Huayu: Starting from retirement, sweeping across the domestic entertainment industry

Chapter 242, "Even If This Love Disappears," premiered, and filming began at the Bird's Nest stadium.

On New Year's Day, the sky over Beijing was unusually clear.

The winter sun hung high in the sky, shining brightly, illuminating the crowds on the street bundled up in thick down jackets and the New Year decorations adorning the entrances of shopping malls with colorful lights. The whole city was filled with a lively atmosphere of bidding farewell to the old year and welcoming the new.

But for Li Ran and Zhang Ruonan, this day had absolutely nothing to do with the word "holiday". From the crack of dawn, their schedules were packed full. They went to five post-screening Q&A sessions, from Chaoyang Joy City to Guomao, and from Guomao to Xidan.

As the final match ended, Zhang Ruonan's high heels stomped on the marble floor, each step carrying a tragic air of "If I take one more step, I'll die here."

The two entered the house one after the other. Li Ran took off his coat and casually draped it over the back of a chair. He then slumped onto the sofa, and as his spine sank into the cushions, he let out a long sigh from the depths of his soul.

Zhang Ruonan was slightly more composed than him; at least she made it to the bedroom before collapsing onto the bed, then stretched out a hand towards the ceiling and weakly cried out, "My feet aren't my feet anymore."

It took them about ten minutes to recover.

Zhang Ruonan came out after removing her makeup and changing into a fluffy loungewear set. She hadn't applied anything to her face, and her skin looked naturally clean under the warm yellow light.

She sat down next to Li Ran, picked up her phone to check today's box office data, and then waved the screen in front of him: "The first day was pretty good."

Li Ran took it, glanced at it, nodded, and didn't make any exaggerated reaction.

The numbers were within his expectations, and even slightly better than the lower limit of his forecast.

Even if this love disappears, "Even if this love disappears" never took the route of large-scale roadshows from the beginning.

It's not that I don't want to leave, it's that I really can't leave.

It was originally a low-budget romance film, and its marketing budget couldn't compare to those big-budget films released during the Spring Festival. Moreover, Li Ran simply couldn't make time for it.

"Glory" is still being filmed. The main event at the Bird's Nest will start filming as soon as the New Year's Day holiday ends. The fact that he was able to squeeze out time to accompany Zhang Ruonan to several post-screening Q&A sessions in Beijing on New Year's Day is already a result of Zhang Yimou's extraordinary kindness.

He has to go back to the film crew early the day after tomorrow, so he won't have any extra time to go to other cities to support the production.

Therefore, the publicity strategy was very pragmatic from the beginning: precise targeting, not casting a wide net.

The core audience for romance films is young women, and building word-of-mouth within this demographic is far more effective than plastering posters all over the world.

Zhang Ruonan already had a high level of fan loyalty on social media, and with "The Sword and the Brocade" currently airing, her popularity is on the rise, so striking while the iron is hot is the best choice.

Coincidentally, the director of this film was Xue Xiaolu.

Director Xue is one of the most skilled directors in China when it comes to making romance films. His early film, "Finding Mr. Right," is still being analyzed as a model for romance films.

Her cinematic language is delicate and clean. She doesn't rely on melodrama when filming emotional scenes, but rather on the details hidden in everyday life: a glance, a hesitant word, a hand that is reached out and then withdrawn.

She's better at identifying these things than anyone else.

But something else is even more interesting.

Xue Xiaolu has more than one film in the New Year's season this year.

Besides "Even If This Love Disappears," which she co-starred in with Li Ran and Zhang Ruonan, she also has "Embrace You Through the Cold Winter," starring Huang Bo and Jia Ling, with Zhu Yilong also in the cast, making the lineup much larger than this one.

Moreover, the film's subject matter was unique—a group story against the backdrop of the pandemic, with a warm and healing tone, accurately hitting the New Year's Eve audience's emotional needs for "warmth" and "healing".

This type of subject matter naturally possesses the advantage of emotional resonance, which cannot be compensated for solely by acting skills and script quality.

On the way back, Li Ran checked the screening data for films released in the same period on her phone. After reading it, she knew that the box office crown had basically been reserved for "Embrace You Through the Cold Winter".

It wasn't that he was being self-deprecating, but rather that the two films were simply not in the same league, from genre and cast to marketing scale.

It's inferior in every aspect.

In a normal market environment, for a low-budget romance film to beat a big-cast, patriotic, heartwarming film, the luck and miracles required are probably enough to buy a lottery ticket.

However, Li Ran didn't seem to have any psychological burden about this.

When he took on this film, he never thought about how many billions it would gross. Five hundred million was enough. Five hundred million was the line he drew in his mind. If he crossed that line, he would win; if he didn't, he would accept it.

After all, the attitude of the domestic market towards this type of romance film is completely different now than it was a few years ago.

Go back five or six years, and that was the golden age of chick flicks.

Back then, any urban romance film with a quality above average could easily break 100 million yuan. A slightly popular one could easily reach 300 to 500 million yuan, and if it had a good release date and a strong cast, it could easily reach 700 to 800 million yuan.

"One Finger Zen" was almost a chick flick every year back then, and every single one of them was a box office hit. He was dubbed the "spokesperson for chick flicks" by the market and enjoyed immense popularity.

But markets can change.

Audiences' aesthetic tastes are changing, their consumption habits are changing, and their tolerance for genre films is also changing.

The rise of short video platforms has fragmented viewers' entertainment time more and more. People are more willing to watch three-minute plot summaries on their phones than buy a ticket to sit in a movie theater for two hours to watch two people fall in love.

In addition, the reputation of domestic romance films has been uneven in recent years, and several youth romance films adapted from big IPs have flopped one after another, so the audience's trust in this genre has been almost completely exhausted.

Li Ran got up and went to the kitchen to pour two glasses of warm water. He handed one to Zhang Ruonan and then took the other glass and sat back down on the sofa.

Zhang Ruonan leaned on his shoulder and scrolled through her phone, the faint light from the screen illuminating her face.

She suddenly chuckled and held up her phone to show him a post Xue Xiaolu had just made on WeChat Moments. The post thanked the audience for their support, noting that both films had received positive feedback on the same day, and that she felt a mix of emotions, including gratitude.

"Director Xue said he'll treat us to dinner in a few days." Zhang Ruonan put her phone away.

Xue Xiaolu did not participate in the promotional tour for "Even If This Love Disappears," since the film there is more in line with national policies.

"I have to go to the film set the day after tomorrow," Li Ran said.

"I know, she invited me." Zhang Ruonan raised her head, raised her eyebrows at him, and looked completely different from when she was slumped on the sofa complaining about her feet.

Li Ran was taken aback by her words, then laughed. He shifted his position on the sofa, pulled her closer, and kissed the top of her head.

Even if this love disappears, the box office of "Even if this love disappears" was only three million short of breaking two hundred million on its opening day.

This number completely exceeded Li Ran's expectations.

He had mentally calculated the results of the first day. At best, he estimated it to be a little over 100 million, and at worst, 70 to 80 million was not unacceptable.

After all, he knew exactly what kind of competitors were competing in the same time slot.

Of the films released during the New Year's period, only one can truly be considered a blockbuster: "Embrace You Through the Winter," which was released on December 31st.

Huang Bojia, Jia Lingjia, and Zhu Yilong, a heartwarming group portrait against the backdrop of the fight against the pandemic, broke 200 million yuan at the box office on the first day and has been leading the pack all the way.

Meanwhile, "Li Mao Plays the Crown Prince," which competed with "Even If This Love Disappears" on the same day, only just broke 100 million on its opening day.

That's a production by New Classics Media, using the established comedy team from Happy Twist. Although it lacked Shen Teng, a box office powerhouse, the names Chang Yuan, Ma Li, and Ai Lun on the poster were a golden brand in themselves. With such a lineup, it barely broke 100 million on its opening day.

This low-budget, romance-themed film surprisingly managed to gross around 200 million yuan on its opening day.

Li Ran stared at that number for several seconds, then forwarded the screenshot to Xue Xiaolu with the caption: "Director Xue is awesome."

Xue Xiaolu was probably also waiting for the data, and she replied with a voice message in a second, her voice full of barely suppressed laughter: "Don't be so cocky, there's still a tough battle ahead tomorrow."

After putting down his phone, Li Ran quickly did some mental calculations.

According to the general pattern of the domestic film market, the box office revenue of a film in the first few days of its release usually accounts for more than 80% of the total box office revenue, especially for romance films, whose staying power is far less than that of comedies and patriotic blockbusters.

How fast you run on the first day basically determines how far you can finish in the end.

Based on the nearly 200 million yuan box office on the first day, barring any unforeseen circumstances, the final box office should easily reach 800 million yuan or more.

For a low-budget romance film, this figure can no longer be described as "good".

A few years ago, during the golden age of chick flicks, 800 million was an achievement worth celebrating with a press conference.

Moreover, in today's market, viewers' patience has been fragmented by short videos. The group of people willing to spend two hours in the cinema to watch two people fall in love is getting smaller and smaller. In years when romance films often flop, the figure of 800 million is heavy.

But something else surprised him even more than the box office results.

The movie review section exploded.

It's not the fake prosperity created by online trolls, but genuine popularity.

New posts were popping up page after page in the long review section of the rating website, and the short review section was scrolling so fast that it was impossible to keep up. Related topics on social media also surged to the top of the trending searches, with more than 20,000 comments under the most discussed trending topic.

Argument.

"You absolutely have to see this with your girlfriend, it's so sweet!"

This is the short comment with the most likes, followed by a pink heart emoji. The comments are all the same: "I've seen it, my girlfriend cried," "I've seen it, my boyfriend cried," "I've seen it, we both cried." The order is so neat that it seems like someone organized it, but when you click into the profile, you can see that it's full of real people.

The next highly-rated comment, however, had a completely opposite tone: "This is too ruthless, luring them in to kill them—"

This refers to the heartbreaking twist in the second half of the movie.

The first half is sickeningly sweet, with scenes of couples riding bicycles on the back of campus, sharing an umbrella in the rain, and fighting over the last piece of tripe in a hot pot restaurant. These scenes build up the audience's emotions layer by layer, only to abruptly cut off at the very top.

In the final scene at the male lead's funeral, Zhang Ruonan's face filled the entire screen, and the long shot of tears overflowing from her eyes left the theater so quiet that only the occasional sobbing could be heard.

Zhang Ruonan's acting skills have undoubtedly gone viral.

Her tears carried more weight in this film than any line of dialogue.

In that three-minute crying scene, Xue Xiaolu used a fixed camera position, without any cuts or background music. She was the only one crying in front of the camera. It wasn't a loud, wailing cry, but the kind of crying where all the strength had been drained and the tears flowed on their own. It was quiet and restrained, yet more painful to watch than any desperate, loud crying.

This shot was captured by countless viewers and posted on social media, accompanied by all sorts of strange captions, but they all pointed to the same thing.

"This actress is such a good crybaby."

The data clearly shows that within 24 hours of the film's release, Zhang Ruonan's personal social media account saw a near-vertical upward trend in follower growth, with male users accounting for over 60% of the new followers.

Without a doubt, she still attracts men.

The day after the New Year's Day holiday ended, winter in Beijing finally brought a decent chill.

The temperature dropped by five or six degrees, and the wind blew in from the Yongding River, filling the open square around the Bird's Nest and making people's cheeks feel tight.

The filming of scenes for "Glory" at the Bird's Nest has officially begun.

When Li Ran and Zhou Ye arrived, the stage inside the venue had already been set up.

The props team and stage design team worked through several consecutive nights to recreate the entire venue's interior according to the standards of the world championship finals.

A giant curved screen hangs down from the dome, and layers of lighting trusses cover the sky. Ten competition computers are arranged in two rows in the center of the stage. The keyboards and mice are the same models used in the original competition, and even the mouse pads are replicas of the original material drawings.

The stands on both sides of the venue are currently empty, but once the extras arrive tomorrow, they will be filled with over ten thousand people.

"Audience" holding up light sticks and cheering sticks.

Li Ran stood at the entrance to the stage, not in a hurry to go in.

He looked up at the familiar ring of lights on the dome, at the dynamic visual effects being tested on the big screen, and at the gaming chairs with team logos on the first floor.

Every detail rushed into his eyes in an instant, and was then automatically translated by his brain into another language, a language that only those who experienced it firsthand could understand.

That image popped out of the depths of my memory almost reflexively.

Seventeen years in my past life, the Bird's Nest.

On the final day of the League of Legends World Championship, two Korean teams played a full five games on this stage, with the roar of the audience almost lifting the dome off the stage.

That year's finals did not include any LPL teams, and naturally, there was no home team at the venue.

In his second life, he and RNG defeated SKT and entered the finals, making up for the regret of not having a Chinese team at the Bird's Nest stadium in his previous life.

But they were still just one step away from the championship, just one step away.

The lights, the roar, and the golden rain at the Bird's Nest that night did not belong to him.

Zhou Ye stood next to him, zipped up his down jacket to cover half of his face, leaving only his eyes showing.

She noticed that Li Ran hadn't said much since he stepped into the venue, his gaze lingering on the stage. It wasn't the look of an actor observing the film set, but the look of an old soldier returning to his old battlefield.

She gently nudged him with her arm, just enough to pull him back from his reverie.

"What's wrong?" Her voice came from behind the collar of her down jacket, muffled by the fabric, but with a precise understanding in her tone, "Thinking about those painful memories from back then?"

Li Ran snapped out of his daze, glanced down at her, and then grinned helplessly.

That smile contained self-deprecation,感慨, and something that had been softened by time but had not completely disappeared.

He had his hands in his pockets, his breath dissipating into a puff of mist in the cold air, and his voice was half an octave lower than usual: "Indeed. If I win the championship in 2017, then I will have won three consecutive championships."

He won two championships with IG in 2018 and 2019.

If he hadn't fallen in the finals with RNG in 17, he would have three Summoner's Cups.

Three consecutive championships—an achievement that no one has ever accomplished in the history of professional League of Legends esports, a throne that no one has ever truly touched, which was once only a best-of-five series away from him.

"So you want to make a comeback because you want to win a three-peat?" Zhou Ye turned to look at him and asked directly.

Li Ran looked at her, and after a moment he smiled faintly.

Not entirely.

He stopped after saying that and didn't continue explaining.

Some things aren't that they can't be said, but rather that they can't be clearly explained even if they are.

He couldn't very well tell her that T1 would start to rise in a few months.

Starting next year, Faker will stand on the World Championship podium for three consecutive years, accumulating his Summoner's Cup from three to six, becoming the first player in the League of Legends to achieve this feat, and most likely will never be repeated. He could even be called the "Number One Esports Player" without sounding exaggerated.

That was a dynasty he had witnessed in his previous life.

Viewers, players, commentators, and analysts around the world were all forced to accept one thing during those three years: you are witnessing an unrepeatable legend.

Those teams that tried to challenge him either had to rebuild their teams, had their mentality broken, or failed to take even a single game from him from start to finish.

In this life, Li Ran wants to give it a try.

A three-peat is certainly part of the goal—but if we can achieve this ourselves, that would be even better.

But beyond that, what he really wanted to do was stand opposite that legend and, while he was still able to fight, face him head-on.

It wasn't about winning against him, but about seeing for myself what the view from that altitude looked like.

But these things couldn't be explained to Zhou Ye.

Zhou Ye glanced at him but didn't ask any further questions.

She knew him too well—when he made that face, pressing him for answers was pointless.

He hides the truly important things deep inside, only showing you the outermost, innocuous shell.

She pulled her arm away from his side, put it back in her pocket, gestured with her chin toward the stage, and lightly changed the subject: "Let's go, Director Zhang is already watching us from over there. If we don't go soon, he'll call your name over the loudspeaker again."

Li Ran followed her gaze and, sure enough, Zhang Yimou was standing behind the monitor, looking in their direction.

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