CDJMM – Volume 4 – Chapter 17 Filming in the Interstellar Era (17)

Mo Mingrui had never felt that 24 hours could be this long.

After watching the first episode of Republic-Era Literary Masters Chronicle yesterday, he couldn’t sleep at all. He tossed and turned the whole night. When he finally drifted off, he started having all sorts of chaotic dreams.

One moment he dreamed he was a pallbearer; the next, he was on a battlefield fighting with a bayonet.

When he woke up in the morning, he felt dizzy and groggy, with an aching waist and sore back—like he had just been beaten up.

After breakfast, he went to StarBlog again and searched the keyword “Republic-Era Literary Masters Chronicle,” only to be surprised that there were already some discussions.

[Aji]: I refuse to accept that anyone has not watched Republic-Era Literary Masters Chronicle! I cried so hard yesterday—my nose and eyes were all swollen. I woke up this morning with my whole face puffed up!

[My Parents’ Love Is So Good]: Has anyone watched Republic-Era Literary Masters Chronicle? Episode 1 dropped yesterday. You can tell the production is broke, but the plot is really good. If it doesn’t collapse later on, it’s definitely going to be a masterpiece!

[If You See Me, Urge Me to Study]: #Republic-Era Literary Masters Chronicle# That era was poor, backward, brutal, and ignorant, but every person had a burning courage and passion in their hearts. I love that era.

[Noisy Rain at Night]: Does anyone know of books about the Republic era? After watching Republic-Era Literary Masters Chronicle yesterday, I’m suddenly really interested in that period!

Mo Mingrui felt a bit happy.

Originally, he thought that with minimal early marketing, a niche subject, and an unknown cast, Republic-Era Literary Masters Chronicle might not get any viewers at all.

Finding out that a small group of people loved the show just like him was a delightful surprise. Truly, good wine needs no bush.

He then checked Old Times Scenery’s StarBlog.

Because national media accounts had promoted them yesterday, Old Times Scenery’s followers had shot up to one million. Even after a night, the buzz hadn’t cooled.

There were already hundreds of comments under yesterday’s post reminding viewers of the update. When he clicked in—every comment was pure rainbow-flavored praise. Like him, they were the first wave of fans.

Mo Mingrui spent most of the day browsing the internet—checking comments about the show, rewatching Episode 1, and trying to write a review to recommend it to more people.

At 7:30 pm, his younger cousin called: “Bro! Don’t forget Episode 2 is out today!”

Mo Mingrui: “I’ve been waiting all day—how could I forget?!”

“Okay, gotta go now, I’m off to recommend this show to my parents!”

What Mo Mingrui didn’t know was that, across other corners of Huaguo, others were just as eagerly waiting.

Under the anticipation of countless viewers, Episode 2 finally aired.

Zhou Dezhuang lost his voice. “What did you say? Zhang Tongjue is already dead?”

Fu Kema nodded. “He and Mr. Li passed away only moments apart.”

Zhou Dezhuang frowned and sank into thought.

He felt that everything was growing stranger and stranger.

In the death letter Li Jingran sent him before his passing, he mentioned that the person who wanted to kill him came from the Qing Gang.

When it came to the Qing Gang, no one in all of Huaxia did not know them. It was an enormous organization, its members spanning all walks of life— from high officials to peddlers and porters—anyone could be part of the Qing Gang. This hidden, extensive organization had orchestrated many assassinations. Li Jingran was not the first, nor would he be the last.

Now, Zhang Tongjue, a major figure inside the faction, had died at such a time. It was truly suspicious.

Was it that Li Jingran had fought back with his life?

Or was someone trying to silence him?

…

“Liao Fang!” Li Shuran’s face was deathly pale, only her eyes shining brilliantly. “He’s with the Qing Gang. He had contact with my brother before… Maybe he’ll know what happened!”

Zhou Dezhuang nodded in surprise. “Where can I find him?”

“Outside the city, at the docks. He works as a porter there.”

…

“Liao Fang? He quit long ago. Where did he go? How should I know?” The porter wiped the sweat from his forehead, indifferent and casual. “He offended some big shot, from what I heard. He might even be dead by now.”

The rare lead he had found was cut off just like that. Zhou Dezhuang turned around, dazed, and walked away.

…

Zhou Dezhuang realized someone was following him.

He casually turned into a narrow alley. After a few steps, he suddenly spun around and shouted, “Who are you? Why are you following me?”

The man behind him kept his head lowered, silent for a few seconds before raising it. “Stop investigating the Qing Gang.”

“Why?”

“Because you will die.”

Zhou Dezhuang sneered. “You think I’d be afraid?”

The moment he decided to seek justice for his friend, he had already put his life on the line.

The man shook his head, a trace of melancholy in his expression. “I know you’re not afraid. But if Mr. Li knew, he probably wouldn’t want to see you sacrifice yourself.”

Zhou Dezhuang’s expression changed. A name suddenly came to him. “Liao Fang?”

The man nodded with difficulty.

Zhou Dezhuang took a few steps closer, watching him earnestly, lowering his voice. “Since you’re a friend of Mr. Li, then you should tell me what happened!”

“Can you really stand by and watch the ones who harmed Li Jingran continue to walk free?”

Liao Fang avoided his gaze and answered hoarsely, “Zhang Tongjue is already dead.”

Zhou Dezhuang shook his head and asked firmly, “If I’m not mistaken, Zhang Tongjue was merely a pawn. The real culprit behind Li Jingran’s death is someone else, isn’t that right?”

Liao Fang remained silent.

Zhou Dezhuang tried to move him with emotion. “Your coworker said you loved Jingran’s works the most, even made a scrapbook of The Rise of the Dynasty. Jingran was only seventeen. He could’ve had a bright and brilliant future. Now he’s died unjustly — don’t you want to seek justice for him?”

Liao Fang lowered his head, shoulders trembling. A few large droplets hit the ground heavily, yet he still clenched his teeth and said nothing.

Zhou Dezhuang finally lost hope.

“If you truly understood Li Jingran’s writing, you would not keep silent now.” He walked past him, disgusted. “You’re not worthy of liking Li Jingran.”

A trembling hand suddenly tugged at his sleeve. Stunned, he turned back in surprise. Liao Fang was crying silently, lifting his hand with a quivering motion, raising his index finger and pointing upward with force.

Upward?

Zhou Dezhuang looked up. The sunlight was blinding, and he could barely open his eyes.

“What’s in the sky?”

“Mr. Zhou… you must live well.”

Liao Fang withdrew his hand, bowed to him deeply, and hurried away.

Zhou Dezhuang stared at his panicked, fleeing figure in confusion. Slowly, he seemed to understand something. He abruptly looked up at the sky, shock and sudden clarity flooding his eyes.

What was in the sky?

Just blue sky and white sun.

The scene shifted again—above the heavily guarded presidential palace, the Blue Sky White Sun flag fluttered in the wind.

Qianhe blinked dazedly, only then realizing the episode had ended.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his heart pounding wildly.

If Episode 1 was tragic and stirring, Episode 2 was downright chilling.

After peeling back the layers of fog, the real culprit seemed to faintly emerge.

The murderer was someone incredibly powerful.

Why did he want to kill Li Jingran?

What exactly did Li Jingran write?

Was the show hinting at the real killer?

Would there be twists later?

If the culprit truly was the President, how could a frail scholar like Zhou Dezhang possibly take revenge?

Hundreds of questions swirled in Qianhe’s mind.

If it were an ordinary viewer, they would have to suffer until next week—but Qianhe was different. He could just call the director!

“Shi Jing! Is the killer really the President?!”

“No.”

“Then who is it?”

Facing Qianhe’s pursuit, Le Jing answered firmly: “Not telling you.”

“Aaaah! Don’t play coy at a time like this—I’m dying over here!”

Le Jing chuckled, “Then please continue watching the upcoming episodes.”

Qianhe refused to give up: “…You really can’t tell me?”

Le Jing, unhurried, “If you already knew, where’s the fun in watching the show?”

“Sigh, fine.” Qianhe thought of something else. “I heard you’re filming while airing? How many episodes have you shot already?”

“Four.”

Qianhe instantly perked up. “Then can I—”

“No.” Le Jing shut him down mercilessly.

“Sigh…” Qianhe had expected that, so he wasn’t too disappointed. He could only remind Le Jing:

“You all must film properly! I have a feeling—as long as you don’t crash later, this will be a masterpiece!”

“Let your words be prophetic.”

Le Jing hung up and looked at the backend numbers climbing rapidly, feeling very satisfied.

As of now, their total revenue had reached 700,000! If they used it sparingly, it was enough to film three episodes.

Without spending a cent on marketing, earning this much was all thanks to Liu Yinxiu.

To earn even more later, Le Jing decided their production team needed to use their greatest advantage for promo.

What was their biggest advantage?

Veteran actors? A great script? Being endorsed by national media?

None of those.

Their greatest advantage was—poverty.

Le Jing calmly posted on StarBlog:

[Old Times Scenery]: #The Poorest Production Team in History Is Now Open for Business#

What? You say the costumes look cheap? This is clearly a bestseller from Taobao!

What? You say the props are too simple? I, the director, handcrafted them myself!

What? You say the makeup is ugly? That’s because the actors did it themselves!

What? You say our crew is too poor? Yes. Correct.

This impoverished production team is now online—wealthy patrons, please shame us with money.

[IsItRadishOrRobao]: ??? Scenery, were you hacked?

[Three Hundred Lychees Will Cause Heat]: Hahahahahahahahahahahaha

[Not in Good Condition Today]: OMG you’re really that poor?

[Wrote Too Little]: I’ve never seen such a broke production team.

[See You Tomorrow]: I suddenly feel like you’re about to trend on StarBlog again.

Le Jing raised an eyebrow. If not for the hot search, would he have sacrificed his dignity like this? (Though everything he wrote was true…)

Of course, just his personal post wasn’t enough to trend. To climb the charts, marketing accounts needed to add fuel.

Happily, Le Jing struck some unspeakable under-the-table deals with a few accounts with tens of millions of followers. They would release articles and hype up the crew’s poverty.

Other productions relied on money to create buzz.

Their production would do the opposite— they would debut powered by poverty.