The former top female star under Chenye, Ying Yin, used to be a frequent fixture on trending searches. Mai Anyan knew exactly what drew all that traffic to Ying Yin, whether from male fans or female fans – it was the same. They wanted to see her graceful, curvaceous figure; they wanted to see her slender without looking bony; they wanted to see her radiate allure and outshine every other beauty. So at couture red carpets and fashion weeks, everything from collarbone makeup tutorials and hairlines to wrist lines, arches of the feet, waist-to-hip ratios, and butt-to-waist proportions would all make the trending lists. The anti-fans’ comments were nasty, but not entirely wrong: her body made the hot searches more often than her work did.
What they hadn’t considered was that after terminating her contract with Chenye, Ying Yin had vanished completely from the trending searches for six whole months. To many people and brands, hot searches were a barometer of traffic and popularity. Buy ten trending hashtags in a day, and a TV series could be made into a smash hit; buy ten in a month, and a celebrity could be made into a hot star. Look at it the other way around, and when a female celebrity who had been a permanent fixture on the trending lists suddenly disappeared for half a year, it wasn’t because she was making some bold statement. It was because… she’d faded from the spotlight.
At first, quite a few casual onlookers posted on forums and discussion groups, asking:
[Haven’t heard anything about Ying Yin in ages. Does anyone know what she’s been up to lately?]
Back then, her fans still replied with plenty of confidence:
[She’s filming.]
Later, both the tone of the original posts and the replies gradually changed:
[It’s not like Ying Yin has never joined a production before. Why is she keeping such a low profile this time?]
Someone replied:
[Can’t afford to buy trending searches anymore, obviously.]
[Turns out once the tide goes out, you can see who’s been swimming naked~]
[The so-called “traffic queen” is finally showing her true colors.]
[Apart from the season-opening cover she secured back when she was still with Chenye, hasn’t she announced any other commercial endorsements or major projects this year?]
[LMAO, she used to throw punches at top stars and kick major actresses aside, while her fans went around flaunting her achievements and laughing at the “mad dogs.” Now she’s an independent freelancer with no connections or backing, and suddenly she knows to keep her tail between her legs.]
[Just wait and see. This is only the beginning of someone’s downward slide. Without Chenye, downgraded resources are one thing, but awards are another. Once there’s no one backing her and playing the game for her, even the myth of her fans’ “god-tier acting” is going to collapse. In the end, she’ll only be able to cling desperately to her position in the industry.]
[And what good is that? There are plenty of celebrities with status in the entertainment industry. Without commercial endorsements or resources, she’s too proud to take supporting roles, while no one will buy her as a leading actress. That’s why I think taking Xueqing was actually a good choice for her. She should just stay in these small-budget arthouse films from now on and stop sullying the big screen.]
Naturally, her fans weren’t about to agree with that assessment. They fought back desperately, arguing their case:
[What’s wrong with actually focusing on being an actor?]
[LMAO, so I guess the fans are admitting that all that crazy paid trolling and hype before wasn’t exactly “focusing on being an actor.” ]
The fan wars were still raging and the fans were still putting up a stubborn front, but that didn’t stop them from flooding Ying Yin’s Weibo DMs, begging her to show her face and do some promotional activity. In the various fan-support groups, voices of uncertainty and unease were growing louder by the day. As her manager and, in a sense, half her boss, Zhuang Tiwen took all of it in – but remained completely unmoved.
She had an impressive amount of patience. If Ying Yin was going to bid farewell to the world of traffic and hype, then this period of growing pains was inevitable. All the mockery and ridicule was simply the debt they were paying back for what had come before.
Junyi had even confronted her about it, and she hadn’t been particularly polite. “Tiwen, tell me honestly. Is it because you’re too rich that you don’t care enough about managing Yinyin’s career? She’s flopping!”
Tiwen could only laugh helplessly. “Spend a little less time online.”
“But you’re not getting her any projects.”
“There’s no rush.”
Junyi flew into a rage. “Stop talking like Mr. Shang!”
Tiwen had no choice but to patiently spell it out for her.
“The partnership with Chenye has expired, and the lingering buzz from Yinyin boarding Edward’s superyacht has gradually died down. So it’s perfectly understandable for brands to hold back and wait for now. It’s simply good business sense. She still has Greta’s ambassadorship, so there’s nothing to worry about. As for all the other noise…” She lifted her eyes and smiled faintly. “Once her work comes out, you’ll understand.”
What did she know? Junyi was good at handling the practicalities of everyday life, but she wasn’t very good at reading the numbers. It wouldn’t be until Justice Prevails surpassed one hundred million in presales that she would belatedly realize –
As long as the box office was strong enough to shut everyone up, all those voices would disappear on their own.
With a series of preview screenings accompanied by an aggressive publicity campaign, Justice Prevails steadily built up a strong word-of-mouth reputation. By its opening day during the May Day holiday, its real-time box office was leading the market by a wide margin.
Director Fang Zhi possessed the same lofty self-regard and sense of superiority shared by many of the Fifth Generation directors. It was both his strength and his weakness. He had directed commercial films in the past, but their performance had been merely passable. Over time, he was naturally abandoned by the investors, leaving him to keep making low-budget genre films, scar literature and rural films, and arthouse movies. This time, the gimmick of it being his “final film” certainly had some appeal, but to young moviegoers and the enormous pool of casual viewers, the nostalgic value of the name Fang Zhi simply wasn’t enough to justify the price of two movie tickets.
As for Justice Prevails, although its subject matter – a holiday-friendly action comedy -was well suited to the season, the other two Hollywood imports were hardly lacking when it came to spectacle either. Besides, when it came to commercial blockbusters, audiences naturally tended to favor foreign films over domestic ones. “Mainland Chinese commercial films can’t compete with Hollywood.” That was almost a deep-seated consensus among the country’s enormous moviegoing audience.
So who, exactly, was carrying the bulk of the box office?
Ying Yin.
The mainland Chinese film industry had actually moved beyond the era when female stars could single-handedly carry a film at the box office. And that era wasn’t all that long ago – just a little over a decade back. At the time, the mainland’s major female stars were all dazzling in their own ways, each commanding her own territory and excelling in her own field. Whether it was box office numbers, gossip, or sheer star power, they far outshone the male stars of the same generation.
But over the following decade or so, the landscape underwent enormous changes. Hong Kong capital moved northward, mainland investment entered the market, and the industry expanded at breakneck speed. Successful male actors, armed with resources they had secured through drinking sessions and tight-knit alliances, began creating their own projects. Together, they ushered in the era of middle-aged male stars and the comedy boom in mainland Chinese cinema –
And female movie stars, inevitably, began to fade into the background.
The changes in the market were plain to see. The female stars whose popularity was driven by online traffic – retreated to the small screen, where they could carry TV ratings, streaming numbers, and the occasional flop or breakout hit. Cinema gradually became a battleground dominated by men.
For major actresses like Zhang Chengwan, there were essentially two options: hold onto their status and appear on a few relatively prestigious variety shows, or wait three to five years for a suitably high-profile role worthy of their standing. Many others simply stopped taking on productions altogether.
In this context, the fact that Ying Yin was able to carry Justice Prevails at the box office was the strongest possible proof of her star power.
On the day of the premiere, hashtags such as #YingYinTheActionHeroine and #NowThisIsTheActionIWantToSee successively shot up the trending charts. Ordinary moviegoers kept posting photos of their ticket stubs, while the short reviews on Justice Prevails‘ movie page were being updated at a furious pace:
“My only regret is that wuxia is in decline. I probably won’t get to see Ying Yin in a period-action role in my lifetime.”
“She can fight and act. Let her stay famous for another twenty years!”
“I honestly had zero expectations going in. Shizhang Pictures + Fang Zhi + Ying Yin felt like a flop buff stacked to the max. Never expected this.”
“If she could clearly deliver such a great commercial film, why did she have to make so many pieces of shit before this? Chenye, you fucking owe Inin – how are you going to pay her back?!”
Her fans finally got to hold their heads high in the entertainment forums:
[She flopped, huh? Yeah, yeah, sure. In your dreams.]
[What can you do? Our girl is beautiful, hardworking, and even casual viewers are willing to pay to see her. That’s the kind of solid box-office base those bitter haters can only envy~]
[Another 2 billion added to her box-office resume, and we’re loving it.]
On the second day after the premiere, a new employee-benefits announcement appeared on Shangyu Group’s internal communications system:
[/Megaphone//Megaphone/ Celebrate the May Day holiday with us – employee benefits are here! From now until May 15, all employees can claim 10 exclusive tickets to Justice Prevails online. Bring your family and friends and enjoy the holiday together at the cinema!]
Justice Prevails was released simultaneously across mainland China, Hong Kong, and Macao, while Shangyu Group had more than 8,000 employees in China.
“Eight thousand times ten, at thirty-nine per ticket…” Jinyuan Min frantically punched numbers into his calculator.
Holy shit.
3.12 million?
He’d seen companies rent out entire theaters before, but he’d never seen anyone go this far…
There was absolutely no way the Goddess’s salary for this film had exceeded ten million yuan. And she still had to split it with her agency and pay taxes…
They were losing money!
Jin Yuanmin was heartbroken on behalf of his boss, completely oblivious to the fact that this was the smallest sum of money his boss had spent since starting his relationship.
A string of “Thank you, Boss!” messages flooded the various group chats.
The VP of HR suddenly popped up: “Mr. Jin, headquarters says we need to organize ratings and reviews, and submit the results after the holiday.”
Jin Yuanmin was numb. “Oh. Pass it along.”
The VP of HR was curious. “You’re not wondering why? What do you think is going on upstairs? Could it be that our business division is about to make some changes? Are we testing the waters and starting to expand into the entertainment industry too?”
Jin Yuanmin replied calmly: “You’re overthinking it.”
It was simply because the young heir was dating a female celebrity!
The instruction “Please have each department organize the post-screening evaluation and rating process” was passed down through the group chats, layer by layer.
The department heads, internally: ?
The department heads, outwardly: “@VP/Director, please organize the post-screening evaluation and rating process within your department. /sincere//handshake/”
The VPs and directors, internally: ?
The VPs and directors, outwardly: “Okay, received. /fist-bump//fist-bump/”
By the time the message reached the rank-and-file employees, question marks were everywhere.
Before all sorts of wild speculation could get started, HR quickly stepped in to steer the narrative: “The tickets were provided by Qili. Isn’t Ying Yin one of Qili’s brand ambassadors? /hehe/”
It was a perfectly respectable explanation.
Only Shang Mingxian, the person in charge of Qili, was cursing inwardly.
“Even hotel guests are supposed to get tickets?” she asked, pressing the phone to her ear, the smile on her face barely holding together.
The man on the other end of the line said, “Give them to everyone. Guests ordering room service and those having afternoon tea in the executive lounge get them too.”
Shang Mingxian double-checked. “Every Qili property, every room category?”
“All of them.”
Her brain had stopped functioning. “How long are we doing this?”
“One month.”
Qili only operated luxury hotels, but across all its properties, it still had more than 5,000 rooms. Even excluding restaurant guests, there were roughly 300,000 check-ins in a month.
And he had just said that even guests having afternoon tea in the executive lounges were getting tickets!
Shang Mingxian took a sharp breath. “Let me make one thing clear first: I’m not paying a single cent.”
Shang Shao took the cigarette from the corner of his mouth, lightly tapped off the ash, and smiled.
“Mm. I’ll pay.”
Mingxian held herself back again and again before finally launching into her accusations:
“You play favorites. When Lu Lu’s movie came out, why didn’t I see you rent out theaters on this scale?”
“How could that be?” Shang Shao said, as casually and matter-of-factly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m doing this to support Qili’s development.”
Mingxian: “…”
With a smile, she enunciated every word:
“Then when the other ambassador, Ke Yu, has a movie come out, you’d better support him like this too.”
Shang Shao: “…”
After hanging up, Shang Mingxian typed mournfully: [Bro is done for.]
In the small group chat named [Leo Has Fallen From Grace], a reply came almost instantly.
Mingbao: [Point?]
Mingxian: [I suggest kicking Lulu out first, then we can talk.]
Shang Lu: [Point?]
Mingxian: [It’s not good for your mental health.]
Shang Lu gave a cold snort. [Say what you have to say.]
Mingxian: [He probably just bought somewhere around 17 or 18 million worth of box office this time.]
Shang Lu: […]
Shang Lu: [Take that back, thanks.]
Mingxian considerately tried to comfort him: [It’s okay, Lulu. Bro gave you two authentic pieces worth 100 million each.]
Shang Lu: [It’s not the same! When he gives me paintings, they’re long-term art investments that are guaranteed to make money. Giving away box office tickets has absolutely no commercial logic whatsoever and generates zero commercial returns!]
Mingxian: […]
Mingbao: […]
Mingzhuo, clearly understanding the situation perfectly, said: [Alright, alright. We know you’ve fallen out of favor. There, there.]
Although Shang Shao had bought movie tickets for hundreds of thousands of people, he and Ying Yin watched the film at an ordinary cinema.
Ying Yin had originally planned to go completely bare-faced, with a hat, glasses, and mask covering her up meticulously. But the moment she thought about watching a movie with Shang Shao, she put the crew-neck oversized sweatshirt she’d just taken out of the closet back on the hanger and changed into a black knitted long-sleeved dress instead. Lightweight and close-fitting, it had a gathered detail with a gold ring at the left side of her waist, accentuating her tall, graceful curves.
She even sat down and carefully did a full face of makeup – more meticulously than she had for the banquet where they first met.
Once she was ready, Lin Cunkang personally drove her to the cinema, where she waited for Shang Shao to return from entertaining clients at the golf course.
It was difficult to park in front of the mall in the CBD, so Lin Cunkang didn’t get out of the car. He simply put on the hazard lights. Still worried about leaving her alone, he leaned forward over the steering wheel and asked, “You’ll be all right on your own?”
Ying Yin habitually pressed down the edge of her mask. “Mm.”
There was a little flutter of excitement in her heart, almost like a teenage girl’s. Apart from that Christmas Eve in Hong Kong, this was practically only their second proper date outside.
Once inside the mall, she took the elevator up to the cinema floor. The elevator was packed, mostly with people heading to see the movie. Someone said quietly, “I heard Ying Yin is absolutely incredible in Justice Prevails.”
The corners of Ying Yin’s lips curled upward, but she didn’t dare make any obvious expression.
Because everyone in the elevator couldn’t help sneaking glances at her from the corners of their eyes.
She smelled wonderful, was tall and slender, and even fully covered up, she radiated beauty just by standing there. It was the kind of beauty that seemed to seep from her pores, her breath, even the strands of her hair – impossible to conceal, almost overwhelming in its presence.
As soon as the elevator doors opened, the cinema lobby was packed with people for the May Day holiday. There were lines at both the ticket checkpoints and the concession stand, a clear sign that the overall box office market was indeed booming.
Ying Yin was wearing high heels. It was only a dozen or twenty steps to the concession stand, but she still drew plenty of attention. Throughout it all, however, she remained perfectly composed. Only her heart betrayed her nervousness; her posture and movements were completely relaxed.
She rested her slender arms on the counter and looked over the menu for a moment before saying politely, “Hi, I’d like an iced lemon tea, a Coke Zero, and one large bucket of popcorn, please.”
In fact, she didn’t even need to try to avoid attention. The cashier serving her was the first one who didn’t dare look directly at her.
Only after she’d left did the cashier turn to a colleague and say, “She was so beautiful. Are there really people that beautiful in real life?”
Her colleague snorted. “You didn’t even see her face. For all you know, she could’ve been Crooked-Tooth Jane.”
“No way,” the cashier said with absolute certainty, watching Ying Yin’s retreating figure. “Only a truly gorgeous woman can have the aura of a truly gorgeous woman.”
Ying Yin carried the popcorn and drinks in her arms, but didn’t dare eat or drink anything. With nowhere to sit, she quietly stood to one side and waited.
Since it wasn’t convenient to look at her phone, she didn’t ask Shang Shao where he was, either. He wouldn’t be late, she knew that. So she felt completely at ease, without the slightest hint of restlessness.
When the screening they’d booked began letting people queue for admission, someone tapped her on the shoulder.
Ying Yin turned around –
She turned a little too quickly, and the popcorn and drinks nearly crashed straight into Shang Shao’s arms.
Flustered, Ying Yin scrambled to steady everything, but before anything could spill, Shang Shao caught it all securely, laughing softly.
His gaze settled on her face. “Have you been waiting long?”
Ying Yin shook her head. Beneath her mask, the corners of her lips were pressed tightly together, almost as though she were biting back a smile. Her eyes were exceptionally bright.
There was no way to hide that little spark of excitement and anticipation.
Shang Shao lowered his face slightly, suppressing the smile at the corners of his lips. “You look especially beautiful today.”
Ying Yin’s heart descended into complete chaos. She tugged the knitted cuffs down until they covered half her hands. “I just did my makeup casually…”
Hmm? Wait. She suddenly realized something.
“You can’t even see it. I’m wearing a mask.”
“Just your silhouette from behind is beautiful enough. Anything else, I’ll save for when we get home.”
Heat crept across Ying Yin’s cheeks. She quickly changed the subject. “We’re going to be late.”
Shang Shao handed her the Coke Zero, then took her hand.
They waited in line for a while, and Ying Yin couldn’t help smiling.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Nothing.”
Shang Shao glanced at her, unable to stop the corners of his lips from curving upward. He lifted an arm around her shoulders and drew her into his embrace.
He knew exactly what she was smiling about.
It was simply the thrill of feeling like a high school student skipping class – having managed to evade the fans, paparazzi, and spotlights, and now being able to date so brazenly in public. There was a delicious sense that they’d somehow gotten away with something.
Ying Yin covered her lips with one hand and rose onto her toes, as though she wanted to say something.
Shang Shao leaned down slightly. “Hmm?”
She heard herself ask, “The first time you went to see Lulu’s movie, you wore a suit?”
Shang Shao let out a helpless laugh. “Xiao Wen told you?”
“Yes.” Ying Yin nodded.
Shang Shao slipped an arm around her head and pressed down lightly on her hat with his large hand. He cleared his throat and explained calmly, “I thought we’d be renting out the whole theater. Didn’t realize it was a regular screening, so I came straight from work in what I was wearing. Shang Qingye was dressed the same way.”
He didn’t forget to drag Shang Qingye into it.
Ying Yin nearly collapsed laughing in his arms.
This time, he’d learned his lesson. He didn’t want to be mistaken for a real-estate agent who had just gotten off work and rushed over for a date. So he hadn’t worn a tie or thrown on a jacket. Instead, he wore a casual white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, light-colored jeans that wrapped his legs in a long, straight line, and casual shoes. His whole appearance had a fresh, effortless ease to it.
They had bought seats in the IMAX theater, in the very last row. Worried that fans might recognize them, they deliberately waited until the lights had gone down and the film’s opening censorship logo had appeared before entering.
With Shang Shao holding her hand, Ying Yin whispered “Sorry” and “Excuse me” all the way down the aisle until they reached the two seats in the very center.
The two seats beside them were empty. She had deliberately bought them so they would have some space between themselves and everyone else.
Her professional instincts kicked in, and the first thing she did was check the occupancy rate. It was prime time, and the theater was about eighty percent full – practically packed.
Ying Yin tried to prepare for the worst. “You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?”
“No guarantees.”
“What?” Ying Yin tugged her mask down, pouting and wrinkling her nose in disapproval. “You don’t even fall asleep reading Hegel. Why would you fall asleep watching a movie?”
Shang Shao glanced at her first, seemingly about to ask how she’d managed to put philosophy and a commercial movie in the same category.
But the instant his gaze met her face, whatever he’d been about to say vanished from his mind.
His glance became a direct gaze, almost a stare – and an extraordinarily tender one at that.
After looking at her for a while, he turned his face toward her and kissed her soft, full lips.
Ying Yin suddenly forgot to breathe. One hand foolishly tightened around her paper cup of Coke, while the other, even more foolishly, clutched the bucket of popcorn against her chest.
“This should do the trick,” he murmured beside her ear, his voice low and utterly casual. “Whenever I get sleepy, I’ll just kiss you once.”
Ying Yin’s entire body felt hot.
And over the course of the two-hour movie, he kissed her five times.
Every single time, he stopped only reluctantly, with the unmistakable air of someone deliberately breaking the rules despite knowing better.
He even said, “Two hundred million of box office. Money well spent.”
Which made Ying Yin knock over the entire bucket of popcorn.
