Chapter Thirty: The Premiere Day

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January 21, 1999. Today is the day "The Great Flood" is released. Wu Xiang's work will premiere first in several cities in the south and northeast, most of which suffered from the recent flood. As for the capital and Shanghai, those will have to wait, as the slots haven't opened yet—those cities must wait for blockbuster releases.

"Kun, can I borrow your bike?"

Early in the morning, Wu Xiang found Chen Kun and asked to borrow his mountain bike. Chen Kun is rather obsessed with that bike, treating it like a treasure every day.

"You're riding in this freezing weather? Are you out of your mind?" Chen Kun’s words were justified; today in Yanjing, the temperature was in the twenties below zero, and with the northern wind, cycling was hardly suitable.

Wu Xiang slapped his thick down jacket, "Thanks for your concern, Kun, I've been ready since dawn."

Chen Kun truly loves his mountain bike and was reluctant to lend it. But Wu Xiang rarely asked for anything, and now he finally opened his mouth—well, fine!

"Take good care of it, alright? You know it's my baby, don't do anything to break it!" With endless reminders, Chen Kun handed over the bike, but added one last sentence, "Xiang, don't stress yourself out—it's fine. Besides, didn't you say you'd donate all the ticket sales?"

"What pressure? Oh, ha ha ha, why would I feel any pressure? I'm just exercising!" Wu Xiang laughed loudly, mounted the mountain bike, and rode off into the distance.

Watching him disappear, Chen Kun couldn't help but wrinkle his brow in exasperation.

Compared to the chilly north, the Yangtze River basin was not so cold, but winter here without heating was truly hard to endure. Many people preferred staying active outdoors, only heading home to sleep.

Liu Tiesheng was from Jiujiang. His hometown had been struck by disaster last year, but thanks to the help of the People's Liberation Army, the flood was forcibly held back. He learned all this from phone calls with his parents and from television; he couldn’t return home while working elsewhere, so to compensate his family, he went home early for the New Year. But life at home was rather dull, and the house was damp and cold, so he went out for a walk, just to move around.

The Spring Festival was less than twenty days away, but the festive atmosphere was already building; many places were busy preparing. Yet Liu Tiesheng noticed something peculiar: many people coming out of the cinema had tear marks on their faces.

Was there something troubling people so close to New Year?

With this question in mind, Liu Tiesheng wandered over to the cinema to see what was going on.

"The Great Flood?" He quickly found the answer—it was simple. Most films screening now were comedies or action movies, hardly tear-inducing. As for "Titanic," the crowds had thinned, and tickets cost seventy or eighty yuan.

"It must be this one!" Liu Tiesheng mused. "Looks like the film is about fighting the flood. Anyway, since I'm bored, why not catch a movie?"

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So he bought a ticket and went in. There were quite a few people—every seat was taken. Most seemed to share Liu Tiesheng’s curiosity, and this city had suffered greatly; it was said that the flood barrier had even broken, but the army managed to seal the breach.

The movie didn’t start with the flood, which left Liu Tiesheng a bit disappointed, but the scenes of military life were interesting enough; he had never served, but had always admired soldiers as a child.

"The leading man is pretty handsome!" That was Liu Tiesheng’s first impression—the only thing that struck him at first. But soon, the plot unfolded.

The flood! The raging waters tore at the heartstrings—the villagers and their homes, swept away one by one.

Villagers gathered on the rooftop of a house, stranded with nowhere else to go. Liu Tiesheng felt a pang of sorrow, but hope remained—the army was coming.

When the helicopter appeared, Liu Tiesheng nearly shouted in excitement—a fantastic sight.

Scene after scene of flood resistance, story after story of heroism—Liu Tiesheng watched, his blood boiling with passion. He even discovered the cause of the flood: the devastation of the environment.

But that wasn’t the end. When the strongest surge came, the levee was shattered, and the soldiers used their bodies to block the rushing waters…

"Long live the motherland! Long live the People's Liberation Army!" Liu Tiesheng could no longer restrain himself—he shouted out loud, and tears streamed down his face.

"Long live the motherland! Long live the People's Liberation Army!"

No one laughed at Liu Tiesheng; all the audience members cried out involuntarily, tears flowing freely…

"God, it's cold!"

Wu Xiang’s original destination was Badaling, but he gave up before even reaching the Ming Tombs and turned back, making excuses—the weather was just too cold.

Besides, it’s always good to set high goals; even if you don’t reach them, there’s something to be said for aiming high. As the saying goes, man proposes, heaven disposes.

Wu Xiang hoped for a high box office for "The Great Flood"—as much as possible. Even though he planned to donate the proceeds, the box office reflected his achievement, his recognition by the audience.

For the opening day’s box office, Wu Xiang privately hoped for a million yuan. He hadn’t told anyone, but believed it was attainable. To be honest, with domestic films nowadays, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but a million seemed reasonable. When he first entered the entertainment industry, even mediocre films achieved that—surely his would not do worse.

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The next day, Wu Xiang didn’t go cycling. He decided that physical exercise should be gradual—no need to try to do everything at once. More importantly, he was waiting for news.

With the winter break just started, many students at the Film Academy hadn’t left; the roommates in dorm 307 were certainly still around, so they had lunch in the school cafeteria.

Wu Xiang’s phone rang—it was Professor Han Sanping.

As for the phone itself, Wu Xiang, being a director now, needed reliable equipment, so he got himself a sturdy model.

"Xiao Wu, do you know how much 'The Great Flood' made on its first day?"

"Professor Han, how much?" To be honest, Wu Xiang was both expectant and excited, trying to steady his nerves.

"Xiao Wu, the first day was 280,000 yuan—280,000 at the box office!"

With a clatter, Wu Xiang’s phone slipped from his hand before Han Sanping could finish speaking. Luckily, his trusty Nokia didn't leave a dent in the cafeteria floor—but still!

280,000 yuan—only 280,000!

For Wu Xiang, accustomed to hearing about films breaking records and earning hundreds of millions, this opening day box office was a blow.

Not that he expected hundreds of millions, but this was pitiful—only 280,000, and on the crucial opening day! What about the days to come? Even if the numbers rise later, how much can they rise?

This was his first film, meticulously prepared—he’d scrutinized every detail of the shoot, every shot carried the flavor of a Hollywood blockbuster. How could it fail? How could the opening day bring in only 280,000?

Wu Xiang even began to doubt himself—was he too impatient? Should he have learned more, built more connections, gained more experience…

His face changed color several times, growing paler with each moment. He was never a fragile young man, but now…