Chapter 235: Box Office
[Agreed!]
[The blogger said exactly what I was thinking!]
[I was in awe of Lu Xu’s incredible acting throughout the entire movie. Is there any role he can’t master? Although I’m a die-hard Lu Xu fan, my favorite character is still Qin Zhao from Son of Heaven. That gentle yet fragile demeanor—only Lu Xu could portray it. Qi Yi was too tough; the contrast was huge.]
[Historical films really require that kind of profound acting to bring depth to the story. If the acting is even slightly weaker, it’s easy to feel disconnected. When Lu Xu sat on the dragon throne, no one thought he seemed lacking or incapable of commanding his ministers. In The Sovereign Descends the World, he maintained the role of the ultimate ruler throughout.]
[+1 +1 +1.]
The Weibo post Tan Qi had written at noon had surprisingly garnered nearly 100 likes within an hour. She realized she wasn’t the only moviegoer reviewing The Sovereign Descends the World. Any review that was well-structured and provided an objective analysis of the film seemed to receive a decent amount of engagement.
Tan Qi suddenly realized that the audience for The Sovereign Descends the World might be larger than she had initially thought.
After all, The Sovereign Descends the World was a historical film. As a fan of Lu Xu, Tan Qi would never dismiss it outright. However, she believed that its box office earnings would fall short of the standard for a “blockbuster.” It would likely achieve a respectable but not record-breaking performance.
After all, a film’s genre significantly impacts its box office success. Setting aside other factors, the diversity of movie genres during this Chinese New Year season was quite apparent.
…
After publishing her review of The Sovereign Descends the World, Tan Qi quietly turned her attention to other films released in the same period.
She first searched for Dragon Palace and found that, aside from the overwhelming promotional buzz from marketing accounts, real-time audience reviews were surprisingly positive.
Some praised Dragon Palace for its outstanding special effects. There was a particularly long underwater scene when the protagonist first arrived at Dragon Palace—a dazzling, breathtaking spectacle that was clearly a result of a hefty budget.
While the film’s plot wasn’t exactly tight, it couldn’t be called hollow either. At the very least, it was worth the price of admission.
Dragon Palace came in strong, yet it didn’t posture itself as the undisputed king of the Spring Festival box office. Some netizens speculated that Lu Xu’s overwhelming presence acted as a debuff, forcing rival films to tread cautiously.
Overall, the marketing for this year’s Spring Festival films remained relatively harmonious. There was no cutthroat rivalry on the surface—just intense competition behind the scenes.
If Dragon Palace stood out for its dazzling effects, Robot Creation Manual captured attention with its unique perspective and unexpected plot twists. In real-time discussions about Spring Festival films, Dragon Palace and The Sovereign Descends the World were frequently mentioned, but surprisingly, Robot Creation Manual also had a strong following.
As a result, industry insiders remarked that this year’s Spring Festival season was refreshingly engaging.
However, “engaging” also meant the beginning of a chaotic battle. Each film was performing well at the box office, making it impossible to predict how the numbers would ultimately play out.
…
The hashtag #LuXuActingSkills quickly climbed the trending charts after The Sovereign Descends the World premiered, with film critic “Movie Diary” ranking among the top comments.
In his words, [Wherever Qi Yi, as portrayed by Lu Xu, stands, imperial power stands with him.]
[Lu Xu is one of the rare actors in recent years who can deliver such an authentic portrayal of an emperor. Anyone who watches The Sovereign Descends the World will see that his presence dominates the entire film.]
The film critic “Movie Diary” had previously written an extensive review for Clay Man, and when it came to The Sovereign Descends the World, his word count was just as lengthy. Although he personally didn’t find the film’s plot particularly compelling, he acknowledged that historical films were meant to be this way.
However, when it came to Lu Xu’s acting, he went on at great length, stating—[I once thought there was nothing more to write about Lu Xu’s acting, but after watching The Sovereign Descends the World, I realized that I had only scratched the surface—less than 1%.]
[LMAO, that’s the highest praise possible.]
[As for the plot, I feel like it’s still a step away from being a true suspense film, but the atmosphere is incredibly well-crafted. I absolutely love the interactions between the emperor and his ministers—so intense! It feels like every character is scheming on at least two hundred different levels.]
[I used to think I wouldn’t survive past two episodes in a palace drama. Now, after watching The Sovereign Descends the World, I’m convinced I wouldn’t even make it past the first 20 minutes before becoming cannon fodder.]
[+1 +1.]
After “Movie Diary” published his review, hesitant viewers quickly got a clearer picture of what kind of film The Sovereign Descends the World was.
At the very least, it wasn’t a flop.
After all, some films were so terrible that critics wouldn’t even bother writing a single extra sentence about them.
…
Among this year’s Spring Festival films, Dragon Palace led in screening allocation with 26.6%, followed closely by The Sovereign Descends the World at 23.9%. Together, the two films claimed nearly half of the total screenings, while the remaining films had to share what was left of the pie.
Chang Aiwei knew very well that, given The Sovereign Descends the World’s genre, securing such a high screening percentage during the highly competitive Spring Festival season—where even 1% of screenings was precious—was entirely thanks to Lu Xu’s star power.
Lu Xu’s accumulated box office success had blinded people, making them lose all sense of reason.
One day later, the results for each film’s box office earnings were revealed.
Topping the box office rankings was Dragon Palace, which, including pre-sales, raked in a total of 640 million yuan on its opening day.
This was undoubtedly an impressive achievement, but surpassing Observing the Stars at Night would be a challenge. In fact, when comparing just opening-day earnings, Code A77 performed nearly as well as Dragon Palace.
Once the first-day figures were released, major platforms collectively adjusted their predictions for Dragon Palace’s total earnings—those who had estimated 4.5 billion now lowered their projections to 4 billion, and those who had predicted 4 billion revised their numbers down to 3.5 billion.
Although an opening-day box office performance wasn’t everything, for a commercial blockbuster, surpassing its first-day earnings on the second day was almost impossible. What made it worse was that Dragon Palace didn’t seem like the kind of film that would have strong long-term performance.
This was simply the nature of commercial films—even Observing the Stars at Night, which grossed over 5.5 billion in total, wasn’t exempt from this trend.
Of course, within this release window, Dragon Palace was still crushing the competition.
Despite The Sovereign Descends the World having only slightly fewer screenings than Dragon Palace, its box office earnings were significantly lower—bringing in just 350 million on its opening day. A little less, and it would have been half of Dragon Palace’s total.
Chang Aiwei had been mentally prepared for this result, but the moment the numbers were released, he was already bracing himself for an onslaught of criticism.
And yet… the backlash never came.
“What’s going on?” The director was baffled.
Spring Festival box office results were always under intense scrutiny from marketing accounts, with every small fluctuation stirring up waves of discussion. Yet this time, despite The Sovereign Descends the World’s lackluster numbers—ranking only slightly above the third-place Robot Creation Manual—the marketing accounts collectively chose to remain silent.
Chang Aiwei: “…”
This was truly bizarre.
When a problem arose, the only way forward was to find its root cause. And so, Chang Aiwei discovered the reason behind the eerily calm public response—this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened in Lu Xu’s career.
Whenever marketing accounts overreacted, they usually ended up getting slapped in the face.
That’s right—it was always the marketing accounts getting humiliated, never Lu Xu.
In terms of first-day box office earnings, The Sovereign Descends the World ranked among the top of Lu Xu’s filmography. Even Fearless Life, which had ultimately grossed nearly 4 billion yuan, had an opening-day performance weaker than The Sovereign Descends the World.
“So… does that mean our final box office could hit 4 billion as well?” Holding onto a hopeful vision of success, Chang Aiwei voiced what was, in hindsight, a rather naive question.
Producer Yu Liang shot him a glance but remained silent.
Realizing his own wishful thinking, Chang Aiwei let out an awkward laugh and swallowed his words.
Still, it didn’t hurt to dream. What if it actually came true?
That said… even from his own perspective as the director, he had no idea how such a dream could be realized.
Just because public opinion was quiet now didn’t mean it would stay that way forever.
If The Sovereign Descends the World’s box office failed to meet expectations, criticism would inevitably follow.
Yu Liang couldn’t help but ask, “What’s your ideal total box office figure?”
“1.5—1… billion?” The director scratched his head before settling on a more modest number. “As long as we break even, that’s fine.”
Chang Aiwei had started his career in Hong Kong, where he specialized in narrative-driven films. To be fair, after the industry became more commercialized, he had directed a few films that performed well at the box office. The reason he lacked confidence in The Sovereign Descends the World was simple—the genre.
Historical films simply had no inherent advantage.
“You’re seriously underestimating Lu Xu,” Yu Liang remarked. “Even his lowest-grossing film has made around 1.9 billion.”
Besides, The Sovereign Descends the World had already earned over 300 million on its first day. Even if it only brought in 100 million per day for the next six days, it would still hit the 1 billion mark with ease.
“There are eight days of the Spring Festival holiday this year,” Chang Aiwei couldn’t help but correct him.
Yu Liang raised a brow. “Is that really what you’re focusing on right now?”
“It’s important to me.”
Yu Liang had no idea where Chang Aiwei’s inexplicable stubbornness came from, but after analyzing the situation together for a while, they agreed that reaching 1 billion shouldn’t be an issue. Even 1.5 billion seemed like a realistic goal.
There was no way The Sovereign Descends the World’s box office would suddenly collapse right after the holiday, right?
And yet… every major platform was predicting the film would earn at least 2.5 billion in total.
The director felt a heavy weight settle on his shoulders.
He couldn’t understand—how was Lu Xu always so cheerful?
Playing a character like Qi Yi was already an enormous emotional burden, and on top of that, every film he starred in had a minimum expectation of 2.5 billion.
2.5 billion! Not 250 million!
For some filmmakers, even reaching 25 million was an uphill battle.
Yu Liang sighed. “…Enough.”
No need to rub salt in the wound.
After all, the producer himself had once harbored similar grand ambitions.
As the saying went, in the entertainment industry, the good-looking ones wanted to be actors, while the not-so-good-looking ones aimed to be directors. Talent aside, everyone wanted to be in charge rather than be bossed around.
Yu Liang, too, had once dreamed of being a director.
He once thought he was a genius in the industry. After racking his brains and burning through a hefty sum of money, he finally directed a film that grossed a total of 2.5 million at the box office.
Yes. 2.5 million.
And it was exactly 2.5 million—not a cent more. No matter how the numbers were rounded, it refused to hit 2.51 million, as if mocking him for being a complete idiot.
His friends tried to comfort him, saying, “Hey, at least you made 2.5 million. Some people couldn’t even make 250,000!”
But Yu Liang just wanted to ask: When the box office flops this hard, is there really a difference between 2.5 million and 250,000?
“Of course there’s a difference. It’s 2.25 million!”
Yu Liang: “…”
Long story short, after that disastrous failure, his name disappeared from the directing scene. Though he remained in the film industry, he never had the urge to direct again.
That didn’t stop him from occasionally revisiting his passion project—only to stumble across reviews calling it “a steaming pile of crap.”
But Yu Liang was still great at making money. He had strong connections in the industry, and after switching to producing, he pulled off several successful projects. The Sovereign Descends the World only secured its funding because he and Chang Aiwei had the same goal—to create a high-quality historical film.
“By tomorrow, we’ll know whether our film lives or dies.”
They set a target of 100 million for the second day. If the numbers dropped to that, it would mean The Sovereign Descends the World was pretty much doomed.
“Should we set the bar a little higher?”
“No. Lowering expectations is better,” Chang Aiwei replied. “If we push it too high, Lu Xu will feel the pressure.”
After all, they couldn’t just treat Lu Xu like an overworked ox.
…But when the second-day box office exceeded 250 million, Chang Aiwei suddenly did feel like putting Lu Xu to work like an ox.
Because not only had Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao started a playful feud online, but they had somehow turned a filming location into a viral tourist attraction—a place now known as “The Spot Where Zheng Xiao Was Taken Out by Lu Xu.”
