Life countdown begins, ice queen bursts into security room

Winter in Shanghai has a damp chill.

In Fanyin Studio, the air conditioning and heating were turned up very high.

Su Yuyan pushed open the door and came in, taking off her black cashmere coat and casually draping it over the coat rack.

She was wearing a fitted white sweater underneath, which accentuated her curves.

She strode quickly to the desk in her high heels and slammed a folder in front of Jiang Fan.

"The pre-sale data for the Spring Festival film season is out."

Su Yuyan pulled out a chair and sat down, her brows furrowed.

"Goodbye Mr. Loser only had a 6% nationwide screening rate, and those screenings were all low-quality ones."

Jiang Fan leaned back in his swivel chair, his gaze sweeping over the documents.

"Is it difficult to get anything done on Tang Yingxue's end?"

"She has done her best, but Universal's own 'Apollo' also wants to be released. The theaters are unwilling to give her any extra screening slots."

Su Yuyan rubbed her temples.

"After the old guys at Star Shine fell from power, the market share that was vacated was swallowed up by Longyao Media. Their big-budget movie 'Martial Arts' cost 600 million yuan and they monopolized all the screenings in major cinemas. On the first day, it accounted for as much as 45% of the screenings."

"Add to that the pressure from Hollywood Marvel movies, and we simply have no room to survive."

Jiang Fan tapped his fingers on the table: "Martial Peak?"

"Director Chen Kai is one of the top big names in the industry."

Su Yuyan sighed.

"The most dangerous one is the lead actress, Ye Anran."

Ye Anran is the top of the Four Heavenly Queens.

The name flashed through Jiang Fan's mind.

A triple threat in film, television, and music, a Golden Rooster Award-winning actress, her box office appeal is unparalleled in the Chinese entertainment industry.

"Chen Kai launched an attack on Weibo yesterday."

Su Yuyan took out her phone, brought up the page, and pushed it over.

On the screen, Chen Kai's verified account posted a long article.

These days, almost anyone can get their hands on a film. Film is an art form, not a money-making machine to exploit audiences. I predict that a certain so-called comedy without even professional actors will never gross more than 50 million. I advise certain people to recognize their place.

Below was a poster for the novel "Martial Arts," in which Ye Anran is dressed in ancient costume, holding a long sword, and making a grand entrance.

In the comments section, Ye Anran's fans and various marketing accounts have begun to control the narrative.

"Director Chen is right, let's reject money-grabbing flops!"

"An Ran's 'Martial Arts' is the only true god of the Spring Festival film season."

"A singer coming to make a movie, where did they get the courage?"

"Waiting for the box office to flop on New Year's Eve."

Jiang Fan turned off the screen and casually tossed it onto the table.

He reached out and grabbed Su Yuyan's wrist, pulling her into his arms.

Su Yuyan slumped onto his lap and symbolically struggled for a moment.

"The whole internet is laughing at us now," Su Yuyan said, looking at Jiang Fan.

"A 40 million investment, and only 6% of the screenings are so low, how are we going to break even?"

Jiang Fan wrapped his arms around her waist, rested his chin on her shoulder, and smelled the perfume in her hair.

"Chen Kai knows nothing about art."

Jiang Fan's tone was indifferent.

"The audience is already tired of his grand narratives that are full of pointless whining."

Su Yuyan turned her head: "Then what about scheduling?"

"Don't rush."

Jiang Fan put his hand inside the sweater.

"Once Lunar New Year's Eve is over, theater managers will beg us to increase the number of screenings."

Su Yuyan looked into Jiang Fan's calm eyes, wondering where he got his confidence from.

But her body reacted more honestly; her breathing became erratic, and she slumped into Jiang Fan's arms.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Kyoto.

CCTV Studio One.

With 48 hours to go before the live broadcast on New Year's Eve, the final dress rehearsal is underway.

Sitting in the audience were the chief director Zhang Guoqiang, the deputy director of the State Administration of Radio and Television, and leaders from various departments responsible for review.

Backstage, Shen Feng vigorously rubbed his face with both hands to warm up his stiff facial muscles.

"Brother Feng, it's our turn," Lunzi whispered a reminder from the side.

Shen Feng nodded and stepped out from behind the curtain.

The stage lights came on.

Shen Feng, wearing that gray old-fashioned cadre jacket and carrying a chipped thermos, slowly walked to the desk with his pigeon-toed gait.

Ma Yue, covered in mud, rushed onto the stage, slammed her hand on the table, and began to question him.

Shen Feng rolled his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and drawled out his words.

"Hey comrade, how can you talk like that? The East African Rift Valley is so big and no one has ever fallen in, how did you end up in there?"

The staff and several leaders in the audience couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Shen Feng unscrewed the thermos, blew on the steam, glanced at Ma Yue, and suddenly raised his voice.

"Have you been watching too much 'Goodbye Mr. Loser' movie? Are you just daydreaming all day in your office?"

Shen Feng's self-righteous yet slightly smug expression, coupled with his contrasting tone, instantly ignited the entire audience.

"Hahaha!"

The studio erupted in laughter.

Several cameramen, carrying their equipment, were laughing so hard their shoulders were shaking, and the camera lenses were wobbling along with them.

Zhang Guoqiang was sitting in the first row when he spat out a mouthful of tea and coughed repeatedly. He quickly grabbed a tissue to wipe the table.

The deputy director sitting next to Zhang Guoqiang froze on his face with a smile.

He suddenly straightened his back and fixed his gaze on Shen Feng on the stage.

Goodbye Mr. Loser?

Isn't that the name of a movie?

A grassroots stage actor actually dared to openly criticize an upcoming commercial film in CCTV's Studio One!

The deputy director's face twitched, and he grabbed the microphone base in front of him with his right hand.

My thumb is on the red switch.

He wants to oust this arrogant, makeshift troupe!

Before the red button was even pressed, the voice from the review three days ago suddenly rang in my ears.

"Anyone who dares to cancel this program is derelict in their duty!"

Those were the exact words of Minister Chen, the head of the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television.

The deputy director's hand froze in mid-air.

This line is indeed against the rules, but the program itself was personally selected by Minister Chen.

If Minister Chen feels that he is using this as an excuse to deliberately defy the leader's instructions, he will have to take off his official hat tomorrow.

He picked up the teacup in front of him, took a large gulp as a cover-up, and stared at the stage, pretending to be deaf and dumb.

Zhang Guoqiang caught a glimpse of the deputy director's withdrawn hand out of the corner of his eye, and picked up his teacup to cover the corners of his mouth that were turning up.

As long as this old guy doesn't dare to say anything, this line will naturally survive until the national live broadcast on New Year's Eve.

The rehearsal is over.

When Shen Feng returned backstage, his entire underwear was soaked with sweat and felt cold against his back.

Rinko leaned closer, her voice trembling.

"Brother Feng, when I threw out that line just now, my legs went weak. The deputy director's face was as black as the bottom of a pot, and his hand was almost touching the microphone."

Shen Feng leaned against the cold wall, his chest heaving violently.

"Brother Jiang said he'll hold up the sky if it falls."

Shen Feng unscrewed a bottle of mineral water and drank half of it.

"All we need to do is perform well!"