Chapter Twenty-Five: Box Office

Early in the morning, Chen Ling was startled awake by the shrill ringing of his phone. Fishing it out from beneath his pillow, he saw that the call was from Director Cao at China Film.

Director Cao, upon first learning that the film would forego traditional offline promotions and appearances on entertainment programs, had expressed some reservations. But after an unknown conversation with Lu Zheng, his resistance faded. Nevertheless, for a while afterward, his attitude toward Chen Ling cooled noticeably.

Everything changed, however, after Chen Ling took home the Golden Melody Award, and the film’s online buzz soared. Director Cao’s dissatisfaction seemed to evaporate, and today’s phone call was positively brimming with enthusiasm; his voice, booming through the phone, made Chen Ling’s head ring.

“Xiao Chen, Director Chen, Director Chen, we have our box office numbers! Our numbers from yesterday are out!”

“Ah, Director Cao, the numbers are out already? What’s the gross?”

At the mere mention of box office, Chen Ling was instantly wide awake. This was the moment of truth—heaven or hell, it all depended on this.

“Nineteen point eight ninety-nine million! 18.99 million! Our opening day grossed 18.99 million! Do you know what that means?”

Director Cao on the other end sounded as if he was practically shouting.

Fully alert now, Chen Ling knew exactly what this number meant: they’d already recouped their costs on the very first day, and from here on, every cent was profit. The box office would easily exceed 100 million, and if the word of mouth held, 200 million wasn’t out of the question.

What’s more, both the opening and the day after were weekdays; when the weekend rolled around, the box office could explode further.

The next major release, “The Great Earthquake,” wouldn’t hit screens until the 22nd. Chen Ling had carefully chosen this window—he was certain that in these 22 days, there’d be no competing blockbusters. These 22 days would belong entirely to “33 Days After Love.”

It was the height of summer break; students, the main force at the cinemas, were out in droves. This film, telling the story of young people dealing with heartbreak and breakups, would surely resonate with college students and many young adults. The box office might climb even higher—if not for the rampant piracy problem plaguing theaters.

A film’s initial box office take is decided largely in the first week; after that, earnings typically plummet, with many films failing to complete their theatrical run. Only films with stellar word of mouth manage to sustain a long tail.

With this in mind, Chen Ling pressed urgently, “Online promotion, Director Cao, we can’t let up on the online promotion.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay on top of it. But are you sure you don’t want to do any offline events, or appear on a few shows?” Director Cao asked, knowing that such appearances could boost the film.

“Let’s leave it for now. By the time offline promotion kicks in, the golden window for box office returns will have passed,” Chen Ling replied after a moment’s thought.

“Also, Director Cao, send a photographer and a host to the cinema to interview viewers. Steer the conversation towards what the film made them think of their exes—maybe they want to apologize, or try to get back together. That angle should work well.”

Chen Ling planned to borrow a trick from the later “Ex” series’ promotional playbook. When “Ex 3” was released, this tactic sparked a frenzy—its box office surpassed the sum of the previous three films combined.

Chen Ling was certain it would work for “33 Days After Love” as well. After all, what young person hasn’t experienced heartbreak? If handled well, it would easily spark a strong emotional resonance.

“Alright, no problem, I’ll take care of it. We’ll have interview videos online today,” Director Cao promised, pounding his chest with conviction. Now, whatever Chen Ling decided, Director Cao would support him to the hilt.

The higher the box office, the more credit he could claim. At this point, any lingering resentment over the digital-only promotion had utterly vanished.

After hanging up, Chen Ling shared the good news with the cast and crew in their group chat. An opening day gross of 18.99 million was a cause for true celebration.

The numbers sparked a chorus of cheers from everyone. After all, this was a film they’d all helped create. Achieving such a result, each of them felt immense pride.

Moreover, being part of a box office hit would do wonders for their careers—such an achievement was a dazzling addition to their résumés.

And with the first box office figures out, the voices of mockery and doubt that preceded the release evaporated.

…

News of the film’s explosive opening day quickly made headlines.

“Jointly produced by China Film, Starlight Brilliance, and Chen Ling Film Studio, the low-budget romance ‘33 Days After Love’ seized 18.99 million at the box office on its first day.”

“It is reported that all main actors and crew are current students at Beijing Film Academy.”

“According to insiders, the film had a modest budget and recouped its costs on opening day.”

“The film is adapted from the eponymous novel, written, directed, and starring Chen Ling, a Golden Melody Award-winning lyricist.”

“Experts predict the box office will easily surpass 100 million, making Chen Ling Beijing Film Academy’s newest member of the ‘100 Million Yuan Director’ club.”

This news drew in a wave of online attention. Beyond the box office and cast, many internet users were curious: to which generation of directors did Chen Ling belong?

“Chen Ling’s mentor is a Fifth Generation director, and was credited as associate director on this film. That means Chen Ling is a Sixth Generation director, right? I don’t see the confusion.”

Most netizens agreed, and so Chen Ling was promptly crowned a Sixth Generation director, a contemporary of Ning Hao.

…

Director Cao of China Film proved efficient. By afternoon, the interview videos he and Chen Ling discussed that morning were already live on Tudou and Youku.

If only smartphones were as ubiquitous as they would one day become, Chen Ling mused, the videos would have gone viral in no time. He found himself wanting more.

The next day, Friday, as word of mouth spread and the interview videos made the rounds online, cinemas, impressed by the opening day gross, increased screenings. As a result, rather than dropping, Friday’s box office climbed to 21.1 million, breaking the 20-million mark.

Meanwhile, Douban opened for scores—7.6, higher than Chen Ling had anticipated.

As the weekend arrived and word of mouth mounted, the film experienced a surge. Saturday alone brought in 29 million, and Sunday soared past 35 million, landing at 31.66 million.

In its first four days, the film bucked the norm by not dropping, and crossed the 100-million mark. The news stunned many: everyone had expected the film to pass 100 million, but not so quickly.

Another director of a 100-million-yuan commercial hit had arrived—and he was a college freshman, no less! And clearly, this was only the beginning.

“Old Chen, you’re incredible. I’m sticking to you from now on,” Dou Xiao called as soon as the news broke.

“Hahaha, sure, you can eat and drink well with me from now on.”

“As if—I’m older than you, I should be the one looking after you,” Dou Xiao retorted, not wanting Chen Ling to take advantage.

…

When the budget was revealed, envy abounded. On opening day, some media reported that the film had already recouped its investment after revenue splits, but few believed it.

Now, with China Film itself confirming the budget at 7 million, there was no room for doubt.

Seven million—a figure so modest it would barely cover expenses on many productions. The cast and crew were all students, virtually unknown. It seemed absurd.

The internet exploded with commentary:

“After ‘Crazy Stone,’ another dark horse has emerged, made on a shoestring and raking it in.”

“Young director scores a hit: box office crosses 100 million in four days.”

“Another commercial blockbuster director from Beijing Film Academy, following Ning Hao.”

“The film feels a bit thin, more melodrama than substance.”

“Acting is exaggerated overall, could use improvement.”

Praises and criticisms, envy and admiration, all poured forth, creating a chaotic chorus online.

Fortunately, with no rivals in this release window, there were no large-scale smear campaigns.

As box office and audience numbers grew, the Douban score held steady at 7.5.

Chen Ling noticed online that many praised Jing Tian’s performance. Truth be told, she had indeed delivered, drawing from her own experience.

As the workweek began, the second week’s box office took a natural dip—after all, not everyone was on summer break—but overall, earnings remained robust.

Over the five weekdays, the film grossed another 80 million. Adding in the weekend, the total soared past 220 million.

With eleven days remaining before “The Great Earthquake” hit theaters, all eyes were on whether this film could break the 300-million mark.

Some began calculating profits, and the results left everyone flabbergasted—the returns were staggering.

With such a low budget, it was as if they were printing money.

Soon, many in the industry began preparing their own “chick flick” projects, recognizing that this genre had a lucrative market.

…

Though the film was still in theaters, offers for similar projects began pouring in for Chen Ling. Fortunately, by then he’d already gone into hiding.

Unlike the hubbub outside, and apart from the first few days, Chen Ling’s life soon returned to peace. He disappeared into campus life, rarely even leaving the school grounds, making him impossible to reach.

The only adjustment was that more people greeted him daily on campus. As for film offers and invitations, he handed them all off to his agent.

He stuck to his routine of attending classes, and when time allowed, sat in on lectures from other departments.

Directing and starring in a film had brought great success, but it also made Chen Ling acutely aware of his shortcomings.

Though his memory was excellent and he had some natural talent for acting, compared to true masters—the great actors and directors—he still lagged far behind.

To a layperson, his performance might seem on par, expressions and gestures all present, but as the one on screen and behind the camera, Chen Ling knew exactly where he fell short.

He realized it was necessary to recharge his batteries and improve himself while still in school.

An amusing episode occurred when the box office broke 100 million: Chen Ling received a call from the legendary President Han of China Film.

Chen Ling had long heard of his reputation. On the phone, President Han congratulated him on the film’s outstanding performance, then suggested a grand celebration after the film's theatrical run, and inquired if Chen Ling had plans for his next project—offering any help needed.

The contrast was stark. When Chen Ling was seeking funding for his first film, he’d struggled to find anyone willing to invest, finally landing Director Cao only because of a favor owed to his mentor, and the fact that President Han was locked in a power struggle with the Censorship Department at the time. Without those circumstances, even the 1 million from China Film would have been out of reach.

Now, before the film had even finished its run, President Han was calling his mobile directly, asking about his next project and budget needs.

Chen Ling understood the shift. At that time, there were only a handful of successful domestic commercial film directors, and most were not prolific.

Unbeknownst to Chen Ling, when President Han called him, Director Cao was also present in his office, grinning from ear to ear—a clear indication of having just been lavishly praised.

After all, what began as a favor—investing 1 million—had yielded a windfall. Now, his only regret was not investing more.

President Han, too, was pleased with his subordinate. Since the nationwide box office sweep of “Avatar” earlier that year, most domestic blockbusters, including many backed by China Film, had been financial disasters. At best, a few broke even. Only this small-budget film actually made money.

Still, President Han’s only regret matched Director Cao’s: they had invested too little. If only they’d put in more than 1 million.

Chen Ling readily agreed to the celebration, scheduled after the film’s theatrical run.

The release entered its third week. The first week had lasted only four days, so as of now, the film had been in theaters for eleven days.

The third week opened with a 9-million box office on Monday, then steadily declined. Even on the weekend, daily earnings didn’t crack 10 million.

Though screenings remained high and word of mouth was strong, piracy had become rampant and fast.

By the second week, Chen Ling had already found pirated versions online. He reported the offending sites, but nothing was done, much to his frustration.

In the third week, the film grossed a total of 60 million, bringing the eighteen-day cumulative box office to 287 million.

With four days left before “The Great Earthquake” would premiere, the film managed only 3 million on Monday.

There were eleven days left in the film’s official one-month run, and breaking 300 million was now a foregone conclusion.

Another director-actor with a 300-million box office was about to be crowned, and he was outrageously young—just a sophomore as the new school year began.

Beijing Film Academy had produced another force to be reckoned with!