Chapter 164: Make It a Round Number (30% Forum Format)
Unlike regular viewers, those in the film & TV section watch dramas and movies, but it’s not just about watching.
This kind of forum isn’t like the public platforms everyone uses. Most of the people who manage to find their way here are pretty seasoned fans with deep knowledge of the entertainment industry.
For them, movies or TV shows are more about the actors they like or follow—their works and track records. Compared to lengthy reviews, what they really care about is performance metrics.
Generally, the more popular a celebrity is, the more discussion they generate here. When a show or movie is released, it’s easy for them to dominate the feed.
Of course, all of this was before Xie Xizhao went viral.
Just like that pinned post from when the release date was announced—which ended up getting screenshot and passed around—Xie Xizhao spent a few years transforming his image here from a “pretty boy traffic star everyone boycotts” to the newly crowned boss-level figure who redefined the forum’s entire sense of aesthetics.
It was truly a twisted tale of love and hate…
No wait—a legendary story.
In any case, while the general public outside is still caught up in talking about the plot, fans and onlookers here have already started monitoring the film’s box office stats. They track daily changes in hard data like gross earnings, occupancy rates, screening counts, and so on.
As soon as the post went up, replies surged by the dozens. It was the Spring Festival season—everyone was free and super enthusiastic.
1L: OP really knows how to title a post. As expected from the most self-aware and skilled fan of Xie in this section. I thought Emperor Xie had officially ascended the throne. Clicked in and it’s still just third place?
2L: Why are box office threads marked with fan tags now? Is there no justice left in this world? This place has really become Xie-fans’ private garden.
3L: Always has been.
4L: Honestly, it’s really just because the domestic entertainment industry is such a mess. Every time XXZ releases something, the public’s favoritism toward him grows a little more. When everyone else is flunking and someone scores 100, well… Anyway, I’ve already watched The Player three times.
5L: Aaaah the quality of this film is seriously top-notch. The first time I watched, I was just hyped the whole way through. The second time, I calmed down enough to appreciate the plot and visuals. The way it uses cinematic language is insane. And both the real-world and in-game settings are absolutely rich and gorgeous. The special effects are top-tier too.
But most importantly, Xie Xizhao looks criminally handsome, ahhh! How can he portray every role so naturally without being over-the-top? He’s got that swoon-worthy charm that’s killing me TT
6L: I think the special effects were overseen by Xie Xizhao’s own team. As for acting… why do you think your section has a love-hate relationship with him? lol
But anyway, we’re getting off topic. The screening schedule’s been adjusted, right? He’ll probably be #1 tomorrow. Congrats in advance on ascending the throne.
7L: That change was long overdue. A while back, the fans of the two directors currently in the top two came here to hype things up—it was annoying. But then their films dropped and turned out to be… meh. Bad plots, stuffed with traffic stars…
Oh, and they loved trash-talking The Player, calling it a cringey, niche, self-indulgent film made just for its fans. Well, guess who’s got a fan tag today.jpg
8L: You could already tell from the whole Stellar incident—age and experience are Xie Xizhao’s biggest “black marks.”
But the reality is, this so-called niche film is selling out every screening, and you can’t even get a ticket. Meanwhile, the so-called “master directors” are losing steam fast, relying on screen time and pretending to appeal to casual moviegoers.
9L: So what’s going on with the screening schedule?
10L: Theater chains gotta make money too. It’s obvious that the top two aren’t as hot as the third one anymore. They probably couldn’t keep ignoring it. Intervention from production companies to manipulate screenings is just toxic competition.
Plus, feels like XXZ’s team has finally decided to go all in.
11L: Hmm, I feel the same…
12L: XXZ is honestly such a fascinating person. It’s not just that he’s talented—he also navigates the entertainment industry’s unspoken rules effortlessly. His emotional and intellectual intelligence are both off the charts. For a regular person to pressure capital into compromising feels like a fairy tale, yet somehow he actually pulled it off.
13L: At this point, he is the capital. People say the top two were battling like gods, but even the cinema chains don’t dare offend XXZ. Feels like he was deliberately holding back earlier.
14L: So is he really about to take the top spot? I still can’t believe it. Weren’t we supposed to be just a niche, self-indulgent film?
15L: I’m dying 😂
Judging from the numbers, it’ll be tomorrow or the day after.
Just wait and see—there’s still plenty of time left in the Spring Festival slot. This film’s still got room to grow.
—
Turns out, netizens had sharp instincts.
The very next day after the post appeared, the box office rankings quietly shifted.
The Player, which had been sitting at third place, suddenly leapt to first—though its total earnings only beat second place by just over ten million yuan.
But a win is a win. That ten-million lead was enough to send the haters and paid trolls quietly packing. Casual viewers who had mocked the film were left stunned, while fans and seasoned industry watchers weren’t surprised at all. They laughed it up and continued to churn out glowing reviews and relentless recommendations.
However—even the fans couldn’t have predicted what happened next.
First came the unrelenting hype.
The Player was a plot-driven film, with a distinct and eerie tone that carried a unique sense of drama. Most importantly, its initial audience skewed young. In other words, the film’s original base consisted mainly of Xie Xizhao’s fans and casual supporters—people who didn’t just love the movie, but also loved him. Naturally, they were willing to give it their all.
So, alongside all kinds of film analyses, a wave of creative fan content—especially illustrated posts—started popping up.
The most famous of these was a drawing made by a well-known fan artist of Xie Xizhao.
The piece depicted the climactic showdown scene in the game, but the clothing Xie Xizhao’s character wore was from a real-life photo of him, taken during that widely reported “medical miracle” from years ago. In the drawing, he stood facing a monstrous, terrifying boss. His side was bathed in light; the boss’s side was shrouded in darkness. The whole piece was vivid, bursting with color, and the figures were drawn with lifelike detail. The caption read:
[Did you also use everything you had to get here to us?]
The artist behind the piece was a professional illustrator with a large following of their own.
The post went viral almost instantly.
People hadn’t forgotten that miraculous medical story. Xie Xizhao’s personal journey and the character he played had a subtle but powerful resonance—a parallel that became one of the film’s most compelling points of discussion.
Of course, for Xie Xizhao himself, that part of his past was more of a shadow. But he never seemed to shy away from it. In several interviews, he addressed it openly, even laughing as he said he was a lucky one, favored by fate.
That ability to smile and move on touched a lot of people. And it gave The Player another bump in attention and emotional weight.
Besides that, there were the film’s other characters too.
The Player—while packed with action, adrenaline, and fantasy—was at its heart a story driven by empathy. In other words, its core was always about people.
And the people it portrayed weren’t just the usual cast of dramatic roles, but deeply human characters with their own unique charm:
The protagonist He Miao, outwardly rebellious but with a deep, stubborn softness inside.
The eccentric frontman Fan Xing, who tried to dedicate his entire life to art.
The nagging but earnest homeroom teacher who just wanted each of their students to escape the trap they were in.
And of course, the players who, burdened by the harsh realities of life, chose eternal existence in a virtual world.
The film didn’t spend a lot of time on the supporting characters, but even with just a few brushstrokes, their personalities were vivid. Different viewers saw parts of themselves reflected in different roles. And when you can empathize, you start to care. Nearly every named character in the film sparked discussion—and fan creations of their own.
And of course, there were the CPs.
Xie Xizhao and Xuan Yang had pretty much become a classic meme-based ship.
At first, most people who shipped them did it ironically, mocking Xie Xizhao’s supposed poor judgment in choosing collaborators. But life is unpredictable—who would’ve thought the obscure, no-name director Xie Xizhao dug up turned out to be a total genius?
After their second project together, the two started gaining a real fanbase of CP shippers who were in it for the feels.
They themselves were refreshingly chill about it. They didn’t go out of their way to avoid suspicion, nor did they shamelessly milk the ship for attention. They just did standard promo, interacted normally, and somehow drove the CP fans absolutely wild.
Between a brilliant original story, vivid character fanworks, and the power of ship dynamics, this little 2.5-hour movie ended up with a life far longer than its runtime.
And the most direct sign of that?
The box office.
When The Player passed the 1-billion-yuan mark, the entire cast and crew held a celebratory livestream.
It was a pretty casual stream, but still had a bit of that star-studded sparkle. They’d set up a BBQ stand in front of the production office, and a lot of people showed up.
Not far off, Du Wei was chatting with Ji Yan, who hadn’t been seen in a while. The whole TP group was gathered, talking about their upcoming gigs. There was even a new boy group from Super Rookie 4 hanging around.
Xie Xizhao hadn’t had much of an appetite lately. He wasn’t eating himself, but he was feeding his cat. After it finished eating, the kitten pawed at his pant leg, asking to be picked up. He scooped it into his arms, but before he could say anything, Ji Yan stuffed a slice of Hami melon into his mouth.
“Box office just hit one billion,” Ji Yan said. “Boss Xie, as one of the investors—got any thoughts?”
One billion yuan—for a film that wasn’t exactly mainstream in theme, and had to split the Spring Festival box office with other releases—that was already a pretty spectacular achievement.
Xie Xizhao swallowed the slice of Hami melon, gave it a moment of serious thought, then said,
“Hmm… Every single ticket sold has contributed to my great New Year’s dream of not losing money on my investments. I’d like to express my most sincere gratitude to everyone.”
Ji Yan laughed so hard he almost rolled out of the frame.
Ever since Xie Xizhao had returned, he’d noticeably relaxed—and his sense of humor had leveled up too.
The livestream chat went wild, with viewers spamming:
[Aaaaah okay fine, I’ll contribute some more!!]
Xie Xizhao coughed lightly, playing it off:
“Buy only if you really want to, I’m joking.”
“I’m not short on money.” he added.
Ji Yan jumped on the opening: “Then give me some.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
“You’ll have better luck dreaming.” he said dryly.
But Ji Yan wasn’t one for just dreaming—he was a man of action. A professional troublemaker.
He’d seen The Player too, and his gut told him this film still had room to soar even higher.
Half in promo mode, half just looking to mess with his brother, he said: “Let’s make a bet, brother.”
“We’ll bet on the final box office number,” he said. “C’mon, random number sisters—wanna play?”
Of course, the chat blew up in excitement.
Naturally, as the lead actor, Xie Xizhao couldn’t go quoting sky-high numbers—it’d come off as arrogant. So he played it safe and said a conservative 2 billion.
What he didn’t expect was for Ji Yan to go way over the top right out of the gate.
“3.5 billion, then,” Ji Yan said. “Nice round number. I was going to say 4, but considering the subject matter of your film, I’ll knock off five hundred million. Fair?”
Xie Xizhao: “……”
“What’s the bet?” he asked.
Ji Yan spoke for the livestream chat: “If you win, I’ll work a whole film for you for free. If I win—you put on cat ears and do a full cover of a girl group dance. Has to be sexy style.”
Xie Xizhao’s eye twitched.
Ever since he’d adopted his cat, his “catboy” image had gone through the roof.
Unfortunately, TP hadn’t made a comeback in a while, so it felt like centuries since he’d last worn cat ears. As for dancing a full-on girl group routine? Back in his early days, when he was still new to the scene, maybe. Now? Fans knew better than to expect anything except the occasional teasing.
Xie Xizhao said, “Alright.”
After all, it wasn’t anything that crossed any lines for him.
Besides, at that moment, he didn’t really believe The Player could climb that high.
But sometimes, when the universe decides to reward your hard work… it rewards you generously.
