Hollywood, I became a legend with special effects.

Chapter 183: The End of an Era and the Beginning

On December 26, Beijing welcomed its heaviest snowfall since the beginning of winter.

Inside the headquarters building of Light Chaser Pictures in Chaoyang District's CBD, the heating was set at a full 26 degrees Celsius.

"Sister Xue Rou, are you alright?" Assistant Xiao Chen asked cautiously, still holding documents waiting to be signed.

Jiang Xuerou did not answer.

She stared at the front page of The Hollywood Reporter on her computer screen, where photos of Jiang Yu and Liu Yifei standing on the red carpet at the premiere of Avatar took up half the page.

Liu Yifei's "Dawn Gauze" blue dress shimmered with a dreamlike glow under the flashlight, while Jiang Yu stood beside her in a dark gray suit, his eyes as calm and deep as a still pool.

The title, in bold 96-point font, reads: "China's Power: How Light Chaser Animation Conquered Hollywood."

The subheading is even more eye-catching: "From investor to technology provider, this Chinese company is redefining the rules of the film industry."

Jiang Xuerou slowly exhaled and placed the coffee cup back on the coaster.

"Boss, this—" she murmured to herself, her voice filled with complex emotions accumulated over twenty years of industry experience, "Is this skill of betting hereditary?"

Xiao Chen didn't dare to reply.

As the CEO of Light Chaser Pictures' domestic business, Jiang Xuerou knew too many of Jiang Yu's "unbelievable" investment decisions.

In 2007, on the eve of the later stages of "Iron Man", Marvel was so poor that it was about to sell off the rights to its own superheroes as second-hand goods. Hollywood was laughing at it, saying "Chinese people have too much money and are stupid".

Jiang Yu invested $4000 million, which resulted in a global box office of $5.85 million and a ticket to the Iron Man series.

In 2007, Light Chaser Animation Studios partnered with Summit Entertainment to develop the Twilight series. Vampires and werewolves fighting over a girlfriend? What kind of brainless teen movie is this? And what happened? The first movie grossed 4 million worldwide, and the second one is about to break 8 million.

In 2007, the budget for Avatar exceeded the target so much that Fox executives suffered from insomnia, and Cameron was ridiculed by the media as a "money-burning machine." The entire Hollywood was waiting for the project to fail.

Jiang Yu not only took over the project, but also personally brought his own visual effects company to the project. At that time, the rumors circulating in the industry were even harsher: "The Chinese want to use Cameron to gain prestige."

What now?

The Iron Man series earned Light Chaser Animation Studios at least $3 million.

The Twilight series has grossed nearly $12 billion worldwide, and its copyright value is conservatively estimated at $5 million.

Avatar — well, Avatar is no longer about "making money," it's about "printing money."

Jiang Xuerou opened the internal work group of Guangying Digital Company.

A colleague from the tech department posted a message with a screenshot of Pandora from Avatar, showing bioluminescent plants emitting a bluish glow in the darkness, a scene as beautiful as a dream.

[Technology - Zhao Ming]: "More than a third of the special effects in this movie were done by us. Our Light & Shadow Digital logo..."

It will appear in the opening credits, alongside Industrial Light & Magic. Side-by-side, guys. It's side-by-side!

There are already over a hundred replies below, all of them saying "Awesome," "Proud," "Want to cry," and "I'm not sleeping tonight because I'm working overtime."

Jiang Xuerou read through the list one by one, and her eyes suddenly welled up with tears. She had been in this industry for twenty years.

During the film era, she worked as a script supervisor at Shaw Brothers, witnessing the last golden decade of Hong Kong cinema; during the DVD era, she worked in distribution in mainland China, experiencing the hardship of not being able to pay salaries when piracy was rampant; after the advent of the digital age, she worked as a producer, executive producer, and company executive, managing countless projects.

She has witnessed too many companies rise and fall. Some get rich overnight with one film, then lose everything with three; some get good resources through connections, but the company falls apart when the connections are gone; some just follow the trend, making whatever is popular, and are always eating other people's leftovers.

But Light Chaser Pictures is different.

It's not because he's rich. There are many rich people, but few can spend every penny wisely like Jiang Yu.

It's not because of its amazing technology, although its lighting and digital effects are indeed impressive. What's even more impressive is that Jiang Yu started planning five years ago, beginning with the 300 special effects shots in "Taken," accumulating experience, refining his skills, and building his team step by step.

At the same time, at the headquarters of Enlight Media.

Wang Changtian leaned back in his ergonomic chair, his fingers unconsciously twirling the Parker pen he had used for eight years.

Sitting opposite him were his core think tank, six people, all veterans who had followed him for more than ten years. At this moment, they looked at each other in silence, none of them daring to speak first.

The projection screen above the conference table displays Light Chaser Animation's investment list for the past three years.

Iron Man (2007): $4000 million investment, $5.85 million worldwide box office, and approximately $1 million in box office and copyright profits from Light Chaser.

"The Wind Rises": With an investment of $800 million, it grossed $3.5 million worldwide, and its box office and copyright profits totaled approximately $3000 million.

Twilight: With an investment of $2000 million, it grossed nearly $4 million worldwide, and Light Chaser's net profit from box office and copyright was approximately $1 million.

2008年《阿凡达》：投资8000万美金（含6000万特效+2000万现金），全球票房已破10亿（进行中），追光票房加版权利润预估2—3亿美金。

"Lurking": With an investment of US$150 million, it grossed US$1.2 million worldwide, and its box office and copyright profits totaled approximately US$4500 million.

Iron Man 2: $5000 million investment, $6.2 million worldwide box office, and approximately $1.5 million in box office and copyright profits from Light Chaser.

2009's "Twilight: New Moon": The main investment was $4000 million, and the global box office was $7.8 million (in progress). The estimated box office and copyright profits from Light Chaser Animation are $2 million.

Black Swan: $1.5 million investment, $1500 million worldwide box office, three Golden Globe nominations, and approximately $3.5 million in box office and copyright profits from Light Chaser.

Estimated total net profit over three years: over US$10 billion, equivalent to approximately RMB 70 billion.

The conference room was so quiet you could hear the central air conditioning humming.

"President Wang," Lin Wei, the youngest vice president in the think tank, finally couldn't help but speak up, "these data are incomparable."

Wang Changtian didn't speak, and the pen continued to spin at his fingertips.

"We also invested in six films this year," Lin Wei continued, forcing a smile. "Mulan lost money, Kung Fu Cyborg barely broke even, Cow had good reviews but no box office prospects, and All's Well, Ends Well 2009 was alright, earning less than ten million."

He couldn't continue, not because he was afraid of his boss getting angry, but because he felt ashamed of himself.

Enlight Media's estimated net profit for 2009 is 2000 million RMB.

The money someone makes from just one movie is enough for Enlight Media to operate for more than fifty years.

Wang Changtian finally stopped twirling the pen. He gently placed the pen on the table, making a barely audible sound.

Wang Changtian stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, snow was falling heavily, and the traffic crawled slowly through the snowstorm, like a tired giant python.

At the headquarters of Huayi Brothers, the offices of brothers Wang Zhonglei and Wang Zhongjun were brightly lit.

Compared to the somber and oppressive atmosphere on the other side of the light, the atmosphere here is more subtle.

After all, the relationship between Huayi and Light Chaser is much more complicated than that between Light Chaser. They are competitors, partners, and also have some personal feelings that are hard to explain.

Wang Zhonglei leaned back on the sofa, his whiskey swirling in his hand for ten minutes without taking a sip.

"What are you thinking about?" Wang Zhongjun's voice pulled Wang Zhonglei back to reality.

"It's nothing," Wang Zhonglei put down his wine glass. "I was just thinking about how Liu Yifei rejected us back then."

Wang Zhongjun laughed, picked up his wine glass and took a sip: "That's called having good taste."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Jiang Yu has a better eye. These two are on the same page; they both want to do something that can be remembered."

Wang Zhonglei was silent for a moment: "What about us? Can what we want to do be preserved?"

The crew of "Let the Bullets Fly" at Hengdian World Studios.

Jiang Wen sat behind the monitor, a cigar that never got lit, watching Chow Yun-fat and Ge You act together.

The script supervisor yelled "Cut!" and the actors went to rest.

Assistant director Zhao Yiming jogged over, holding his phone in his hand, his expression a mix of excitement and caution.

"Director Jiang, take a look at this." He handed over his phone, the screen displaying news about Avatar. "Light Chaser Pictures has hit the jackpot again."

Jiang Wen took the phone and slowly read through it.

He spent a full three minutes reading the report, which was over a thousand words long.

Then he put down his phone and continued staring at the monitor with a blank expression.

Zhao Yiming stood there politely for a moment, then prepared to leave.

"Wait a minute," Jiang Wen suddenly said.

Zhao Yiming quickly turned around.

Jiang Wen kept his eyes on the monitor, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"I haven't seen this movie yet," he said. "Once it's released in China, I'll buy tickets and treat the whole crew to it."

Zhao Yiming paused for a moment, then laughed, "Alright, Director Jiang! Which day's tickets are you buying?"

Jiang Wen didn't answer, but picked up the walkie-talkie: "All departments, prepare for step three."

Zhao Yiming tactfully withdrew, but after taking a few steps, he looked back again.

Jiang Wen remained in that position, leaning back in the director's chair, a cigar dangling from his lips, his eyes intently fixed on the monitor.

At 12 PM on December 28th, a netizen with the ID "Math Class Representative" posted a long article on Weibo.

The title is simple and unadorned:

[Having nothing better to do, I did some calculations for Light Chaser Animation Studios—how much money will Avatar actually make?]

The accompanying images are five hand-drawn charts, which are indeed hand-drawn, created stroke by stroke using a drawing software with a mouse. They are crooked but the data is clear.

The very first paragraph of the article ignited the comments section: "To put it simply: Light Chaser Animation Studios' net profit from just the movie Avatar is estimated to be between $3 million and $20 million, which is equivalent to RMB 14 billion to 2 billion."

Including the revenue from "Twilight: New Moon" (approximately $2 million / 14 billion RMB), Light Chaser Animation earned over 30 billion RMB in net profit from these two films alone in 2009.

Note that this refers to net profit.

It's not about box office revenue or total revenue; it's the money that actually goes into your pocket after taxes, profit sharing, and all sorts of fees have been deducted.

300 million RMB.

The following is a detailed calculation process... Liberal arts students beware.

Within 12 hours of its publication, the article had been forwarded over 2 times, received 8 likes, and 5 comments.

The comments section has completely gone crazy:

User "Working Overtime Until I'm Bald": Math class representative, come back! I'm bad at math, so translate for me. What does 30 billion even mean?!

用户「课代表2.0」（回复）：15个华谊兄弟（华谊2009年净利润约2亿），50个光线传媒（光线2009年净利润约两千万），23个博纳影业（博纳2009年净利润约1.3亿）。够不够直观？

User "Hengdian Extra Xiao Zhang": So how much is Jiang Yu really worth now? The Hurun Report says he has $105 billion, but that's November data, and it doesn't include Avatar, right?

User "Financial worker Lao Li": Judging from the momentum of "Avatar", the final box office is likely to exceed 20 billion US dollars.

According to the profit-sharing agreement, Jiang Yu will receive at least $2 million. In addition, there are three more installments in the Twilight series, each a money-printing machine. Furthermore, Jiang Yu has personally invested in Tencent, Apple, and Amazon—all these factors combined conservatively suggest that Jiang Yu's personal net worth exceeds $150 billion.

User "Under the Lemon Tree You and Me": 150 billion US dollars — 1050 billion RMB — I did the math, and even if I lived for 500 years, without eating, drinking, or paying taxes, I still wouldn't earn that much money.

User "Optimistic Successor" (reply): Don't be discouraged, you can be reincarnated as Jiang Yu's son.

User "Legal Consultant Xiao Wang" (reply): They're not even married yet, and you've already reserved their reincarnation spot?

User "Yifei's Little Fan": Am I the only one concerned about this? As Jiang Yu's girlfriend, is half of this 30 billion yuan hers? Is it premarital property or marital property?

User "Marriage Law Representative" (reply): According to Article 18 of the Marriage Law, premarital property belongs to one spouse individually. However, according to Article 19, spouses can agree on the ownership of property acquired during the marriage and premarital property, whether it belongs to each spouse individually, jointly, or partly individually and partly jointly. Therefore, the key is whether they have made a prenuptial agreement. Given Jiang Yu's shrewd personality, I guess he definitely has a prenuptial agreement. But given how inseparable they are, they might not care about that at all.

User "You and Me Under the Lemon Tree" (reply): Stop analyzing, it only makes my heart ache more.

If the box office figures of "Avatar" aroused envy and jealousy among netizens, then the technological breakthroughs in digital projection ignited a different kind of emotion.

pride.

On December 29th, a lengthy article titled "A Chinese Engineer in the US" was simultaneously published on Zhihu and Weibo, with the following title:

[My experience with rendering at Light & Shadow Digital: About the Chinese company that silenced Hollywood]

The author identifies himself as a rendering engineer at Light & Shadow Digital's Los Angeles branch, having worked there for a year and a half and participated in the production of *Iron Man 2*.

The article, titled "Special Effects Production for Twilight and Avatar," is 8,000 words long and covers everything from technical details and team culture to the hardships of starting a business and the joy of success. It is both professional and moving.

Here are a few excerpts: "On my first day at the company, President Wu Na told me: Our goal is not to catch up with Industrial Light & Magic, but to surpass Industrial Light & Magic."

I thought to myself: Is this guy crazy? How dare I, a recent master's graduate, challenge the industry's founding father?

Three months later, I saw the real-time rendering effect of the "Dawn" engine for the first time. I couldn't sleep that night, not because of excitement, but because of fear; I was afraid it was all a dream, afraid that I would wake up tomorrow and find that it was all fake.

I graduated from Tsinghua University with a degree in Computer Science and worked in Silicon Valley for three years, thinking I had seen the world. But at that moment, I realized that true worldliness isn't something others show you; it's something you create yourself...

Light & Shadow Digital is not your average visual effects company. Our engineers have an average age of 28, and 63 out of our 115 employees are Chinese. We don't use any foreign-licensed core technologies; every line of code is written by ourselves.

This sounds like patriotic propaganda, but it's true.

The article concludes, "My mother used to worry that I came to America because I was a Western worshipper." She didn't know that I came to America not to become American, but to show Americans that Chinese people can do things they can't.

Now she knows.

Within 24 hours of its publication, the article had been forwarded over 2 times, received 5 likes, and 4 comments.

Countless netizens left comments in the comment section, some expressing pride, some emotion, and some even shedding tears:

User "Peking University Graduate": I cried. This is true cultural export.

User "US-based programmer": I've worked in Silicon Valley for six years and experienced countless stereotypes like "Your English is so good" and "Are all Chinese people good at math?" After reading this article, I want to go back to China. Not out of patriotism, but so I can do something awesome with these people.

User "Director Student": I used to think that Chinese films were fifty years behind Hollywood, but now I realize that we're not unable to catch up, we just haven't found the right track. In the field of special effects technology, digital cinema is already at the forefront.

User "Ordinary Viewer": To be honest, before, when I watched American blockbusters and saw amazing special effects, I would think, "Hollywood is really amazing." Now, watching Avatar and seeing the glowing Pandora forest, I think, "This was made by the Chinese, damn it." It feels so awesome, even better than watching the National Day parade ten times.

A user commented rationally: It's exciting, but don't overhype it. While Light & Shadow Digital is indeed led by Chinese, many core team members have experience working at Pixar and Industrial Light & Magic; their skills and experience were learned in the US. We need to acknowledge the gap in order to close it.

User "Tech Geek Lao Zhang" (reply): Acknowledging the gap is fine, but didn't you read the article? The core algorithm of the Dawn Engine was researched jointly by Zhou Mu and Jiang Yu during their startup at USC. This is called "learning from the West," not "relying entirely on the US." If you really want to argue, many of the scientists who landed on the moon were German, so does that mean the Apollo program was a German achievement?

User "Rational Comment" (reply): You're right, I take back what I just said.

On December 23, South Korea's JoongAng Ilbo published a commentary with an extremely straightforward title:

[China has digital cinema, but what do we have?]

The author, a Los Angeles correspondent for the JoongAng Ilbo, wrote a detailed comparison of the development paths of the film special effects industries in China and South Korea, his tone tinged with bitterness and anxiety, and revealing a sense of resentment.

Here are a few excerpts: "Light Chaser Pictures' subsidiary, Light & Shadow Digital Effects, has reached the technical level of top Hollywood special effects companies in just four years. What's even more astonishing is that almost all of the company's key engineers are of Chinese descent—these Chinese counterparts, whom we once looked down upon, are now training a large number of technical talents capable of conquering the world's film industry."

In contrast, South Korea's visual effects companies are still largely reliant on outsourcing, with core technologies dependent on foreign licenses and top talent flowing to the US and Japan. While we were still basking in the glory of the CG effects in "Haeundae," Chinese companies had already participated in the creation of one of the greatest science fiction films of all time, appearing alongside Industrial Light & Magic in the end credits.

This is not just a gap in capital, but also a gap in strategy.

China has Jiang Yu, who do we have?

This article caused a huge uproar on South Korean social media, with comment sections on portal sites like Naver and Daum becoming a chaotic mess.

Netizen "kim": Admit it, we lost. Not because of money, but because of our lack of vision. What were we doing when Chinese companies dared to invest in Avatar? We were haggling over the 150 billion won budget for Haeundae.

Netizen "park": Rebuttal! China just has more money; their film art level is inferior to ours. Bong Joon-ho, Park Chan-wook, Kim Ki-duk—aren't they all better directors than Chinese directors?

Netizen "lee" (reply): What's so great about it? Is it because it's a niche art film? The problem is, film is an industry, not a craft. No matter how well you make your artwork, how many copies can you sell in a year? Avatar made $10 billion in 13 days, enough for you to make a hundred Haeundae films. This isn't a battle of art, it's a battle of industry.

Netizen "choi": What saddens me most is Zhou Mu, the chief scientist of Light & Shadow Digital. What about the graduates of our best universities in South Korea? No one is doing technology, no one dares to start a business, no one dares to challenge Hollywood. We cultivate a bunch of excellent students and then send them to Samsung and Hyundai.

Netizen "kang": This article reminds me of 1999. That year, *Shiri* broke *Titanic*'s box office record in South Korea, and we cheered, "Korean cinema has risen!" Ten years have passed, and our films have indeed improved, but how do they compare to China? In 2009, China had Light Chaser Animation Studios and Light & Shadow Digital. What do we have? Nothing.

Netizen "yoon": Stop arguing, it'll only make things worse. While watching Avatar, my mouth was agape the entire time. Not because the movie was so amazing, but because the last line of the credits, "LightChaserDigital," made me want to cry. We don't even have the right to be jealous.

This comment was translated into Chinese and widely circulated on Chinese social media.

December 25th, Christmas Day.

As the nation was immersed in the festive atmosphere, two messages simultaneously went viral on social media.

The first post is from Light Chaser Animation's official Weibo account:

The film *Avatar* is set to release in mainland China on January 4th, with a simultaneous IMAX 3D release. Distributed nationwide by Light Chaser Pictures and China Film Group, stay tuned.

The accompanying image is the Chinese poster for "Avatar," featuring the floating mountain ranges of Pandora in the background, with the words "Digital Lighting and Shadow Effects Production" in small print below.

The comments section instantly turned into a carnival:

User "IMAX die-hard fan": January 4th! A weekday! Cameron, are you doing this on purpose?! I need to take leave! I absolutely must take leave!

.

User "Student": Why wasn't it released on New Year's Day?! Why did it have to wait until we started school?! Cameron, you have no heart!

User "Rational Audience": January 4th is a good date, avoiding the New Year's Day rush, the movie-watching experience will be better. Anyway, I'll skip class to go see it.

User "Tech Geek": The key point isn't the release date, it's the words "digital visual effects production." Damn, after ten years, we can finally see the Chinese company Iogo in the opening credits of a Hollywood blockbuster! I have to watch it three times!

The second message from Light Chaser Pictures tagged a brand new Weibo account, @MaoyanTicketsOfficial.

The first Weibo post from the new account was extremely concise:

Maoyan Tickets officially launches today. Select seats online, no queuing required, covering 57 cinemas nationwide. Register now and receive a free 19.9 yuan bonus.

This is a movie ticket discount voucher, which can be used to book the premiere of "Avatar" on January 4th.

The accompanying image is a screenshot of a mobile phone interface: a simple UI design, a clear seating chart, a prominent "Select Seat Now" button, and a line of small text at the bottom that reads "Produced by Chasing Light Technology".

It's that simple.

There was no grand launch event, no overwhelming GG publicity, no celebrity endorsements, and no media interviews.

But the entire film industry was shaken.

Bona Yu Dong was having dinner at home when his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID: Assistant to the CEO of Chasing Light Technology. He put down his chopsticks and went into his study.

Twenty minutes later he came out, and his wife asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing." Yu Dong picked up his chopsticks again. "Jiang Yu has set up an online voting system and wants to cooperate."

His wife didn't understand the industry and didn't ask many questions.

Unbeknownst to her, her husband had just made a crucial strategic decision in those twenty minutes: Bona Cinemas would become one of Maoyan Ticketing's first cinema chain partners.

Rewind a month, and Lao Zheng, the technical director of Wanda Cinemas, was helping his daughter with her homework when he received the invitation to cooperate with Maoyan Ticketing.

On the other end of the phone was Yang Siwei, president of Chasing Light Technology. His voice was young but capable: "President Zheng, our system doesn't require any hardware investment from the cinema. We only need to open a data interface. The interface documentation has been sent to your email. You can have our engineers evaluate it first."

Old Zheng opened his email, downloaded the attachment, and spent fifteen minutes reading the twenty-page technical document.

Then he swore.

It wasn't an insult, it was astonishment.

This system is designed to be too clean.

No additional equipment is required for the cinema, no modifications are needed to the existing turnstiles, and no extra manpower is required for maintenance.

Maoyan's servers automatically synchronize cinema schedules, seating charts, and ticket prices. The ticket collection number generated after a viewer places an order can be directly identified through the cinema's existing ticketing system.

Even more frightening is the seating chart algorithm, which can not only show which seats are sold and which are available, but also assign a "recommendation index" to each seat based on more than 20 dimensions such as seat location, viewing angle, and screen distance.

Once viewers click through, they can easily see which seats are the best, which seats have obstructions, and which seats have the best sound.

Old Zheng has worked in the cinema industry for eighteen years, from the film era to the digital era, from handwritten ticket stubs to self-service ticket machines.

He knew better than anyone what the emergence of this system meant.

This means that audiences no longer need to arrive at the cinema half an hour in advance to queue for seats.

This means that cinemas no longer need to employ a group of ticket sellers.

This means that the cost for scalpers to hoard and resell tickets has been greatly reduced.

This signifies the end of the old era.

He picked up the phone and dialed Yang Siwei's number.

"Mr. Yang, this is Lao Zheng from Wanda. I've finished reading the API documentation."

"Please go ahead, Mr. Zheng."

"Technically, we can connect at any time." Old Zheng paused, "But I have a question."

"Please speak."

What is the interface fee charged by Maoyan Ticketing to cinemas?

"It's free," Yang Siwei said, her tone as calm as if she were commenting on the weather. "Maoyan doesn't charge a fixed interface fee; it only charges a 2% technical service fee based on the actual number of tickets issued. Cinemas don't need any hardware investment or modification costs; they just need to open the interface."

Old Zheng was silent for three seconds.

"Mr. Yang," he said, "is your boss crazy?"

Yang Si smiled: "We've asked this question internally as well. The boss said that the pricing model isn't a technical issue, it's a strategic one. Maoyan Tickets isn't focused on making money right now, it's about users. We'll discuss charging once users are used to the entire process of online seat selection, ticket purchase, and ticket collection."

Old Zheng fell silent again.

He recalled that five years ago, when Taobao first launched, everyone was saying, "Buying things online? That's crazy." Five years later, e-commerce accounts for one-tenth of the retail industry.

History always repeats itself.

"President Zheng," Yang Siwei's voice pulled him back to reality, "you still haven't answered me whether Wanda is willing to cooperate?"

Old Zheng glanced at his daughter, who was engrossed in her homework, and then looked out the window at the myriad lights of Beijing on a winter night.

"No problem, headquarters issued a notice beforehand," he said. "Tomorrow morning at 10 a.m., I'll have the tech team and legal department go online together for a meeting."

"Thank you, Mr. Zheng."

"You're welcome." Before hanging up, Old Zheng added almost unconsciously, "President Yang, please tell your President Jiang for me that this was a ruthless move."

Yang Si smiled and said, "I will pass it on."

On December 26, the second day after Maoyan Ticketing was launched, the number of registered users exceeded 200,000.

12月27日，突破30万。合作影院从57家扩展到69家，覆盖城市从19个增加到23个。

On December 28, almost all midnight screenings and prime-time premiere screenings of "Avatar" on January 4 were sold out on Maoyan Tickets.

One era has ended, and another has quietly begun.

The person who started all of this is now holding his beloved girl's hand, walking barefoot on a Hawaiian beach.

December 31, Oahu, Hawaii.

The waves of the Pacific Ocean gently lapped against the white sand of Waikiki Beach, and the palm leaves rustled in the evening breeze.

At 5 p.m. local time, the sun had already begun to set in the west, turning the entire sea surface into a flowing gold.

Liu Yifei wore a bohemian-style halter dress, with a creamy white base and blue floral print, the hem of which fluttered gently in the sea breeze.

She walked barefoot on the wet sand, letting the waves wash over her feet and recede, leaving behind fine foam.

Jiang Yu walked beside her, carrying her beach shoes in one hand and holding her hand in the other.

He was dressed simply today: a white linen shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, and his canvas shoes were filled with sand.

The shirt collar was open, revealing a tanned, wheat-colored neck.

Liu Yifei suddenly stopped and stared at him for three seconds.

"What's wrong?" Jiang Yu looked down at himself. "Is there sand?"

"No," Liu Yifei shook her head, "I just think—you look pretty like this."

Jiang Yu paused for a moment, then laughed: "So I'm not good-looking normally?"

"You're usually too formal," Liu Yifei continued walking. "All dressed up in a suit and tie, like a capitalist going to negotiate. Now, you look like—"

She thought for a moment: "Like an ordinary boyfriend who would go shopping with me."

Jiang Yu didn't say anything, but simply tightened his grip on her hand.

After walking another hundred meters, Liu Yifei suddenly said, "Wang Wei sent a message."

"Um?"

"Maoyan Ticketing has surpassed 50 registered users." Liu Yifei looked down at her phone, the screen's light reflecting on her face. "Only a week ago."

"Um."

"Domestic media are all reporting on you, calling you a 'disruptor' and a 'revolutionary,'" Liu Yifei read the news headline. "Some even say you 'quietly laid out a plan for two years, then decided the fate of the world with a single move.'"

T

Liu Yifei couldn't help but turn to look at him: "Aren't you excited?"

Jiang Yu stopped and thought about the question seriously.

"I'm excited," he said, "but not because of Maoyan Tickets."

"Why is that?"

"Because of this moment, standing here right now." Jiang Yu looked at her, his gaze so focused it was as if he wanted to etch this moment into his mind, "Hawaii, the beach, the sunset, and you. I've planned this for many years, just so that we could walk together quietly like this."

Liu Yifei was stunned.

Her first reaction was to say, "Don't give me that," but she couldn't bring herself to say it.

Because his gaze was so intense.

It's not the performative kind of earnestness that's like "I'm saying sweet nothings to make you feel touched," it's the kind of earnestness that's like "I'm stating a fact."

Calm, self-evident seriousness.

It seems that for him, 50 users, a billion dollars in box office revenue, and disrupting industry rules are not as important as taking a quiet walk with her.

Liu Yifei lowered her head, pretending to straighten her skirt which had been ruffled by the wind.

"Let's go," she whispered, "the sun is about to set."

Jiang Yu didn't point out her reddened earlobes; he simply took her hand again and continued walking forward.

6:30 p.m., downtown Honolulu.

Liu Yifei used navigation to search for twenty minutes before finally finding her target among a row of inconspicuous street-front shops.

A small udon noodle shop with the four Japanese kanji characters "Marugame Seimen" on its sign.

"This is it!" Liu Yifei excitedly grabbed Jiang Yu's hand. "I've been searching online for three days, and everyone says this is the best udon noodles in Hawaii!"

Jiang Yu looked up at the long queue that stretched out onto the sidewalk in front of the store, and then at Liu Yifei's expectant eyes.

"Arrange it." He said succinctly.

They waited in line for twenty-five minutes.

Liu Yifei, wearing a straw hat and sunglasses, without makeup and with her hair in a ponytail, blended into the crowd of tourists and students, and surprisingly no one recognized her.

Jiang Yu stood behind her, using his body to shield her from the still scorching evening sun.

Finally, it was their turn.

Liu Yifei stood on tiptoe to look at the menu board. The clerk taking her order was a local guy with dyed yellow hair, chewing gum, and speaking as fast as a machine gun.

Liu Yifei understood roughly and said haltingly in English, "Two bowls of signature udon, one serving of fried chicken, and one tempura platter, thank you."

The blond-haired young man nodded and quickly tapped the cash register.

Jiang Yu suddenly spoke up: "The broth should be thick, the noodles should be firm, and the fried chicken should have plenty of lemon."

He spoke Japanese, and his pronunciation was as perfect as an NHK news anchor.

The blond-haired guy was stunned, forgetting to chew his gum.

Liu Yifei was also stunned.

Jiang Yu calmly took out his credit card to pay, took the tray, and pulled Liu Yifei into the store.

They found a two-person table in the corner. Jiang Yu put down the tray, unpacked the disposable chopsticks, and handed them to Liu Yifei.

Liu Yifei took the chopsticks and stared intently at him.

"You also speak Japanese?"

"Um.

""

"When did you learn it?"

"I took it as an elective in college, and it's necessary for my job."

Liu Yifei lowered her head to eat her noodles, and after a few bites, she looked up again: "Is there anything you can't do?"

Jiang Yu thought about it seriously: "I can't have children."

Liu Yifei almost spat out her udon.

She coughed, covering her mouth, her face turning bright red, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Jiang Yu handed her a tissue, looking innocent. "What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

"You—" Liu Yifei wiped away her tears, "Can't you be normal for once!"

"I'm perfectly normal." Jiang Yu said calmly, eating his noodles with his head down. "I really don't."

Liu Yifei decided to ignore him and focus on eating her noodles.

The udon was indeed delicious. The noodles were smooth and chewy, the broth was fresh and rich, the fried chicken was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, and a squeeze of lemon juice on top cut through the richness and enhanced the flavor.

Liu Yifei ate until her forehead was sweating, and she couldn't even speak.

Jiang Yu watched her wolf down her food, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

"Eat slowly, no one's going to take it from you."

"You don't understand," Liu Yifei said, picking up a piece of fried chicken. "People who are on a diet can only eat fried food once every six months, so every bite is worth taking seriously."

"So, are you trying to lose or gain weight?"

Liu Yifei put down her chopsticks and thought about the question seriously.

"I don't know," she honestly admitted. "I need to stay in shape for 'My Love from the Star,' I can't gain weight. Training for 'Gravity' is about to start, and I need to build muscle. With two goals clashing, I don't know who to listen to."

Jiang Yu also put down his chopsticks: "I'll listen to my body."

"What do you mean?"

"You're in great shape right now," Jiang Yu said, looking at her. "Not fat, not thin, just healthy. Your skin is glowing, your eyes are bright, and you have lovely cheeks when you smile. This is the best state for you."

Liu Yifei subconsciously touched her face.

"So there's no need to deliberately lose weight or build muscle," Jiang Yu said. "If you eat, exercise, and work at a normal pace, your body will find its own balance."

Liu Yifei looked at him and suddenly smiled.

"Jiang Yu," she said, "sometimes I don't think you're a businessman."

"Like what?"

"Like a nutritionist."

Jiang Yu was stunned for a moment, then showed a rare expression of helplessness.

Is that considered a compliment?

"Okay." Liu Yifei picked up the last piece of udon with her chopsticks. "It's to show you care about me."

January 1st, 7:00 AM.

Liu Yifei was awakened by the sound of the waves.

She opened her eyes and found that Jiang Yu was no longer beside her, but the pillow was still warm.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Pacific Ocean shimmered with tiny golden lights in the morning light, and waves surged onto the beach layer by layer, only to recede again.

She got out of bed barefoot, stepped onto the cool wooden floor, and walked to the window.

Downstairs, Jiang Yu, wearing a white T-shirt and khaki shorts, was talking to the housekeeper, Mary, in the garden.

The morning light shone on his profile, making his features as clear as a movie shot.

Liu Yifei looked at it for a long time, then took out her phone and took a picture.

Just then, Jiang Yu suddenly looked up and met her camera lens.

He paused for a moment, then laughed; it was a genuine, relaxed, and somewhat childlike laugh.

Then he waved to her.

Liu Yifei wasn't ashamed when she was caught, and confidently took another picture.

At nine o'clock in the morning, they drove to Shark Bay on the north shore of Oahu.

This is a famous snorkeling spot with crystal-clear water and coral reefs only a few dozen meters from the shore.

Jiang Yu had rented the equipment in advance and helped Liu Yifei adjust her mask and breathing tube in the parking lot.

"Are you scared?" Jiang Yu asked.

"A little," Liu Yifei honestly admitted, "I'm not very good at swimming."

"You don't need to know how to swim. Just wear a life jacket and float on the surface." Jiang Yu put the snorkel into her mouth. "Bite down here and breathe through your mouth, not your nose. Try it."

Liu Yifei took a deep breath and submerged her head in the water.

Then she saw another world.

The corals resemble an underwater garden, with schools of colorful fish swimming among them.

The yellow and black striped fish are butterflyfish, swimming past her in groups; the blue-green gradient fish are parrotfish, leisurely nibbling at the algae on the coral; several patterned crabs are lying on the sand, warily raising their pincers, ready to escape at any moment.

Sunlight streams through the sea, casting dappled shadows on the seabed, which sway gently with the waves.

Liu Yifei was stunned.

She forgot her fear, forgot that she couldn't swim, and forgot that her chin ached from biting the snorkel.

She floated on the water, greedily gazing at this world she had never known existed.

A hand reached out and pointed to her left front.

Liu Yifei looked in that direction, and her heart almost skipped a beat.

A giant green sea turtle is slowly swimming out from behind the coral reef.

It swam with ease, its flippers gently moving as if it were flying through the air.

Several barnacles were attached to the tortoise shell, swaying gently as it swam.

As it passed by them, it turned its head, glanced at Liu Yifei with its beady black eyes, and then continued to slowly swim into the deep sea.

Liu Yifei surfaced, removed her breathing tube, and gasped for breath.

"Did you see that?" Jiang Yu also floated up beside him.

"I saw it—" Liu Yifei's voice trembled, "The sea turtle—it looked at me—"

"Yes, it's saying hello to you," Jiang Yu said with a smile. "Happy New Year, Mr. Turtle says."

Liu Yifei couldn't help but laugh out loud, choking on a mouthful of seawater, coughing but still laughing.

They stayed in the sea for a full two hours.

Liu Yifei's swimming skills improved rapidly, from clinging to Jiang Yu's arm and not daring to let go, to being able to float on the surface of the water and move with the fish.

Her fingers were wrinkled from being in the water, her face was sunburned, and her hair was matted together by the seawater, but she had never been so happy.

Back on shore, Liu Yifei dried her hair with a towel and suddenly said, "Jiang Yu, I love you."

"What do you love?"

"I love that you brought me here." Liu Yifei looked at the distant horizon. "I've been acting for several years and have been to many countries, but I've never really seen the world properly. It's always work, work, work, from one film set to another, from one city to another. The scenery is just a backdrop outside the car window; I've never truly stopped."

She paused, then said, "This time it's really stopped."

Jiang Yu didn't say anything, but simply draped a bath towel over her shoulders and gently put his arm around her.

The sea breeze carried a salty, fishy smell. Liu Yifei leaned on his shoulder, watching the sun gradually rise higher, turning the entire sea surface into a bright, dazzling white.

"Jiang Yu," she said softly, "I want to come and see the sea turtles every year."

"it is good."

"Keep your word."

"Keep your word."

In the evening, they had a barbecue on the villa's private beach.

The housekeeper, Mary, prepared charcoal and various ingredients: fresh tuna, large wild shrimp, thick-cut Wagyu ribeye, Hawaiian breadfruit, and a small basket of colorful tropical fruits.

Liu Yifei volunteered to be the head chef, while Jiang Yu assisted her.

"How many times should the beef be flipped?" Liu Yifei asked, holding up the tongs with a serious expression, as if she were defusing a bomb.

"45 seconds per side, flip only once." Jiang Yu sat on a beach chair, leisurely drinking coconut water.

Liu Yifei stared at the steak on the charcoal grill, silently counting in her mind: 1, 2, 3, 4 —

"You're counting too fast," Jiang Yu said. "Count one second at a time, don't go at double speed."

"Oh." Liu Yifei slowed down.

After 45 seconds, she carefully flipped the steak over. The surface was now a beautiful caramelized brown, sizzling with oil.

"Very good." Jiang Yu nodded. "45 more seconds."

After the second side was cooked, Liu Yifei placed the steak on a plate and gently pressed it with her index finger.

"Is this okay?" she asked.

"Medium-rare." Jiang Yu glanced at it. "Perfect."

With her confidence boosted, Liu Yifei began to challenge herself to grill shrimp.

Shrimp is much harder to handle than steak.

Thin shells burn easily, and if cooked for even a few seconds too short, they'll become overcooked.

Liu Yifei stared intently at the charcoal fire, constantly turning the shrimp skewers, fine beads of sweat appearing on her nose.

Jiang Yu put down the coconut water and walked behind her.

"Relax your wrist." He held her hand holding the tongs. "Don't use too much force when flipping it, or the shrimp meat will break."

Liu Yifei tried to relax her wrists, but Jiang Yu was standing behind her, his breath brushing against her ear as he spoke, making it hard for her to concentrate.

"Like this?" Her voice was a little tense.

"Yes, that's right." Jiang Yu didn't notice anything unusual and continued to instruct earnestly, "You can remove the shrimp from the heat when the shells turn red. Don't wait until they're fully cooked, as the residual heat will continue to heat them."

Liu Yifei placed the grilled shrimp onto a plate and let out a long sigh.

"Why are you so nervous?" Jiang Yu asked.

"N-nothing." Liu Yifei lowered her head and stirred the charcoal, pretending to be busy. "The fire is a bit too big, I'll go find a fan."

"I'll go get it." Jiang Yu turned and walked towards the villa.

Liu Yifei watched his retreating figure and quietly touched her burning cheek with the back of her cool hand.

Dinner was held on the beach.

Liu Yifei's grilled steak was a success; the tuna was a success; the breadfruit was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, a success; the shrimp shells were burnt and the meat was tough, a complete disaster.

"It's nothing," Jiang Yu said calmly as he ate the crispy-shelled old shrimp. "Failure is the mother of success."

"Then you have too many mothers of failure." Liu Yifei poked at the shrimp on her plate in frustration.

"But the father of success is here," Jiang Yu said, pointing to himself.

Liu Yifei was stunned for a moment, then laughed and fell back onto the beach chair.

Laughter drifted towards the sea, mingling with the sound of the waves.

As night falls, the stars begin to shine.

Hawaii has very little light pollution, and the Milky Way is clearly visible, like a veil studded with diamonds hanging down from the sky.

Liu Yifei lay on a beach chair, looking up at the starry sky.

Jiang Yu sat next to him, with half a cup of coconut water left in his hand.

"Jiang Yu," she called softly.

"Um?

""

"What do you think we'll be doing ten years from now?"

2

Jiang Yu thought for a moment.

"You should be an internationally acclaimed actress who has won the Oscars, Cannes, Berlin, and other prestigious awards," he said. "I should still be making movies, maybe a few sci-fi blockbusters, or maybe trying out new technologies. The company should be listed on the stock exchange, or maybe not, it depends."

"Anything else?"

"And—" Jiang Yu turned to look at her, "We should get married. Maybe have kids. We'll go on vacation somewhere every year, maybe here, maybe somewhere else. You'll continue to complain about me bringing work into my vacations, and I'll continue to say, 'Just reply to a few emails.'"

Liu Yifei smiled, her eyes welling up with tears.

"It sounds ordinary."

"Of course it's ordinary." Jiang Yu held her hand. "Do you think the lives of the rich aren't ordinary? They still need to eat and sleep, they still burn shrimp shells, and they still don't know whether tomorrow or an accident will come first."

He paused for a moment, then said, "So cherish today and live it to the fullest."

Liu Yifei gripped his hand even tighter.

"Okay," she said.

At 10:30 p.m., Liu Yifei finished taking a shower and lay in bed scrolling through her phone.

This was the first time she had opened social media in the past few days.

The news exploded.

There are 99+ unread messages, 99+ Weibo mentions, and news feeds filling my notification bar.

She randomly clicked on a few articles, all of which were about Avatar and Light Chaser Pictures.

[Avatar surpasses $10 billion in global box office in just 13 days!]

Light Chaser Animation emerged as the biggest winner, with industry estimates suggesting net profit exceeding $2 million.

[Light and Shadow in Digital Media: How is the Pride of the Chinese People Forged?]

[Within a week of its launch, Maoyan Ticketing has surpassed 50 registered users, causing panic among traditional ticketing companies.]

Liu Yifei read through the list one by one, her expression growing increasingly complicated.

Jiang Yu came out of the bathroom, his hair still wet, and saw her expression: "What's wrong?"

.

"It's nothing," Liu Yifei put down her phone. "I just feel—"

She paused for a moment, then said, "It feels a bit out of place for us to be on vacation here."

Why?

"You have so much going on outside," Liu Yifei said, pointing to her phone. "The company, projects, media, colleagues—everyone's busy. It's just the two of us in Hawaii watching sea turtles, eating ramen, and grilling burnt shrimp."

Jiang Yu sat on the edge of the bed, drying his hair.

"Do you know why I chose to come out at this time?"

Liu Yifei shook her head.

"Because this is the only chance," Jiang Yu said. "Avatar has been released, Maoyan ticketing is online, the Golden Globe PR is over, and the Oscar nominations haven't been announced yet. My Love from the Star hasn't started filming, and Gravity hasn't started training. For the next whole year, we'll be incredibly busy."

He paused for a moment: "If we don't rest now, when will we?"

Liu Yifei remained silent.

"Besides," Jiang Yu looked at her, "I need you to get some rest."

Why?

"Because you're too tired," Jiang Yu said softly. "Ever since you came back from Venice, you've been working non-stop. Public relations activities, role preparation, media interviews, industry networking—you never say you're tired, but I know you are."

Liu Yifei lowered her head, her fingers unconsciously clutching the corner of the blanket.

"I just—" she whispered, "I just didn't want to disappoint you."

Jiang Yu put down the towel and looked at her intently.

"Yifei, do you know," he said, "I've made many investment decisions in my life, some successful and some unsuccessful."

But so far, the only decision I've never regretted and never wavered in is choosing to be with you.

Liu Yifei looked up, her eyes reddening.

Jiang Yu continued, "It's not because you're a celebrity, not because you can help me in any way. It's because you are you. It's your dedication to acting, your respect for your roles, your love for life, and the fact that you never say 'I can't hold on anymore' when facing difficulties."

He held her hand: "So please don't put so much pressure on yourself anymore. You don't need to be the best actress, you already are. You don't need to be the best person, you already are. And you certainly don't need to be the virtuous wife of some billionaire."

I don't need a virtuous wife, I need Liu Yifei.

Liu Yifei's tears finally fell.

She lowered her head and wiped her tears haphazardly with the back of her hand, but the more she wiped, the more tears she shed.

Jiang Yu didn't say anything, but gently pulled her into his arms.

"Jiang Yu." Her muffled voice came from his chest.

"Um.

""

"love me."

Jiang Yu didn't answer, but gently tucked her hair behind her ear and then softly kissed her.

The sound of the waves outside the window came in waves, like a never-ending lullaby.

Liu Yifei closed her eyes.

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