Chapter Twenty-Eight: Hearts Unbound

Some people, after drinking, feel even dizzier when the wind hits them. For others, the breeze dispels the effects of alcohol—Chen Ling belonged to the latter group.

Sitting in the backseat, Chen Ling rolled the window down as far as it would go, letting the sultry summer night air wash over him. Only then did his mood begin to lighten, and the scene of meeting the girl a moment ago replayed in his mind. It vaguely reminded him of a scene from a movie he’d seen in his previous life.

Ah, now he remembered.

“To the office,” Chen Ling called from the backseat.

“Hm?” The wind whistled through the open window and Chen Ling’s voice was soft, so Zhao Qian, who was driving, didn’t catch what he said.

“Qian, drive to the company,” Chen Ling repeated.

“It’s so late—what are you going to do at the office? Best if I take you to the hotel. The dorm’s already closed at this hour,” Zhao Qian thought Chen Ling was just rambling from having had too much to drink.

“To the company. I’ve got some inspiration—I want to write a script.”

Finding inspiration after a few drinks was hardly unusual, but to be struck by it at a celebration banquet still seemed odd to Zhao Qian. Still, the boss had spoken, and she could only comply—especially since the salary was generous and the company’s film had just achieved remarkable success. Zhao Qian was determined to follow Chen Ling and make her fortune.

In the end, Chen Ling overestimated his tolerance and fell asleep, groggy, before they reached the office.

He woke up the next morning in a hotel room—his agent had brought him there. After a shower and breakfast, Chen Ling skipped school and went straight to the office, with last night’s movie still on his mind. By the time he arrived, it was already ten, but Zhao Qian had been at work for some time.

He called Zhao Qian into his office to give her a few instructions.

First, she was to assist China Film and Wanda in coordinating the box office revenue split. Usually, the production company would have to wait three months after the film was pulled from theaters to receive their share, but China Film, being a powerful distributor, and with Chen Ling having already spoken to Han Sanping, had promised to push the theater chains to settle the accounts as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, Lu Zheng had also assured Chen Ling that Wanda Cinemas would settle their share by the end of the month. This was Chen Ling’s first priority—after all, the company needed the funds.

The film’s total box office was 302 million. After deducting the 5% Film Development Fund and 3.3% business tax, the remainder was split between theaters and the production company. At present, the mainland’s box office split was 57% to theaters, 43% to the production company. Calculated this way, the production company would end up with 119 million.

Chen Ling owned 40% of that—more than 47 million. An investment of 3 million had yielded over 40 million—not yet counting potential overseas rights revenue.

This film was an absolute windfall, perhaps even the most profitable of the year. Some films might gross higher at the box office, but when it came down to net profit, they couldn’t compete—especially with such a low production cost. Seven million wouldn’t even cover a single big star’s fee in some productions.

After settling the box office split, Chen Ling told Zhao Qian about plans for company expansion. First, the studio needed to be incorporated as a formal company, and he’d already settled on a name—Chen Ling Pictures Co., Ltd.

The premises were also too small, so he asked Zhao Qian to check with the management about renting the entire floor if possible. Once the space was secured, they could start hiring—drivers, receptionists, accountants, a personal assistant for Chen Ling, and a stylist. Last time he attended the Golden Melody Awards, he’d used the official stylist, but then he’d been a nobody. Now, as a director and lead actor of a three-hundred-million box office hit, he needed a proper team.

All those messy tasks like interviews he left to Zhao Qian. He also adjusted her job scope, making her the company manager in charge of operations. He’d come to trust her abilities over this period, and giving her more responsibility was only natural. For now, though, she’d still have to double as his agent until he found someone more suitable. At this point, the company’s affairs weren’t too overwhelming, and she could manage. Zhao Qian was happy with the arrangement—who wouldn’t like two paychecks?

With these matters settled, Chen Ling sent Zhao Qian on her way. He was ready to start work on a new screenplay.

The movie he intended to prepare left a deep impression on him—it was the first film he’d ever wept over in a theater in his previous life.

After college, Chen Ling had chosen to pursue a graduate degree, while his girlfriend took a job in another city. Separated by distance and time, the relationship soon fell apart and ended in a breakup. Just like in this life, Chen Ling was the one who got dumped, which was a bitter pill to swallow.

As fate would have it, the breakup coincided with the release of this particular film—and on his girlfriend’s birthday, no less. Chen Ling went to the cinema alone, holding the two tickets he’d bought in advance. They had planned to see the movie together and celebrate her birthday, but only one of them showed up. Sitting there in the dark, Chen Ling wept uncontrollably.

It was the first time he’d cried his way through a movie in the theater. The heartbreak felt endless, as if he’d never love again. Especially at the film’s end, when the narrative lines of the protagonists, Geng Hao and Kang Xiaoyu, intersected across different timelines—Chen Ling was stunned. He never realized a film could be edited so cleverly.

To him, it was Ning Hao’s finest work—a romantic comedy in disguise. Later, Chen Ling rewatched it many times on Bilibili, reading countless reviews. No doubt, many people nursing heartbreak had done the same—finding a film that resonated with their own pain and reading the comments through tears.

Yesterday, when Chen Ling and Jing Tian met again and exchanged greetings, the scene immediately transported him back, fusing in his mind with the movie’s images. The moment in the film when Geng Hao ran into Kang Xiaoyu at a friend’s wedding was exactly like his own encounter with Jing Tian.

That’s right—the film Chen Ling intended to adapt was “Breakup Buddies.”

In his original timeline, this was the film Ning Hao directed in 2014, starring Huang Bo, Xu Zheng, and Shen Teng, and released during the National Day holidays. It grossed 1.1 billion at the box office, becoming the highest-grossing Chinese-language film that year and only the third to surpass a billion in ticket sales. Ning Hao thus became, after Xu Head and Stephen Chow, only the third Chinese director to join the billion-yuan club.