Chapter 123: Screening in the Magic City

Time passed quickly, especially when one was busy, and in the blink of an eye, September arrived.

September 5th was the day of the preview screening for "Emperor Wu of Han." In this day and age, preview screenings were still a rarity. Director Zhang Yimou had used one for "Not One Less," but that film was different—it featured no professional actors, so using a preview to test the waters was a very sound choice.

However, that film was a genuine test, with an audience consisting largely of ordinary viewers, alongside the inevitable contingent of reporters and hired hands.

Wu Xiang’s approach was different. He was upfront about it: he had invited media personnel specifically for what was essentially a private screening event. Since "Emperor Wu of Han" was clearly a high-budget production, having so-called professionals watch it first to offer their critiques was only logical. After the preview, a wide release would follow, allowing the buzz and publicity to reach a peak and ensuring the box office success of the premiere.

The preview was held in Shanghai. As a cosmopolitan metropolis, Shanghai’s development at the time surpassed that of Beijing, and its professional critics were known for their discerning, high-end tastes. This added an extra layer of prestige to the film; Wu Xiang and Yu Dong were leaving no stone unturned.

Before entering the theater, attendees were required to present their credentials; only professionals were allowed inside. Furthermore, cameras were strictly prohibited to prevent piracy and the leaking of plot details. To combat piracy, not only this theater but all cinemas scheduled for the premiere had signed confidentiality agreements with Bona and China Film Group, fearing inside jobs and ensuring no cameras made it inside.

Naturally, these stringent checks drew some grumbles from the professionals. "What kind of film is Wu Xiang making, being so overbearing?" But once the theater was full, any dissatisfaction had to be set aside until the film was over. A great number of media colleagues had turned out, all eager to see what set Wu Xiang’s grand historical epic apart.

Without further ado, the film began.

The opening sequence featured the logos of the various production houses: Beijing Film Studio, Bona, the August First Film Studio, and 307. It was clear this was a collaborative effort. Then came the credits for the main creative team, directors, and stars—standard fare. But then...

"He established a dignity that the nation had never before known!"
"He established a confidence that would allow his people to stand tall for millennia!"
"His reign’s title became the eternal name of a race!"

Against a black screen, these three sentences appeared one by one. Accompanied by a heavy drum-based score, the effect was immediately striking to the professionals in the audience.

It was true—Wu Xiang had "borrowed" these lines from the television series "Emperor Wu of Han." He admitted it, but the lines were simply too good to pass up. He had already decided that if he ever filmed a TV version later, he could use them freely without copyright issues.

The screen brightened to reveal a meadow, with the focus on a single stalk of foxtail grass. It was just a common, trembling weed in the breeze. What could this possibly have to do with the Emperor?

Just as the audience felt confused, a low rumble began, growing louder and louder. The grass trembled more violently until, with a sudden *thwack*, it was crushed by a horse's hoof. The camera didn't show the horse; instead, it gave a lingering close-up of the crushed grass.

Finally, the camera panned out to reveal a sparse, disorganized band of cavalry. Their clothing was a colorful, haphazard mix, clearly marking them as a nomadic tribe. These were Xiongnu raiders, and it was obvious they were on a plundering mission. They soon encountered a small unit of Han soldiers, mostly infantry.

"Woo-hoo!"
"Form ranks! Draw!"

Without a word, the two sides began firing arrows at each other. The Han soldiers were quickly put on the defensive. The nomadic cavalry were highly skilled, constantly circling, feinting, and charging, forcing the Han soldiers to exhaust their arrows. Although the Xiongnu weapons were inferior—mostly non-metallic—their mastery of the horse gave them superior mobility.

The Han archers scored hits, but they couldn't keep up the pace. Drawing a bow is exhausting work. Initially, the Xiongnu suffered more casualties, but as the Han arrows ran out, they were forced to rely on shields and spears, and the tide turned.

The agile cavalry charged into the Han formation, and the screen went black. When it returned, it was bathed in a blood-red sunset. The battlefield was a ruin, littered with bodies—mostly Han soldiers. One soldier remained standing even in death, still clutching the Han army's banner. The background music shifted to a *sheng*, its mournful tone tightening the viewers' chests.

In the distance, a group of people appeared, driving livestock and carrying grain—the Xiongnu had completed their raid.

The scene shifted to a grand, panoramic view of the Qin Palace under the setting sun, exuding imperial majesty.

"Waaah, waaah..." A baby’s cry shattered the silence.

"156 BC, Liu Che is born, childhood name Liu Zhi." It wasn't a voiceover, just a subtitle. While relying on subtitles in film can be seen as lacking finesse, in historical epics, it is often unavoidable; without them, the narrative can become as confusing as Chen Kaige’s "The Emperor and the Assassin," which left many viewers lost.

Inside the palace, Emperor Jing of Han, Liu Qi, was furious. A new father should be happy, but reports from the border had him incensed. The problem was that he couldn't vent his rage. While the Xiongnu raids were infuriating, the greater threat lay in the powerful, wealthy, and autonomous vassal kings within the Han Empire. If he mobilized the army against the Xiongnu and the vassal kings revolted, the empire would be lost.

An old man, Chao Cuo, was speaking to Liu Qi. It was a situation of forced submission; they had to offer marriage alliances to buy time to quell internal strife. It was a suffocating, frustrating reality. Wu Xiang didn't linger on the politics—he focused on the humiliation.

The roles were played by veteran actors Wu Xiaodong (Sun Quan from "Romance of the Three Kingdoms") and Yang Junyong (Cao Pi from the same series).

The film moved quickly, using subtitles to show Liu Che growing up. The famous "Golden House for a Bride" plot, palace intrigue, and political maneuvering followed. Chao Cuo was executed, and Liu Che, through various schemes, ascended to the position of Crown Prince. Huang Bo played Tian Fen perfectly—a cunning, sycophantic, yet deeply calculating figure.

Finally, the climax: Emperor Jing passed away, and Liu Che ascended the throne.

"Huo!"

The scene was magnificent. The sheer power of the imperial family, the dominance of their authority, and the thousands of people moving in perfect, rhythmic unison—all set to the thunderous beat of drums—was breathtaking.

In reality, a successor would have been expected to weep to show filial piety. But Wu Xiang didn't do that. He wanted power and majesty. A great emperor ascending the throne while sobbing like a child would have been utterly disappointing.