Chapter 639: The Sixth Hundred and Thirty-Sixth Chapter: Festive Joy

The Lunar New Year is approaching, and the filming of "Farewell My Concubine" has entered its final stage.

From top to bottom, whether crew or actors, everyone secretly sighed with relief.

Everyone wanted to finish shooting as soon as possible and return home for the New Year.

After all, this only happens once a year—no one wants to work overtime or bring unfinished tasks home.

Most of the scenes have already been shot; now they're doing final checks and filling gaps.

After all, Luo Quan's mind isn't a computer—some details might have been forgotten, so she reviewed the footage while searching for any missed shots.

Today is Little New Year's Eve; across the country, lanterns and red couplets are hung everywhere, radiating a festive atmosphere.

The Spring Festival Gala's program list has been released, and it has changed significantly from last year's lineup.

The main reason is that celebrity scandals have become far too frequent—almost every month, some star is dragged out of the entertainment industry.

Some have even gone straight to prison.

Thus, many popular artists who were eligible for last year's Gala may have already retired this year.

Of course, Luo Quan's absence from the Gala has nothing to do with any of this—she was simply overseas at the time and missed the opportunity.

There's no real regret; skipping it means less pressure and fatigue.

After all, she's already exhausted enough this year.

After finishing "Farewell My Concubine," she'll have over a month of leisure time—perfect～～

"Come on, say hello to Sister."

In the video, Luo Ni gently waved her daughter's tiny hand toward Luo Quan.

"Ah—" Luo Xi opened her mouth, letting out a clear, adorable sound.

With her face growing, Luo Xi's skin has improved dramatically—plump, smooth, like a porcelain doll.

Though it's still too early to tell if she's a future beauty, her eyebrows and eyes suggest she'll turn out beautifully.

Since she had free time today, Luo Quan video-called her family across the ocean.

Her father wasn't home—he'd gone back to work after helping her mother through postpartum recovery.

Household matters are mostly handled by the servants.

Her mother has recovered well; the feared postpartum weight gain never happened.

Luo Xi's nighttime crying has decreased, and her fussing times have become increasingly regular.

Recently, Luo Ni has planned to start early education for her daughter—playing songs, showing videos, that sort of thing.

The main goal is simply to keep the baby occupied; at this age, Luo Xi has boundless energy and needs distractions.

After chatting with her mother and sister, Luo Quan ended the call.

This year's situation is unusual—her parents will definitely spend the New Year in the U. S.

Their return to China is scheduled for six months from now.

Still, her father suggested bringing the elders to the U. S. to see their granddaughter, though he hasn't raised it yet—she doesn't know if they'd be willing to endure such a long flight.

In any case, this New Year, she'll be spending it at Tan Palace.

The day after Little New Year's Eve, the "Farewell My Concubine" crew officially wrapped filming; everyone packed their bags, ready to return home and reunite with family.

Luo Quan had been shooting and editing simultaneously, and since everything followed the script's order, the process went smoothly.

A week ago, promotion for "Farewell My Concubine" had already begun—it would be one of the major films in the New Year box office.

Why "one of"? Because "The Two Towers," the second film in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, will also be released during the Spring Festival.

To avoid competing with "Titanic," Director Ford deliberately delayed the release by several months.

Before opening, the marketing campaign was massive, as if aiming squarely for next year's Oscars.

Many on Twitter mocked Ford, saying his courage was even less than a girl's.

Luo Quan dared to pit "The Silence of the Lambs" against "Titanic"—yet you, a renowned director, backed down, squandering your hard-earned reputation in Hollywood.

Ford had no reply to these taunts.

Didn't he want to fight?

But he'd already boasted he'd sweep the Oscars.

Then the first film barely made any impact—almost no major awards.

He'd hoped the second film would redeem him, only to face "Titanic"—who in their right mind would dare compete with a film of that caliber?

So retreating was the wise choice.

A film like "Titanic" comes along once every decade—it's impossible to believe any other film this year could match it.

Thus, he set "The Two Towers" for the very end of February.

Global release naturally included the Chinese market; the Spring Festival box office is too lucrative for any studio to ignore, and during this period, dozens of films compete domestically and internationally.

"The Two Towers" is currently the most expensive and most famous film in the lineup.

Next comes Luo Quan's "Farewell My Concubine," which in China matches the immense anticipation for "The Two Towers."

The only pity is that Luo Quan only directed this time and didn't appear—otherwise, the hype could have soared another level.

Besides "Farewell My Concubine," another highly anticipated film is Wu Jin's self-directed, self-starring sci-fi movie "The Wandering Earth."

Two years ago, "Wolf Warrior 2" grossed a staggering 10.8 billion RMB, propelling Wu Jin to the top of China's film industry.

This time, filming "The Wandering Earth" took him over half a year—he poured his heart into it.

After all, not everyone can make a film in a month like Luo Quan.

Interestingly, despite its big budget and strong script, few in the industry expect much from it.

Because Chinese sci-fi films are practically synonymous with trash.

Few have ever been well-made, let alone profitable—just breaking even is a miracle.

Usually, such films are hotspots for money laundering and idol-driven explosions.

Wu Jin's strength lies in military-themed films, where he has no rivals.

It's baffling why he chose this genre—it makes no sense.

Still, since Wu Jin once proved the skeptics wrong before, this time, though few expect much, no one has outright written it off.

Maybe it'll surprise us?

As for Luo Quan, netizens' reviews are already buried.

Look at the promotional tagline for "Farewell My Concubine":

A tragedy beneath the tide of history.

A doomed, sorrowful love story.

A sigh, a lifetime.

It's practically stamped with "epic tragedy" on every fan's forehead.

Who in their right mind would go to the cinema during the New Year to watch a tragedy?

Everyone's worn out from the year—why not use this rare free time to be happy?

Normally, families go to the cinema to watch comedies or heartwarming endings—something joyful.

You insist on being different and bring this instead.

You're digging your own grave.

Netizens' complaints are harsh, but their logic is sound.

When fans asked Luo Quan why she chose the Spring Festival slot for "Farewell My Concubine,"

she answered bluntly: "Because there are more fans—it makes money."

Well then, so that's her motive.

Clearly, Luo Quan is extremely confident—she believes people won't avoid this film just because it's the holiday.

And rightly so; the early preview she released was truly explosive.

That was just a three-day shoot, a prologue in the film—the real masterpiece lies ahead.

Yet even just this prologue was captivating.

On opening day, countless fans will flood theaters to see the full film...

"How's this 'Safe Passage' paper cut? Is it straight?" Wen Xia pressed a bright red paper cutting onto the door.

It's the New Year—though Shanghai bans fireworks, posting couplets is still allowed.

Luo Quan had specifically picked out a fine pair from a street stall and brought them home for Wen Xia to hang.

This year, Wen Xia and Su Yu won't return home; all three women plan to spend the New Year together.

"Good—it finally looks like the New Year," Luo Quan nodded at the festive couplets, then sighed slightly.

In past years, by now she and Wen Xia would've been running through the streets, tossing firecrackers.

Back then, the sky rang with skyrockets daily; every household smoked sausages and cured meats; the streets were thick with aroma.

That was real New Year spirit.

Now, all familiar feelings must be found in this small pair of couplets.

"Sigh, if only we could set off some fireworks," Wen Xia sighed too, clearly dissatisfied.

Apparently, Japan is holding some kind of fireworks festival right now.

Junzi, who returned to China, sent her many photos: loudspeakers played Luo Quan's "Hana no Uta," while fireworks blazed overhead—stunningly beautiful.

In China, anyone who dares to launch fireworks on this scale these days will be arrested immediately.

But sighing and envying won't change anything.

It's the New Year—no need to ruin your mood over something unchangeable.

After hanging the couplets, they closed the door and prepared for dinner.

Tonight, Luo Quan cooked again herself, making a pot of braised beef and a stir-fried dish of dry-fried potato shreds.

After eating boxed meals on set for so long, it's truly gotten tiresome.

So this time, Luo Quan specifically prepared these dishes to give everyone a little treat.

Delicious and perfect with rice, but way too high in calories—after burning off calories all day, this meal undoes it all.

After eating, Luo Quan freshened up, then took out from her closet a set of pajamas she'd never worn before.

It was a red qipao she'd ordered a few days ago, delivered just yesterday.

She ordered it to fulfill her fans' requests.

On Bilibili, the comments were all fans begging her to do a new cosplay.

No specific requests—any cosplay was fine, as long as it was new.

After thinking it over, she realized she'd never worn a qipao like this, so she decided to use it.

This one differed from ordinary qipaos—it had thick fur along the shoulders, back, and hem.

Worn on her, it radiated opulence, like a wealthy lady from a Republican-era drama.

If she added gold or silver jewelry, she'd look even more like one.

But Luo Quan had no intention of showing off, so she didn't take out any jewelry.

The pieces in her closet were mostly worth hundreds of millions; displaying them would draw attention, but also invite gossip.

"Hey hey hey, can everyone hear me?"

Turning on the camera, Luo Quan waved her hand and checked the effect.

"Damn, that's such a red outfit—I thought you were wearing a string of firecrackers!"

"Hahaha, you trying to kill me with laughter?"

"Madam Luo Quan—this qipao looks absolutely stunning."

"New Year's coming—Luo Quan gave us a festive outfit."

"Looks great, but I still prefer maid outfits."

"What's the next Western holiday?"

"Valentine's Day, I think."

"There are too many cosplay options for Valentine's, but no matter what I cosplay, I'm still my own sweetheart."

"Daydreaming again—but it's the New Year, so go ahead and dream."

As usual, the fans were being silly, but this time the mockery and sarcasm toward Taobao users in the comments had decreased significantly.

After all, it's the New Year—everyone's in good spirits and more tolerant.

"As requested by fans, this is the last cosplay of the year—if you want new ones, you'll have to wait until next year," Luo Quan said seriously, tugging at the wrinkles in her qipao.

"When you say 'New Year,' do you mean lunar or Gregorian?"

The fans' hearts skipped a beat—they immediately asked.

Luo Quan laughed: "Of course it's lunar—Gregorian 2019 just started! If this were the last one, wouldn't you all revolt?"

"True—I already started planning my rebellion when I heard that."

"Lunar's fine—it's not far off anyway."

"To be honest, the qipao suits Luo Quan perfectly—it highlights your figure to the max. You should wear it more often."

"Nope, you're not allowed to look at my wife—Luo Bao is mine alone to see."

"Are you having a breakdown?"

"My husband is currently suffering from that condition."

After unlocking this new look, the livestream's popularity surged beyond usual levels, and comments poured in thick and fast.

Clearly, everyone loved seeing her in new outfits.

But the promised Chinese-style photo shoot had only produced two pieces so far—the costume and the qipao—and the wait had been long.

Though the fans didn't say it aloud, they were surely growing impatient.

Luo Quan understood this feeling, so she planned to release another set soon.

The photo studio was already booked—the theme: martial heroine.

When she released her new song, she'd taken a martial heroine photo before.

More accurately, it was a Photoshop job.

She'd pasted her head onto a web image.

Back then, she simply didn't have the resources—it looked cheap and funny.

Now, of course, her resources had improved immeasurably.

She had enough funds to hire the best team, buy the finest clothes, and give her fans the best possible photo shoot.