IBKAWB Chapter 48

**Chapter 48: Premiere**

Re-translated/Edited by: Namizaki

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Ge Fangyu followed closely behind.

[ Ge Fangyu V: This photo proves Chi Zhongqiao is even more of a goofball than me. ]

</Drinking Milk Tea.jpg/>

In the photo, Chi Zhongqiao had wedged his milk tea between two small tables, his script propped against a vase, allowing him to sip his drink while studying his lines.

Without hesitation, Chi Zhongqiao retaliated by posting several photos:

</Ge Fangyu Drinking Milk Tea.jpg/>

</Fu Jingshen Drinking Milk Tea.jpg/>

[ Chi Zhongqiao V: As if you two haven’t tried it yourselves. ]

[ Flashy: Aaaah, I caught my Qiao in the front row! ]

[ Xi Lanlan: My precious darling! Uh… who’s that in the second photo? ]

[ Big Luo Bei Bei: Replying to the comment above, that’s the Director of <Invisible Crime>. Qiao is practically flirting with getting fired. ]

By the time Fu Jingshen arrived at the scene, Photoshop “masters” had already spliced the three milk tea photos together, aligning their poses perfectly.

[ Fu Jingshen V: Heh @Chi Zhongqiao @Ge Fangyu, so you two don’t want your roles anymore, huh? ]

**Comments:**

[ GottaStudyOrDie: So what did Brother Fang do wrong? (Hahahaha, sorry, I really want to laugh.) ]

Thanks to Yan Qingbo’s push, the buzz around the topic only intensified.

Neither Chi Zhongqiao nor the <Campus Prince and Campus Belle> production team intended to disparage other upcoming youth films. Instead, the discussion successfully generated hype for all the youth films scheduled to release in June and July.

“But won’t this just create more competition for us?” Zhong Yin asked, puzzled.

Chi Zhongqiao replied calmly, “Good films will shine regardless. Bad ones will only face harsher criticism. There’s no such thing as ‘creating competition.'”

True contenders will always emerge, even from obscurity. You can’t bury talent.

Once the “Silly Students” trend reached its peak, numerous film and television influencers capitalized on the momentum by posting videos titled “Most Anticipated Youth Films of June and July.”

Among them, Creamy Popcorn, a particularly popular influencer with a massive following, waited until after other influencers had released their videos before dropping his own meticulously edited compilation.

Creamy Popcorn’s videos were always uniquely creative, and this time, he didn’t disappoint his fans.

His video perfectly captured the “silly” theme, blending clips from both films and TV series.

The first half showcased the year’s already-released comedic youth films, mostly dark horse hits with strong word-of-mouth. The second half shifted focus to the year’s most anticipated youth films, with <Campus Prince and Campus Belle> leading the list.

[ The reason for my anticipation is simple: ]

[ “I made a video about <Empress of the World> before, and I mentioned how much I admire Chi Zhongqiao’s acting. His performances are incredibly moving. I’d consider myself a casual fan, and I wanted to see this film solely for his acting. Plus, it’s classified as a lighthearted comedy, a genre of youth films I don’t watch often.” ]

In early June, several youth-themed movies and dramas were released, but most of them went astray, drowning in melodramatic clichés. Most of them flopped, so Chi Zhongqiao stopped paying attention to the rest.

In mid-June, <A Sea of Falling Stars>, a youth film starring Li Jinghong, premiered.

After its debut, the film blossomed like a unique white flower amidst the sea of melodramatic clichés—finally capturing the true essence of the youth genre and firmly grasping the “refreshing and healing” elements.

When the film hit theaters, Chi Zhongqiao dragged Lu Yuzhou to see it. It was a typical art-house film, likely aiming for awards. What was rare was that it received both excellent reviews and respectable box office numbers.

Amway products were being hawked everywhere online, and film critics were praising the “lotus rising from the water” in this June youth film. Three youth-themed movies and one currently airing TV series had all taken the twisted path of sensationalism, but <A Sea of Falling Stars> had carved out a bright path through the deluge of melodrama.

On June 21st, under the pressure from <A Sea of Falling Stars>, <Campus Prince and Campus Belle> premiered.

Before the premiere, the official trailer had been released, but it failed to generate much buzz. With <A Sea of Falling Stars> gaining momentum and receiving unanimous acclaim both within and outside the industry, <Campus Prince and Campus Belle> naturally struggled to capture attention.

On the premiere day, all the film’s actors were present, along with invited media and film critics. Director Ji Shan’s palms were slick with nervous sweat.

Chi Zhongqiao and Yan Yiyun sat in the middle seats. Yan Yiyun was tense, as nervous as Ji Shan.

Chi Zhongqiao smiled reassuringly. “Don’t be nervous.”

Yan Yiyun stammered, “Eep.”

Chi Zhongqiao: “We saw it during the test screening. The Director did a great job with the editing.”

Yan Yiyun: “I’m still nervous. I can barely sit still.” Her lips moved rapidly, her voice so soft only Chi Zhongqiao could hear: “Last time, Sister Lili said that if our film meets expectations, we’ll have to compete with <A Sea of Falling Stars>, right?”

Lili was Yan Yiyun’s assistant.

Chi Zhongqiao: “….”

Speechless, he shook his head. “We’re making a commercial film. <A Sea of Falling Stars> is an art film, meant for awards. They’re completely different genres.”

Li Jinghong didn’t lack popularity, but he lacked awards. Though he was a top-tier celebrity, he was already over thirty and couldn’t continue down his previous path. This year, he had been focusing on transitioning into a low-key, steady, and respected actor, and <A Sea of Falling Stars> was a bold attempt at this.

Yan Yiyun, her eyes brimming with tears, said, “But Brother Du said our film is good.”

Chi Zhongqiao turned his head and said calmly, “A good film is one that makes a comedy funny and a tragedy tragic. Besides, instead of worrying about <A Sea of Falling Stars>, we should be more concerned about <Across the Water>, which premiered last week.”

<Across the Water> was another commercial film released in June. Chi Zhongqiao had attended its premiere and confirmed it was indeed a good film.

Yan Yiyun: “Huh?”

What kind of film was <Across the Water>? Why hadn’t she heard of it?

Chi Zhongqiao: “The premiere is starting.”

The theater lights dimmed abruptly, and the previously murmuring audience fell silent.

<Campus Prince and Campus Belle> was a low-budget comedy film set primarily in classrooms, hallways, and the teachers’ office. The only outdoor scene occurred when the group visited a nearby temple to pray for their hospitalized homeroom teacher.

The main plot unfolded entirely in the classroom, chronicling the kind of trivial incidents everyone experiences in high school: accidentally splattering ink on a classmate, getting caught cheating on a spelling test, sneaking peeks at novels while the homeroom teacher looked out the window, running into the Principal while climbing over the wall…

Each episode felt authentic, perfectly capturing the realities of Chinese high school life. It portrayed a group of energetic teenagers determined to fill every break with laughter and mischief.

The hour-and-a-half film ended with a touch of sentimentality during the graduation scene. However, mindful of the film’s overall comedic tone, the emotional moment was kept brief, offering just a hint of feel-good sentimentality before moving on.

Yet it was precisely this restraint that made the emotional moment so poignant, its impact heightened by the surrounding humor.

For the first seventy minutes, the film focused on the sheer foolishness of youth, portraying teenagers eagerly anticipating the freedom and revelry that awaited them after the gaokao (National College Entrance Exam). But when the day of the gaokao finally arrived, these high schoolers finally tasted the bitterness of parting.

The day before the College Entrance Exam, the entire class attended their final evening study session of high school. As soon as 9:30 PM arrived, the students lingered before reluctantly leaving the classroom. The Campus Prince, as Class Monitor, remained silently until the very end.

Soon, he was the only one left. He quietly packed his backpack, slung the heavy bag over one shoulder, and turned to leave. But as he did, he noticed the blackboard bulletin board behind him.

The original bulletin board had been completely erased, leaving only a few words.

The Campus Prince stood silently by the podium for a few seconds, then reached out, picked up a piece of chalk, and walked through the neat rows of desks to the bulletin board. He wrote a few words, gently placed the chalk back in its box, and turned to switch off the lights.

This time, he didn’t look back.

For three long minutes, there was no dialogue, no internal monologue. The camera remained fixed on the Campus Prince’s face, capturing even the slightest tremor of his eyelashes. He still wore his black-rimmed glasses and the loose-fitting blue and white school uniform, his expression remaining cold and impassive.

Then the camera zoomed in on his eyes—he was scanning the desks, the ceiling fans, the blackboard, inch by inch. His gaze was both focused and patient, and anyone who met his eyes could feel the deep reluctance conveyed within them.

The moment the Campus Prince turned off the lights, the screen went dark. Yet the audience’s minds lingered on his gaze—a profound longing that burned itself into the deepest recesses of their hearts.

After savoring that look for a few seconds, the screen suddenly lit up again. The homeroom teacher, having finished his IV drip at the hospital, appeared in the classroom. He had still missed the chance to wish his students well.

The teacher silently walked to the podium, his gaze sweeping across the fifty-odd seats before fixing on the blackboard.

Two lines of text stood out against the pitch-black surface: the left side, delicate and refined, clearly penned by a girl; the right side, sharp and angular, its edges bristling with youthful energy—

We, as youths, have a bright future ahead.

The teacher murmured to himself, “A bright future ahead, young ones.”

The upbeat, melodious end-credits music began to play, signaling the film’s conclusion.

Only when the theater lights flooded the room did the audience snap out of their cinematic reverie.

<Campus Prince and Campus Belle> was a solid comedy. It didn’t rely on satire or hidden meanings, instead focusing on the joyful daily lives of a group of teenagers. While delivering plenty of laughs, it also celebrated the purity of friendship and the tender, ambiguous feelings of first love. Yet it was precisely this ordinariness that pulsed with an extraordinary vitality, infusing every moment of the film with the buoyant spirit of youth.

Even during the most sentimental moments, even as the clock struck the hour of farewell, the film maintained an uplifting spirit, declaring, “We are young, and the future is ours to seize.” It was deeply moving without being maudlin, radiating an untainted vitality and a boundless drive and optimism that even envy couldn’t touch.

Some film critics sat in their seats, earnestly pondering the true meaning of “youth.” So many films they had reviewed focused on petty sorrows and fleeting emotions, delicate and touching, yet always lacking that heart-pounding, exhilarating feeling. Today, however, this comedy had somehow delivered that very sensation.

Yan Yiyun pressed a tissue to her nose, her eyes slightly reddened. When she spoke, her voice carried a nasal tinge: “Brother Qiao, you’re truly incredible. That scene almost made me cry.”

Good heavens, wasn’t this supposed to be a comedy?

Yan Yiyun hadn’t been present when Chi Zhongqiao filmed that final scene, so this was her first time seeing it. Only now did she fully grasp the extent of Chi Zhongqiao’s acting prowess—how good was he? Good enough to carry an entire silent scene with just his eyes.

“So “that’s” what ‘eyes speak volumes’ really means,” Yan Yiyun murmured.

Chi Zhongqiao: “…That’s not what the phrase means at all.”

As the final end credits rolled, the invited media and film critics swarmed forward. The actors, unaccustomed to such a frenzy, were momentarily overwhelmed. Fortunately, the media’s primary focus was on Chi Zhongqiao, the most popular star present.

Having already watched the entire film, the media representatives keenly sensed its potential. Moreover, since they had been paid to attend, they were naturally inclined to speak favorably about <Campus Prince and Campus Belle>.

However, their praise now felt far more genuine than before. <Campus Prince and Campus Belle> truly was a good film, requiring no forced compliments or strained attempts to find flattering words. After viewing it, their literary inspiration flowed freely, and their praise stemmed from genuine admiration.

Before writing their promotional pieces, however, they still wanted to extract some newsworthy angles from Chi Zhongqiao.

A reporter from “Little Biscuit Media” squeezed through the crowd, struggling to raise her microphone. “Mr. Chi, what are your expectations for <Campus Prince and Campus Belle>? Compared to <A Sea of Falling Stars>, which do you think has a better chance of becoming the summer box office champion?”

Oh, that’s a good question.

The other reporters quickly raised their microphones, their eyes fixed on Chi Zhongqiao with anticipation, hoping he would provide a controversial statement or an ambiguous answer that could be twisted into a sensational headline.