I'm not a drama freak, I can really see through the script

Chapter 375, A Double Slaughter in Box Office and Critical Acclaim
The private room at the club was filled with smoke.

Jiang Wen sat with his legs crossed, a cigar between his fingers, the crimson flame flickering in the dim light.

On the coffee table in front of him were several bottles of whisky that were quite old.

Han Ping sat opposite him, holding a tablet computer in his hand. The light from the screen reflected on his face, making his expression somewhat subtle.

"9.1 points."

Han Ping finally spoke, his voice carrying a hint of contemplation.

"The Bullfighting (8.2) and Spring (8.1) were both overshadowed, and completely crushed."

Jiang Wen exhaled a thick smoke ring, the smoke blurring his angular face.

"There's nothing strange about it."

His voice, as always, carried an air of nonchalance.

"I would be surprised if that kid got a score of seven or seven."

Han Ping smiled and put down the tablet.

"I'm not surprised that he got a high score; I'm surprised by the other two films. Guan Hu and Gu Changwei are the backbone of the sixth generation of directors in Beijing. Their works this time are also above average, but they were completely overshadowed by a young man and couldn't even make a splash."

He paused, then looked at Jiang Wen.

"This posture is quite reminiscent of your former glory."

Han Ping's tone was teasing.

"The movie 'Devils on the Doorstep' slapped the face of the entire Beijing circle so hard that those self-proclaimed authorities couldn't hold their heads up for years."

"Hahaha!"

Upon hearing this, Jiang Wen let out his signature loud laugh, his chest heaving so violently that the sofa trembled slightly.

"Look at me, how could someone I admire be wrong?"

He tapped his cigar in the ashtray, his face beaming with undisguised smugness.

"This kid is just like me at heart. He doesn't care about any rules or ironclad laws; he only films what he wants to film. These people still want to put him in the framework of 'scar literature'? How laughable!"

Han Ping nodded.

In terms of reputation, Li Xuan has already won, and the victory is without any suspense.

For an art film, especially one based on the theme of "scar literature," to receive an initial score of 9.1 is a miracle in itself.

This is enough to make those people in the Beijing circle uncomfortable for quite some time.

"But that's about it."

Han Ping poured himself a glass of wine, the ice cubes clinking crisply in the glass.

"Word of mouth is word of mouth, and box office is box office. This kind of subject matter is destined to be niche. A total box office of tens of millions is considered a great success. In the end, it's still just a small circle of self-indulgence."

Jiang Wen didn't speak, but took another puff of his cigar, seemingly agreeing with Han Ping's statement.

The fate of art-house film directors is to be critically acclaimed but commercially unsuccessful.

This is the norm in the industry.

Just then, Han Ping's phone vibrated. He picked it up and glanced at it, his expression suddenly freezing.

He stared at the screen for a good ten seconds, then looked up at Jiang Wen with a strange expression.

"what happened?"

Jiang Wen noticed his unusual behavior.

Han Ping didn't answer immediately, but instead turned the phone screen towards him.

"The first day's box office figures are out."

The screen displays a real-time box office statistics chart.

The data for the top few commercial blockbusters is nothing special, but looking down, the numbers for the art films are particularly jarring.

"Cow" grossed 310 million yuan on its opening day.

"Li Chun" grossed 280 million yuan on its opening day.

These two figures were entirely within Han Ping's expectations; for an art film of this size, they were neither good nor bad, just standard.

Below these two films is "Hidden in the Dust".

The numbers that followed caused Jiang Wen's usually nonchalant face to momentarily freeze.

First day box office: 1580 million.

The private room fell silent, with only the faint sound of burning cigars remaining.

A film based on the theme of trauma literature grossed 15.8 million on its opening day.

This number can no longer be described as a "great victory".

This is... a massacre.

Han Ping put down his wine glass, leaned forward slightly, and felt his blood rushing faster.

"crazy……"

He muttered to himself.

"This kid has shattered the box office ceiling for art films."

In all his years in the industry, he has witnessed countless box office miracles, but none have impressed him as much as today.

Because this is completely illogical, contrary to market rules, and inconsistent with his entire understanding of the industry.

"Ha ha……"

The silence was broken by a soft laugh.

Jiang Wen first chuckled softly, then his laughter grew louder and louder, eventually turning into unrestrained, maniacal laughter.

"Hahahaha! Great! This is fucking fantastic!"

He suddenly stood up, grabbed the whiskey on the table, unscrewed the cap, and poured himself a full glass.

A few drops of the amber-colored liquor spilled because his hand trembled.

"I knew it! I knew this kid could do it!"

He tilted his head back and downed the entire glass of strong liquor, his Adam's apple bobbing as a drop of liquor slid down his rugged chin.

"Old Han!"

Jiang Wen slammed the empty glass heavily on the table, his eyes shining as he looked at Han Ping.

"This is no longer a victory!"

"This is like flipping the table!"

He snatched Han Ping's phone, glanced at the glaring number again, and his face was filled with unbridled joy.

"He used a movie that everyone thought was impossible to make money, and he utterly crushed those arrogant guys!"

Jiang Wen poured himself another glass of wine, and this time, he poured one for Han Ping as well.

He pushed the wine glass in front of Han Ping, his voice slightly hoarse with excitement.

"They think they have the power to define art, that they can decide what is highbrow and what is kitsch."

"Now, Li Xuan will tell them."

Jiang Wen raised his glass, pointing it at the air and at the unseen young man.

"What the audience likes, that's what I film—that's art!"

"To hell with the scars."

"I'm going to heal my wounds!"

The living room at home is very quiet.
Li Xuan leaned back on the sofa, looking at the computer screen.

The Douban page is still at 9.1 points, but the comment section has already been flooded with tens of thousands of comments.

Instead of reading the lengthy analyses of artistry and cinematic language, he browsed with great interest the shortest and most direct comments.

After the movie, I called my mom. I didn't say much; I just wanted to hear her voice.

[I'm a rough guy, and I cried my eyes out. It wasn't because I was sad, but because I felt a tightness in my chest, but in the end, I felt a warm feeling.]

I thought I was going to see suffering, but I ended up with a mouthful of wheat candy—sweet yet bitter, and with a strong aftertaste.

Li Xuan's lips unconsciously curled up into a smile.

That's more like it.

Box office, ratings.

I do care, and who in the film and television industry doesn't care about this? We don't do anything hypocritical.

I do care.

But actually, when you look at the comments from these people, what they get after watching the movie—the feeling of happiness—comes out much faster and more quickly than when the box office ratings appear.

The novel "Hidden in the Dust" from my past life was a sharp knife that precisely dissected the festering sores of life, causing excruciating pain but leaving only endless depression.

And now, he has fitted this knife with a warm handle.

He kept all the suffering, but gave that suffering a breathing outlet.

The joy of personally transforming a depressing masterpiece into a heartwarming hit.
Um.
really not bad.

Liu Yifei, standing next to her, was also holding her phone, her small face displaying a variety of expressions, sometimes frowning, sometimes pursing her lips and secretly smiling.

The latest iPhone 4
Li Xuan was also a little dazed.

We've entered the smartphone era!
Her phone had been ringing non-stop since last night, with congratulatory messages, well-wishes that went beyond mere help, and a constant stream of well-wishes pouring in.

Liu Yifei looked up at Li Xuan, her eyes sparkling.

"Am I now considered... a talented actor?"

"You're the real acting talent in my eyes."

Li Xuan withdrew his gaze.

"So, we should start preparing for our next project."

Liu Yifei paused for a moment, put her phone away, and blinked: "The next one? 'Hidden in the Dust' has only just begun. There are still roadshows and various promotions to come..."

"Are you telling me this because you want to invite me to be your leading lady?"

Liu Yifei's heart was beating very fast.

She looked at Li Xuan's calm face, as if the tumultuous events outside about box office success, critical acclaim, and awards had nothing to do with him.

He always seems to be like that, always only looking ahead.

Liu Yifei suddenly smiled, her eyes crinkling like a cunning cat.

She deliberately put on a pitiful expression and moved closer to Li Xuan.
I promptly forgot about the pile of project proposals that had just been sent to my phone.

There are even big commercial films planning to reboot themselves.

Unfortunately, I no longer mingle in Beijing's social circles, nor do I continue to associate with Hollywood.

They abandoned me after "The Forbidden Kingdom," and now they want to pick me up again.

It's not that easy.

Liu Yifei smiled, her eyes narrowed.

"Of course I'd love to! Who else but you would dare to cast me as the leading lady right now?" She counted on her fingers with an air of seriousness: "It hasn't been that long since the Forbidden Kingdom incident. What if I flop in the next one? They're all old foxes. They've all invited Jiang Wenli. You're my boss now. You can't just abandon me, can you?"

Li Xuan laughed when he saw her acting like a spoiled child.

"They're clinging to me now."

"Hehe," Liu Yifei wasn't annoyed at all, but laughed even more happily, and continued smoothly, "Then please give me your guidance, Director. I can act in any project."

if only.

You are the male lead.

Zhang Mouzi's courtyard was very quiet.

He personally took the teapot and poured a cup of tea for Ma Xiaogang across from him.

The tea soup was a clear red color and kept sloshing around.

Ma Xiaogang, holding a teacup, was making sounds of admiration.

"15.8 million... This Fire Cloud Evil God actually made an art film, a film based on the literature of the wounded, into such a success."

"Old Zhang, do you understand now?"

"A rural-themed tearjerker grossed 15.8 million yuan on its opening day!"

"The combined opening day box office of Guan Hu's 'Cow' and Gu Changwei's 'Springtime' was less than half of what others made."

Ma Xiaogang's voice conveyed more shock than emotion.

This is no longer a matter of the younger generation surpassing the older one.

The tsunami completely destroyed the sandcastle on the beach.

Zhang Mouzi didn't speak, but simply picked up his teacup and gently blew away the steam rising from the surface.

His movements were very steady, just like him—always steady and composed.

"You, the second-best director in China, can say such unsettling things. I've been following him for a while now, from the TV series 'To Live' to 'Nanjing Photo Studio,' and now he's definitely a guy with a promising future."

Ma Xiaogang said.

"Back then, with 'Nanjing Photo Studio,' he only took a shortcut with the subject matter, catching everyone off guard. He started from the entry point, but to be honest, he didn't show much skill in terms of shooting techniques."

"But this time is different."

"This time, he took down the guy head-on on the very territory of Wang Shuo and his group's proudest 'scar literature'."

"With its overwhelming success in terms of word-of-mouth and box office, I have no doubt that it will at least surpass these two 'sixth generation' films in the major awards two years from now."

Ma Xiaogang stood up and paced back and forth in the yard, like a wild beast trapped in a cage.

"This kid has already made something of himself."

“If he keeps going like this, he'll destroy all the influence that this generation of people in Beijing's elite circles have worked so hard to build,” Ma Xiaogang said, squinting. “Old Zhang, say something!”

Zhang Mouzi finally put down his teacup.

试探
Looking at each other.

They tested each other.

"say what?"

"What did you say?" Ma Xiaogang stopped in his tracks. "Suppress it. Didn't Wang Su keep saying that before?"

"While his position is still unstable, let's join forces and cut off his resources."

"Have the theaters adjust his screening schedule and allocate more promotional resources to 'Cow' and 'Springtime'."

Ma Xiaogang looked at Zhang Mouzi and said.

Zhang Mouzi looked at him, his expression unchanged, and simply asked a question.

"Have you seen the movie?"

Ma Xiaogang was stunned for a moment.

"...Not yet. But the data doesn't lie."

"You should go and take a look."

Zhang Mouzi picked up the teapot again and refilled Ma Xiaogang's water.

"Look at how he filmed it."

"Look at how Liu Yifei acts."

"Look at why a movie that everyone thought was impossible to make money could make so many people cry while still spending money."

Ma Xiaogang was speechless after hearing his questions.

He sat back down in his chair, picked up his teacup, and drank it all in one gulp.

"Old Zhang, what exactly do you mean?"

Zhang Mouzi stood up, walked to the water tank, and sprinkled some fish food.

The koi fish immediately swarmed forward, vying for the carp.

"Xiao Gang, do you remember when we were filming 'To Live'?"

Ma Xiaogang didn't understand, but he still nodded.

“Wang Suo and Zheng Long were very ambitious back then.”

"They dare to film, dare to write, and dare to dig out the most painful things for people to see."

"Back then, they were like knives, capable of cutting open abdominal cavities and lesions."

Zhang Mouzi turned around and looked at Ma Xiaogang.

"But what now?"

"They are old."

"The knife in my hand has become dull."

"They are still using methods from decades ago to tell a story that has been told to death. They think that killing people and extinguishing hope is art, is profound."

"They forgot that the end of suffering does not necessarily have to be death."

"It could also be...being alive."

Ma Xiaogang listened intently, feeling as if he had grasped something, yet also as if he had grasped nothing at all.

“That Li Xuan…”

“Li Xuan is different.”

Zhang Mouzi's voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of a final judgment.

"He picked up the knife, but he didn't use the blade to stab the audience in the heart."

"He gently patted the audience on the shoulder with the back of his knife, telling them that no matter how hard life is, you have to keep living, because there will always be someone who will light a lamp for you."

"He turned a 'scar literature' into a 'healing literature'."

"Therefore, the audience bought it."

"So, he won."

The courtyard fell silent once again.

Ma Xiaogang fell completely silent.

He finally understood that Zhang Yizi's attitude was even one of appreciation.
"So... we're just going to watch like this?" Ma Xiaogang asked unwillingly.

Zhang Mouzi smiled.

There was something about that smile that gave Ma Xiaogang the creeps.

"Looking?"

He shook his head and took a cell phone out of his pocket.

"Jiang Wen is right."

"This is like flipping the table."

"Now that the table has been overturned, it's no fun just watching it."

He pressed a familiar number and dialed it.

The call was answered quickly.

"I am Zhang Mouzi."

Ma Xiaogang stopped breathing.

"Yes, I watched 'Into the Dust,' it was a very good film."

"I want to tell you something."

Zhang Mouzi looked at the koi carp still fighting for food in the water tank, his voice calm and without a ripple.

"Starting tomorrow, increase the screenings of 'Hidden in the Dust' and give it all the prime time slots in theaters across the country."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds.

Zhang Mouzi continued speaking, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"The screening schedules for 'Cow' and 'Springtime' can be reduced."

“Wang Shuo and the others are all getting old.”

“Supporting young people is indeed your character.” Ma Xiaogang gave Zhang Mouzi a thumbs up, but his expression was ambiguous.

Zhang Mouzi smiled slightly.

"They're too old, always taking up space. They're clearly capable of making great works; we're the ones with more talent and ability."

"Since we are both number one or number two, why should we give up our profits to others, to the so-called 'Beijing circle,' and let them divide up our profits? That's unreasonable."

Ma Xiaogang, seeing Zhang Mouzi's expression, understood perfectly and was not surprised at all.

lol.

"Hahaha! It really was you!"

"Supporting young people, using one enemy to devour another, and eliminating dissidents is simply more convenient and reasonable than us personally getting involved."

Through Li Xuan, the Beijing film circle itself is trying to "suppress" the positions of sixth-generation directors and even seventh-generation directors.

Why is this circle called the Beijing Circle?

Why don't you call me Zhang Quan, the 'Old Zhang'?

why?
"So why are you telling me this? Aren't you afraid I'll tell Wang Shuo about these [pants]?" Ma Xiaogang paused, then smiled at Zhang Mouzi.

Everyone knows that Ma Kuzi (Ma's nickname) has a certain 'loyalty' to the Beijing elite circle.

Zhang Mouzi crossed his legs and laughed.

"Ha, then it's up to you. Ma Xiaogang, the 'Ma Pants'."

At this moment, Zhang Mouzi poured Ma Xiaogang a cup of tea.

The finest pre-rain Longjing tea.

Ma Xiaogang picked up the teacup, examined the emerald green tea, chuckled, and drank it all in one gulp.

(End of this chapter)