It was Ye Shuyun’s fifth time seeing the movie, but that did not stop her from weeping throughout the movie again. Lu Yi, on the other hand, remained stoic as always.
Once the movie ended, everyone exited the hall with red, puffy eyes, but not Lu Yi. In fact, he had not shed even a single tear.
Ye Shuyun glared at her son.
“Why didn’t you cry?”
Lu Yi frowned. “Why should I cry?”
“Don’t you find the movie touching?” Ye Shuyun began to wonder whether her son was actually some kind of mutant. Everyone else—men, women, the old, and the young—had cried their eyes out at the movie, so why was her son completely unmoved?
Lu Yi thought about the movie he had just seen. “It was touching. I guess.” He was very impressed with Yan Huan’s performance; he felt vindicated in his decision to help the movie secure a slot on New Year’s Day.
“If you found it touching, then why didn’t you cry?” Ye Shuyun asked her son once again.
“Because I know the story is fake. It didn’t really happen.” Lu Yi could not understand why his mother wanted him to cry over a movie. He was an introvert, the type to keep his feelings to himself. It was simply not possible for him to weep unreservedly in public like his mother.
Ye Shuyun could not understand her son either. She decided that her son was, in fact, a mutant.
The box office earnings for Divorced continued to snowball. It had grossed only about 300 million yuan in Yan Huan’s previous life, but it had already surpassed 500 million yuan this time around. It was such a mind-blowing amount that the director, Huang Ming, stayed at home for several days, too shell-shocked to go out. He was not thinking about the money, but the fact that his directorial debut had turned out to be such a massive success. He did not care about the box office; he would have to give Yan Huan a third of the net profit, which would be about 100 million yuan after all the necessary expenses had been deducted, but he did not mind in the least. In fact, he would have gladly given Yan Huan half of the net profit. It was Yan Huan’s incredible performance that had carried the movie to success, after all.
The box office earnings for Divorced finally began to decline towards the end of its run—it was a natural process for most movies, after the initial hype and excitement—but even so it continued to pull in several million yuan a day. This continued for about two months, which was yet another remarkable achievement; most other movies lasted only a month in cinemas before they had to make way for new movies. After two whole months in the cinemas, Divorced finally ended its run with box office earnings of 600 million yuan.
600 million yuan! It was an astronomical sum that left most people speechless. The other movies that seemed like it would do well had only grossed 100 million yuan. And yet this unassuming melodrama, shot on a shoestring budget, ranked in 600 million yuan at the box office.
Even the movies slated to debut during the Chinese New Year—the season that usually had the best box office results in the entire year—would not be able to earn that much money.
After the film finally ended its run in cinemas, Huang Ming treated everyone on the production team to a luxurious dinner out of his own pocket. He could afford it now, of course. His movie had not only earned a ton of money, it had helped pave his way towards a bright future as a movie director. There would still be stormy days ahead, but he had made an excellent first impression in the industry, and that was what was important right now.
It was enormous pressure for a new director, but the pressure only served to motivate him further.
Huang Ming was a man of his word. He had promised to give Yan Huan a third of the box office earnings, and he wired the money to her bank account as soon as it was ready. The penniless Yan Huan, the Yan Huan who had absolutely nothing to her name, was now a millionaire.
“For you.” Yan Huan placed a small box in front of Yi Ling.
“What is it?” Yi Ling picked up the box and opened it: there were two keys inside.
“What, did you get me a toy car?” Yi Ling asked, puzzled. She hooked the car key with a finger and spun it around.
Yan Huan smiled. She said enigmatically, “It’s a surprise. Go see for yourself.”
Yi Ling noticed there was a note inside the box, and unfolded it. There was an address and a phone number on it.
Yi Ling was not the type to be interested in puzzles and games, but she shrugged and said, “Okay, I’ll go have a look.” She did not know what her dear Huanhuan was up to, or why she was being so mysterious, but she would play along for her sake.
She took the note, stuffed it into her pocket, and then went out. It was cold outside. She huddled into her clothes, and then turned to look at the front door of her apartment. She would much rather stay home in this weather.
She considered stepping back into her apartment and asking Yan Huan for a raincheck.
But she knew Yan Huan would not allow her back inside unless she followed the instructions and completed the game.
Some time later, Yi Ling ran back to the apartment with a wild look in her eyes.
“Huanhuan!” She jumped onto Yan Huan as soon as she opened the door, almost crushing Yan Huan’s dainty frame.
“Huanhuan, why are you so good to me? You gave me a sports car and an apartment with a view of the sea! The apartment isn’t in Sea City, but who cares! I’m so happy! Oh my god, I’m the luckiest person in the world! A red sports car! It’s my favorite color!” She kissed Yan Huan on the cheek, hard, leaving a large patch of saliva behind.
“I finally made it! A sports car and a seaside apartment! Oh my god, that’s the life I’ve been dreaming of. Oh my god, oh my god!” Yi Ling cupped her face. “I’m so happy I could die!”
“I’m going to take my car for a spin. I won’t be back for dinner, so you don’t have to call me to tell me dinner is ready.”
Yi Ling had already reached the door when she suddenly remembered something. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask—Huanhuan, where did you get the money to buy the car and the villa?”
Yi Ling had been dreaming of the car for a long time now, and knew that it cost at least one million yuan. The seaside apartment would be even more expensive. She could not even begin to guess how much the apartment cost, but she knew it was at least a few million yuan.
Where had Yan Huan gotten the money from?
Yi Ling’s eyes lit up as a thought occurred to her. “Huanhuan, did Director Huang increase your paycheck?” The idea seemed plausible enough: Divorced had earned 600 million yuan on a budget of a few hundred thousand yuan. That was a lot of money—real money, not imaginary money.
It was entirely reasonable for Director Huang to give Yan Huan—the actress who had single-handedly carried the movie—a hefty increase in her paycheck. That would explain why Yan Huan could afford to buy such a nice car and apartment.
“No.” Yan Huan wiped the saliva from her face.
“My pay was decided upon when I signed the contract. They can’t increase or decrease my paycheck on a whim. Small ‘ang pow’ bonuses aren’t bound by the contract, of course.”
“Wait…” Yi Ling deflated like a balloon popped. “If the director didn’t increase your paycheck, where’d the money come from? You didn’t steal from someone, or rob a bank, did you?” Actors made a lot of money, it was true, but that only applied to famous superstars. Yan Huan was famous, but she had only starred in Divorced so far, and the director could not possibly have given her a large paycheck for such a low budget movie. So where had the money come from?
“Where did the money come from?” Yan Huan’s pretty eyebrows drew together. “Huang Ming gave me two options when I signed the contract: a paycheck of several tens of thousands yuan—or a third of the movie’s net profit.”
Net profit. That was the keyword here.
Bam! Yi Ling’s head slammed into the door. She remained plastered onto the door, motionless, as she tried to process what she had just heard.
