Entertainment from Divorce

Just after the winter solstice, the wind in Beijing carried fine snowflakes, like countless icy needles pricking the face.

The glass curtain wall of the Brilliant Entertainment headquarters building reflects a warm yellow light, keeping the cold outside out and making the interior as warm as spring.

Mr. Wu carried the thick folder through the corridor, his leather shoes making a crisp, rhythmic sound on the gleaming marble floor, each step brimming with barely suppressed joy.

He arrived ten minutes earlier than the agreed time. The promotional data report in the folder still carried the warmth of the printer, and the edges were slightly curled from being repeatedly rubbed by him, showing how much he cherished it.

"Mr. Tan, this is a summary of global publicity data up to last night."

When Engineer Wu opened the door, Tan Yue was standing by the window watching the snow. The morning light shone through the blinds behind him, casting strips of light of varying lengths on the floor, like piano keys.

As he turned around, his black turtleneck sweater accentuated his sharp shoulder line, making him appear tall and straight. He was still holding the crackled porcelain cup in his fingers, the Longjing tea inside steaming and releasing a faint aroma.

"Put it on the table." Tan Yue's gaze fell on the folder, a faint smile playing on his lips, a smile that held both expectation and composure.

Snowflakes fluttered down onto the glass outside the window, instantly melting into tiny water droplets that meandered down like countless expectant eyes blinking.

With only six days left until the New Year's Day release, the entire company was immersed in a tense yet excited atmosphere. Even the auntie in the break room was talking about "whether our space movie will be a success," her words full of concern and anticipation.

Engineer Wu opened the report, his fingertips slid quickly across the charts, the paper making a slight rustling sound: "Domestically, the trailer has already garnered over 12 billion views across the internet, and related topics on social media have exceeded 50 billion reads."

He pointed to a set of bar charts, the red bars so steep they seemed to burst through the paper, their momentum astonishing.

"Especially the topic of 'domestic hard science fiction' has generated more than three times the amount of discussion compared to other films released during the same period. Many viewers said, 'We've been waiting for this day for too long,' their words filled with anticipation. Some even dug up domestic science fiction films from ten years ago for comparison, saying, 'We finally see hope,' their excitement was palpable."

Tan Yue took a sip of tea, and the tea leaves unfurled in the water, turning a tender green color with an elegant posture.

"Let me elaborate on the audience feedback."

He recalled that when he was preparing for Interstellar, some people in the industry advised him not to touch science fiction, as the domestic environment is not suitable. At that time, even the special effects company bluntly said, "Our technology cannot capture a black hole." The lack of confidence in their tone deeply stung him.

"The most frequent words in the comments section are 'shocking' and 'anticipation'."

Mr. Wu pulled up several screenshots. The text on the screen was densely packed together, making it almost impossible to see the gaps.

“A physics teacher said that ‘the light effect of the black hole accretion disk conforms to the theory of general relativity’ and even analyzed the refraction angle and intensity of light in detail; a space enthusiast analyzed the mechanical structure of the spacecraft docking frame by frame, not even missing the position of the screws; and an ordinary viewer said that ‘just watching the Earth scene in the trailer made me want to cry’, and that kind of longing for home is very relatable.”

He paused, a hint of emotion creeping into his voice.

"Many people have mentioned that this is the first movie that made them feel that 'Chinese people can also make good science fiction.' The previous ones were either cheap special effects that were too rough to watch, or they were romance movies disguised as science fiction, completely deviating from the core of science fiction."

Tan Yue's fingertips tapped lightly on the table, the rhythm as steady as a pendulum, each tap feeling like a blow to the heart.

He recalled visiting the Chinese Academy of Sciences, where the old academician held his hand and said, "Our FAST telescope can see galaxies billions of light-years away, but our movies don't even have a decent starry sky." He still clearly remembers the regret in his words.

The fervent comments at this moment seem to be a response to this statement, and a reflection of the audience's fervent expectations for domestic science fiction.

"The data from abroad is even more surprising."

Mr. Wu turned to the next page, his eyes sparkling as if they held stars.

"The trailer's viewership in North America surged into the top three on the platform, surpassing several Hollywood blockbusters released at the same time, something unimaginable before. The Los Angeles Times' film review section published a special analysis, saying that 'Tan Yue reconstructed the space narrative with an Eastern perspective,' and also mentioned several of your previous works, saying that 'from prison to Titanic, he always manages to bring something new to genre films,' which is quite high praise."

He pulled up a screenshot of an overseas social media platform, where comments in various languages ​​flooded the screen, leaving him overwhelmed: "Finally, Director Tan's sci-fi film! I've been a fan since 'The Shawshank Redemption'." "This black hole is even more beautiful than what I saw in NASA documentaries; the details are amazing." "I've already booked IMAX tickets for New Year's Day and am ready to watch it again."

"Many overseas fans have spontaneously created mashups of your works, piecing together the Interstellar trailer with clips from your previous movies. The editing is very meticulous, and the number of views has exceeded one million, which shows how much they love it."

Looking at the praises mixed with different languages, Tan Yue suddenly recalled the first time he took his work to an overseas exhibition five years ago. At the press conference, only three reporters asked questions, all of which were about "whether Chinese films will continue to imitate Hollywood." The doubt in their tone was obvious.

Now, his name itself is the best advertisement, and this transformation fills him with a sense of pride.

"The data is impressive."

Tan Yue closed the report, his tone filled with satisfaction and his eyes full of approval.

"Proceed with the next step of the publicity campaign as planned. Have the domestic team collaborate with the science museum to organize a 'space day camp,' inviting visitors to experience weightlessness simulation and feel what it's like to be an astronaut in space; overseas, release Deng Gaofei's behind-the-scenes interview, specifically the part where he says 'filming this movie felt like a real trip to space,' to let the audience know about the actors' dedication."

Engineer Wu quickly jotted it down, his pen scribbling rapidly across the notebook, as if afraid of missing anything: "Understood! There's also good news: the National Space Administration said that the Space Museum will open its doors for an evening screening on the day of the film's release, showing clips from the movie simultaneously. This is the first time they've endorsed a commercial film, so it's incredibly significant."

"Tell them we can provide high-definition footage."

Tan Yue picked up the celadon cup. The crackled patterns on the cup wall looked just like nebulae in the universe under the light, mysterious and beautiful.

"We want the audience to know that the starry sky in the movie is just as worthy of awe as the real universe, and that we have a rigorous attitude towards science."

As Mr. Wu was leaving, he bumped into Chen Ye carrying coffee, the aroma of which filled the air.

As they stepped aside to let each other pass at the door, they could see the smiles in each other's eyes—a smile that came from the bottom of their hearts, a smile of joy and anticipation.

In the corridor, young employees were gathered around a screen scrolling through overseas comments. Some were using translation software to read the praises aloud line by line, occasionally letting out cheers and laughter like a string of wind chimes tinkling in the wind, crisp and melodious.

At the same time, Deng Gaofei sat on the sofa in the artist's apartment, holding an invitation to the New Year's Day premiere in his hand.

The gold lettering gleamed softly under the light, yet it burned his fingertips slightly, his excitement barely contained.

The snow outside the window fell heavier and heavier, like countless white sprites dancing in the air, blurring the city's outline into a hazy white expanse, much like that snow-covered planet in the movie, tranquil and mysterious. On the phone screen, the pre-sale data for "Interstellar" kept refreshing, the numbers jumping around, dazzling the eyes.

IMAX screenings in major Chinese cities are almost sold out, and even overseas ticketing platforms have raised the "hot screenings" warning, which shows the audience's enthusiasm.

Deng's agent, Xiao Zhou, just sent me a message: "Brother Deng, so many directors have asked me to schedule your work. They said they want to work with you after watching the trailer. You're about to become a huge star!"

He opened his social media account and found that his number of followers had increased more than tenfold compared to three months ago. His inbox was overflowing with messages from viewers, one after another, which he couldn't possibly read.

"Teacher Deng, you must play Cooper well! We're looking forward to your wonderful performance."

"I've been following you since you were an extra, and I'm so glad I got to see you in a leading role."

"We're looking forward to seeing how you perform in space. We're confident you'll be able to portray this role well."

What moved him most was a message from a colleague in his hometown's drama troupe: "Old Deng, we drama actors can also act in sci-fi blockbusters. We're so proud of you!"

The simple words conveyed deep affection and pride.

Deng Gaofei got up and walked to the full-length mirror. The person in the mirror had white hair at his temples, but it added to his composure. His eyes were surprisingly bright, as if they were burning with flames.

He recalled the days of filming: being suspended by wires in the green screen studio until his shoulders were bruised and he couldn't sleep at night because of the pain; practicing a single line to the air until his mouth was dry and his voice was hoarse.

Tan Yue always says, "Cooper's courage hides vulnerability, just like you are now," and this sentence has always inspired him.

On the corner of the table was a model of a spacesuit, a gift from the special effects team to him to wrap up filming. It was exquisitely made, and there was a coffee stain on it that he had accidentally smeared while filming night scenes, a testament to his hard work.

He picked up the model and ran his fingertips along the fine lines on the hull.

Those were all meticulously carved by the team from real spacesuits, and they are even more exquisite than the samples provided by foreign prop companies, showing the team's dedication.

"Are you nervous?" Xiao Zhou suddenly called. The girl on the screen was holding her phone and circling around the cinema entrance, with a long line of people in the background. "Look at all these people queuing to buy tickets, so many of them came for you! They said they just want to see what it's like for you to play an astronaut."

Deng Gaofei smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkling together like blooming flowers: "A little."

He gazed at the snow outside the window, his voice unusually candid, "After all... this is our own sci-fi blockbuster, carrying the expectations of so many people, and I'm afraid of letting everyone down."

“Mr. Tan said that your portrayal of Cooper is irreplaceable.” Xiao Zhou pointed the camera at the movie poster, where Deng Gaofei’s figure in a spacesuit stood out on the huge poster with a firm look in his eyes. “Do you remember filming the final scene? Mr. Tan said that your eyes ‘captured all the loneliness of mankind’. Everyone present was moved at the time.”

of course I remember.

That scene took two whole days to film. He stood under the lights simulating a black hole, looking at his daughter's aged face on the screen.

That longing that transcends time and space instantly struck him, and he suddenly remembered those years when he was an extra, the days when he ate cold steamed buns backstage at the theater, and all the bitterness and perseverance welled up in his heart.

The tears didn't need to be acted out; they just streamed down her cheeks. Behind the monitor, Tan Yue, with red eyes, said, "That's a wrap," her voice slightly choked.

"Shall we go to the company to see the final cut tomorrow?" Xiao Zhou's voice pulled him back to reality.

“Go.” Deng Gaofei put down the model, his tone firm and resolute. “Take another look. It will put my mind at ease. The more I look, the better I can understand the character and meet the audience’s expectations.”

After hanging up the phone, he went to the balcony. Snowflakes landed on his eyelashes, bringing a cool touch that made him even more awake.

On a distant billboard, the countdown to "Interstellar" jumped to "6," the red lettering standing out starkly against the snowy night, like a beacon guiding the way.

He took a deep breath, the cold air penetrating his lungs, which gradually calmed the tension in his heart into a sense of certainty.

This movie is worth all the anticipation; he has that confidence.

As night fell, Tan Yue's office lights were still on, like a lighthouse in the darkness.

When Chen Ye came in to deliver the documents, he saw Deng Gaofei circling Deng Gaofei's name in red on the computer screen, making it particularly conspicuous.

"Mr. Tan, Professor Deng said he'd like to see the final cut tomorrow," Chen Ye said softly, placing the documents on the corner of the table, careful not to disturb him.

"Let him come." Tan Yue looked up, his eyes filled with a warm and sincere smile. "And invite him for a cup of tea, the Biluochun I stored last time. It has a mellow flavor and is perfect for this time of year."

Chen Ye acknowledged and withdrew, but couldn't help looking back as he reached the door.

Tan Yue was gazing out the window at the snowy night. Behind him, the city lights flickered, like an overturned Milky Way, dazzling and radiant.

She suddenly remembered the news she had seen that morning, saying that the pre-sale box office of "Red Planet" was only one-third of that of "Interstellar". When Colin Firth was interviewed, his tone was no longer as arrogant as before, but rather a bit less confident.

At the end of the corridor, a glass cabinet displays posters of Brilliant Entertainment's works over the years, each one recording the company's growth and glory.

The most prominent spot was reserved for Interstellar.

Within the halo of the black hole, Cooper, played by Deng Gaofei, gazes at the distant Earth with a look of concern and courage, as if telling a story about exploration and perseverance.

On the electronic screen below the poster, the countdown to New Year's Day is decreasing second by second, as if counting down the last moments for this upcoming star-studded feast, with every second filled with anticipation.

The snow was still falling, landing on the logo of Brilliant Entertainment, and instantly melting away with the warmth, as if even the ice and snow were infected by this enthusiasm.

Throughout the building, the sounds of keyboards clattering, discussions, and printers mingled together, creating a nocturne for filmmakers, gently yet firmly proclaiming: the moment for Chinese science fiction is about to arrive, to make a stunning debut carrying everyone's expectations. (End of Chapter)