After Silent’s premiere, professional critics at S City Grand Theater couldn’t yet post their thoughts online, but countless regular viewers were already sharing quick reviews on film sites via their phones.

【Worth the ticket, but not rewatching soon—cried my eyes out!】

【QAQ Rong Xu is gorgeous, finally get his charm. Rewatching tomorrow!】

【Aaaa Director Xu’s visuals and mood are unreal, the whole theater was sobbing. Promised a sweet romance, but so sad, liar! sobs】

In this era, anyone with a ticket could review films online. Each ticket had a QR code and number, required for posting a single review—long or short—ensuring thoughtfulness. Ratings, however, needed no code.

This system boosted theater attendance and protected copyrights by curbing piracy.

Casual viewers posted freely, but professional critics were meticulous.

Half an hour post-premiere, more reviews flooded online. Netizens who missed the premiere, seeing these, asked: 【Is it really that heartbreaking? Everyone’s crying?】

Replies came fast: 【Super heartbreaking! Starts sweet, ends with me a wreck! Bring tissues, you’ll cry and sniffle!】

This alarmed some, wary of tearjerkers, but new reviews offered a different tone—

【We met in my naive, loving youth. You left, but I’m here forever.】

【When you need me, I’m behind you; when you don’t, my soul still loves you.】

【It’s artsy, but it reminded me of my youth. Those days were beautiful, everyone was kind, but we can’t go back.】

These sparked agreement among premiere-goers.

【Silent is heartbreaking, but skipping it because of that would be a shame.】

Director Xu was unaware of the online buzz. When filming Silent, he knew it wouldn’t match the blockbuster success of Qin Cheng’s Stormbringer or Rong Xu’s Lost City.

It was an arthouse film aimed at awards, with box office as a bonus.

Post-screening at S City Grand Theater, the Silent crew took the stage for a final press interview. Many reporters, eyes red and voices choked, maintained professionalism, firing sharp questions.

“Director Xu, you predicted 30 billion in box office. But Chinese arthouse films average under 10 billion. Why think Silent will break through?”

“Why, at 50, did you decide to make a youth romance like Silent?”

“Rong Xu, did you choose Silent to broaden your range?”

“Xiao Zitong, what about…”

Questions flew rapidly. Director Xu waved for calm, answering each methodically.

After addressing all, he turned to the first reporter, smiling. “I said 30 billion because I believe Silent deserves it. Why I think so doesn’t matter—check the box office in 20 days.”

With that, the premiere concluded.

It was late, so Director Xu sent everyone to the hotel to rest, prepping for tomorrow’s celebration of breaking 100 million.

Yes, Silent’s opening-day box office exceeding 100 million was a done deal.

The quartet of Director Xu, Rong Xu, Xiao Zitong, and Lin Xuan drove pre-sale tickets to a stellar 160 million a week prior.

Backstage, makeup artists removed the actors’ makeup. Xiao Zitong and Lin Xuan chatted about the premiere, while Rong Xu, between them, texted someone.

Ignoring Lin Xuan, he huffed, “Rongrong, who’re you texting now? Zitong said we could hang in B City in a couple days. Silent’s roadshow starts next week—no rest soon.”

Xiao Zitong nodded. “Yeah, it’s late, but I’m not tired. Wanna grab a late-night snack?”

“Snack?!” Lin Xuan’s eyes lit up.

Rong Xu closed his phone, teasing, “Aren’t you dieting? Why snacks?”

Lin Xuan’s lips twitched. “…Who said I’m dieting? I’m skinny!”

Xiao Zitong gulped nervously. “I gained two pounds—92 now. Gotta diet… Let’s skip the snack.”

“No snack? Nonsense. I was gonna let you kids rest post-premiere, but since you want to hang, count me in. Let’s get BBQ!”

They turned to see Director Xu, in reading glasses, sternly at the door.

With Director Xu’s insistence, Lin Xuan and Xiao Zitong couldn’t refuse, but Rong Xu frowned, hesitant. “Director, I might have something, not sure I can…”

Director Xu’s white brows furrowed. “What’s up?”

Rong Xu pursed his lips, smiling wryly. “Just… something.”

Xu approached, eyeing the reluctant teen. “Fine, Rong Xu’s out. The three of us, plus Old Wang, Old Zheng, Old Li—no BBQ, we’ll do seafood. Rong Xu, you’re paying, got it? We’ll eat you broke, haha.”

Rong Xu: “…”

Backing out now would be rude.

Post-premiere, Director Xu, the three leads, and two producers left the theater’s backstage, heading to a nearby BBQ spot.

As they drove off, Rong Xu leaned forward, telling the driver, “Please detour to the theater’s west gate. I have a friend there I’d like to bring.”

The driver nodded, surprised.

Director Xu, in the front passenger seat, laughed. “No wonder you didn’t want to join—got a date? Xiao Rong, who’s the beauty meeting you this late?”

Xiao Zitong was in another car; this one held Director Xu, Rong Xu, and Lin Xuan. Lin Xuan grinned. “Yeah, choosing love over friends? Rongrong, you should’ve said someone’s waiting. We wouldn’t drag you. Who is it? I’m curious—who’s out here this late? Don’t let them down.”

A playful glint flashed in Rong Xu’s eyes. He glanced at Lin Xuan, then at the mischievous Director Xu, saying seriously, “A beauty? Strictly speaking, he’s… well, a beauty.”

Director Xu and Lin Xuan’s interest peaked. Lin Xuan urged the driver to speed to the west gate.

Three minutes later—

Director Xu: “…”

Lin Xuan: “…”

Qin Cheng boarded expressionlessly, sitting beside Rong Xu, calmly closing the door.

The car’s atmosphere turned awkward, air practically solidifying. Qin Cheng raised a brow, glancing at Rong Xu, as if asking, “?”

The handsome teen smiled, voice cheerful. “So, Director Xu, Lin Xuan, was I wrong?”

Is Qin Cheng a beauty?

If “beauty” is gendered, he’s not. But among Chinese male stars, young or old, who’s the handsomest? Qin Cheng’s name is top three.

Director Xu was speechless at Qin Cheng’s appearance, saying no more. Lin Xuan was utterly disappointed.

As a senior Qin Fengfeng group member, Lin Xuan couldn’t handle Qin Cheng. Worse, he doubted his own intelligence.

He’d seen Qin Cheng backstage at the concert, knew he was there for Rong Xu. Yet when Rong Xu said someone waited at the west gate, Lin Xuan hadn’t guessed Qin Cheng. Is my IQ broken?!

Lin Xuan was completely deflated.

This mood lingered until the three cars pulled into the BBQ joint, finally fading.

Xiao Zitong had noticed Qin Cheng board Rong Xu’s car. Hopping out, the fangirl darted to Qin Cheng. She glanced at her new favorite, Rong Xu, then at her long-time idol, Qin Cheng, looking left and right, thrilled. She wished she could sit across from them at the BBQ, staring to her heart’s content.

Director Xu started chatting with Qin Cheng about Zhuang Hua Luo. Rong Xu’s role as the third male lead in Zhuang Hua Luo, with Qin Cheng as the lead, had been public for months.

At the BBQ table, skewers glistened with oil, sizzling, the aroma of cumin filling the air. Everyone sipped beer and munched on BBQ.

The table split into three factions. One was the industry circle of the producers, Xu, and Qin Cheng.

Director Xu grilled Qin Cheng about Zhuang Hua Luo. When Qin Cheng, eyes lowered, calmly asked why he didn’t just ask Director Liu himself, Director Xu’s eyes widened, matter-of-factly saying, “Silent and Zhuang Hua Luo’s releases overlap—competitors! You think I’d ask that old fox?”

Qin Cheng raised a brow. “So you ask me?”

The second faction was Xiao Zitong’s solo fangirl zone. She was the only one truly eating, savoring skewers while ogling the heartthrobs across the table. Life was bliss—scenery as delicious as the food.

The third faction was Rong Xu and Lin Xuan’s “drown sorrows in beer” crew.

The “sorrows” were Lin Xuan’s alone. Doubting his intelligence, he chugged beer, ignoring his upcoming H City concert next week.

While Director Xu monopolized Qin Cheng, Lin Xuan dragged Rong Xu into a chat.

The baby-faced pop star avoided Qin Fengfeng group talk, focusing on his concert.

“I’ve been under so much pressure this year. My recent songs feel flat, uninspired. Rong, what do I do? I’m desperate for a hit, not just old songs.”

At his peak, Lin Xuan’s latest album, with twelve tracks, had no breakout hits. It topped sales charts initially and played on music shows, but six months later, it faded, leaving little impact.

Fans preferred his older songs, timeless classics. At his concert, besides Silent, only old tracks sparked sing-alongs.

Actors face pressure; singers do too.

Rong Xu consoled Lin Xuan softly. The singer, drunk, leaned close, slurring, “At the concert, that panda fan held a sign confessing to me, but when I called on her, she confessed to you. Rongrong, I’m so bummed. She’s my fan, why… why’d she pick you…”

Rong Xu froze, staring at the bleary-eyed Lin Xuan.

Lin Xuan’s words held no real jealousy, just drunken venting.

Online, rumors claimed Lin Xuan’s songs were declining. Some were from haters or rival singers’ paid trolls, but Lin Xuan knew his last two years showed a downward trend.

“Unfair, so unfair. Rongrong, you’re great at acting and singing. Ugh, I wanna bite you…”

With that, Lin Xuan thudded onto the table, passed out.

Director Xu and the others laughed. “Drunk on beer? Lin Xuan’s such a lightweight.”

Rong Xu sighed, meeting Qin Cheng’s gaze. He moved the beer glass near Lin Xuan’s head to avoid spills.

When the gathering ended, Rong Xu helped Lin Xuan to the car, with Qin Cheng assisting.

At the hotel parking lot, Lin Xuan sobered enough to walk. Director Xu dragged Qin Cheng to the front desk, insisting on booking him a room, declaring, “Like at the film city, you’re paying.”

Qin Cheng: “…”

Rong Xu supported Lin Xuan to the elevator. Near their rooms, Lin Xuan mumbled, “Rongrong, I was just a bit jealous, don’t mind. We’re still bros. Tons of people are better than me—Wen Xuan, Xia Muyan, Chu Qi, James. I gripe sometimes, but don’t be mad or block me. I’ll check Weibo and WeChat in my room. If you block me, I’m coming to your door.”

His candid words made Rong Xu smile. “Mad? I’m jealous of myself. How’s there someone like me, with such a great temper?”

Lin Xuan: “You’re too full of yourself!”

They laughed, chatted more, then reached their doors. Lin Xuan casually added, “That panda fan really ticked me off. So mad—she held a sign for me, then confessed to you, even did a ‘chu mi’! So mad, so mad! If I see her again, I’ll bite her!”

Rong Xu’s hand froze on the door, eyes trembling. He turned slowly. “…What’d you say?”

Lin Xuan blinked. “I’ll bite her?”

Rong Xu’s lips tightened. “No, before that.”

Lin Xuan thought. “…So mad?”

Rong Xu shook his head.

“Ugh, Rongrong, making me repeat? Fine, that panda with the ‘I love you’ sign confessed to you!”

Rong Xu’s eyes narrowed, voice steady. “Right, and she… chu mi’d me.”

Lin Xuan, confused, stared, not grasping Rong Xu’s point. Rong Xu said no more, bidding a quick goodbye before they entered their rooms.

It was 4 a.m. Qin Cheng texted, saying Xu had roped him into a chat in his room, unable to return soon, urging Rong Xu to sleep.

Unbeknownst to Qin Cheng, the teen who replied “Goodnight ^_^” was now in a white bathrobe, perched on a soft sofa, coolly scanning his phone.

His screen displayed Weibo, the top showing five characters—

LotusPasteOrange Filling

This account, known to Rong Xu for just a year, left a deep impression.

A fan with his sleeping photo, taken up-close on Lost City’s set.

A cutesy fan, often “chu mi”-ing, convincing him he didn’t know them.

A rich fan, donating a million without blinking.

Yet, a low-key rich fan, never flaunting wealth or posting selfies, with an odd personality. Her Weibo had three types of posts: daily meal-time confessions to Rong Xu; retweets of his news, from promos to fan photos; and lovey-dovey posts.

A rich fan, not showing off wealth or selfies, but loving to flaunt romance!

Rong Xu calmly scanned every post, lightning-fast, skipping regular confession posts, focusing on LotusPasteOrange Filling’s lovey-dovey posts and oddly-timed confessions.

Oddly-timed meant posts at 2 or 3 a.m.

Like this one, at 2:30 a.m., when most slept, LotusPasteOrange Filling posted:

【LotusPasteOrange Filling: Love Rongrong even more today, Rongrong little angel, chu mi chu mi =3=】

Nearby posts were also timed strangely—6 a.m., 2 p.m., 1 a.m.

It was like a time zone difference: sleeping from 2 p.m. to 1 a.m., leading to these weirdly-timed posts.

Finding such posts, Rong Xu opened WeChat, checking that day’s chats.

That week, Qin Cheng was in Europe promoting Stormbringer.

Further down, more odd-timed posts.

For eleven days, Qin Cheng and Liu were in New Zealand filming Zhuang Hua Luo exteriors.

Down, down, down…

Seeing two months of nearly daily off-timed confessions, Rong Xu checked his chats.

Back then, he and Qin Cheng weren’t together. He was renting Qin Cheng’s apartment.

Those two months, Qin Cheng was in the U.S. filming Stormbringer.

Every time matched perfectly.

Clear eyes glinted faintly. Rong Xu’s face stayed expressionless as he scanned LotusPasteOrange Filling’s final post, noting it appeared only after he met Qin Cheng.

The account was just over a year old.

By 5:30 a.m., with Director Xu keeping Qin Cheng, he’d texted he wouldn’t visit to avoid disturbing Rong Xu’s rest.

In the quiet, spacious room, the teen, barefoot on soft wool carpet, walked to the window, pulling back thick curtains. Outside, S City’s vibrant nightlife glowed. Neon lights wove a dazzling web across the sleepless city, red hues painting the sky.

Rong Xu leaned on the railing by the floor-to-ceiling window, lips curving, smiling faintly at the man-made beauty. No trace of sleepiness in his eyes, just a deepening smile.

Half an hour later, rested or perhaps with a hunch, Rong Xu sat by the window.

Legs crossed on the warm carpet, back against the glass, he resumed scrolling Weibo.

Now, he targeted the rich fan’s lovey-dovey posts.

April 7, 2044.

【LotusPasteOrange Filling: He’s so cute, so gentle, he likes me? (? ???ω??? ?)?!!!】

Hmm, that day they visited that waterfall together?

April 21, 2044.

【LotusPasteOrange Filling: Knew he totally loves baby OVO】

May 2, 2044.

LotusPasteOrange Filling replied to a fan’s comment with a simple smiley, but the fan wrote: 【Bet LianRong chased Orange Goddess, right? Totally, our rich, cute Orange must’ve been won over by LianRong’s relentless pursuit!】

Rong Xu, reading this: “…”

Shameless!

Scrolling further, LotusPasteOrange Filling gushed daily about how much her “LianRong” loved her, how adorable he was.

Then, one day—

【LotusPasteOrange Filling: …He’s so weird, acting like that, almost lost control.】

Rong Xu raised a brow, surprised, and read her reply—

【I’m not conservative, not saying I don’t want to marry him. It’s just… uh, I’m too young. I’m 19, feels kinda off, right?】

Rong Xu, exactly 19: “…”

So, the real reason for that issue was thinking he was too young?!

If Rong Xu was 70% sure before, now he was 80% convinced LotusPasteOrange Filling was someone he knew—someone vital, the most important person in his life.

Checking their private Weibo messages, still from a year ago during Lost Wings’ charity event, this diehard fan, confessing thrice daily, spoke to him like a stranger, as if they’d never met.

…Utterly shameless!

Three minutes later, stone-faced, Rong Xu created a burner account, following LotusPasteOrange Filling, joining her 300,000 followers.

As his fame grew, so did his top fans’. LotusPasteOrange Filling, despite no wealth-flaunting or selfies, gained over 300,000 followers as “Rong’s richest fan.”

After setting up the account, Rong Xu followed his main account and a few other fan leaders, then posted—

【How to Perfectly Eat an Orange: Starting the log today ^_^】

Nearby, a church’s tall clock struck six, its ancient chimes echoing over the city. On the horizon, a blazing sun rose, painting the sky golden.

The Silent crew partied post-premiere, sleeping past noon. Online, Silent’s reviews poured in.

At 9 a.m., the first professional review, 3,000 words, dropped on the film site, scoring—

9.7/10!

Due to differing standards, the site separated commercial and arthouse film rankings.

The top arthouse film was Qin Cheng’s Dusk Sound, at 9.8/10. The highest commercial film, a veteran actor’s action flick from decades ago, scored 9.5/10.

Arthouse and commercial films hold distinct artistic value. A single scoring system inflated arthouse scores, skewing commercial ones low. Two years ago, the industry agreed: commercial films aren’t inferior—just different. On rating sites, their scoring systems are split, with critics judging by respective standards.

A 9.7 for a commercial film signals a 50-billion-yuan blockbuster. For arthouse, it’s a classic. In five years, few arthouse films hit 9.5+.

The reviewer, an arthouse-loving professor, titled his piece—

“What’s Lost Can’t Return. No Need to Recall; It Silently Holds Dear There.”

【Silent is Director Xu’s experimental shift. Known for cerebral dramas and complex love triangles exploring life’s values, this is his first youth film.

Top-tier visuals, clever scoring, and apt atmosphere craft a tale of memory.
A young couple’s unspoken love leaves one a ghost, the other forgetting to live on. Like Dusk Sound, where Lu Musheng clings to obsession while his beloved forgets.
But Silent gently narrates life; Dusk Sound is brutal.

…

Time is the cruelest force. In its river, looking back yields only desolation. No one lingers in the past, nor remembers forever. After a decade, memories are fragments; emotions, even more fleeting.

Rong Xu’s Du Ran and Xiao Zitong’s Zhao Leling are opposites.
Per my knowledge, Silent has two Easter eggs: one, a funny cast video; the other, a premiere clip. In their youth, Du Ran is aloof, isolated; Zhao Leling is warm, popular.
Yet, the cold one stays loyal; the warm one forgets.

…

On the cast’s breakthroughs:
Liu Huizhen’s supporting role is average, standard. Lin Xuan’s supporting male is polished, technically adept, but overly deliberate, with a stiff academic style.
Xiao Zitong’s a pity—no image break except the adult Zhao Leling’s tearful sunset scene, a highlight. Overall, she’s still the “nation’s first love.”
Rong Xu is the second surprise (Director Xu’s shift is first).

I’ve seen Black Clouds, Lost City, and Vie for Supremacy. Rong Xu’s performances were notable, creating distinct characters. In Silent, his growth is astonishing.
Before Silent, many said Rong Xu could mimic Qin Cheng’s Dusk Sound role. At 21, Qin Cheng played a similar role; Rong Xu, at 19, could reference it. But Rong Xu’s Du Ran bears no trace of Lu Musheng—just Du Ran.

…

What’s lost can’t return. No need to recall; it silently blooms there.
Du Ran’s bloom is this year’s biggest arthouse surprise.】

The review reassured fans heading to theaters. They avoided its spoilers (the site flags spoiler reviews), but the 9.7 score calmed their nerves.

It wasn’t a flop.

Viewers who’d seen the film read the review, its plain words evoking scenes. Recalling the ending alongside the analysis, they grasped the film’s message: a stance on life.

Du Ran embodies everyone’s purest innocence. Some, through pain, abandon it for maturity. Others cling to it, staying in their world, guarding purity.

【I didn’t catch all that deep stuff, but Rong Xu’s final smile? The most beautiful thing ever!】

【Almost turned gay for Rong Xu (:з」∠)】

【If it’s Rong Xu, I’d choose love…】

More long reviews followed, the lowest at 8.2, the highest the professor’s 9.7. With audience scores, Silent averaged 9/10, ranking top three among this year’s arthouse films!

On day one, this score signaled a shot at the top five!

Plus, Silent’s opening-day box office hit 190 million, breaking the year’s arthouse premiere record. Leaving theaters, viewers’ eyes were red, faces tear-streaked. Asked by reporters, they said, “Rewatch? No way, sob.”

Reporters’ eyes gleamed. “So, it’s bad?” News!

Viewers snapped, “How dare you? Have you even seen it? When Rong Xu vanished, I nearly died crying. It’s amazing, how’s it bad? I’m rewatching!”

Reporter: “…”

You said no rewatch!

That evening, the Silent crew held a celebration in S City. Xu gave Rong Xu and Xiao Zitong a break to rest for the upcoming roadshow.

Leaving the hotel, Director Xu patted Rong Xu’s shoulder, smiling. “Recharge for the roadshow. Zhuang Hua Luo hits in December—don’t lose to them.”

Zhuang Hua Luo, a commercial drama, not arthouse, with Liu, Qin Cheng, and Huang Lei, was set to outgross Silent.

Hearing this, the teen smiled. “But, Director, I’m… also in Zhuang Hua Luo?”

The old man burst into laughter, letting go of Rong Xu’s shoulder and walking sternly to Xiao Zitong and Lin Xuan’s side.

Rong Xu, half-laughing, half-exasperated, spread his hands.

The group split into two. One, led by Director Xu, was the “pure Silent team”; the other, Rong Xu and Qin Cheng, was the “Zhuang Hua Luo team.” Though this “isolation” was new for Rong Xu, he felt no discomfort.

Under clear, gentle moonlight, he drifted to the back of the group, strolling quietly with a certain man in the serene parking lot. Ahead, the Silent crew chattered and laughed; behind, the two walked in silence.

After a moment, the man’s deep, refined voice broke the quiet. “Ignore Director Xu. Our box office will definitely beat theirs.”

Rong Xu raised a brow elegantly, reminding him, “I’m the lead in Silent.”

Qin Cheng: “…”

Talk about a misstep. The handsome, stoic man frowned, seemingly pondering how to win back his teen’s favor. But the next moment, he felt his hand suddenly hooked!

Hooked, not held.

Rong Xu hooked Qin Cheng’s hand, pulling it close, gently tracing it.

Qin Cheng: “…” Something’s off.

After a pause, he ventured, “…Xiao Xu?”

Rong Xu’s voice was clear. “How’d you get this little cut on your finger?”

Near Qin Cheng’s ring finger’s nail was a tiny scar, so faint it was nearly invisible, yet noticeable up close.

Qin Cheng, face impassive, answered calmly, “During Zhuang Hua Luo’s shoot, I grazed a prop, bled a bit. It’ll fade in a few months—not a big scar.”

Rong Xu nodded lightly but kept holding Qin Cheng’s hand, examining it closely.

Qin Cheng: “…”

Two minutes later, he couldn’t hold back. “Xiao Xu?”

Rong Xu looked up, smiling brightly. “Hm? What’s up?”

Qin Cheng: “…Something wrong?”

Rong Xu, surprised, countered, “What’s wrong?”

Qin Cheng: “…Hm.”

The teen chuckled. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Then, he lowered his head, resuming his inspection of the hand.

Qin Cheng: “…” Everything’s wrong!

Time crawled in this strange atmosphere. Two minutes later, as the group neared the cars, Luo Xi exclaimed, “Huh? Zhuang Hua Luo’s crew dropped a trailer today?!”

Director Xu halted abruptly. “What?! They released a trailer today? Today… today… Old Liu’s piggybacking on Silent’s buzz! Outrageous!” He spun, glaring at the “Zhuang Hua Luo duo” trailing behind, fuming, “Tell me, isn’t Liu shameless? He did this on purpose!”

Rong Xu: “…”

Qin Cheng: “…”

At that moment, on Weibo, the upcoming *Zhuang Hua Luo* crew unveiled their first trailer—

【Zhuang Hua Luo Crew: #Dec18BlossomingSilk# Clear Moon Ink Orchid, Bamboo Lord Xiang; Long Blade Spring Embroidery, Kong Zhao Seeks Silk. Dec 18, Zhuang Hua Luo awaits you! 】