This director is vindictive.

Chapter 370 If He Xi listened to advice
Although the novel "The Heartbroken" has some fame in the science fiction community, it is not actually that well-known.

Therefore, many viewers are not actually book fans; true book fans are only a small minority.

Despite being marketed as a science fiction film, "The Heartbroken" still sparked some controversy after its release.

In terms of reputation, it is also polarized.

Some science fiction fans believe: "This is not a science fiction movie at all, it's just a drama!"

"Although it's touching, to be honest, it doesn't even qualify as soft science fiction. I feel cheated!"

However, most people still gave it high praise.

As a die-hard fan of Chen Mo, film critic Zhou Xiaobin, a ten-year longtime follower, gave "The Heartbroken" extremely high praise.

"Actually, it's pointless to argue whether 'The Heartbroken' is a true science fiction film. Does that mean we can't watch a film if it's not science fiction?"

The movie is based on the science fiction novel "The Heartbroken," and I specifically looked up the information from back then. In fact, this controversy already existed back then.

However, this did not prevent the novel from winning the 15th China Science Fiction Galaxy Award!

Returning to the film, "The Heartbroken" is not a simple science fiction movie, but a scalpel that dissects reality, precisely cutting into the most hidden pain of every era—the loneliness of idealism and the silent redemption of maternal love.

When He Xi's "Micro-Continuous Original" was casually tossed into a junkyard by her mentor, the audience in front of the screen seemed to hear the sound of dreams shattering.

That is not an ordinary book, but a tangible embodiment of a soul's ten years of painstaking effort.

Liu Qing's contemptuous throw, He Xi's breakdown as she struck a match, and Xia Qunfang's late-night tears—these three shots constitute the film's most brutal montage. Director Chen Mo uses almost cold-blooded cinematic language to tell us that the tragedy of genius is never about being unappreciated, but rather that even those closest to us cannot understand the value of that unwavering dedication.

The subplot involving Jiang Xue and Lao Kang exposes the most realistic wounds of love. When Lao Kang wipes his nose with a handkerchief, He Xi's frantic kiss of the soiled handkerchief leaves all the viewers who had mocked this "famous scene" speechless.

It turns out that it wasn't a farce, but rather an idealist's final act of defiance against the world—he would rather kiss the tainted memories than admit that love had long since succumbed to time and reality.

But what truly touches the heart is Xia Qunfang, this "untalented and incompetent mother." She can't understand calculus, but she can see into her son's eyes; she can't sell a single book, but she can weave hope for her son with lies. Those books secretly slipped into the library, those lies pretending to "sell," those combing her hair day after day for twenty years... The director uses the simplest details to interpret "maternal love is a micro-continuity theory that transcends time"—it doesn't need to be proven in the present, because time will eventually make it shine.

When He Xi's dying words, "Mom," were played during the Nobel Prize ceremony, the entire theater erupted in a torrent of sobs. At that moment, everyone understood Chen Mo's "deception": he first attracted us with the guise of science fiction, then stung us with the coldness of mathematics, and finally melted us with the warmth of maternal love.

This is not sentimentality, but a nationwide confession about perseverance and understanding—aren't we all like Liu Qing who lost his book? Aren't we all like Lao Kang who chose reality? But fortunately, we were all once like He Xi, who was unconditionally loved in Xia Qunfang's arms.

As the movie ended, some people sent WeChat messages to their mothers with red eyes, while others crumpled up tissues and held them in their hands. The final scene frozen on the screen—the paper crane folded by young Xia Qunfang swaying in the wind—suddenly took on a new metaphor: all values ​​underestimated by the times, all love betrayed by reality, will eventually find balance in the dimension of time.

Finally, the film offers this assessment of people like He Xi: There are some things you shouldn't expect too much in return for; you shouldn't ask them to grow beautiful leaves and flowers—because they are the roots.

Many people think that stories of geniuses are too far removed from us, but in fact, they are very close at hand.

I once saw a news report about a genius, a PhD in physics from the Shanghai Institute of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, who suddenly suffered a mental breakdown, supposedly due to financial and emotional problems.

His widowed mother took him home, helped him wash up, rest, and recuperate, much like the plot of novels and movies. The only difference was that he eventually regained his senses and returned to the research institute. Coincidentally, he also shared the surname He.

The novel expands the conflict between highly intelligent individuals and the pragmatism of economic society into an extremely exciting story, but if this excitement were to happen to an individual, it would have fatal consequences.

Therefore, "The Heartbroken" is really not far from us!

However, once a movie successfully enters the audience's field of vision, especially if the movie is quite good, then many different discussions will emerge.

Some people are discussing He Xi.

"To be honest, He Xi's biggest problem is his inherent arrogance! Perhaps that's the difference between geniuses and ordinary people like us?"

His mentor, Liu Qing, persuaded him to do some useful research.

What was his answer? Did he expect me to write a postgraduate entrance exam guide?
This is the arrogance of a genius, it's not an exaggeration to say it's conceited. Is writing a postgraduate entrance exam guide really that low-class?
Perhaps in the eyes of a genius like He Xi, it is indeed very low-class!
I think perhaps this is the real reason that led to his tragedy!

Some fans even used the title "If He Xi had listened to advice" to discuss the issue.

"If He Xi had listened to advice, the story might have taken a completely different turn."

When his mentor, Liu Qing, advised him to abandon his "useless" research on micro-continuum theory and instead write a more practical postgraduate entrance exam guide, He Xiruo's fate might have taken a different turn if he had been able to set aside his genius and accept the compromises of reality.

He Xi might become a highly sought-after mathematics lecturer at a university, and his postgraduate entrance exam guide, known for its clear logic and accessible explanations, would become a nationwide sensation. His financial situation would improve significantly, and he might even be able to easily afford the publication costs of "The Original Text of Microcontinuum." However, in the quiet of the night, he might still stare blankly at his unfinished drafts—those shelved formulas, like a thorn, reminding him of the gap between his ideals and reality.

If He Xi had listened to advice and been willing to compromise, then Lao Kang might not have become a shadow looming between him and Jiang Xue. The two might have gotten married and lived a simple and stable life.

But Jiang Xue once said to him under the setting sun, "What I love is the light in your eyes."

When the persistence in He Xi's eyes is worn down by reality, will this relationship degenerate into the trivialities of daily life?

If He Xi had listened to advice, Xia Qunfang would no longer have needed to secretly slip books into the library, nor would she have had to shed tears for her son's madness.

She felt proud of He Xi's "success," yet she also felt a pang of worry when she saw him sitting alone late at night—the son who once burned with passion for his ideals now only had a weary sense of compromise in his eyes.

If He Xi had heeded the advice, 150 years later, the founders of the Grand Unified Field Theory might have consulted historical records and discovered that a mathematician named He Xi had come close to the truth but stopped due to a shift towards "pragmatism".

History books will describe him as "brilliant but lacking perseverance," but no one knows that the professor who spoke eloquently in the postgraduate entrance examination class always kept a yellowed manuscript of "The Original Text of Micro-Continuum" in his drawer.

He Xi, by heeding advice, may have avoided a personal tragedy, but the eternal conflict between science and humanity remains:

For the times: one less "heartbroken person" and one more "adaptable person".

For a mother, her son's "normality" is what she desires, but has that unlit brilliance become a regret in her heart?

For He Xi herself: Can the stability brought by compromise offset the lifelong question of "I could have"?

If He Xi had heeded the advice, he might have escaped his fate of madness, but he might also have become another version of the "heartbroken one"—a sober individual who, amidst worldly success, silently mourns the lost soul of his ideals.

"The Heartbroken" is undoubtedly a success.

Despite some controversy, some say it's actually just pseudo-science fiction.

But as Zhou Xiaobin said, does the fact that it's not a science fiction movie affect the viewing experience? Does that mean we shouldn't watch it?

Perhaps, in the realm of science fiction films, "The Heartbroken" is indeed unremarkable.

But at least within the broader category of film, it was a success.

In terms of box office, "Heartbroken" grossed over 3 million yuan on its opening day. In terms of word-of-mouth, it received a 7.8 rating on Douban. In terms of popularity, half of the top ten trending search terms related to "Heartbroken" were related to it after its release.

However, the people most dissatisfied with "The Heartbroken" are not science fiction fans.

But
Yang Mi stood with her hands on her hips, her almond-shaped eyes wide open, and her red lips slightly pouting, looking quite sullen.

She strode up to Chen Mo in her high heels, looked up and demanded, "Chen Mo! What did you tell me back then? You said 'The Heartbroken' would be the promotional video for our wedding, and what happened?"
The entire film didn't even include a hint of space! The audience was in tears, and Liu Shishi even called to ask if I'd been tricked into marriage!

Actually, Chen Mo filmed another version of the Easter egg before, which was his "wedding" with Yang Mi!
But in the end, he still felt that such a collaboration would be somewhat incongruous and feel forced.

That's why the ending was changed.

Yang Mi had no idea about this beforehand.

The result is what we see now.

Chen Mo looked at her flushed cheeks, a hint of a smile flashing in his eyes.

He deliberately closed the script slowly, reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lightly brushing against her burning earlobe: "I filmed three versions of the space wedding Easter egg, and finally discovered it."

He suddenly leaned close to her ear, his warm breath sending a slight shiver down her neck: "To cram our wedding into 'The Heartbroken' is like planting roses next to a tombstone—it's both a desecration of death and a disrespect for love."

"Stop changing the subject!" Yang Mi's heart raced as he suddenly approached her, but she still tried to back away, but her waist was suddenly encircled by the man's strong arms.

Chen Mo unbuttoned his suit jacket with one hand, revealing a dark gray shirt underneath, with lipstick marks left by her yesterday still on the collar.

He chuckled softly and ran his fingertip across her lips: "But when I was cutting up the Easter eggs, all I could think about was..."

Before she could finish speaking, he kissed her lips, swallowing her sobs.

(End of this chapter)