Chapter 197: Movies
“There are so many movies during the Spring Festival season. Which one should we choose?”
“War films, comedies, fantasy… Is Lu Xu’s new film releasing during the Spring Festival again? It feels like Fearless Life just came out not too long ago.”
Two years ago, Fearless Life undoubtedly had the highest number of viewers during the Spring Festival season. This year, with Observing the Stars at Night starring both Lu Xu and Li Yan, it was already enough to attract even more audiences to the cinema.
“Which one should I watch?”—this was the question asked by moviegoers who intended to see a film on the first day.
Relatively speaking, the chances of encountering a scam film during the Spring Festival season were lower. However, there were still some movies so terrible that they were deliberately scheduled during this period, scamming a wave of box office revenue before quickly disappearing.
The most deceptive ones were those sequels that claimed to have the same theme and scale as their predecessors. The previous installment had been grand and well-received, but the new one was made with less than one-tenth of the budget and quality, tricking audiences into generating high box office earnings.
Even though Lu Xu was now frequently making films and had officially become part of the movie industry, he couldn’t help but sigh—being a moviegoer was not easy.
Despite paying for movie tickets, audiences were still subjected to all kinds of marketing tactics. Sometimes, it was about repaying a debt to a certain director with a ticket purchase. Other times, they felt responsible for saving a dying film genre. One moment, they might be supporting a specific type of film, only to be backstabbed by the producers, production companies, or key figures behind the scenes.
When box office numbers soared and the industry thrived, it was credited as “the collective effort of film industry professionals.” But when ticket sales plummeted and no amount of tricks could get audiences to support a particular movie, the blame shifted to “Why don’t people watch movies anymore?”
Not to mention, audiences never really had a choice to begin with.
When the film market was booming in the past, out of ten movies, there were at least two or three that audiences genuinely enjoyed. But now, even after searching through the entire release schedule, they might not find a single film that suits their taste.
Sometimes, even when audiences tried to support the movies they liked, they were met with criticism. The so-called complaint, “Why don’t people watch movies anymore?” was, in essence, actually saying, “Why don’t people watch my films or the ones I star in?”
Take Lu Xu himself as an example. In the years he had been making films, the quality of scripts that landed in his hands had been declining. Logically speaking, as his status in the film industry rose, he should have had access to better scripts.
But interesting and unique scripts were becoming increasingly rare.
A few years ago, when the film market was still thriving, audiences had developed the habit of watching movies regularly, which, in turn, supported a number of productions that didn’t actually deserve high box office earnings. Back then, many filmmakers had a rather arrogant attitude toward their audiences.
Yet, as the tide receded and audiences became more rational, choosing carefully what to watch, those filmmakers who could no longer survive began to panic and lash out.
Director Mu Lang once told Lu Xu that this year’s Golden Flame Awards had made irrational decisions—at the very least, the timing was completely off. Right now, audiences were at their peak level of resentment toward the film industry and filmmakers like Liu Rennong. What the Golden Flame Awards had done would only push audiences to resist by simply not going to the cinema at all.
Movies that people liked struggled to get high screening rates, actors they admired couldn’t win awards, and some films seemed to be made solely for the filmmakers themselves—watched by themselves, praised by themselves, and then used to secure endorsements and boost their so-called prestige. In all of this, audience participation was close to zero.
…
This year’s Spring Festival film lineup lacked a true blockbuster—a fact widely acknowledged within the industry.
The absence of a major hit meant there wasn’t enough incentive to draw audiences into theaters.
Although Observing the Stars at Night had the budget, genre, and cast worthy of a blockbuster, unfortunately, it belonged to the once-dismissed fantasy genre.
“Can Li Yan and Lu Xu’s star power alone carry the entire Spring Festival box office?”
The failure of Sanzu River wasn’t that long ago. At that time, audiences had already lost their enthusiasm for fantasy epics. After Sanzu River, hardly any fantasy films had been released, and even those with slight fantasy elements struggled at the box office.
Aside from Observing the Stars at Night, the most anticipated film this season was the comedy Haha Wula. Its lead actor, Qiao Beilin, had seen impressive box office success with his recent films.
Another film gaining attention was The First Gun.
Typically, war films weren’t scheduled for the family-friendly Spring Festival season. However, neither Deception, which Lu Xu had starred in a few years ago, nor Fearless Life, which grossed nearly 4 billion during the Spring Festival, fit the traditional mold of holiday films.
As long as the quality was solid, a movie would be embraced by audiences no matter the season. Audiences were far more open-minded than some in the industry gave them credit for.
Lu Xu had never imagined that someone would actually blame the audience.
He had played a villain in Reverse City, and he had played other deeply twisted characters before. The audience had accepted it—they had never blamed him for portraying such roles. So why would he turn around and blame the audience?
It was like Zhang Zhizhen, constantly muttering that audiences lacked taste and failed to appreciate his “noble art.” Lu Xu thought the audience should just take him to court—because honestly, what the hell was The Swordsman even supposed to be?
Before the release of Observing the Stars at Night, Lu Xu, who had just wrapped up filming for Code A77, posted a short video while on the road, happily sharing that he would finally get a break for the Spring Festival.
The car sped down the highway, and Lu Xu even started humming a tune. Fans immediately recognized it—it was Zheng Xiao’s hit song Big Rabbit. Zheng Xiao had once sung this song during a live stream, and fans were so shocked by his performance that they crowned him the number one singer on the “Most Wanted to Be Silenced” rankings.
No one expected Lu Xu to be infected by it too.
[This is the precious friendship of the Mountain Bike Team!!!]
[Mountain Bike Team is amazing! Will they be on the Spring Festival Gala again this year?]
[The guest list has already been released. Mountain Bike Team: 0 members. Lu Xu has a new movie coming out, so there’s no way he’s attending.]
In the video, Lu Xu’s excitement was obvious—until his manager’s voice suddenly interrupted from the side:
“Did you forget about the promotional tour for Observing the Stars at Night? You don’t have a holiday this year.”
Fans could clearly see the moment Lu Xu’s smile collapsed. The corners of his mouth twitched for a long time before they finally just… twitched.
Every time he attempted to put on a smile, his manager promptly reminded him: Roadshows on the first, second, and third days of the New Year. A variety show with Li Yan on the fourth. Another roadshow on the fifth…
[Why did you stop smiling? Were you born unable to smile?]
[Hahahaha, I’m so sorry but I can’t stop laughing.]
[I don’t care at all whether Lu Puppy gets a holiday. What I do care about is which variety show he and Li Yan are appearing on, which channel it’s airing on, and whether there will be singing and dancing. Since Mountain Bike Team isn’t on the Spring Festival Gala, maybe the film crew can make up for it?]
[Manager, please spill more details! Also, why is Lu Puppy’s manager just as unwilling to do promotions as he is…? We can’t even get any behind-the-scenes gossip!]
The short clip of Lu Xu’s expression shifting from joy to utter blankness had only been watched a few hundred thousand times—nothing excessive. By the time Observing the Stars at Night officially premiered, the clip had already amassed over a million views.
Every accessory and pair of headphones Lu Xu wore in the video—both from C-brand—had sold out. Even the phone case featuring his meme-worthy reaction had gone completely out of stock.
Although the clip itself had nothing to do with Observing the Stars at Night, everyone knew that the promotional tour keeping Lu Xu busy throughout the holiday season was solely for this film.
[Supporting our little puppy with all our hearts!]
[I’m a Lu Xu fan, but I really hope Observing the Stars at Night isn’t another Sanzu River-level fantasy disaster.]
Since Observing the Stars at Night was a 3D film, its ticket prices were higher than those of Lu Xu’s previous projects. While audiences had been deeply scarred by Sanzu River, the pre-sale numbers for Observing the Stars at Night had already surpassed 250 million, making it one of the most highly anticipated films of the Spring Festival season.
Tan Qi hadn’t bought tickets for the earliest screening on New Year’s Day—she had to visit her grandparents first. After that, she had plans to watch it with friends at a nearby cinema.
Spring Festival movie tickets were notoriously difficult to get. She had booked hers early, securing a fairly decent seat.
Back when Fearless Life premiered, she had only managed to buy tickets on the first day and ended up in the front two rows, straining her neck the entire time. This year, she had learned from experience and booked two tickets for a screening with both a comfortable time slot and good seats.
As Lu Xu matured over the years, so had Tan Qi. Watching movies had become an essential form of relaxation in her daily life—not just Lu Xu’s films, but anything with actors she liked or plots that intrigued her. She was always willing to buy a ticket and support them.
Of course, overall, Lu Xu’s films still offered the best value for money. In her eyes, they were always worth the ticket price.
“There are more people than I expected.”
The theater was warm and toasty. Wrapped in her down jacket, Tan Qi felt overheated the moment she stepped inside. She glanced around quickly—Observing the Stars at Night had the most screenings on the schedule, and the standees and character posters were beautifully designed.
She had watched the trailer long ago and felt that, visually, Observing the Stars at Night had the distinct style of a domestic fantasy film. It didn’t look cheap, nor did it feel unfamiliar. Instead, it reminded her of the ink paintings from her childhood—classical in style, yet dynamic in pacing.
At the time, she hadn’t bought her ticket yet, but she could already sense the filmmakers’ desire to tell a story. It was as if, the moment she stepped into the theater, she would be transported into a grand, breathtaking world unfolding before her like a painted scroll.
Even if trailers were often the first step in cinematic deception, she still bought her ticket.
Purely in terms of visuals, Observing the Stars at Night was the most appealing film of the Spring Festival lineup.
After scanning her ticket, Tan Qi grabbed her milk tea and popcorn, then went ahead to save seats for her friend. They had already agreed to visit the restroom before the movie started—she still held a grudge from last time when she had left during a crucial rescue scene in Fearless Life. The frustration had been so strong that she bought another ticket just to rewatch it.
Counting the time she convinced her parents to watch it at home, she had seen Fearless Life three times in total.
Once all preparations were done, Tan Qi and her friend sat quietly, waiting for Observing the Stars at Night to begin. She had read the synopsis beforehand and felt that, at first glance, the story didn’t seem too different from other fantasy films.
However, she knew this was the highest-budget movie Lu Xu had ever been a part of, and she was curious—what made it stand out?
—She found her answer within the first five minutes.
Strictly based on visuals, among all the fantasy films she had ever seen, Observing the Stars at Night deserved a solid 98 out of 100.
The visuals of Observing the Stars at Night perfectly matched Tan Qi’s aesthetic preferences. Whether it was the quiet, mysterious forests, the deep blue sky that exuded serenity at night, or the mystical creatures inhabiting the rivers and woodlands, everything gave her a sense of familiarity.
It was clear that Observing the Stars at Night was not the type of film that existed solely to showcase special effects. The effects served only to enhance the story. When the concept of the “human coffin” appeared—where a person transformed into a coffin, and the sinister spirits took on human faces, speaking in eerie, bone-chilling tones—Tan Qi was as shaken as she had been the first time she watched Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio as a child.
The fear that Observing the Stars at Night evoked in her was far greater than that of foreign horror films, where grotesque creatures oozed pus, or where people instantly dissolved into pools of blood.
She understood that those types of monsters were nothing more than an artificial mash-up of disturbing elements.
But Observing the Stars at Night was different. The shivers it sent down her spine felt like they came from the depths of her soul—especially since the film intertwined folklore, some of which were customs that still existed today. That made the horror feel real, something she couldn’t easily dismiss.
Yet, Observing the Stars at Night wasn’t a horror film. Its visual effects, cinematography, and soundtrack—all of it—made one thing abundantly clear to Tan Qi: the production had spent real money, and a lot of it.
