APCF – Chapter 136 Looking Up

After reshooting the unsatisfactory scenes, we officially entered the intense post-production phase. To support the promotion, Director Qian worked around the clock and quickly edited two teaser trailers — one featuring Shen Xing performing an aerial silk act, and another showing interactions between Jiang Yuan and Shen Xing.

Using the buzz of “Last Night’s Stars’ first on-screen collaboration,” the initial anticipation came mostly from fans. However, once the first teaser was released, the general audience had a complete change of heart:

“Huh? This film actually looks pretty high quality. Doesn’t seem like a cheap cash-grab aimed at fans.”

“Qi Xingchen’s performance is unexpectedly expressive!”

“Am I the only one who got hit right in the feels by the protagonist’s gaze? Starry-eyed”

“Looks like Qi Xingchen isn’t wearing makeup — that skin, that face… tsk tsk. It’s not an exaggeration to say he’s the best-looking recently.”

Then came the second teaser, which sent the fans into a frenzy:

“Holy sht, holy sht, holy sh*t — I’m dead. Aaaaahhhh!!”

“This is too damn sexy! My nosebleed’s about to erupt. Damn it!”

“All I can say is — Brother Ye, you’re amazing. I seriously doubt Xiao Qi’s bashful expression was acting — that looked 100% real! doge

“Damn, I’m so jealous of ‘Last Night’s Stars’ CP fans. If my CP did something like this, I could die happy. 😭😭😭”

Within 48 hours of the teaser releases — aside from a few trolls — the comments were overwhelmingly positive. There wasn’t even a need for Noah Media to buy bots to hype it up. The organic momentum alone pushed it straight into the trending list.

Even Chen Noah couldn’t help but call Qi Xingchen:

“Xiao Qi, you overestimated the promotional budget. We won’t even need that much money.”

“That’s fine. Just keep it for now,” Qi Xingchen replied. “Brother Chen, if you’re free this afternoon, please help me book a recording studio. We’ll need it tomorrow.”

As Bo Ye’s former agency, Noah had excellent recording equipment. With the venue sorted, and Bo Ye’s production team ready, everything was falling into place.

Chen Noah agreed. After hanging up the phone, Qi Xingchen looked down at the lyrics to Only Waiting for the East Wind.

Still hadn’t nailed it. QAQ

It wasn’t that he couldn’t sing it — he just couldn’t express the feeling he wanted. That dream-come-true sensation felt so unreal that it made him anxious. He was afraid of not doing it justice, afraid of disappointing Bo Ye, who had poured his heart into writing the song.

Seeing the troubled look on his face, Bo Ye — who was working on the arrangement — took off his headphones.

“You sang well yesterday.”

“No, I didn’t. I still feel like something’s missing.”

“What’s missing? Tell me.”

“It’s hard to explain… it just feels too flat. People won’t be able to connect emotionally, even though I really tried to sing with feeling.”

Bo Ye thought for a moment.

“You need a bit of technique.”

He picked up his guitar and began singing as he explained:

“For example, in the line ‘Seeing the other side of life’ — in the context of this song, this moment should be joyful. So emphasize the words ‘other side’, and lift the ending tone. Try it.”

Following the instruction, Qi Xingchen sang the line again.

Bo Ye shook his head.

“Nope. Still not happy enough.”

“But I am really happy.”

Bo Ye hooked an arm around his boyfriend’s neck, pulling him in, and gave him a soft kiss on the lips.

“Now? Feeling happier?”

“Mm! Mm!” Qi Xingchen nodded like a pecking chick.

“Great. Sing it again.”

“Seeing the other side of life…”

Word by word, line by line, Bo Ye coached him until — just before their scheduled departure — Qi Xingchen finally sang to both their satisfaction. It wasn’t that Qi Xingchen couldn’t sing well; it was that his standards for himself were too high.

Alan had already prepared the car and called them downstairs. Qi Xingchen and Bo Ye held hands the entire time — even with others in the elevator, they never let go.

As the time to leave Peach of the Night approached, they were reluctant to part even for a second.

A year and a half had passed, but Noah Media was still the same — packed with paparazzi, fan site masters, and sneak photographers outside the doors. Bodyguards carved a path through the human wall, and Bo Ye protected Qi Xingchen as they entered the lobby.

At the far end of the lobby stood the Wall of Honor. The first time they came here, Bo Ye’s photo was at the very top, while Qi Xingchen’s name wasn’t even on the wall. The second time, there was still a whole arm’s length between them.

Now, Bo Ye remained at the top — but Qi Xingchen’s name was just one row beneath, separated by no more than two or three centimeters.

Qi Xingchen rubbed the tip of his nose.

After working so hard, he could finally lift his head and see him.

The recording studio was on the fourth floor. Since Young Master Qi had given advance notice, the best-equipped room was already reserved for them. Qi Xingchen casually chatted with Chen Noah as they walked, but before they reached the studio, they spotted a crowd of boys and girls gathered at the far end of the corridor.

They were young, and their eyes all carried the same emotions — curiosity, admiration, anticipation.

Exactly like when Han Qing once dragged him to see Bo Ye.

Chen Noah turned his head and instructed his assistant: “Tell them to hurry back to practice — don’t just loiter here.”

“It’s fine,” Qi Xingchen quickly stopped him. “Let them watch if they want to.”

Bo Ye agreed: “That’s right. Idols also start out as trainees.”

Chen Nuoya: “Alright, fine. I’m all alone, how can I win against you lovebirds?”

When they stepped into the recording studio, Bo Ye’s team had already been there for a while. All the necessary equipment had been adjusted and was ready to go. With the mindset of heading into battle, Qi Xingchen stood in front of the microphone.

Bo Ye gave him a little pep talk. “Just sing like you did this morning.”

Qi Xingchen: “…”

Bo Ye: “You can do it.”

Qi Xingchen: “No, I can’t. You’re my boyfriend—that’s why you’re comforting me.”

Bo Ye was helpless and slightly amused. “Then I’ll switch back to idol mode and order you. Right now, immediately, sing exactly as I told you. My schedule is tight, I don’t have time to waste on you.”

“Alright.” Qi Xingchen stood at attention. “I definitely won’t waste your time.”

True to his word, he didn’t waste any time. After both drank some water to soothe their throats, they began recording immediately. Recording was a process of repeated adjustments, but fortunately, they had both been practicing consistently. By noon, they had actually finished.

The sound engineer listened through it once and gave them a thumbs up. Bo Ye pinched the back of Qi Xingchen’s neck and smiled. “Aex, play the raw version.”

The moment both of their voices came through the speakers, Qi Xingchen felt an odd sense of surrealism—like if he reached out, he could really touch the night sky.

Music production is much faster than film post-production. Three days later, Bo Ye received the finished track. He picked a short segment and posted it online as a treat for fans:

“After Transmigrating Into a Book, I Got a Whole Family of Cannon Fodder – Entertainment Circle OST 07:26”

It had been a year and two months since Bo Ye’s last album release, and the Night Sky fans were absolutely starving. They rushed over to listen. After hearing it, while being emotionally wrecked, they also felt something magical.

As a top-tier singer-dancer in terms of skill, Qi Xingchen could never hope to surpass Bo Ye. But for someone who isn’t a professional singer to stay in tune, stay on beat, and faithfully express the emotional landscape of the song—that’s incredibly difficult.

And Qi Xingchen had done it.

“Little Qi didn’t drag the song down at all!”

Bo Ye scrolled through the comments, satisfied, and posted on Weibo: “Nice, right? I taught him.”

Fans: “Can you please dial back that smug look on your face?!”

With the release of the theme song snippet, their popularity surged again. Riding that momentum, Bo Ye and Qi Xingchen threw themselves fully into movie promotions.

In addition, invitations for year-end shows and New Year’s galas flooded their inboxes. Many organizers earnestly requested them to perform as a pair. After some discussion, Bo Ye and Qi Xingchen chose a certain network’s live New Year’s Eve show.

Last New Year’s Eve, Bo Ye sang onstage while Qi Xingchen waited and listened in a hotel room.

This year, they could finally stand side by side in the spotlight, singing a song that belonged to both of them.

After the New Year’s Eve concert, just as Qi Yunxiao had communicated earlier, You and I officially premiered during the New Year’s holiday slot.

On opening day, online ticket sales plus theater revenue exceeded 80 million yuan. The film took 21.9% of the total box office share and 19.7% of total screenings, with an attendance rate as high as 60.3%, claiming the top spot at the box office for New Year’s Day.

Qi Xingchen lay under his blanket, heart pounding, but not as fiercely as the barrage of congratulatory messages coming through on his phone—including from Director Qian.

Yes, that’s right—Director Qian and the screenwriter were crying again.

Still, considering the 80 million included pre-sales, Qi Xingchen was a bit worried they wouldn’t maintain momentum. But in the following days, he received daily calls from An Ran, each beginning with an excited—

“Holy sh*t!”

“Xingxing, the dewatered (actual) box office just passed 150 million!”

“Holy sh*t! Douban score is now 8.5!”

“Holy sh*t! Single-day revenue broke 100 million!”

“Holy sh*t! Several veteran film critics gave it 4.5 stars or more. At this rate, You and I might blow up with rave reviews!”

Listening to An Ran rattle off numbers, Qi Xingchen felt much more grounded. After all, this film represented two years of hard work from Director Qian and the screenwriter, and the sleepless dedication of the entire crew.

Serious effort naturally leads to great works, and the success brought by those works is a well-earned reward for those who worked hard for it.

He calmly continued city-by-city promotional tours, completely unaware that at some point, he had already joined the ranks of domestic male actors with 1 billion yuan in box office revenue.

At the end of the month, Qi Xingchen received a message from Qi Yunxiao. The Supreme Court had approved Tao Tao’s death sentence. It was scheduled to be carried out on February 6, but since that coincided with Lunar New Year’s Eve, it was postponed by three days, to the early hours of February 9.

Qi Xingchen handed the phone to Bo Ye. After reading it, Bo Ye fell silent for a moment, then kissed his little boyfriend on the forehead.

As February began, the Huajing Awards ceremony was held in S City. On the day of the event, all 57 production teams with nominated films were present. Domestic and international media packed the interview area. It was a spectacular scene.

Unlike at the Jin Sun Awards, where they had subtly matched outfits to show affection, this time Qi Xingchen and Bo Ye made no effort to hide their relationship. With stylists Jiang Jiang and Xiao Man working together, everything from hairstyle to shoes matched perfectly—down to every hair strand exuding dog-food sweetness.

You and Me team was 23rd in the lineup to walk the red carpet. Qi Xingchen and Bo Ye stepped onto it side by side.

The media below shouted playfully:

“Zuo Ye Xing Chen, hold hands!”

“Bo Ye, hug your boyfriend for a photo!”

“Kiss! Kiss!”

Hearing that, Bo Ye frowned in displeasure. “He’s shy. Don’t make unreasonable requests.”

Instead, Qi Xingchen gently touched his reddening earlobe and took the initiative to hook his arm through Bo Ye’s.

The media whistled and snapped photos like crazy. The flashbulbs nearly turned night into day. Amid the roar of voices, Qi Xingchen and Bo Ye took the fountain pen and signed the signature board.

Their two small names nestled closely together, leaving no space for anyone else to squeeze in.

After photos and interviews, the group bustled into the auditorium, found their name-marked seats, and sat down. Once all 57 film teams were present, the awards ceremony officially began.

First came the technical awards like Best Cinematography, Editing, and Art Direction. You and Me received two nominations and won Best Cinematography.

Next were the Professional Spirit Award and Lifetime Achievement Award. These had nothing to do with their crew, but everyone wore solemn expressions—veterans who’d devoted their lives to film deserved every bit of respect.

Finally, it was time for the artistic awards, starting with Best Supporting Actor and Actress. The moment the presenter announced, “The Best Supporting Actor award goes to… Bo Ye,” Qi Xingchen practically shot out of his seat.

The host couldn’t help but laugh. “Xingchen, sit down—it’s your boyfriend who won.”

Bo Ye pressed him back into his seat. Realizing what he’d done, Qi Xingchen’s face crumpled into a handsome but thoroughly embarrassed expression.

To comfort his boyfriend, Bo Ye quickly wrapped up his acceptance speech and came offstage. Qi Xingchen was near tears. “What do I do? I’m definitely going to be trending tomorrow.”

“It’s fine,” Bo Ye patted his back. “You were happy for me—your reaction was perfectly normal.”

Qi Xingchen really was happy for him. It was hard to believe that someone could be excellent at absolutely everything.

And that person was his. That made him even happier.

Trying to suppress his smile, Qi Xingchen asked, “When I do start trending, how should I respond? Should I defuse it with a joke, or just laugh along with everyone?”

“No need to respond,” Bo Ye said. “If you win Best Actor, the public’s attention will shift on its own.”

Qi Xingchen quickly waved his hands. “No, no, no, I don’t dare to dream of Best Actor. For me, this filming experience itself was already the best reward.”

His gaze was sincere as he spoke. Bo Ye let out a small breath of relief.

If a person can keep their feet on the ground, take each step steadily without chasing the impossible, they’ll be outstanding in any field.

“Alright, enough of your lovey-dovey act,” Director Qian reminded them. “They’re about to announce the Best Actor nominees. Quiet down.”

Like students being scolded in class, Qi Xingchen and Bo Ye exchanged a glance, stuck out their tongues, and turned their attention to the screen showing the nominated names.

This year’s Huajing Awards had four nominees for Best Actor. Unexpectedly, Qi Xingchen saw his own name at the end.

It was both surprising and reasonable. You and Me had already won several awards and was shaping up to be the biggest winner of the event, showing that it was recognized by both the market and industry insiders.

One more Best Actor nomination? Totally fair.

Qi Xingchen felt no pressure at all—in fact, he was still distracted by his earlier embarrassment as the presenter opened the envelope.

“And the winner of this year’s Huajing Award for Best Actor is…”

Who could it be? Qi Xingchen wondered. Probably that senior guy near the end.

The next second, the presenter read aloud:

“It’s—Qi Xingchen! Congratulations to Qi Xingchen!”

Qi Xingchen froze.

How was that possible? How could it be him? Was he dreaming?

He looked at Bo Ye in a daze, prompting laughter from the audience again. Half-conscious, he was nudged onto the stage by Director Qian, where he received the heavy trophy and gave a speech full of incoherent thanks.

When he finished, the host smiled and said, “Very few people can win Best Actor with just one performance—it speaks volumes about Qi Xingchen’s talent. At such a joyful moment, let’s see if Bo Ye has anything he’d like to say to Xingchen.”

With the host cueing him, all eyes and cameras turned to Bo Ye in the audience. A microphone was passed to him. He thanked the host and stood up.

But his gaze never moved—it stayed fixed on the figure bathed in the spotlight, holding the trophy.

That young man who was always diligent, always humble.

Bo Ye slightly lifted his chin, a glimmer of light in his eyes.

“Before, you looked up to me. From now on, it’s my turn to look up to you.”