Chapter Sixty-Seven: Surpassing a Hundred in a Single Day

“Hurry up and tell me! Don’t keep us guessing—how much?!” The next day, Wu Xiang had been waiting for this call since early morning. Of course, it was from Yu Dong.

Laughter spilled through the phone. Wu Xiang wondered if Yu Dong had lost his mind.

At last, the result was revealed: on its opening day, “First Intimate Contact” brought in 1.78 million at the box office!

“Holy—!” No wonder Yu Dong was laughing. Wu Xiang was genuinely shocked by the achievement; this was beyond his wildest expectations.

If it had been before, back when Wu Xiang didn’t know much about the film market, 1.78 million would have, at best, seemed passable to him. But now, he fully understood the weight of that number.

Take Director Feng’s “Endless,” for example—it took three days to break the one-million mark. Last year’s “Be There or Be Square,” widely regarded as a great film, crossed one million after two days. Now, Wu Xiang had set a precedent that would make many envious.

“What’s wrong?”

“Say something already!”

“What are you exclaiming about? You’re not a horse, are you?”…

It was Sunday, so there were no classes. Nearly everyone from the crew was present, gathered in the cafeteria, waiting for the opening day box office news.

“We’re done for.” But after Wu Xiang hung up, his expression seemed to freeze all at once.

“What?…” Everyone was stunned. Judging by Wu Xiang’s face, his demeanor, and his tone, it sounded like disaster had struck.

“That’s impossible!” Huang Hanbo didn’t believe it—he’d seen the crowd with his own eyes yesterday. Was it all an illusion?

“Maybe those people underreported the numbers?” Kun thought there might be something fishy going on.

“Could be!” “Yeah, that must be it!” The group was suddenly in an uproar.

At that moment, Wu Xiang spoke at last, “Everyone, it’s over. On opening day, we took 1.78 million at the box office. What are we going to do? How can we possibly celebrate this? Hahaha…”

He couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

There was nothing but contempt, anger, side-eyeing, and eyes averted in exasperation.

“This brat is messing with us again! What should we do?” Huang Hanbo called out, and the answer was clear.

“Get him!”

“Don’t let him get away!” Wu Xiang, sensing the danger, tried to slip off, but how could he escape the sea of people?

“Hey, I was just kidding…” Wu Xiang protested as everyone pinned him down. He might have been strong and muscular, but he was no match for so many people.

“That guy is too much, hahaha…”

“Don’t laugh, no one laugh, let’s deal with him first, hahaha…” But no one could contain their joy. They had to let off steam—let Wu Xiang learn his lesson.

Wu Xiang had, figuratively, thrown a grenade into an outhouse and stirred up a mess. Even Haiqing didn’t come to his rescue, and instead joined in, laughing and giving Wu Xiang a couple of kicks.

It was chaotic, but everyone was truly elated. And even greater happiness was still to come.

They’d broken the one-million mark on opening day, but that wasn’t all. Four days later, “First Intimate Contact” had already surpassed 10 million at the box office!

This was nothing short of a miracle, especially considering such a depressed film market. Remember, domestic films were doing so poorly that the situation was dire—not just due to competition from foreign blockbusters, but piracy was rampant, and local theaters were flooded with all kinds of Hong Kong films, and even some… questionable ones. For a domestic film to break 10 million in 1999, you could count the successes on one hand.

And that was just the mainland box office. This time, the release of “First Intimate Contact” was a multi-pronged operation, and Yu Dong had worked tirelessly. Meanwhile, the news from Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan was just as exciting.

First, Macau. The box office there could almost be ignored—since the early ‘90s, the market had shrunk rapidly, leaving just three cinemas, all running the same schedule as Hong Kong. That’s why, for film releases, Hong Kong and Macau were always considered together.

Now, Hong Kong—the “Hollywood of the East.” It produced a massive number of films annually, but at this point in history, right after the 1997 Asian financial crisis, the city was still slowly recovering. The film industry, especially theaters, had taken a huge hit and would take a long time to bounce back.

Hong Kong, as the financial center of Asia, was all about finance; just watch any TVB drama about business and you’ll see stocks and real estate. So, the crisis was no joke—every industry was affected, and many cinemas were forced to close.

Even so, the Hong Kong-Macau box office was impressive: after three days of screening, it had already surpassed 3.8 million—a truly outstanding result.

Finally, Taiwan. This market deserves special mention because it was always the hardest to negotiate. Yu Dong had to do a lot of maneuvering to get the film in. It wasn’t because Yu Dong asked too much, or the film wasn’t good enough, or because of scheduling issues.

The real reason was that the Taiwan side wanted to screen the film, but didn’t want to show a movie directed by Wu Xiang, who had previously made “The Great Flood.” Strange as it sounds, Wu Xiang just laughed it off—he’d heard even stranger things from Taiwan. For example, people complaining about the price of tea eggs isn’t even the weirdest; there, people want raises but don’t want big companies to come in, want electricity prices to stay low but refuse to build a fourth nuclear plant, want economic growth but oppose cross-strait trade, want capital to flow out but call it “hollowing out,” want capital to flow in but call it “selling out the island”…

All in all, you just had to use your imagination. Wu Xiang had already told Yu Dong that the Taiwan market was optional—if it worked out, great; if not, let it go.

But, as it turned out, the less Yu Dong cared, the more proactive the other party became, and their terms were quite generous. The reason was simple: the novel was a sensation in Taiwan, a runaway hit. How could the film not make money?

At that time, the Taiwan market was still strong—2 million in three days was a solid performance.

From there, the film’s success only mounted, especially as New Year’s approached—the turn of the millennium gave everyone an extra reason to watch movies.

Twenty million, thirty million, forty million—one box office record after another was shattered by “First Intimate Contact.” By now, if anyone in the Chinese-speaking world didn’t know Wu Xiang and his film, they were practically living under a rock.

It wasn’t just Wu Xiang’s film—his novel sales exploded, shooting straight to the top of the bestseller lists and making even the most established print authors take notice.

Of course, online literature was already starting to make waves. For example, the famous “The Legend of Wukong” was immensely popular online at the time, though it hadn’t yet been published in print.

But Wu Xiang’s novel “First Intimate Contact” was already hailed as the founding work of online fiction, sparking fierce competition among websites.

Not only did Wu Xiang benefit—Chen Kun, Zhang Jingchu, Huang Hanbo (who played the comic relief), and even Xiao Ming became famous overnight.

Chen Kun and Huang Hanbo were already familiar faces, but Zhang Jingchu’s rise to fame was entirely thanks to the internet.

“Light Dance Flying”—that’s how everyone saw her. Almost all netizens agreed Zhang Jingchu was the perfect choice for the role, and countless readers and viewers marveled at where Wu Xiang had found such a pure, charming girl. She became a sensation, the dream goddess of uncountable men.

Yes, they were on fire—blazing hot!

(Please recommend and bookmark. Much appreciated.)