During the two days Ye Zhou had a high fever, the outside world was in utter chaos.
There were two reasons. First, the sudden passing of a renowned industry director like Director Sang sent shockwaves through the entire circle. Everyone, whether they knew him personally or not, whether they had worked with him or not, as long as they had the slightest connection, rushed to post on Weibo.
Even many celebrities who had no previous interaction with Director Sang joined in, claiming admiration.
The death of a great director like Director Sang wasn’t just the loss of one life, but an immense loss for the entire film industry.
Heartfelt condolences from those who were close to Director Sang were rare – a candle emoji or a simple “rest in peace” sufficed. On the other hand, stars who barely knew him or had only met him once penned elaborate eulogies. How much of it was genuine grief and how much was attention-seeking remained questionable.
The other reason was also related to Director Sang’s passing, or more accurately, to Ye Zhou.
Though “The Most Beautiful” had been in theaters for a while, its quality was undeniable. Anyone who had seen the film would find it hard to honestly say it wasn’t good.
Of course, there were nitpickers, but the film’s strengths were so prominent that they skillfully masked any minor flaws. Unless you were a seasoned critic with years of experience, even professional reviewers would struggle to find fault.
The film’s reputation stood out not just among this year’s releases, but even compared to quality films from the past few years, it was hard to find an equal match.
However, the film’s excellence pushed it to two extremes.
If Director Sang Huaining had filmed it himself, given the solid quality and his recent passing, “The Most Beautiful” as his final work would likely receive high scores not just in the industry but even at film festivals.
But the director’s list also included Ye Zhou.
Who was Ye Zhou? A man who stirred up immense controversy in the circle, sparking endless discussions with each new work, bringing his own traffic and storms.
He had many fans, but his anti-fans were equally numerous, even including professional haters usually reserved for celebrities.
Some said his films were terrible, yet box office numbers remained high. Those who predicted his downfall before releases were repeatedly proven wrong.
For ordinary directors, Ye Zhou’s insane box office performance would garner praise and applause, possibly even earning them the title of leading new director.
In this money-driven era, a director’s worth is judged by awards and profits generated.
Ye Zhou was less than thirty years old this year. He ranked among the top money-makers in the industry based on box office performance.
But Ye Zhou’s situation was pitiful. While other directors with high box office numbers commanded respect, Ye Zhou faced swarms of haters causing trouble.
Anyone following the film industry knew Ye Zhou was being viciously attacked and desperately needed an award to prove himself. And…
The haters knew this too.
When news broke of Director Sang collaborating with the controversial Ye Zhou, anti-fans lamented and cursed while secretly hoping the film would flop spectacularly.
In the haters’ world, Ye Zhou was riding Director Sang’s coattails for an award. They were determined to expose his scheme.
On “The Most Beautiful’s” premiere night, besides fans of Ye Zhou and Sang Huaining, Ye Zhou’s haters were the most eager to buy tickets.
They were desperate to find flaws, launch creative insults, and drag the film through the mud, as if that would bring Ye Zhou down with it.
However, they were disappointed. The film’s quality spoke for itself. Industry critics, filmmakers, and ordinary viewers alike could see its merit. Such quality was nearly impossible to criticize without solid grounds.
Before haters could figure out how to attack, worse news arrived: Director Sang’s sudden passing made this his final work.
There’s an unpleasant saying that reflects today’s reality:
A person’s work may be unremarkable while they’re alive, but once they’re gone, all their creations suddenly increase in value.
Films were no exception.
Within two hours of Director Sang’s death announcement, four or five film festivals, both domestic and international, invited the production team to submit entries.
Haters realized that under these circumstances, “The Most Beautiful” winning an award was almost guaranteed, regardless of the category.
This news depressed Ye Zhou’s anti-fans for a while, but they soon realized that while winning was certain, they could still manipulate the award’s perceived value.
Sang Huaining, Ye Zhou.
Comparing these names, Sang Huaining’s reputation was undoubtedly greater. The veteran director was renowned in the industry for both his work and character.
Ye Zhou couldn’t compare to Director Sang. The gap was so vast that Director Sang’s accolades could completely overshadow Ye Zhou.
Haters attributed the film’s success entirely to Director Sang, portraying Ye Zhou as less significant than even a crew member.
“Sang Huaining’s Painstaking Final Work, Ye Zhou the Ultimate Beneficiary”
“Insider’s View: ‘The Most Beautiful’ Crew Member Subtly Implies Ye Zhou Slacked Off on Set”
“Reaping Unearned Rewards: Profiling China’s Luckiest Director – Ye Zhou”
“The Most Beautiful: The Familiar and Classic Rich Sang-style Romance”
“Ye Zhou: Best ‘Freeloader’ Director in Chinese Film Awards”
“Film History’s Most Undeserving: Director Ye Zhou”
…
The assistant cautiously observed Ye Zhou’s expression. After he put down the newspaper, the assistant said nervously, “Ye-ge, don’t be angry. These media outlets are just writing nonsense. The crew is already clarifying things.”
Ye Zhou’s demeanor was surprisingly calm. Not a trace of anger appeared in his eyes. He picked up the glass on the table, took a sip of water, and told the assistant, “Hold off on the clarifications. The most important thing now is promoting the film.”
“Good word-of-mouth alone isn’t enough. I want people to see it, as many people as possible.”
“If we increase our promotional efforts, more people might see this film. That’s our top priority right now.”
The assistant was stunned and reflexively said, “But everyone out there is saying this film is Director Sang’s…”
“Isn’t it?” Ye Zhou asked in return. He smiled, his eyes full of relaxation.
“But you’re not at all what they’re saying…”
Before the assistant could finish, Ye Zhou raised his hand to stop him. He said firmly, “That’s right. It’s exactly like that.”
“This is Director Sang’s film, and the awards are his too. I won’t attend any film festivals, much less accept awards in his place.”
Hearing Ye Zhou say this, the assistant’s face reddened with urgency. No longer afraid, he insisted, “No, it’s not like that. Yes, this is Director Sang’s film, but it’s also yours…”
“I’m a bit tired and want to rest,” Ye Zhou put down his glass, making a crisp sound against the wooden table. “Don’t worry about this matter. I’ll handle it.”
Just then, the hospital room door opened from outside. Jiang Tingyuan walked in, carrying a yellow Pikachu lunchbox that clashed with his suit.
The assistant’s lips moved, but he ultimately said nothing more and left with his files.
With only the two of them in the room, Ye Zhou immediately brightened upon seeing Mr. Jiang. He waved from afar, jokingly complaining, “Jiang-ge, what took you so long? Any later and I’d have withered away from hunger!”
Jiang Tingyuan placed the lunchbox on the bedside table, took off his proper and serious suit jacket, pulled up a chair to sit by Ye Zhou’s bed, and began opening the lunchbox layer by layer, taking out the dishes one by one and arranging them in front of Ye Zhou.
Before eating, Jiang Tingyuan checked Ye Zhou’s temperature with his forehead. Confirming it was normal, he handed Ye Zhou chopsticks and said, “Eat.”
“Alright!” Ye Zhou dug in eagerly, devouring the food like a whirlwind.
After eating, Ye Zhou patted his stomach and glanced at Mr. Jiang, mumbling, “Ugh, if I stay here any longer, I might develop a pot belly.”
Jiang Tingyuan remained unmoved, not pausing his document review.
Seeing this, Ye Zhou cleared his throat and muttered, “They say people gain weight in middle age. I didn’t expect it to happen to me so young…”
Mr. Jiang’s hand paused over the documents.
Ye Zhou’s eyes lit up, and he pressed on, “I hear staying cooped up in a room too long isn’t good for recovery. I… sigh.”
Jiang Tingyuan turned, expressionless, “What are you trying to say?”
Ye Zhou immediately sidled up to Mr. Jiang, eagerly massaging his shoulders, cautiously saying, “Oh, nothing much. I just… want to be discharged.”
Jiang Tingyuan glanced at him coolly, flatly refusing, “No.”
Ye Zhou grew anxious, “I’m really all better! You can check if you don’t believe me!”
Jiang Tingyuan raised an eyebrow, “Check?”
Ye Zhou: “?”
Though Mr. Jiang’s expression was serious, Ye Zhou vaguely sensed a double meaning in his words.
[Two thousand words omitted here.]
Two days later, Ye Zhou finally gained his long-desired freedom, albeit with an exhausted body. He felt no excitement, even some regret.
Regardless of the cost, he had finally been discharged.
After leaving the hospital, Ye Zhou threw himself into “The Most Beautiful’s” promotion and various overwhelming tasks almost non-stop.
Due to Ye Zhou’s suppression, online voices accusing him of ‘freeloading’ his way to film festivals grew louder. Especially as the awards ceremony approached, trending topics and smear campaigns proliferated.
However, this buzz greatly improved “The Most Beautiful’s” previously lackluster box office performance due to increased exposure.
Of course, not everyone online criticized Ye Zhou. Many insiders wanted to defend him, but Ye Zhou stopped them.
How outsiders talked, cursed, judged, or maliciously speculated about him didn’t matter.
Reputation.
Could reputation bring popularity or secure more screenings?
If he could trade his reputation for enough buzz to make more people aware of “The Most Beautiful,” Ye Zhou was more than willing.
What did it matter if his reputation was in tatters or people despised him?
Reputation meant nothing. He could swallow his pride where others couldn’t, endure insults others couldn’t bear.
He didn’t care.
I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Please consider supporting the author directly.
You can also follow me on Ko-fi to get the latest updates on my translation progress and new projects. I appreciate your love and feedback.
