Chapter Sixty-Four: The Premiere of "First Intimate Encounter"

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(Today there will be four updates. Please support the novel, click to bookmark and recommend, hehe. If someone rewards, that would be even more blissful. Here’s a chapter for you; the author is off to write more.)

“Have you heard of ‘First Close Encounter’?”
“No? What dimension are you living in?”...

“Do you know, the weight-loss method described on that website is really effective. You have to control your diet properly, otherwise it won’t work.”
“Where did you see that?”
“On that site called Online Love University. Actually, I think it’s just the promotional site for ‘First Close Encounter,’ but they’ve come up with other names too. How amusing!”
“Oh, I’ve read that novel. I’ll check it out.”...

Sometimes, it’s not just love—many things work this way. The people have discerning eyes; they’ll notice your little schemes. But as long as those schemes don’t annoy them and are rather interesting, they’ll readily accept them.

Viral marketing is much the same. Does everyone not know it’s marketing? Isn’t it obvious the little games on that website are ads? Of course they know, clear as day in their minds. But you can’t deny it—they’re fun and novel. That’s enough.

From December 20th, Yu Dong launched his promotional campaign, and his approach was straightforward and bold. Although the film premiered across mainland, Hong Kong, and Taiwan simultaneously, in the mainland, the greatest reach at this time was twenty cities screening at once. In those twenty cities, nearly every newspaper and TV station carried news about the film ‘First Close Encounter.’

A film screening simultaneously in twenty major cities—that’s quite impressive, something unimaginable in the past. Practical constraints always got in the way, like producing and transporting copies. If you shipped too early, piracy would emerge. Believe it or not, piracy had grown so rampant that the day a copy arrived, pirated versions would be released the next.

It sounds simple, but it’s hard to pull off. The cinema chains themselves were fragmented; integrating them was difficult. Even more impressive was getting all those media outlets to report on the event—truly extraordinary.

Yu Dong’s abilities were formidable, but another factor was the film’s director, Wu Xiang.

In 1999, the most prominent young director was Wu Xiang, without question!

The 25th finally arrived. Christmas wasn’t as lively in those days—compared to years later, it was hardly considered a holiday. Of course, it wasn’t officially a holiday then either, but it had a festive atmosphere, albeit faint.

But today was important: it was the day ‘First Close Encounter’ premiered. Its debut was held at the Workers’ Club in the capital. Don’t underestimate this place—it was quite sizable, now a large screening hall capable of seating over a thousand.

That was the hallmark of old-style cinemas—a huge screen and rows upon rows of seats, larger than the newer theaters built in later years. The equipment, though, was much inferior.

Still, Wu Xiang thought the seats were better than those in his hometown, and the projection equipment was passable. For these times, it was good enough. But the audience was truly overwhelming—every seat filled, many standing in the aisles, nearly fifteen hundred people.

Today was a good day: not only was it Christmas, but also Saturday. The sheer number of attendees was genuinely exciting.

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“My goodness, Xiangzi, there are just too many people. My heart is pounding!” As the saying goes, proximity breeds similarity; Huang Huibo, after spending so much time with Wu Xiang, had even picked up a bit of a northeastern accent.

“Relax!” Wu Xiang was good at pretending calm, though he was just as nervous inside...

“Xiangzi, you’re really going to be famous now. This is just one cinema, and though it’s the premiere, the crowd is huge. And about that other matter, what do you think…” Chen Kun was beside Wu Xiang, wanting to ask something personal.

Wu Xiang knew exactly what Brother Kun wanted to ask. Someone had recently approached him for a role—not just anyone, but the director Zhao Baogang, who’d gotten Brother Kun drunk. The project was naturally ‘Like Fog, Like Rain, Like Wind.’

“Go for it, don’t be timid. We men have nothing to fear. You need to show a bit of bravado. Brother Kun, honestly, you’re fine in every way.”

After so much time together, Wu Xiang had completely figured out Brother Kun. His only problem was a lack of self-confidence. Wu Xiang had always been helping him to build it.

Everyone from the ‘First Close Encounter’ crew who could attend was there. Wu Xiang, crafty as ever, didn’t sit with the leading actress, Zhang Jingchu. To say nothing of the supporting actress—the look in her eyes alone was enough to deter him. So he sat with his buddies instead.

Hai Qing, naturally, sat far away. Zhang Jingchu, being the lead, sat beside Chen Kun.

Without further ado, the film began.

The sound of footsteps echoed—someone seemed to be arriving.

Suddenly, an image appeared on the screen: a plain sketch, but the sketch moved. Inside was a person, carrying a rolled-up bed, stumbling into a room. With a thud, he tossed his things onto the bed, then slammed the door shut, knocking off the room number.

307!

Everyone in the Workers’ Club saw this number. It was the opening made by Wu Xiang and Hao Yi—a signature of Studio 307, which would be used in future films.

“Wow~” The opening clearly caught the audience’s attention; they’d never seen such an unconventional introduction.

Next came the main feature, but not immediately—a black curtain appeared with words on it.

“If I had a million, I could buy a house.
Do I have a million? No.
So I still don’t have a house.
If I had wings, I could fly.

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Do I have wings? No.
So I cannot fly.

Even if I poured all the water in the Pacific Ocean, it could not extinguish my love for you.
Can all the water in the Pacific Ocean be poured out? No.
So I do not love you.”

This was the iconic opening of the novel, which Wu Xiang naturally borrowed.

Then our protagonist appeared.

“It’s just my occupational hazard. I’m in college, my mind is full of all sorts of absurd logic—like the one just now, dozens like it pop up every day…” Chen Kun played the rascal Wu, sitting at the computer. This was his inner monologue.

At this point, subtitles appeared on the screen: director, cast—common techniques, just to save time.

“...Most bored people like to go online, and there are all sorts of strange creatures on the internet, like dinosaurs…” Next, Ah Tai made his entrance.

“Same old rule, help me meet someone online.” Huang Huibo’s demeanor perfectly matched Ah Tai’s character—clearly not the most upright person.

“Why do I always have to help you?” Chen Kun’s rascal was much more principled.

“Simple! You’re safe. If I really met a beauty, she wouldn’t be interested in you. I’d have a better shot.” Ah Tai was brutally honest.

“…” The rascal was ready to curse.

“All right, all right, you help me, I help you. If it works, I’ll teach you a few tricks to get girls.” Ah Tai was like a fisherman, and the rascal always took the bait.

Then came Hai Qing’s appearance as Xiaoyu.

“Hahaha…”

“How funny…” Truly, Hai Qing possessed a real talent for comedy.