It had been a long time since Feng Tianming last used his Weibo account. He thought no one was paying attention anymore, so after posting, he shut down his computer and went to sleep.
But to his surprise, when he logged into his account in a daze after waking up, his inbox exploded, and he found that the lengthy review he had written was actually trending!
Unlike Feng Tianming, who stayed up all night in excitement, Ye Zhou slept soundly that night.
His feelings about this film were quite complex. Initially, he decided to shoot it solely because he was interested in the script, if one were to put it bluntly, it was just for fun.
However, when he had a falling out with Jiang Tingyuan and needed to repay the debt, this film became a lifesaver. At that time, Jingzhe wanted to invest but was rejected by Ye Zhou, who had invested almost all his available funds.
If the film flopped at the box office, Ye Zhou would be bankrupt. If it was a success, he could pay off his debt to Mr. Jiang.
Even after they reconciled, Jiang Tingyuan repeatedly asked if he needed additional investment, but Ye Zhou always declined.
Jiang Tingyuan never demanded the money, but Ye Zhou was determined to repay him. Since they had decided to be together, it was only natural to fill the holes they had dug before.
Whether it was money or emotions, one-sided contributions were unsustainable. For a relationship to last and be stable, everything needed to be mutual.
After his conflict with Mr. Jiang, Ye Zhou poured nearly all his thoughts into this film, ensuring its quality while hoping for a decent box office performance.
Of course, Ye Zhou knew that not all efforts would be rewarded; it was common for films made with the entire crew’s dedication to fail miserably.
However, once he invested his energy into it, many things became less important than they were initially. Until the movie finished filming, Ye Zhou’s mindset shifted again.
While a box office success would be great, even if the film failed censorship or miraculously passed but underperformed, he would have some regrets but no major remorse.
His bottom line was that the film couldn’t be cut or censored; he would rather not release a censored version.
The review process took so long that he thought it would never pass. He had even prepared to start a new project. Unexpectedly, the news of approval came through.
Ye Zhou thought he would be excited at that moment, but surprisingly, he wasn’t. Even on the night of the premiere, when he should have been concerned about the box office, the director remained remarkably calm.
After the premiere and returning home with Mr. Jiang, Ye Zhou took a shower, lay in bed, and fell asleep shortly, as if it wasn’t his film or his investment.
He remembered feeling the same way during the premiere of “A Farce” – remaining calm when he should have been anxious and sleeping more soundly than anyone else.
While Ye Zhou, the director, slept soundly, the rest of the crew could not be as carefree. Many stayed up all night, intently watching the box office data, afraid of missing any crucial information.
On the opening day, most audiences adopted a wait-and-see attitude towards the film. After all, this genre had been absent for too long. What if it was heavily censored or just a money-grabbing flop? The audience would be wasting money watching a desolate film.
Nowadays, audiences are more discerning with their money. Apart from die-hard fans, those who bought tickets on the opening night were mainly critics, media personnel, and film bloggers from various industries.
The general public tends to observe first, checking reviews and ratings on film websites before deciding whether to spend money on tickets.
“Thriller Circus” was no exception. Despite promoting a “return to thriller” gimmick, the thriller genre may have a better audience than tragedy; it is inherently limited, after all. Added to the external skepticism, its opening day box office wasn’t particularly high.
8.3 million yuan—this was the performance of “Thriller Circus” as of midnight on its premiere night.
The box office failed to break 10 million, a number not considered high even for a mid-budget film, let alone competing with big-name directors and major productions whose premieres often gross billions.
As soon as the opening day box office figures were released, many industry insiders started criticizing it. Leading the pack was Ye Zhou’s old acquaintance, the well-known film critic “Flying Melon,” who was the most vocal.
The reason was simple: even among Ye Zhou’s previous films, this box office performance ranked at the bottom. Despite being slapped in the face by Ye Zhou numerous times and losing countless fans, Melon didn’t learn his lesson. Instead, he became more emboldened, completely defying Ye Zhou and becoming a notorious “Ye Zhou hater” in the industry.
Unfortunately, due to his poor performance in his previous two reviews, no one approached Flying Melon for collaboration this time. His previous collaborator, Cheng Ran, was preoccupied with running away after Ye Zhou’s phone call opened his eyes. Now, all his focus was on escaping, and he had no interest in Jiang Yu’s affairs.
During the release of “Thriller Circus,” Jiang Yu’s “Battle City 2” was at a critical juncture. Although he wanted to cause trouble for Ye Zhou and Jiang Tingyuan, he was powerless.
Without Cheng Ran’s dedicated assistance, Jiang Yu was stretched thin, busy as a dog every day. He didn’t have time to create chaos, let alone sleep enough.
His white moonlight, Yu Qiuze, was willing to help. After all, he had invested in “Battle City 2” because of Jiang Yu. Although Yu Qiuze’s intention was to provoke Jiang Tingyuan, the money was invested nonetheless, so he hoped the film would be profitable.
However, Yu Qiuze’s help was useless. He knew even less than Cheng Ran, who had at least worked alongside Jiang Yu for a long time and was well-versed in the company’s operations and film production process.
Yu Qiuze, on the other hand, came from an affluent background. The Yu family was even more prominent than the Jiang family during its heyday. He received an excellent education since childhood, but when the Yu family went bankrupt, he was not yet an adult and had no exposure to the company’s affairs. In the final years, his grandfather’s health deteriorated, making it impossible to teach him even if he wanted to.
After the Yu family went bankrupt, Yu Qiuze was sent abroad. He studied at a prestigious school, but his major was… music.
What help could he provide? It would be good enough if he didn’t cause trouble. He couldn’t possibly play rock music to cheer Jiang Yu up when he was busy.
Sometimes, no matter how grand the promises were, maintaining a relationship requires time. Take Jiang Yu’s current situation—he was so busy that even sleeping was a luxury, let alone thinking about dating.
Previously, Cheng Ran coordinated with internet bloggers and navies. Now that Cheng Ran had abandoned ship, Jiang Yu assigned it to his secretary. However, the secretary was already dissatisfied with him and had thoughts of leaving. Although they took Jiang Yu’s money, they only engaged a few small bloggers to fulfill the job, and it was impossible for them to dedicate themself as Cheng Ran did.
This led to Flying Melon attacking Ye Zhou without compensation this time, fueled solely by…his hatred towards Ye Zhou?
When Ye Zhou received the opening day box office statistics, he also received a few reviews, including a negative one from Melon.
“Luck? Skill? After grossing tens of billions, new film ‘Thriller Circus’ reveals its true colors?” Ye Zhou read the review in his hand, looking at his assistant with a puzzled expression.
“Is this about me?”
The assistant nodded. “Yes, Ye-ge. This review has gone viral on Weibo. The company wants to know if you need them to suppress it.”
Ye Zhou raised his brows and quickly scanned the review.
Admittedly, “Thriller Circus” wasn’t without flaws, and Ye Zhou, as the director, was well aware of his work’s strengths and weaknesses. If the review could pinpoint some valid criticisms, he wouldn’t mind, as the work was meant for public viewing, and it was normal for audiences to share their opinions after watching.
However, the issue was…this review was entirely baseless. It lacked any substantial content or insightful commentary.
The critic spent a significant portion criticizing Ye Zhou’s supposed luck as a director, describing his films as dull and boring failures that only achieved high box office numbers due to sheer luck.
Now that Lady Luck had abandoned him, his new film “Thriller Circus” had suffered a disastrous flop, with its box office plummeting.
Ye Zhou finished reading with many questions, even doubting whether the critic had watched his film at all before writing this nutrient-lacking, subjective article.
However, when he saw the author’s name, he felt relieved.
“Isn’t this Melon? An old acquaintance,” Ye Zhou turned to his young assistant. “It’s alright, let him rant. Let’s see if his review can make the hot search list.”
The assistant, having only worked with Ye Zhou for a year, was unaware of their history and misunderstood his intent. They nodded, “Okay, Ye-ge. If it’s about to trend, I’ll handle it promptly.”
Ye Zhou frowned. “Handle what?”
The assistant matter-of-factly replied, “Remove it from the hot search, of course!”
“No, no, no.” Ye Zhou waved his hands, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He patted the assistant’s shoulder and solemnly instructed, “Let it trend if it does.”
“If it doesn’t trend naturally, use some funds to boost it onto the list. Tell me how much you spend, and I’ll reimburse you.”
His words left the assistant perplexed, unable to comprehend Ye Zhou’s intentions. However, since their boss had given the order, the assistant didn’t argue, suppressing their doubts and agreeing.
Apart from Flying Melon’s overly subjective review, the other few reviews were quite professional and surprisingly gave favorable evaluations.
While others might feel elated by such praise, Ye Zhou remained unaffected.
He was well aware of the quality of his film – it was purely a commercial movie, an assembly of various commercial elements. While general audiences might find it impressive, there was no deeper substance or meaning to dissect.
The praise for “Thriller Circus” mainly stemmed from it capitalizing on policy changes. As a long-banned genre, the return of graphic thriller elements and explosive storylines provided a strong novelty and long-awaited freshness for critics who haven’t experienced such films in years.
With this sense of novelty and nostalgia, even the film’s flaws were significantly diminished, contributing to its high acclaim.
Along with the opening day box office figures came the ratings from major ticketing platforms.
Reputable domestic platforms gave scores of 8.9/9.1/8.7, which were relatively high compared to other releases.
Additionally, the most authoritative domestic film site also reviewed and scored “Thriller Circus” at 7.9. While this may seem low, for a purely commercial film – a genre that typically doesn’t fare well on the site – this score was already considered excellent.
Despite the positive reception, industry insiders remained skeptical about the film’s box office prospects. They believed that even with acclaim and nostalgia fueling a minor surge, it would struggle to maintain momentum and make significant waves.
However, the results greatly exceeded their expectations. “Thriller Circus” had a relatively flat performance in the first three days, but a major turning point occurred on the fourth day.
The notorious “Ye Zhou hater,” Flying Melon, had been behaving as if injected with chicken blood these past few days, living joyously with a permanent grin. Checking the box office numbers became his morning ritual.
Seeing the mediocre performance of “Thriller Circus” brought him immense satisfaction. His entire day’s spirit would soar, his back pain and leg aches would disappear, and he could even climb five floors without breaking a sweat!
On this day, as usual, he reached for his phone on the bedside table as soon as he opened his eyes. Squinting drowsily, he opened the webpage and precisely located Ye Zhou’s name amidst the crowded data.
“Let me see how much it dropped today…” Flying Melon rubbed his slightly blurred eyes, straining to read the numbers clearly. “22.08 million. After three days, the box office hasn’t even reached 30 million. Is that all? Is that it?”
Flying Melon smacked his lips contentedly, got dressed, and prepared for work.
Yes, work. He was a blogger for self-media, earning enough from writing reviews and posting ads to cover his daily expenses. However, after his previous attacks on Ye Zhou backfired, his reputation within the industry plummeted.
A poor reputation meant no sponsors were willing to hire him for reviews or promotions, and self-media income alone was insufficient to maintain his lifestyle. Reluctantly, Flying Melon had to take a clerical job to make ends meet.
On the subway to work, his agile fingers typed away, preparing to publish a lengthy Weibo post disparaging Ye Zhou. Such content flowed from him effortlessly and eloquently.
During the commute, Flying Melon composed a 500-600-word essay and decisively hit publish before getting off. He pocketed his phone and strode confidently towards his office building.
He could almost predict how much profit the plummeting box office of Ye Zhou’s film would bring him. Soon, he’d be able to quit his job and focus on managing his Weibo account again.
Flying Melon was in an excellent mood, even humming as he walked.
Little did he know at that moment, the Weibo post he published on the subway had quietly trended, rocketing up the hot search list at an astonishing pace.
“Ye-ge, are you sure you want to boost his post onto the hot search? Won’t…won’t that cause issues?” The assistant looked hesitant.
Flying Melon’s Weibo post suddenly appeared on the trending list but barely scraped the bottom, and it was at risk of being knocked off anytime.
However, just minutes ago, Ye Zhou had instructed the assistant to help push the post higher on the hot search rankings. Glancing at the screen full of insults, the assistant’s face paled with anxiety.
Noticing their reaction, Ye Zhou reassured, “Go ahead and boost it. I’m the one telling you to do it, so whatever consequences arise can’t be blamed on you. I, as your boss, will take responsibility.”
Seeing Ye Zhou’s firm resolve, the assistant could only reluctantly contact the service to boost Flying Melon’s post up the hot search rankings.
While waiting for the post to climb, the assistant repeatedly held back before finally mustering the courage to ask cautiously, “Ye-ge, this Weibo post is mocking you. Your film is currently in theaters. Aren’t you worried it might have a negative impact?”
Ye Zhou looked at him and shook his head calmly, “You don’t understand.”
“This is Flying Melon, the number one poisonous milk1毒奶 (dú nǎi)/”奶毒” (nǎidú) – poisonous/tainted milk. Originally, it was associated with the gaming community, specifically in the context of esports. When used as a noun, “奶” (nǎi) refers to healing support roles in games. As a verb, it describes the act of healing. “毒奶” essentially means “to heal in a harmful way,” causing unintended negative consequences for one’s teammates. It’s like providing support (healing) but inadvertently harming the team. Beyond gaming, “毒奶” has taken on a broader meaning. Imagine a commentator praising a player’s exceptional performance, predicting their victory, only for the situation to unexpectedly turn around, resulting in defeat. In this case, the commentator’s praise becomes a “毒奶” (tainted milk), inadvertently jinxing the player or team. So, it is used figuratively to refer to making a prediction or statement that ends up having the opposite effect of what was intended. expert!”
“Trust me, he’s reliable. Just wait and see.”
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