Just because I wrote "Zhu Xian," the school beauty sent me razor blades.

The wrap-up is just the beginning.

The real battle takes place in the later stages of the game.

All the footage was packed up and transported back to Beijing overnight, then sent directly to the closed post-production room of the August First Film Studio. Xu Heng and his six-person editing team worked tirelessly for four days to organize the more than 100 terabytes of raw footage.

"This amount of footage..." Xu Heng rubbed his temples, "enough to edit three movies."

Lin Yuan stood behind him, staring at the densely packed thumbnails of footage on the monitor, and said calmly, "Then cut out the best one from the three films."

Xu Heng turned and glanced at him: "Can you stop talking like an inspirational poster?"

"cannot."

Editing is the most grueling part.

Lin Yuan and Xu Heng spent their time in the editing room, working on each frame one by one. Whether a shot should linger for three seconds or two seconds, whether a transition should be a hard cut or a dissolve, whether a line of dialogue should be included—every decision affected the rhythm and flow of the entire film.

Xu Heng later exaggeratedly described this period: "I've been married to my wife for seven years, and in this past month, I've spent more time with Lin Yuan than with my wife combined."

The special effects team arrived simultaneously.

The long shot of the missile launch already showcased impressive live-action effects of the flamethrower, but digital enhancements were still needed for details—the high-temperature distortion of the exhaust plume, the particle effects of the smoke, and the subtle vibrations on the missile's surface during supersonic flight. The visual effects supervisor repeatedly confirmed with Lin Yuan, "Are you sure you want a realistic style? These days, commercial films all like to make the special effects look explosive."

"It's realistic," Lin Yuan said. "Not science fiction, not war film, it's documentary style."

The mushroom cloud scene was even more troublesome.

Filming with actual nuclear test footage was impossible, and it was also impossible to use any real nuclear test data. The special effects team used CG to reconstruct the entire process of the mushroom cloud rising over Lop Nur in 1964, based on historical photos and publicly available video footage. From the white light exploding, to the rolling fireball, to the slow rise of the smoke and the gradual formation of the mushroom crown—every frame had to withstand historical scrutiny.

"The altitude is approximately 15,000 meters," the visual effects supervisor said, pointing to the smoke and cloud model on the screen. "The color gradually changes from initial orange-red to grayish-white, and the entire sequence takes about seven minutes."

"The smoke and clouds should rise a little slower," Lin Yuan said. "In that scene, everyone is looking up. The slower the smoke and clouds move, the longer they look, and the more breathless the audience becomes."

When the sound effects team moved in, the post-production control room had already been transformed into a sound laboratory.

The wind in the Gobi Desert isn't ordinary wind—it's the kind of wind that feels like sand hitting your face. The sound engineer recorded more than a dozen different wind sounds, and finally chose a version that was "rough but not overly sharp."

The ticking sound of the instrument wasn't from a ready-made sound effects library—it was a recording made by a sound engineer who found a real old-fashioned oscilloscope from the 1960s, plugged it in, and recorded the actual electrical sound.

The roar of a missile launch was the most difficult to achieve. Since the sound of a real missile launch was unavailable, the sound engineer used publicly available recordings from rocket engine test stands as background noise, superimposed low-frequency oscillators and metal resonators, and repeatedly adjusted more than thirty versions. Finally, Lin Yuan selected a version that "makes your chest tingle, but is not ear-piercing."

The music was composed by Chen Zhenghua, a composer known in the industry for his "restraint".

Lin Yuan had only one request of him: "Don't be sentimental."

"What do you want?"

"vast."

Chen Zhenghua paused for two seconds after hearing this, then laughed: "'Don't be sentimental, be expansive'—those few words are more effective than me talking to many directors all day."

When the final score was completed, Lin Yuan sat alone in the dark and listened to the entire score. There were no grand orchestral pieces, no rousing drumbeats, only the deep cello and expansive strings as a foundation, occasionally interspersed with a lonely bamboo flute note or two.

It's like the wind on the Gobi Desert, blowing continuously from sixty years ago until now.

The first version of the final cut was completed less than a month before the first day of the Lunar New Year.

The review process was then initiated.

The first stop was a joint review of the film by the military and the space agency.

There were twelve people in the screening room. There were military representatives, aerospace experts, members of the August First Film Studio's creative department, and several elderly men with gray hair—Lin Yuan later learned that two of them had participated in the early missile development work.

The lights dimmed, and the movie began.

Lin Yuan noticed that the two elderly men each held a pen and a notebook. When they encountered images of the underground control room, instrument layout, or operating procedures, they would quickly jot down a few notes, occasionally exchanging a whispered conversation. The space agency expert beside them flipped through an old file, occasionally comparing it with the instrument dials and equipment models on the screen.

One hundred and fifteen minutes.

No one left midway through.

The end credits rolled, and the lights came on.

One of the elderly men put down his pen, took off his glasses, and casually wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. The movement was quick, as if he were wiping away sweat, but everyone present saw it.

He didn't say anything about his feelings.

"The instrument layout in the underground control room is basically accurate." He opened his notebook and checked each item one by one, saying, "The location of the control panel, the model of the oscilloscope, the reporting procedure—it's the same as what we had back then. I've marked a few details; I suggest you verify them."

Another elderly man chimed in, "I have no objection to the character development. However, in scene forty-seven, regarding the technical parameters of a certain model, I suggest replacing them with publicly available values."

Lin Yuan stood aside, quietly recording each comment.

After everyone had finished speaking, the first old man closed his notebook, stood up, and glanced at Lin Yuan before leaving.

"The film is acceptable."

Review comments summary: Passed. Minor adjustments were made to some subtitle details, two technical parameters were replaced, and no changes were required to the visuals.

Lin Yuan gripped the feedback form tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white.

It's not nervousness.

He knew how heavy those four words were when spoken by a veteran who had personally experienced the Dongfeng-2 rocket launch.

The second stop was the Leading Group for Major Historical Themes.

This stage primarily examines the accuracy of the film's portrayal of historical events and figures, as well as the correctness of its political orientation. Lin Yuan submitted a complete index of historical materials and a scriptwriting explanation, cooperating with the expert panel's questioning throughout the session.

Three days later, the approval was issued: Approved.

The third stop was the National Film Administration.

The production company submitted all materials—the finished film, the final script, the political vetting materials of the main creators, the joint approval from the military and the space agency, and the review opinions from the leading group for major historical themes.

The Film Bureau's censorship department organized two rounds of internal screenings, and the only feedback was: a suggestion to standardize the format of a certain time mark in the opening credits.

Revised. Resubmitted for review. Approved.

After all the review comments were summarized, Lin Yuan and Xu Heng went back into the computer room.

The submitted version is 115 minutes long. Based on the experts' suggestions on pacing and the usual length of theatrical screenings, it needs to be cut by another 17 minutes.

This is more painful than cutting your hair from the beginning.

Deleting every frame feels like cutting off a piece of flesh—not because I'm reluctant, but because every scene has its reason for existing.

But Lin Yuan was ruthless.

"What remains is the essence." He cut a four-minute dialogue scene in half to two minutes, watched it once, and nodded. "The emotions are enough; there's no need to overdo it."

Xu Heng silently cooperated from the side, and the two of them endured another four days.

Final theatrical cut: 98 minutes.

The internal screening was held in a small screening room at the August First Film Studio.

The audience consisted not of film critics or media, but of about twenty special people: veterans who had participated in the development of the atomic and hydrogen bombs and satellites, descendants of scientific researchers, and retired cadres from the military and aerospace systems.

The lights go out, the film begins.

For ninety-eight minutes, the only sound in the screening room was the hum of the air conditioner.

After the end credits finished rolling, the lights came on.

Lin Yuan was sitting in the last row when he saw an elderly soldier with white hair suddenly raise his hand and cover his eyes.

His shoulders were trembling slightly.

Someone next to him handed him a tissue, but he didn't take it.

He stood up, walked to Lin Yuan, and extended a hand.

"Thank you." His voice was calm, but his eyes were red. "My dad was in the same line of work. Before he passed away, he always wanted to see someone film this period of his life."

Lin Yuan grasped that hand without saying a word.

"He didn't live to see it," the old soldier smiled, a bitter smile tinged with sadness, "but I waited for him."

January 20th.

There are 15 days left until the first day of the Lunar New Year.

Tianxing Entertainment, August First Film Studio, the military propaganda department, and the press office of the space agency jointly held a press conference to announce the release of the film.

Four Weibo posts were published simultaneously after the meeting ended.

[Tianxing Entertainment]: The film "Qian Xuesen", produced by Tianxing Entertainment in conjunction with August First Film Studio and supported by the military and the space agency, is scheduled to be released on the first day of the Lunar New Year.

[August First Film Studio]: August First Film Studio's key production of the year, "Qian Xuesen," pays tribute to the choices and perseverance of that generation. See you in theaters on the first day of the Lunar New Year.

[China Aerospace]: The film "Qian Xuesen" received full script review and historical guidance from experts from the China Aerospace Science and Technology Corporation. A history that should not be forgotten, a film worth remembering. See you on the first day of the Lunar New Year.

[Longguo Military Network]: Remembering history and paying tribute to pioneers. The film "Qian Xuesen" received joint support from the military and will be released nationwide on the first day of the Lunar New Year.

The trailer was also released online at the same time.

The two-minute trailer begins with a minute of restrained character development and a sense of the era, followed by the launch in the last minute.

Shot from an extremely low angle.

The blazing white flames erupting from the tail of the missile.

The ground trembled.

Qian Xuesen looked up.

A mushroom cloud rose into the sky.

There wasn't a single line of dialogue.

There was only the sound of wind, the ticking of instruments, and increasingly loud background music.

The last frame of the trailer is the movie title.

Qian Xuesen

Director: Lin Yuan

Weibo exploded.

The hashtag #MovieQianXuesenReleasedForChineseNewYear# has topped the trending searches.

[#MovieQianXuesenTrailer#] followed closely behind.

The hashtag #MovieQianXuesenDirectorLinYuan# suddenly dropped to third place on the trending topics list.

The comment section was instantly flooded with a massive number of messages—

[@EatingGossipGirlDonut: Wait! Is this Lin Yuan the same Lin Yuan?! The Lin Yuan who sang "Suspended"?! He went to make a movie?!]

[@Professional Film Critic Lao Li: I watched the trailer three times. From an audiovisual perspective alone, the quality is extremely high. The camera work, pacing, and restrained music—it doesn't seem like the work of a new director at all. But the director is only eighteen years old, with a completely blank resume, which makes me very conflicted.]

[@YuanShenFanClub: YuanShen!!! We support you no matter what you do!!! YuanShen who makes movies is still YuanShen!!!]

[@Passerby B: Which of the films released during the Spring Festival season—*Deep Sea Operation*, *Fantasy City*, and *Detective Dee: Age of Extinction*—weren't they all big IPs, big-name directors, and top-tier actors? A patriotic film, with a director who doesn't have box office appeal, what can it rely on? Nostalgia?]

[@Passerby D: Didn't you guys see the trailer? That launch scene...it gave me goosebumps. Just for that scene alone, I'd buy a ticket.]

[@EntertainmentIndustryDisciplinaryCommission: Tianxing has staked everything on Lin Yuan. If he wins, Lin Yuan will become a legend; if he loses, Tianxing will lose everything. Interesting.]