Cao Desheng removed the virtual helmet with eyes full of tears, exhaling a long breath, feeling as though every goosebump on his body was dancing.
He shook his head. Truly, he was getting old—his tear ducts had become far too weak.
Looking around in a daze, he realized he was far from the only one who couldn’t hold back tears.
“The Empress’s Imperial Hound” did not disappoint him.
It had been many years since he last watched such an outstanding historical film.
With China’s greatest female emperor, Wu Zetian, as its protagonist, the film rooted itself in real history while boldly applying artistic adaptation and creative interpretation. It also explored ancient social ideology and culture in depth—an excellent film that fully celebrated traditional culture.
Ever since the day he awarded Le Jing the Best AI Film Award at the Xingkong Awards, Cao Desheng had silently been observing this young man.
So when he received an invitation to the premiere of “The Empress’s Imperial Hound”, Cao Desheng—who hadn’t stayed awake past ten in decades—still chose to attend, even though it meant breaking his lifelong routine.
Now it was ten at night.
A tingling excitement crawled across his cerebral cortex, sending a numb, shivery sensation all the way down his spine.
Tonight was destined to be a sleepless night.
He had already composed most of his film review in his mind.
The old colleague on his left removed his helmet and said excitedly, “I’d bet good money that The Empress’s Imperial Hound has already locked in this year’s Ark Award for Best Film!”
Cao Desheng thought for a moment, shook his head, and sighed. “It won’t be that simple.”
Seeing the colleague’s dissatisfaction, Cao Desheng softly said a single name: “Tulip Beauty.”
At those words, the old colleague immediately fell silent.
Though they didn’t attend the premiere of “Tulip Beauty”, they had read the online reviews and were familiar with its plot.
It was no exaggeration to say that it was a film crafted entirely and deliberately for the Ark Awards—a tailor-made awards contender.
A human–insect romance sounded bizarre at first, but in the arts, such films were hardly rare. Cross-species love, to many critics, was considered a pursuit of artistic expression.
The romance itself was merely the surface. What artists and critics adored were the explosive conflicts between love and race, belief and politics, desire and rationality. The more intense the conflict, the more praise it received.
Cao Desheng despised so-called human–insect romances.
To the insectoid race, humans were nothing but edible meat. Their only way of expressing affection was to eat humans.
With the lesson of the Dark Three Hundred Years, why were humans still chasing some imagined “humanity beneath the beast” of the insectoid race for the sake of artistic value?
The old colleague argued quietly, “The Empress’s Imperial Hound still stands a chance. After all, Tulip Beauty is a human–insect romance—the general audience won’t accept it easily.”
Cao Desheng wanted to say something, but held back. In the end, he only spoke noncommittally: “Hard to say.”
So what if the public couldn’t accept it?
As long as the Ark Award jury accepted it, that was enough.
Besides, the male lead in Tulip Beauty was a humanoid brain-insect capable of upright walking—already far more palatable to human aesthetics.
For years, Cao Desheng had harbored a faint but persistent doubt—one that kept him up at night.
Was the Ark Award… still humanity’s Ark Award?
Were those judges… still human?
Bai Entertainment invested heavily. They invited many industry giants to promote “The Empress’s Imperial Hound,” determined to overshadow Tulip Beauty.
As chairman of the China Film Association and head of the Xingkong Award jury, Cao Desheng attended the premiere and offered glowing praise. His endorsement brought enormous attention to the film and kick-started its word-of-mouth momentum.
“The Empress’s Imperial Hound” and “Tulip Beauty” were destined to be the two hottest contenders of this year’s Spring Festival season.
One rooted in traditional culture, the other a cutting-edge art-house romance. Both had excellent reviews and massive fan bases.
Online popularity was neck and neck.
Who would ultimately become the Spring Festival box office champion?
Only time would tell.
Mo Mingrui had been counting the days, eagerly awaiting the public release of “The Empress’s Imperial Hound.”
He immediately bought tickets for the very first screening—even though it meant waking up at seven in the morning.
These past days, he had forced himself not to look at spoilers, all to preserve the best viewing experience.
He rushed into the theater full of anticipation, and came out just as excited and satisfied.
As expected from Director Shi! The quality of “The Empress’s Imperial Hound” was simply superb!
This theme perfectly aligned with the mainstream push to promote traditional culture. In his eyes, only films like this deserved the Ark Award.
As the film’s top competitor, Mo Mingrui had naturally researched “Tulip Beauty.”
The moment he understood its general plot, he developed a deep loathing for it.
A love that transcends species? Would you fall in love with the roast chicken on your dinner plate? Because to the insectoid race, humans were roast chickens!
Mo Mingrui couldn’t help but sigh—times were simply too peaceful now.
The Dark Three Hundred Years had happened thousands of years ago and was nothing more than a few paragraphs in history textbooks.
For nearly a thousand years, the Insectoid Star and the Earth Alliance had coexisted peacefully. Though small frictions happened, overall it was stability.
The insectoid race had long begun raising other livestock, and it had been over a thousand years since humans heard any news of insects eating people.
It seemed the Zerg had already shed their savage, bestial nature and become a civilized race.
But Mo Mingrui still could not let go of his vigilance toward them.
He would forever remember the words he once read in an ancient book—Those who are not of our race must harbor different hearts.
And he would never believe that a beast that had once tasted human flesh could ever truly become good.
During the Dark Three Hundred Years, countless humans had shed their blood and given their lives—not so that, thousands of years later, their descendants could fall in love with the Zerg!
Except… people online who were as clear-headed as Mo Mingrui were in the minority.
Tulip Beauty and The Empress’s Imperial Hound had premiered on the same day. After finishing the film, Mo Mingrui found that his light-brain was already filled with audience reviews for Tulip Beauty.
[Sevier’s Wife]: Aaaaaaah the male lead Sevier is so handsome and so alpha!! If all brain-Zerg were this hot, then I’m in!!
[BigBugBigBugOpenYourEyes]: The director must have given the male lead some artistic polish, right? Real Zerg are just giant bugs, totally not in line with human aesthetics.
[Tulip Sect Lackey]: I can’t help recommending our humanoid brain-Zerg to the person above! They walk upright, have small faces, long legs, and are smart, powerful, super alpha and super handsome! [image.jpg] [image.jpg]
[You’reThinkingPeach]: I cried so loudly! When the heroine died in the male lead’s arms, my eyes were swollen from crying! Fortunately their reincarnations ended up together!
Mo Mingrui frowned, feeling even more unsettled.
He had also seen the stills of Tulip Beauty. He had to admit—the male lead indeed fit human aesthetics very well.
Even though his overall skin tone was the blue-gray of insects, his body was slender, his eyes weren’t the cold compound eyes of bugs but the warm, large eyes similar to mammals—and not to mention the pair of multicolored butterfly-like wings behind him.
Humanoid brain-Zerg were the new evolutionary direction of the Zerg.
It was said that the Queen had combined certain mammalian genes to produce this new kind of Zerg.
…Many people, including Mo Mingrui, had long suspected that the so-called “mammal” referred to humans.
These humanoid Zerg contained human gene sequences.
Why would Zerg possess human genes?
Many did not dare think about it—and many more… simply refused to.
Peace had lasted a thousand years.
No one wanted war.
Mo Mingrui did not want Tulip Beauty to win any awards.
He believed that if Tulip Beauty won, the effects would be extremely negative.
Le Jing was waiting for a phone call.
Most of the crew were gathered around him, their eyes burning with anticipation as they waited alongside him.
Finally, the call came.
Bathed in countless expectant gazes, Le Jing answered the terminal, put it on speaker, and asked, “How much was the opening-day box office?”
The person on the other end took a deep breath and then shouted excitedly, “300 million! Opening-day box office hit 300 million! Number one for the Spring Festival slot!”
Cheers and applause erupted around Le Jing. The actors and staff hugged each other with relief and joy.
What an outstanding start!
What did 300 million on opening day mean?
It meant that The Empress’s Imperial Hound’s final box office would not be lower than 5 billion—and might even break 10 billion, entering the top twenty in film history!
Yet Le Jing still didn’t fully relax. He asked again, “What about Tulip Beauty?”
“Opening-day box office: 200 million.”
Le Jing frowned. Only a difference of one hundred million.
The gap wasn’t as large as he had imagined.
It seemed he had underestimated the psychological tolerance of people in the interstellar era.
Tulip Beauty was indeed a formidable opponent.
Le Jing found himself growing increasingly curious about the film.
Although his earlier suspicion wasn’t very solid, he still couldn’t help but pay attention to it.
So he decided to go to the cinema himself—to see the movie and personally verify his guess.
………
When he removed the holographic helmet, Le Jing felt conflicted.
As far as romance films go, Tulip Beauty was indeed an excellent movie.
Its core was simple—a great love that transcended race and hatred between a brain-Zerg and a human girl.
And romance films didn’t need complicated cores anyway.
Just like Titanic—ultimately, it was simply a tragic love story set against a sinking ship.
Yet the simpler the romance, the harder it was to make it brilliant.
And Tulip Beauty was shot with sweeping emotion and profound poignancy. The loyalty of the male and female leads, their struggle and pain in desperate circumstances—everything was deeply moving and resonated with audiences.
But…
Tulip Beauty was too good.
The male lead Sevier was too devoted, too perfect.
This only magnified Le Jing’s unease.
He knew exactly how skilled Tian (the director of Tulip Beauty) was, and this film clearly wasn’t his style.
Thinking carefully, the movie had been filmed before the friction between Zerg Planet and the American Federation.
So was this just a coincidence?
If not… then Tulip Beauty was definitely not an isolated case.
The Zerg’s silent infiltration into human cultural fields would not have happened overnight.
After transmigrating, Le Jing had only inherited the original body’s basic memories; he had only vague impressions of the artistic works the original had seen.
He decided that when he returned home, he would conduct a thorough investigation.
He only hoped… that he was overthinking it.
Le Jing left the cinema quickly, frowning.
At that moment, he had no idea that photos of him entering and leaving the cinema had already been taken by paparazzi robots and posted on StarBlog by the famous Huaguo entertainment account “Apple Entertainment.”
[Apple Entertainment]: The Empress’s Imperial Hound opened with 300 million, surpassing Tulip Beauty’s 200 million. Many believe it will be this year’s Spring Festival box office champion. But a passerby ran into the film’s director, Shi Jing, at the cinema—only to find that he not only watched Tulip Beauty, but left with furrowed brows and a deeply worried expression. Our editor thinks Director Shi Jing seems quite optimistic about Tulip Beauty! What do you think? Who will win this year’s Spring Festival slot? Leave your comments!」
And so, “Shi Jing Favors Tulip Beauty” shot straight to #1 on StarBlog’s hot search.
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