Who Needs a CEO? I Choose Stardom

The Huabiao Awards are held every two years. At first, it seemed like they wouldn’t make it this year, but the submission deadline was extended. After a mad dash through post-production, *Children of the Mountains* managed to get in just under the wire.

The film’s tone was undeniable. You might not be able to put your finger on what made it great, but you could never say it was misguided. Coupled with its high-quality production, excellent casting, and powerful marketing, a nomination was practically guaranteed.

To align with the awards ceremony at the end of next month, the film’s acquisition of an exhibition license and the setting of its release date were both fast-tracked.

What followed was a whirlwind of promotional work.

Generally, the promotion before a film’s public release is done in several stages. From the opening ceremony to the premiere, productions with bigger budgets will also arrange fan meet-and-greets, media set visits, wrap ceremonies, and advance screenings. The goal is to keep the film consistently in the public eye.

The *Children of the Mountains* crew didn’t have a generous budget; every cent was spent where it mattered most.

The opening ceremony had been modest, and the wrap ceremony was just a crew dinner. Everything in between had been skipped.

Now, they were also skipping the advance screenings and going straight to the premiere.

Ni Bingyan had been back on set for less than two days when the production team from her previous film called, asking her to clear her schedule to prepare for the premiere.

This was stipulated in her contract, so Ni Bingyan readily agreed.

When Ni Bingyan found the director and told him about it, the crew had just finished filming a scene during a two-hour torrential downpour—the exact adverse weather they had been waiting for. Chen Zhiwen was sitting in his director’s chair, wrapped in a military-style greatcoat, his voice hoarse from shouting commands. They had finally wrapped up the scene just before the rain stopped. His cheeks were still flushed, and his round glasses were completely fogged up.

Upon hearing the news, he first pulled a lens cloth from his pocket. He silently and meticulously wiped his glasses clean, put them back on, and only then did he let out a long sigh. He called over the production coordinator to reschedule her scenes.

Ni Bingyan, bundled in a long, thick, waterproof black down jacket and clutching a brass hand warmer, stood before him with her neck turtled into her collar, repeatedly saying, ”Thank you.”

Chen Zhiwen sighed again, his voice still hoarse. ”This is only right.”

Ni Bingyan was dedicated and hardworking, and her performance on set had been excellent. Her request was perfectly reasonable; his frustration wasn’t directed at her.

This production had been plagued by one problem after another. Now, with a tight schedule and heavy workload, he really didn’t want to agree. But there was an unwritten rule in the industry: you could block an actor from taking side gigs to make extra money, citing a tight schedule, but you couldn’t use that same reason to stop them from fulfilling their obligations to a previous project.

After all, his own films also needed actors to cooperate with promotions. If he set a bad precedent, it would come back to bite him later. He could just imagine his own premiere, with the second female lead failing to show up. What a joke that would be.

As things stood, he could only curse the production company for being unreasonable and not giving them enough time, while simultaneously wracking his brain to figure out how to optimize the shooting schedule.

’Everyone wants to make the most money in the shortest amount of time. It’s easy for the higher-ups to just say the word; it’s the people who actually do the work that suffer for it.’

’But then again,’ he thought, ’at least I get a cut of the box office. The crew only gets a fixed salary.’ And just like that, he felt he could carry on.

After the schedule was rearranged, she would have to attend the premiere and then be on set the very next day, shooting from morning till midnight. Staring at the new call sheet from the coordinator and wondering what ungodly hour the premiere would even end, Ni Bingyan took a deep breath. She lay down on her bed, eyes wide open, and pulled the covers over herself without even taking off her clothes.

”I’m not even juggling multiple projects, and I’m already this exhausted. How do those actors who shoot several shows at once even survive?”

Duanmu Li, who slept on the top bunk, was also lying down. Hearing Ni Bingyan’s weary mumble, she replied simply, ”Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

The other woman in the room was already sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, Ni Bingyan sighed, sat up to get changed, and said no more.

’Right. What’s the point of complaining? This is all part of the price of success. If I grit my teeth and push through, I’ll soar like a dragon or a phoenix. If I let it crush me, I’ll just be a worm in the mud.’

’I’ve known for a long time that this shoot would be on a tight schedule. I also knew I’d have to promote my previous film. To make things easier for me, my manager has already coordinated everything as best they can. Besides attending a conference for the Poverty Alleviation Office, they haven’t scheduled anything else for me. I shouldn’t be complaining.’

’Still, the pressure is immense, and I need to vent.’

So she picked up her phone, carefully searched for a picture of a beautiful pearl-adorned crown, and posted what Duanmu Li had just said to her Weibo account, using the image as an illustration.

That made her feel much better.

Before putting down her phone, she habitually tapped open WeChat for a quick look.

Sang Yuan hadn’t messaged her today. She was a little surprised to find she wasn’t used to the silence.

’Thinking back, we didn’t have any foundation of trust before,’ she mused. ’He only updated me on the project’s progress to put my mind at ease. Now that trust has been established, it’s no longer necessary.’

’This is good. It’s not annoying.’

Ni Bingyan gave him a silent thumbs-up in her mind.

’She hated it when people pestered her for chats all day, especially the kind she couldn’t ignore. It was mentally draining. Not like this Little Sang, who was so considerate.’

She scrolled down, her screen a sea of red notification dots, and tapped on the group chat for the *Children of the Mountains* crew.

With the premiere just around the corner, the group chat, which had been dormant for a long time, was buzzing with activity.

Producer Zhao was thanking everyone for their hard work. Deng Yu—that guy with the deep laugh lines who looked stern and traditional but was actually petty and enjoyed making things difficult—was fretting about the box office. The other actors were either sending celebratory flower emojis or talking excitedly about the Huabiao Award—even though they had no chance of winning.

Ni Bingyan glanced at the chat and then put her phone down without saying a word.

’If I start chatting, it’ll never end,’ she thought. ’It would seriously interfere with my beauty sleep.’

That was just her personality, and everyone knew it. If you needed her for something important, you had to call. For idle chatter, you should never @ her, because she might not even see the notification for days.

Other people might think she was an oddball, but she felt that the ones who spent all day chatting endlessly online were the foolish ones.

’All that precious time, not used for something meaningful but just wasted away. Isn’t that a shame?’

Less than five minutes after putting her phone down, Ni Bingyan was sound asleep.

She woke up early the next morning, rolled out a yoga mat for a half-hour workout, then showered and ate. After that, it was off to the set to film until noon, at which point she returned to her van to eat and nap.

After an early dinner, she went to the styling studio Sister Wei had booked. Once her look was complete, she headed to the movie theater. She stepped into the lounge and saw that her timing was perfect.

To secure a good number of screenings, the distribution budget had been spent on hiring a top-tier distribution company, leaving nothing for formalities like a red carpet.

The evening’s agenda was simply to watch the film and then answer questions, so Ni Bingyan had opted for a simple braid and an elegant, ink-blue coat.

Both the original owner of this body and Ni Bingyan herself were experienced with premieres. As soon as she arrived at the theater, she stuck close to Director Deng, seizing the opportunity to expand her professional network.

The cinema was bustling with people, staff members scurrying about, and the atmosphere was electric.

Marketing and distribution is a complex business, encompassing both publicity and sales. Film production companies generally don’t handle this themselves, outsourcing the work to specialized firms.

After the premiere came the month-long theatrical run. If the film performed well, its number of screenings could increase and its run might be extended. If it performed poorly, it could be pulled from theaters in as little as ten or twenty days.

Therefore, this period was when film promotion was at its most intense, and the fight for screening slots was at its most vicious.

As an actress, these weren’t her primary concerns. What she cared about most was whether the movie was actually any good.

Filming had been done in bits and pieces. Aside from the director, who likely had the finished film assembled in his head, no one really knew what the final product would look like.

At 11:55 PM, the lights in the theater dimmed. Ni Bingyan followed the director and the others, finding her seat in the front row in the dark.

The entire theater fell silent. At the stroke of midnight, the film began.

This was Ni Bingyan’s first time playing a female lead, and it meant the world to her.

Her hands clenched as her eyes fixed on the screen, too rapt to think of anything else. A verdant mountainscape zoomed into view, and a rustic village appeared in the distance.

The opening theme began to play, soft and lingering. A mountain girl, Liang Hongying, appeared, walking along a ridge. Dressed in simple clothes and covered in dust that couldn’t conceal her charm, she carried a heavy woven basket on her back.

The music faded, replaced by the sound of heavy footsteps, followed by the young woman’s ragged breaths.

”CREAK~”

She was finally home, eagerly pushing open the crude courtyard gate.

’That’s right,’ she remembered. ’Even though Director Deng was perfectly satisfied with the first take of that scene, he still made me walk back and forth along that ridge several times, basket on my back, all for the sake of that long, atmospheric opening shot.’

’At the time, I just felt exhausted to the point of collapse, but seeing the effect now, I have to admire Deng Yu.’

’No wonder he’s so obsessed with the ’feeling’ of a shot when he’s filming.’

’When the feeling is right, the entire frame comes alive, as if it’s been infused with a soul.’

The scenes that followed were both familiar and strange to Ni Bingyan.

On screen, Liang Hongying clutched an acceptance letter, her body trembling as she laughed and cried. Fat tears dripped down onto the backs of her dusty hands.

The mailman comforted her, saying she’d finally made it out of her hardship. Once she graduated, he said, she could stay in the city and live a good life. He had no idea she was worrying about money.

Just then, a government official arrived, having traveled over the mountains to deliver a scholarship. Villagers gathered around, pooling their own money to help pay for her travel expenses...

Hand after hand offering money filled the screen, each one calloused, dry, and cracked, stained with dirt, grease, and the dark juice from husking walnuts.

All those hands merged, becoming one.

Under the light of a dim, yellow bulb, a gaunt, withered grandmother sat at a table that had been scrubbed until it was pale. She held the wad of cash in one hand, using the other to flick through the bills, one by one, counting meticulously.

”One thousand seven hundred ninety-five!”

”One thousand eight hundred!”

Liang Hongying sat to the side, chin in her hands, her wide, innocent eyes full of yearning as she watched.

Her grandfather sat on the other side, coughing and smiling as he tapped out his pipe. ”Yingzi! When you’ve made something of yourself, you must never forget the kindness of your hometown folks!”

Liang Hongying nodded emphatically.

”Mm-hm! Grandpa, I definitely will!”