Back to 17, My Brother is the Cult Leader

Chapter Fifty: The Play's Performance

"What about the second direction?"

"Adapted into a film or television series." Ellie's tone became serious.

"Warner's copyright assessment department contacted me last week to discuss film and television copyrights."

I need you to confirm—are you willing to let others touch your work?

If you're unwilling, I'll refuse.

Fang Yuan was silent for a few seconds. "Let's see what they say, but we might not sell. Let's look at the proposal first."

"Understood. I'll keep things in check," Ellie said.

"The third direction is long-term sales. This book's sales curve is not the type that peaks in the first month and then plummets in the second month. The curve rises higher and higher in the first three months, which shows that it has the potential to be a long-term seller."

Three or five years later, as long as it's still on the bookstore shelf, new readers will still buy it if they find it.

These kinds of books are more valuable than short-lived bestsellers—because they don't require a continuous marketing budget; their value lies in their inherent longevity and word-of-mouth among readers.

Fang Yuan said, "In other words, 50,000 copies is just a starting point."

"Yes," Ellie said. "I think 50,000 copies is just a milestone."

If overseas copyright negotiations are successful, the number could very well exceed 500,000 within a year.

If the film and television adaptations could also take this a step further, it would be even more different.

Of course, these are all still variables.

"One last question, Fang Yuan," Ellie said.

"Random House asked me to ask you, would you like to participate in the promotion plan for the paperback edition of 'Edge of Tomorrow'?"

For example, you could coordinate with one or two book signings, or record a segment of the author's own words and play it on a loop in the bookstore.

It's okay if you don't do it, but the results might be better if you're willing to.

Fang Yuan thought for a moment.

"I'm not going to appear on camera for autograph sessions right now; I'm not used to it."

Recording an audio clip or writing a short message and sending it to the bookstore would be helpful.

"Okay, I'll arrange it. Also, you need to sign the overseas copyright authorization letter in person; I'll send the document to you by express next week."

"Can."

There was a moment of silence on both ends of the phone.

Then Ellie said, "Next month, the publisher will start promoting Twilight."

"This book is expected to be even better! It could very well become a bestseller."

According to the publisher's analysis, the current book market is in the golden age of fantasy literature.

Since its inception, the Harry Potter series has accumulated a large readership, with readers around the world, especially teenagers, yearning for a new fantasy world that they can deeply immerse themselves in and emotionally engage with.

Twilight came at just the right time, gently filling this void with a love story that is both classic and modern.

More importantly, its emergence perfectly addresses the spiritual needs of the younger generation.

This is not merely a coincidence in the timing of its release, but rather a heartfelt call from the times.

Fang Yuan remained silent for a long time, but Ellie heard a soft laugh from the other end of the phone.

"Shall we wait and see?"

"That's it. Thank you for your hard work, Ellie."

"You should get some rest too, Fang."

The small theater of the Central Academy of Drama.

It was 7 p.m. The audience numbered about 150 or 160 people.

Several leaders from the Performing Arts Department arrived and sat in the middle of the fourth row.

Teacher Chang sat on the side of the aisle, not with the leaders.

Backstage.

Yuan Quan sat in front of the dressing table and applied her own makeup.

She plays Pei Yanzhi, an actor from the Republican era. She didn't speak to anyone today, arriving backstage early, folding her water sleeves, hanging her beard, and arranging her headdress on the table in order.

Zeng Li began to sing at the corner at the end of the corridor. She was singing "Red-Clad Ladies"—a song with lyrics and music written by Fang Yuan, which she sang at the end.

Jiang Yang was checking the equipment on the right side of the stage. Liu Yi was squatting behind the side curtain, arranging the matches, candlesticks, oil cans—every prop—in order of appearance.

The stage had been covered with what appeared to be "oil," but it was actually water. The lights reflected off it, making it look like oil.

Fang Yuan stood in the last row of the audience. He wasn't holding anything, and his eyes were fixed on the empty stage.

7:25. The lights in the entire venue were tested once.

7:30. Lights out.

The curtain rises.

The stage depicts the backstage area of ​​a theater in 1937.

Costumes, beard, headdress, a table, and two chairs. Simple, sturdy, with nothing superfluous.

Yuan Quan, dressed in her opera costume, sat in front of the dressing table, with a half-length mirror and an oil lamp.

The gongs and drums begin. Not the jinghu (a two-stringed bowed instrument used in Peking opera), but the tanggu (a type of percussion instrument) and bangu (a type of percussion instrument).

Fang Yuan chose percussion, which was played from beginning to end, without any strings.

Pei Yanzhi was applying floral decorations in front of a mirror backstage. Halfway through, the troupe leader (Chen Minghao) rushed in, saying that the Japanese had entered the city.

Pei Yanzhi paused for a moment, then continued.

The troupe leader said they wanted you to sing at their private performance. Pei Yanzhi didn't look up.

"When?" "Tomorrow night." "What are you going to sing?" "They didn't say. They just said you have to go."

"What if you don't go?" "If you don't go, burn down the theater and kill everyone."

Pei Yanzhi put down the hairpin in his hand. He glanced at the troupe leader and said a single word: "Go."

Yuan Quan's performance in this segment was extremely restrained. She didn't make any large movements or expressions throughout.

The only pause was when she heard "burn down the theater and kill everyone," and she lightly tapped her finger on the edge of the table. Just once.

The second event. That evening, during the private performance.

The stage had changed. In front was the area where Japanese soldiers sat on the ground, and behind was a makeshift small stage.

Ragged cloth, old curtains, and a few gas lamps hanging on the pillars.

Japanese soldiers in the audience were drinking, smoking, and playing drinking games.

The drums and gongs sound.

Pei Yan entered the stage. He was wearing the costume of Li Xiangjun from "The Peach Blossom Fan"—water sleeves, a large front, and kingfisher feather headdress.

He walked around the stage, stopped, and began to speak.

She was singing a scene from "The Peach Blossom Fan." Her eyes sparkled, her sleeves fluttered, yet she was singing of a nation's ruin and her family's destruction.

Yuan Quan's voice wasn't crisp and clear; instead, it had a gritty quality.

It's not a matter of technique, it's that she chose to sing it this way.

The Japanese soldiers in the audience couldn't understand and continued drinking.

The loud gongs and drums grew increasingly frequent.

The singing pitch got higher and higher.

A Japanese soldier standing in the audience stood up, holding a wine bowl, walked to the front of the stage, looked up at her, and smiled.

She didn't stop. She kept singing. Her eyes looked over his head, gazing into the distance.

The third match.

The drumming stopped abruptly.

Pei Yanzhi retreated to the back of the stage, flicked his water sleeves, and faced the audience.

There was a moment or two of silence. Then he shouted, "Ignite!"

Orange flames lit up on both sides of the stage at the same time.

The lights were set to a flashing effect, making it look like a real fire. The range hood started spewing smoke.

The extras in the audience—the students playing Japanese soldiers—began to react with panic.

Pei Yanzhi on the stage remained standing, without running away.

The flames grew larger. Thick smoke billowed onto the stage.

Yuan Quan stood in the smoke and began to sing the last verse. It wasn't Li Xiangjun's Kunqu opera style, but Pei Yanzhi's original voice, a man's voice.

"I once saw it—the orioles singing in the golden palace of Jinling at dawn, the flowers blooming early on the waterside pavilions of Qinhuai—who knew it would all vanish so easily. I watched as he built his magnificent mansion, watched as he entertained his guests, watched as his mansion collapsed—"

She shouted those words. Not just shouted, she sang them while shouting.

My throat was at its limit; every word had a strained, tearing quality at the end, but it didn't break.

When she shouted "The building collapsed," the paint on her face was smudged by smoke and sweat.

The fourth match.

The fire was so large that it covered half of the stage.

Yuan Quan, who played Pei Yanzhi, the other actors on stage, and the "Japanese soldiers" offstage all disappeared.

All that remained on the stage was thick smoke and flashing red light.