The screening of Mu Guiying came to an end.
The audience remained immersed for a long while, reluctant to leave their seats. For the officials, gentry, and wealthy patrons present, this completely new art form had proven more than worth the price of admission.
After returning home, these influential figures began actively spreading the word.
Movies, by their very nature, relied heavily on word-of-mouth. As long as the reputation was good, ticket sales would naturally rise over time.
First came the relatives and close friends of the officials and gentry. Then, gradually, the trend spread to ordinary wealthy households. Before long, even relatively well-off workers from the Gao Family Village factories began to attend.
Puzhou City itself had long since been developed as a system of "satellite villages and towns."
Many factories were located ten or even twenty li away from the main urban area. As a result, a large number of workers would take public buses into the prefectural city after finishing their shifts, just to watch Mu Guiying.
Because of this, once night fell, the prefectural city became unusually lively.
The street in front of the Puzhou Grand Theater, in particular, was bustling to an astonishing degree.
Seeing the opportunity, peddlers hurried to set up stalls along both sides of the street. Snacks of every variety filled the air with fragrance. Some vendors even sold items they had previously received as "blessings from Dao Xuan Tianzun," such as—
Potato chips.
Snow crackers.
Chocolate.
Jelly.
Even Li Daoxuan was momentarily stunned when he saw this.
How had this place suddenly transformed into something resembling a bustling market street from a later era?
People spent money here without the slightest hesitation.
From any perspective, this was a very good thing.
It stimulated the economy.
And it was precisely the kind of change Li Daoxuan liked to see.
At that moment, outside the diorama box, Li Daoxuan was eating his meal. Today, he had ordered Cantonese rice noodle rolls. One couldn't always eat spicy food; occasionally switching to something lighter was necessary.
As he ate, his messaging app suddenly began flashing.
It was a university alumni group chat.
This group had been quiet for a long time, nearly dormant. Now, for some reason, it had suddenly come alive.
A message appeared:
"Hey everyone, how've you all been? Short-form series are really popular right now! Our class was all design majors, so some of you must be into short series too, right? Come take a look at the one I made and give me some advice."
Attached was a video.
Li Daoxuan was eating anyway and had nothing urgent to do, so he clicked it open.
At a glance, he almost laughed.
It was one of those classic online "underdog strikes back, billionaire falls in love" short series.
The story was simple: a plain-looking woman in her early thirties, dirt poor, enters a company to work. She is bullied by her department manager. Just when her situation reaches rock bottom, the company's young, rich, second-generation chairman inexplicably falls for her—simply because she talked back to him a couple of times in the elevator.
From there, the chairman goes all out to support her. The female lead achieves a dramatic reversal of fortune, while the department manager is humiliated again and again, eventually begging for mercy.
Once the video was sent, the already quiet group chat became even quieter.
The classmates were collectively speechless.
Li Daoxuan, who was bored anyway, decided to say something polite.
"Hey, old classmate, it's really well shot. Nice work. This one's definitely going to be a hit."
The moment this message was sent, the group exploded with activity.
QueenOfAThousandFaces_M:
"Xuanzi, you're praising him against your conscience, aren't you?"
LoneGooseWanderer:
"Xuanzi, you just couldn't bear to crush his fragile heart, right? That short series is ridiculously clichéd. It's a trope from Korean dramas twenty years ago. It's definitely going to flop."
Ji Menghan:
"Xuanzi, don't tell me you invested in this short series?"
Li Daoxuan hadn't expected such a reaction. Feeling slightly awkward, he hurriedly typed:
"No, no, I didn't invest. I was just following the principle of 'mutual encouragement for collective progress.' Just a casual comment—don't read too much into it."
LoneGooseWanderer:
"That makes sense. I thought you'd gone crazy."
QueenOfAThousandFaces_M:
"By the way, Xuanzi, what have you been up to these past few years?"
Li Daoxuan paused.
I can't exactly tell them I've been staying at home, making money by carving micro-sculptures and filming short videos inside a box, can I?
How should he answer?
Just then, an idea occurred to him.
Li Daoxuan uploaded his own crudely produced, "five-mao special effects" version of Mu Guiying into the group chat.
"I'm making a short series too. Everyone, take a look and give me some feedback."
The moment the video appeared—
The entire group fell into complete silence.
After a long pause, the classmate who had originally shared his short series finally replied:
"Xuanzi, your short series is really well shot. I think it's definitely going to be a big hit."
The rest of the group immediately reacted:
"Holy cow, you two really are just flattering each other, aren't you?"
Ji Menghan:
"Let's be honest, Xuanzi. Your special effects are way too 'five-mao.' Actually, even five-mao is generous—I'd say four-mao at most."
LoneGooseWanderer:
"Don't be angry, Xuanzi, but your special effects really are terrible. This series is doomed to fail."
QueenOfAThousandFaces_M:
"While the special effects are awful and the acting is stiff, this film isn't completely without merit. Everyone, look closely: the fight scenes are incredibly realistic, and the combat choreography is absolutely top-tier."
At her suggestion, everyone dragged the progress bar to the major battle scenes.
They ignored Mu Guiying's awkward acting and highly unprofessional movements, focusing instead on the clashes between the ordinary soldiers.
The formations.
The tactical coordination.
The professionalism.
The desperate struggle to survive.
The unyielding will to fight.
QueenOfAThousandFaces_M:
"Xuanzi, I'm genuinely impressed by your action scenes. How about we collaborate?"
Li Daoxuan replied:
"Oh? How would we collaborate?"
QueenOfAThousandFaces_M:
"Give me the raw footage. I'll re-edit it and add proper effects. I'll cut out the awkward dramatic scenes, reduce the female lead's screen time, and rework it into an ultra-short combat series—one minute per episode—marketed purely on the fight scenes."
Li Daoxuan asked:
"Can that actually make money?"
QueenOfAThousandFaces_M replied confidently:
"Absolutely. And I'm not flattering you—I'm being objective. Once you cut out the main actors and focus only on the extras fighting, the quality is world-class. No more talk. You invested in actors and equipment, that's a big cost. I'm just contributing a computer and my labor. If we make money, you take eighty percent, I take twenty. Deal or not?"
Li Daoxuan replied immediately:
"Deal."
They quickly drafted a simple agreement online. Electronic contracts were easy these days. In less than half an hour, the terms of cooperation and profit sharing were settled.
Li Daoxuan selected several clips that didn't obviously look like they were filmed inside the box and sent them over.
QueenOfAThousandFaces_M got to work immediately, editing through the night.
She was astonishingly efficient.
Early the next morning, while Li Daoxuan was still deciding where he would "co-sense" and explore for the day, a message popped up.
"The first episode of the short series has already been uploaded."
Li Daoxuan downloaded the short-series app and opened it.
Sure enough, the first episode was already there.
The view count, however, was pitifully low.
Tsk, he thought.
Looks like it's going to flop.