Chapter 85: World Two [55] Part 1

After ten months, Song Xiaocao officially wrapped filming in January the following year, just before the Spring Festival, successfully completing all shooting.

Director Zhang wanted to personally oversee the post-production editing and finishing, so the promotion work was handed over to the Assistant Director.

At its core, Song Xiaocao still praised the spirit of never giving up. But because the film bluntly exposed the rampant son preference in rural areas, school bullying in middle and high school, the underhanded dealings behind university scholarships, and the real occurrence of achievement theft in hospitals, it hit a small snag during its first censorship review.

The vice president who had stolen Song Xiaocao’s paper achievements somehow got wind of it. He contacted his mentor and some friends within the system, trying to force Director Zhang to cut the final part of the film.

At that time, the person in charge of film censorship was a crony who got in through connections. He hadn’t done his homework and had no idea of the weight carried by Jing Ke’s nominal title as Specially-Appointed Advisor. So, after receiving certain favors, he directly rejected the final cut of Song Xiaocao.

When Jing Ke heard this, she was genuinely taken aback. Over the past year, although she hadn’t made any big overt moves, she hadn’t neglected a single task the country had assigned her. How could the General Administration turn on her at this moment?

So, Jing Ke called a certain Deputy Director, saying she was very concerned about the film Song Xiaocao, starring her girlfriend, and informed her that the final cut had been rejected by the reviewers.

Jing Ke didn’t look too closely into how the Deputy Director handled it. She only knew that within a week, that crony was fired for cause, and the follow-up investigation pulled up more roots, leading to the dual-probe detention of some bureau-level government officials.

After Jing Ke made her stance clear, Song Xiaocao sailed through censorship at lightning speed and secured screenings in cinemas nationwide.

Originally, Director Zhang had planned to release it during the summer holiday period, and she had mentally prepared herself for the first version to be rejected and for repeated revisions.

But she hadn’t expected the review to pass so quickly. If promotion kept up, Song Xiaocao could even be released during the May Day holiday.

However, after internal discussion, the release date remained unchanged. The only difference was that large-scale promotion began in May, and quite a few advance screenings were opened up.

With Director Zhang at the helm, Shao Qing as the lead, Yu Hongjun and Jiang Qingyi making cameo appearances, and Boss Jing as the sole investor—these elements combined to draw massive attention to Song Xiaocao.

[Wow, this kind of subject matter feels so rare. The prototype doesn’t seem very famous; I’ve never heard of her.]

[It’s not exactly unknown. Dr. Song had a great reputation locally. My mom’s surgery was done by Dr. Song. It’s just that heaven envied her talent; she left us before thirty…]

[I’m calling it now: this film will definitely be controversial after release. Honestly, I never expected Song Xiaocao to pass censorship. It’s really daring.]

[Smells like a big story. Is the person above someone in the know?]

[Not exactly in the know, I just have many sources. Before she passed, Dr. Song performed an incredibly difficult surgery, turning something many called impossible into reality.]

[It’s just that Dr. Song didn’t get the chance to publish her success before she left us. I won’t say exactly what happened afterwards, but in short, Dr. Song got absolutely no credit for the surgery’s achievements.]

[Did someone steal Dr. Song’s research results?]

[You could say that. I won’t go into details. I’ll just tell you that the thief is backed by an academic clique with massive influence.]

[Hold on, hasn’t Song Xiaocao been released yet? How do you know the content? I didn’t see any related scenes in the promotional videos?]

[Song Xiaocao has already started advance screenings in some cities. Lots of reviews will be out soon. I’m not good with words, so just go see it. Women will more or less be moved by it.]

[? What do you mean women will be moved? Aren’t men worthy of watching movies?]

[Scoffs, what the hell, pulling the gender card at a time like this? If men aren’t moved, then fine. I wouldn’t want to spend that money anyway.]

Once the topic veered into gender wars, countless marketing accounts and paid trolls swarmed in like NPCs triggered by keywords. It didn’t take long for the discussion to spiral further and further away, even escalating to who was more suited to be a doctor—men or women.

Frustrated by these pests hopping around, Jing Ke once again revised the underlying algorithm. Not only did she ban the accounts, but she also exposed their real names, causing over half of them to delete their accounts overnight.

With the foul comments gone, major professional film critics began sharing their views.

[Feels like a somewhat niche subject, but it had a huge impact on me. For a moment, I almost felt like Song Xiaocao myself. Anyway, I empathized deeply, and I also have immense respect for Song Xiaocao.]

[Very daring subject matter. Director Zhang truly lives up to her name. Only she would be willing to invest so much time and energy into a seemingly insignificant person’s life to promote this never-give-up spirit.]

[The ending really left me with a sense of unresolved sorrow, with a suffocating authenticity. It made me want to grab a brick, charge into a certain hospital, and smash it over a certain vice president’s head.]

[Feeling uncomfortable is part of the deal—this is reality. A very straightforward, bold film. I suggest college students watch it more; getting a glimpse of the dark side early isn’t a problem. Of course, the film’s tone is relatively light. If you watch it through, you might suddenly feel some kind of strength, which might help you stick more firmly to your choices.]

The critics’ perspectives varied, and since they couldn’t spoil too much, their posts sounded especially cryptic, piquing many people’s curiosity.

As the July 2nd release of Song Xiaocao approached, Jing Ke, who hadn’t been very involved in the promotion, once again flexed her ordinary yet amazing wealth. She directly put up 1.88 million yuan for a giveaway.

There were a total of 10,000 prizes, and each winner would receive 188 yuan.

One hundred yuan was pure cash, while the remaining 88 yuan was a double movie package, including tickets, popcorn, and two drinks, so winners could invite a friend to see the film.

Ten thousand prizes sounded like a lot, but since liking and following the official Song Xiaocao Weibo account earned one entry, within a single day the draw post’s likes skyrocketed to seven digits, making the win rate even smaller than one percent.

On July 2nd, Song Xiaocao began screening in theaters nationwide.

Because pre-sales had been decent, even as a cold subject, the first day’s screenings accounted for ten percent—quite good for a niche topic.

Whether a film is carefully polished or shoddily made to harvest money is something audiences can roughly tell after watching.

Since the ending wasn’t the traditional happily-ever-after, most people leaving the theaters had a knot of frustration in their chest. They were all very eager to find out who had stolen Song Xiaocao’s hard work.

The power of one person might be weak, unable to fight entrenched academic cliques. But what about ten thousand, one hundred thousand, or even a million people?

The fact that Song Xiaocao could pass censorship and screen in theaters already made certain things clear.

When certain cronies were fired, the people pulling strings behind the scenes had long been targeted by relevant authorities.

Before the film even got its certification, after the film was released, the authorities arrested the person with lightning speed—so fast that on July 2nd itself, an official blue-and-white notice was already issued.

“That person has been arrested. Song Xiaocao can finally get the honor she deserves.” After leaving the cinema, Shao Qing smiled slightly as she saw the trending topic.

The earlier frustration seemed to vanish in an instant. The honor belonging to Song Xiaocao—she seemed to have helped reclaim it for her.

“Then what about my surprise? Can I know it now?” Jing Ke asked, looking down at her girlfriend, who was wearing a mask and a hat. “The day you got the script, you said that on the day the film was released, you’d give me a surprise.”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. But now isn’t the right time. I’ll tell you when we get home,” Shao Qing said, starting to feel nervous ahead of time.

“Alright, let’s go home then?” Jing Ke asked.

“Yeah, let’s go home.” Shao Qing let out a soft breath.

The cinema Jing Ke and Shao Qing chose wasn’t far from their Small Villa. Just a twenty-minute drive and they arrived.

Thinking about the surprise she had prepared for Jing Ke, Shao Qing grew even more nervous. As soon as they entered, she raised her hand to cover Jing Ke’s eyes.

“Don’t open your eyes. Stand right here and don’t move. Only open them when I say you can,” Shao Qing whispered into Jing Ke’s ear.

“Okay.” Jing Ke obediently agreed.

With her eyes closed, Jing Ke’s sense of smell and hearing were somewhat enhanced. Not only could she more clearly analyze Shao Qing’s scent, but she could also hear her movements from the first-floor living room up to the second floor.

The bedroom door was opened by Shao Qing. After about ten seconds, Shao Qing came out again, stepping back onto the stairs, drawing closer to her step by step.

Clutching the jewelry box, Shao Qing slowly exhaled, having psyched herself up enough, before saying, “Okay.”

Jing Ke opened her eyes with a hint of anticipation and saw Shao Qing, uncharacteristically nervous.

“Jing Ke, will you marry me?” She had prepared a speech, but the moment she opened her mouth, Shao Qing forgot everything she had planned.