CDJMM – Volume 4 – Chapter 26 Filming in the Interstellar Era (26)

When the big screen went dark, Wu Tianming was still a little dazed.

The Young Marquis Who Sealed the Wolf at Juxu ran for an hour and a half. In that short span, he felt as if he had personally witnessed the life of the young general named Huo Qubing—brief as a shooting star, yet dazzlingly brilliant.

Driving out the nomadic tribes beyond the borders by his own strength alone, guarding the peace of the nation by his own strength alone—how magnificent! How heroic!

But Huo Qubing’s youthful death added an endless layer of tragic color. His name is Huo Qubing, yet in the end he dies of illness in bed—an exquisite irony of fate.

Some say the saddest thing in the world is: a beauty grown old, a hero in twilight.

But in Wu Tianming’s eyes, the saddest thing is clearly dying young.

A hero’s twilight is bleak, yes—but at least he has lived long, with enough time to do what he wanted to do. But youths like Huo Qubing are different. Overflowing with talent, capable of creating unparalleled glory, capable of living a grand, resounding life—yet Heaven grows jealous of brilliance and takes them too soon.

It is, undeniably, a regret.

And yet, Wu Tianming also felt that for Huo Qubing, death was perhaps the best ending.

Because this way, he would remain forever young.

The most moving part of the entire film, for Wu Tianming, was the youthful spirit burning in Huo Qubing.

The fiery vigor of youth is like a clear flame—pure and bright. Even catching a distant glimpse of it makes one feel the world light up and the road ahead shine.

There is no doubt that The Young Marquis Who Sealed the Wolf at Juxu is a good film. The director cleverly used ancient Earth history as the backdrop, created the fictional figure of Huo Qubing, and through him vividly portrayed the Han dynasty in his heart—brave, bold, and unrestrained.

Huo Qubing embodies everything a boy dreams of when young—fame in youth, victory in every battle, glory and merit, the admiration of the people, the loyalty of soldiers, a name etched in history.

His death, instead of diminishing him, completed him—lifting him from hero to legend.

Though it is an AI-generated film, its outstanding plot and rich, three-dimensional characters are more than enough for a nomination!

Where on earth did that old fellow An Yun dig up this film? Is the director really a newcomer? Could he be using some pseudonym of one of his old colleagues?

…

Huaxia Film & Television Weekly is the largest and most authoritative entertainment weekly in Huaguo. This digital magazine practically represents the industry’s mainstream trends.

Xie Xun has worked as a professional film critic there for five years. From a clueless newbie, he has become a senior critic with a dedicated column, thanks to his sharp eye and keen instincts.

As early as the sixth episode of Republic of China Literary Masters Records, Xie Xun had already taken notice of this web drama, immediately sensing its explosively high potential.

From then on, he followed this low-budget drama closely.

And reality proved him right.

The low-budget series rose from obscurity, becoming the biggest dark horse of the summer, raking in tens of billions in viewership and becoming Qijiang Video Network’s flagship show of the year.

Many professional critics had already written numerous reviews of Republic of China Literary Masters Records, yet Xie Xun remained silent.

He was cautious.

Having been a critic for so many years, he had seen countless productions crash and burn in the final episodes. He couldn’t guarantee this one wouldn’t do the same.

Recommending it prematurely—only for the ending to collapse—wouldn’t just slap his own face; it would make readers question his professionalism.

So Xie Xun endured his impatience and waited until he had just finished watching the finale completely. Only then did his eyes redden as he let out a long breath.

Wonderful. Republic of China Literary Masters Records had not let him down.

A surge of emotion pounded in his chest. He urgently wanted to pour that feeling into words and share it with his readers.

The show had not collapsed. Its finale maintained its usual quality—stirring his blood and spirit, while also making him ache for the small people swept helplessly by the tide of a great era.

Suddenly remembering something, he immediately phoned a former classmate: “Xiao Yu? You’re in the tech department at Qijiang Video Network now, right? Yes, it’s Xie Xun. Can I ask—how are the viewership numbers for the finale of Republic of China Literary Masters Records? The peak concurrent viewers hit fifty-two million?! It broke Earth Rising’s record? And the peak happened at the end instead of the beginning?! All right, all right, got it. Thanks—dinner on me next time.”

Hanging up, Xie Xun took a deep breath. His whole body trembled. It really is a masterpiece in the making!

What kind of review should he write?

Before writing, he needed to recall the finale’s plot.

He was already over seventy—an age when he should have been enjoying peace and comfort—yet he still endured the hardship of following the army, personally entering the battlefield, rushing about day and night. After this forced march, his breath was as thin as silk, life hanging by a thread. If not for the orderly supporting him, he would have collapsed long ago.

The orderly said anxiously, “Mr. Zhou, let me help you go rest! You haven’t closed your eyes all night.”

Zhou Dezhang pointed at the red flag fluttering in the sky and shouted, “Do you see it? The red flag! The red flag has risen!”

The orderly’s face was filled with emotion as well. “Yes… We’ve won. Peace will come now.”

Zhou Dezhang cried hoarsely, “I’ve seen it for you! Your vengeance has been fulfilled! You may rest in peace!”

The orderly was confused. “Who are you talking about?”

Zhou Dezhang did not answer. He shook off the orderly’s hand and staggered toward the direction of the red flag.

Scenes of the past flashed before his eyes:

A young boy on a sickbed looked up with anticipation. “Things will get better. I may not live to see it, but this world, this nation… will grow better and better.”

Li Jingran’s coffin was carried out of Beiping, greeted and followed by tens of thousands.

Li Shuran left for America. Before she departed, she told Zhou Dezhang, “Unless the Nationalist Party is destroyed, I will never set foot in China again in this lifetime.”

In the following ten-plus years, more than half of China fell. Tens of millions gave their lives; tens of millions more wandered homeless. The once magnificent land of China was now ravaged and scarred.

Marching students chanted their slogan: “An inch of mountains and rivers, an inch of blood; one hundred thousand youths, one hundred thousand soldiers.”

Thousands of Southwest Associated University students traded their pens for rifles and went to the battlefield. Before leaving, they recited in unison:

“A man sets his will to save his nation;
He will not return until the Japanese devils are destroyed.
Why need one’s bones be buried in homeland soil?
Wherever one dies, green hills remain.”

During the Chongqing bombings, all the air force cadets died in battle. The instructors took their place. In the end, China had no airmen captured alive. Their planes were their final bullets.

Children even younger than Li Jingran went to the battlefield. Lacking ammunition, they could only fight the enemy with bayonets.

…

“Acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration—Japan declares unconditional surrender.”

Drums sounded in the streets; beyond the city lay lonely graves stretching for thousands of miles. Entire villages wore mourning white—no men remained.

…

And then came now.

“When the winds and rains rise on Zhongshan,
A million troops cross the river.
Tiger crouches, dragon coils—today surpasses the past;
Heaven and earth overturn—how passionately we sigh.”²

The red flag has risen.

Jingran, look—the red flag has risen.

Compatriots, look—the red flag has risen!

…

October 1st, 1949.

On the tower, an elderly man called out in a Hunan-accented Mandarin:

“Compatriots! The People’s Republic of China and its Central People’s Government have been founded today!”

Below the tower, waves of cheers shook the earth. Thousands of red flags flew in the wind.

Across a stretch of sea, on a distant island, an old man stood atop a high mountain, gazing across the roaring ocean. His face was full of sorrow as he softly recited:

“Bury me atop a high mountain, where I may gaze toward my homeland;
My homeland unseen, yet never forgotten.
Bury me atop a high mountain, where I may gaze toward the mainland;
The mainland unseen, leaving only tears.
The sky vast, the plains endless—upon this mountain, the nation mourns!”³

One week later, as the entire nation celebrated, Zhou Dezhang passed away with a smile.

The end.

Replaying the entire plot in his mind again, Xie Xun found himself just as moved as the first time he watched it.

Even with his picky eyes—trained by studying hundreds of films—The Chronicles of Republican-Era Literary Giants was an outstanding masterpiece. The whole drama was stirring and majestic, devoid of petty romances—only the grand passion of nation and people.

In this era of entertainment for entertainment’s sake, such a drama—burning with blood and steeped in sorrow—was like a breath of fresh air.

“The Chronicles of Republican-Era Literary Giants—though titled ‘literary chronicles,’ is truly a record of a nation. Writers held no guns, no weapons. In the storm of a great era, even literary giants lived precariously, struggling to survive. Yet at the brink of life and death, in times of national crisis, they took up their pens as guns, their thoughts as ammunition, facing blood and darkness head-on…”

Xie Xun’s inspiration surged; the words flowed like a river. Soon he had written a review of over a thousand words.

At eleven that night, he sent the review to his editor.

Editor: ? Do you know what time it is right now?

Xie Xun: I need a double-page spread tomorrow!

Editor: ? The magazine is already finalized. Try earlier next time, bye.

Xie Xun: The Chronicles aired its finale today!

Editor: ??? And?

Xie Xun: So you must publish my review! The Chronicles will be this year’s phenomenon-level masterpiece! My friend in Qijiang Video’s tech department said its peak live viewership hit fifty-two million! It broke the site record! And that number appeared at the end, not the beginning! Which means this single episode made two or three hundred million in just one hour! Do you understand now, you silly kid?

Editor: (System message: You have received a file.)

Editor: Double-page spread tomorrow. Done.

…

Tian Hui had been in a terrible mood lately.

The major project he’d worked so hard to secure turned out to be a front for money laundering.

The investor, President Liu, was arrested by the national tax authorities and thrown into prison. Naturally, the project collapsed.

That would have been bad enough, but because Tian Hui himself had invested in the project, he too was suspected of involvement in money laundering. It took more than a month of investigation before he barely cleared his name.

He became a complete laughingstock in the industry.

Many investors withdrew their olive branches and adopted a wait-and-see attitude toward him.

To prove himself, Tian Hui deliberately spent a large sum of money to buy out a new script and turned it into a film to enter the mid-October Starry Sky Awards. He wanted to use an award to fiercely strike back at all those cold stares and sneers!

In stark contrast to his misfortunes, that kid Shi Jing was forging ahead triumphantly—riding high, gaining both fame and fortune.

Those who previously praised Tian Hui as a rising new director were now regrouping and using the same words to compliment Shi Jing.

Tian Hui gritted his teeth in hatred, wishing he could tear Shi Jing’s smug face to pieces!

Yesterday, after the finale of Republican-Era Literary Giants Chronicle, he barely slept, plagued by nightmares all night long.

At one moment he dreamt that the show became a huge hit and Shi Jing appeared on the national channel for an interview. In another, he dreamt that Shi Jing received award after award, stomping him ruthlessly underfoot.

When he woke up the next morning, staring at his huge dark circles, he didn’t even bother washing up. He immediately opened his optical computer to check the latest entertainment news.

If the series had truly exploded in popularity, then relevant news would have appeared online immediately.

He searched everywhere and found only a handful of scattered articles. He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief—no news was the best news. This proved that the finale had a miserable reception. For once, Tian Hui’s face showed a rare moment of satisfaction.

He casually opened the latest issue of Hua Nation Film & TV Weekly, intending to see the newest industry trends.

The next second, his smile froze.

The largest and most authoritative film-and-television magazine in the country had splashed photos from Republican-Era Literary Giants Chronicle across a full fold-out page at the front.

Tian Hui’s mind went blank.

His nightmare seemed to be turning into reality step by step.

…

Apple Entertainment Headquarters.

“Fifty-two million?!” The film and TV director exclaimed in envy. “Qi-Jiang Video Network really got itself a money tree.”

“No, we’re going to bring in this drama too!”

“Xiao Wang, check the director’s contact info for Republican-Era Literary Giants Chronicle!”

And this conversation at Apple Entertainment was far from an isolated case. Major video platforms and entertainment companies moved quickly, one after another extending olive branches toward the series, all trying to get a slice of the pie.

…

This autumn, the Hua Nation was destined to be shocked by Republican-Era Literary Giants Chronicle.

This small-budget drama had risen out of nowhere and become the most terrifying money-maker in recent memory. In just two months since its mid-July premiere, it had already raked in 3 billion yuan in box-office-equivalent revenue! And after the finale, its momentum only grew stronger.

Qi-Jiang Video Network earned handsomely, washed-up actors became popular again, and the two directors Shi Jing and Li Jianye became the hottest names in the industry.

Especially Shi Jing.

This young man who graduated not long ago gained both fame and fortune with his very first live-action drama. His incredible luck sparked jealousy in countless hearts.

Le Jing finally understood what it meant: “Ten years of study go unnoticed; one success makes you known across the land.”

During the week after the finale, his days were filled with endless interviews.

HuaXia Film & TV Weekly, Hua Nation Television, Voice of the People, and other major outlets all sent reporters to interview the crew.

Eventually, finding the repetition inefficient and a waste of time, Le Jing decided to hold a press conference and had several crew members answer questions together.

He was now at the press conference answering as the director.

The conference room was packed with reporters from major media outlets.

“I’m a reporter from Apple Entertainment. Director Shi, what do you estimate the total revenue of Republican-Era Literary Giants Chronicle will be?”

Le Jing cursed Li Jianye in his heart for slipping away and leaving him to face the fire alone, but on the surface he maintained a polite smile: “Well, the more the better of course.”

“I’m from Kuai-Yin Video. As we all know, the awards season is coming up soon. Director Shi, do you think your series has a chance of winning the Red Peony Award for Best TV Drama?”

The Red Peony Award—part of the Capital International Film Festival—was the most prestigious TV award in the country and had some international recognition.

It began its selection process in late October and operated by invitation only; only shows with enough achievement were eligible.

Le Jing continued smiling smoothly: “That’s hard to say. The odds are small, but we remain hopeful. After all, without dreams, what separates us from salted fish?”

Seeing their sharp questions dismissed with flawless answers, the reporter from Voice of the People grew anxious.

How could someone so young talk like an old fox? His answers looked substantial but said nothing. There was no headline-worthy material at all!

Suddenly, inspiration struck. He raised his hand: “Director Shi, what are your plans next? What kind of drama will you film?”

This finally piqued Le Jing’s interest. He smiled: “I don’t plan to film a TV drama next. My next project is a movie.”

The room erupted instantly.

“What genre?”

“Have the actors been decided? Who are they?”

“Which company is funding it?”

“Will Director Li Jianye be collaborating with you?”

Le Jing pressed his hands down. “One at a time.”

After they calmed a bit, he answered their main questions: “The theme will still be ancient HuaXia history. Only part of the cast is confirmed so far; the rest will be chosen through open auditions. Director Li Jianye won’t be joining me. This is my own project. As for the investor—” 

The young man blinked, and for the first time revealed a mischievous smile. “The investor is me. Oh right, I’m also the screenwriter. And the director. As for being an actor… that’s obviously not possible.”

The reporters were stunned. A few seconds later, the press conference exploded again.

…

News that Le Jing’s new project was holding open auditions quickly spread from the press conference, causing small-scale turbulence within the industry.

Many small actors treated this project as a chance to soar in one leap.

After all, hadn’t the barely-known Huang Tingting jumped from an 18th-tier nobody to a third-tier actress after appearing in Republican-Era Literary Giants Chronicle? She had even started receiving lead and supporting-lead offers.

If Huang Tingting could do it, why couldn’t they?

Soon, countless resumes were sent by agents to pile up on Le Jing’s desk.

One week later, when the open auditions began, the line outside the venue was unsurprisingly enormous.