” Zheng Xiao muttered under his breath.
Shao Yao nodded slightly.
There was no need to check the official screening schedule—just looking at their chosen theater was enough. Uncertain Return had back-to-back showings, while even Soaring Ambition had been pushed aside. Between the two, the latter seemed more like a film that could perform well during the Spring Festival.
Zheng Xiao couldn’t help but feel worried for Fearless Life.
Lu Xu had never struggled at the box office, but the screening disadvantage for Fearless Life was painfully obvious. Uncertain Return was backed by Liu Rennong, while Fearless Life represented Miao Zhi.
On the surface, the two films had no direct conflict during this year’s Spring Festival lineup, but in reality, Fearless Life had no way of securing even a slightly better screening slot. If one were to take a more conspiratorial view, it was hard to believe that Liu Rennong had nothing to do with this situation.
Of course, Liu Rennong would never admit it.
Zheng Xiao had yet to venture into filmmaking. He was currently one of the top young actors in the television industry. However, even though he was far removed from that world, he could still sense the hostility from Liu Rennong’s camp toward Lu Xu.
It was an elusive feeling—almost mystical—just like how he and Lu Xu had become friends in the first place, simply because their energies aligned.
…
Once they entered the screening hall, Zheng Xiao’s worries eased slightly. He noticed that even in this relatively quiet theater, the number of people coming to watch Fearless Life was higher than he had expected.
The three of them had arrived early. After settling into their seats and placing their popcorn aside, Zheng Xiao began to complain about Lu Xu’s bulky down jacket. The theater’s heating was quite strong, so Lu Xu took off his jacket and draped it over the seat, making him look even more solidly built and taking up an unusually large amount of space.
As soon as the movie started, the theater quickly fell silent. Zheng Xiao took a sip of his milk tea—it was no longer warm. On the screen, the logos of the production and distribution companies appeared—well-known names in the film industry.
The first scene of the film featured seagulls soaring over a vast blue ocean. Bai Qianshan, having completed his studies abroad, was about to return to his homeland. He was young, handsome, and full of youthful vigor.
“So handsome!”
A whisper of admiration came from the row behind them.
It wasn’t that Lu Xu’s styling in Fearless Life was particularly striking. Compared to some of his previous roles, his appearance in this film wasn’t necessarily more dashing. However, Bai Qianshan, as captured by the camera, stood tall with an unmistakable spirit—a sense of ambition unique to that era.
From an actor’s perspective, Zheng Xiao felt that Lu Xu’s performance fit the historical period perfectly. There wasn’t a single moment that felt out of place.
Although Bai Qianshan’s journey home had not been easy, he had overcome numerous obstacles. The moment he set foot on his homeland’s soil, his eyes seemed to glisten with unshed tears.
The chatter in the theater—small talk, whispered conversations, even the sound of people chewing popcorn—had all quieted down.
However, the reality that Bai Qianshan faced was a barren land and facilities so rudimentary that they were almost laughable. In a distant foreign country, he had once led an independent team and had access to the most cutting-edge equipment. The local officials were clearly aware of this, and their gazes toward him carried a sense of embarrassment.
Yet, despite the harsh conditions, what Bai Qianshan had been given was already the best available.
The people here were sincere and warm, brimming with energy, and greeted him with the utmost enthusiasm. No one discriminated against him or treated him as an outsider—he was one of them, fully and completely.
And Bai Qianshan was not the only genius in the project. There were others, just as brilliant, who had not chosen to flee but had stayed, dedicating their intellect and wisdom to their homeland despite the hardships of life.
Fearless Life did not have a fast-paced narrative. It wasn’t the kind of film that bombarded the audience with a flood of information, nor did it rely on forced sentimentality.
From an observer’s perspective, Zheng Xiao could only describe it with one word—real.
The interactions between the characters felt authentic, and Bai Qianshan’s deep focus on his academic work, even his urgency, was portrayed with depth. The film didn’t merely skim the surface or reduce any character to a mere background figure. While Bai Qianshan was the central protagonist, the film also highlighted those who, like him, worked silently at the base, dedicating their entire lives to their country.
They were not just vague, faceless “contributors” in the public’s perception—they were real, flesh-and-blood people, alive with personality and determination.
Like the one who lost a basketball match to his rival, came in second place, and then made it his mission to wake up an hour earlier every day to train for the high jump.
A father traveled thousands of miles from his hometown just to see his son. The two of them could only meet briefly in the home of a stranger, a farmer they didn’t even know. The father had brought gifts from home—cotton-padded clothes and hand-stitched socks made by his wife, fine wheat flour that he had exchanged with villagers, and a piece of meat he had saved for a long time, cured into salted pork for the journey.
The son carried the clothes and socks back with him. When he took off his shoes, his socks were so worn that only one of his five toes wasn’t exposed—it was no different from having no socks at all.
As for the food his family had brought, he carefully divided it among his peers. No one was willing to take too much. Instead, each person scooped up a small spoonful, cherishing every bite.
As they tasted it, tears silently fell into their bowls.
Director Miao Zhi did not deliberately dramatize love. Even for the protagonist, Bai Qianshan, he rarely used explicit dialogue to express emotions. Instead, he let the story unfold subtly, showing rather than telling. The one exception was in a letter Bai Qianshan wrote to his mentor: “If I don’t love the land that gave me life and raised me, then who will?”
His mentor, across the ocean, had written to him many times, persuading him to return. Bai Qianshan refused every time.
The same restraint was evident in the portrayal of other characters. The father never said he missed his son. The mother never said it either. Her love was stitched into every thread of the clothes she made, while the father’s love was in the countless bus transfers he took—from the village to the town, from the town to the county, then to the city, and even farther beyond. The soles of his shoes had worn through by the time he arrived.
The media and historians often emphasized only sacrifice and dedication, as if these people were born heroes, as if they were destined to be remarkable. But their struggles, their personal hardships, and the depth of their experiences were often overlooked.
To Zheng Xiao, Fearless Life felt like a bridge—one that connected real historical figures and their stories, allowing ordinary audiences to see those who stood on the other side. It made people want to understand them, to truly see them.
The scene where Bai Qianshan saved a life deeply moved Zheng Xiao.
Who would have thought?
The great Bai Qianshan, revered by so many, nearly sacred in their eyes, would one day have such a humble epitaph.
Yet, this portrayal did not diminish Bai Qianshan’s greatness. On the contrary, it made him even more extraordinary—so much so that the admiration came from the depths of the heart, a reverence that was unshakable.
Everyone saw Bai Qianshan as a noble figure, but he never saw himself that way.
Everyone thought Bai Qianshan was exceptional, but in his own eyes, he was simply one of the people.
On the screen, Bai Qianshan had Lu Xu’s face, yet in Zheng Xiao’s mind, all he could see was Bai Qianshan. Even though Lu Xu was sitting right next to him at that very moment—even though Zheng Xiao was among the top three people in the entire industry who knew Lu Xu best—he no longer saw his friend.
It was a quiet kind of awe, one that made him feel as if he had glimpsed the true summit of acting.
Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao understood Lu Xu well. As the scene ended, the two of them instinctively turned their gazes slightly toward him.
Because they knew Lu Xu, they were acutely aware of his acting style and how refined his skills were. But at that moment, Zheng Xiao could sense that Lu Xu had taken yet another step forward in his craft.
His performance was nearly seamless.
There was no excessive force, no showy display of technique. In this scene, Lu Xu’s acting left only the faintest of traces.
Subtle—but no less powerful.
Fearless Life seemed to have a kind of magic, drawing the audience in completely, immersing them in its world.
Whether it was Bai Qianshan or the other characters in the film, each carried a presence that resonated deep within the soul.
Fearless Life told the story of these people’s lives and their experiments. It didn’t just depict hardship—it also captured joy and happiness. After all, suffering alone could never sustain a great cause.
No one truly embraces suffering. The reason these people endured it so willingly was simply for the greater happiness of others.
Experiment after experiment took place. On screen, Bai Qianshan furrowed his brows in deep concentration. Off screen, the audience shared his anxiety, hoping for an early success, hoping that the efforts and struggles of these people would lead to a worthy outcome.
Even though, decades later, the world already knew—the experiment had indeed succeeded.
Yet, immersed in the film’s narrative, the audience still felt a sense of unease, an overwhelming urge to see their aspirations realized.
One could only imagine that if time rewound by several decades, when Bai Qianshan and his comrades gazed upon the stillness of the night sky, their internal turmoil must have been far more intense than what the audience was experiencing in this moment.
As the film reached its climax, the moment of success was finally unveiled. On screen, Bai Qianshan and his comrades erupted into celebration, singing and dancing in exuberant joy. Their voices filled the air with a chorus of ‘a great river flows, waves rolling wide’, sung in all kinds of regional accents. Beyond the screen, within the dim theater, the audience members wore expressions of pure exhilaration.
It wasn’t until the credits rolled that Zheng Xiao suddenly realized—Fearless Life had ended.
His milk tea had gone completely cold. The popcorn, which he had only eaten a few bites of at the beginning, remained untouched for the rest of the film.
Really, Fearless Life was just a biographical film.
To many, such films were difficult to execute well. Zhang Zhizhen had criticized Fearless Life with the words: “All it does is blindly sing praises.”
Yet, Zheng Xiao couldn’t help but feel regretful.
Regretful that Fearless Life had been given only a little over 10% of the screenings.
A film like this deserved to be seen by more people.
**TN
A great river flows… – from ‘My Motherland’ song, here’s the LINK
