Chapter Sixty-Two: Success Foretold

Chapter Sixty-Two: Inevitable Success

Zhang Le was filled with a disbelieving joy as he saw the occupancy rate in the cinema hall. Pulled back to the present by Yang Xiner, he took her hand and found their seats, only managing to calm himself once he sat down.

“It’s almost a full house. Now you can relax, can’t you?” Yang Xiner whispered to Zhang Le with a smile.

Zhang Le glanced around, smiled, gave Yang Xiner’s hand a gentle squeeze, but said nothing more.

Yang Xiner, catching his meaning, looked toward the screen.

At that moment, trailers for upcoming films were playing—Hollywood sci-fi blockbusters, major domestic action movies, several disaster films—signaling that the Spring Festival box office would be a fierce battleground. Even films opening simultaneously with “Crazy Stone” boasted ensembles led by big stars.

Among these, “Crazy Stone” had little to attract attention apart from the novelty of Zhang Le and Yang Xiner’s involvement. It wasn’t helmed by a famous director, lacked star power, and couldn’t claim a large budget. Compared to those blockbusters, it seemed insignificant. The number of screenings for “Crazy Stone” paled in comparison as well—were it not for Yang Xiner’s connections and Jia Yi Films’ support, or that inexplicable brawl Zhang Le had with Wu Xiaoyong, there would have been even fewer showings.

The theater lights dimmed and the film began.

Just like in his previous life, the film opened with the standard logos, then the production company Jia Yi Films, and finally the Xinle Film Studio logo. That logo, designed by Zhang Le himself, depicted a couple leaning together by the sea, the water shimmering under a round, high-hanging moon and a star-studded sky—a beautiful scene, full of imaginative possibility. The meaning behind it was clear from the two figures nestled together.

From the very start, the film offered the audience a surprise.

Zhou Run, a superstar of the domestic screen, had a cameo as a doctor in Zhang Le’s film—a detail many had heard about—but no one expected him to speak such fluent Sichuan dialect in the role. Zhou Run was from Hong Kong, something everyone in the country knew, so hearing him speak Sichuanese was a jarring delight.

The film was laced throughout with dialect—a decision Zhang Le had hesitated over for a long time. After all, dialect could easily draw criticism, and the dialogue included plenty of coarse language. Right from the start, there were several such lines: the secretary’s expletives, “fool,” and Bao Shihong’s crude curses hurled at the cable car, all of which were commonplace in Sichuanese but potentially controversial in a film.

Yet in the end, Zhang Le decided on dialect, believing it would ground the film and better suit the story.

Since many actors, like Zhou Run, couldn’t speak the dialect, Zhang Le had hired several voice actors to ensure authenticity.

The story began with a string of coincidences, signaling a narrative style that felt different from the start. Then came the discovery of a lump of jadeite in the toilet of a failing factory, disrupting a real estate developer’s plan to buy out the factory and claim the property. The developer hired an expert thief, who, upon arriving in the mountain city, was immediately tricked out of his tools by three small-time crooks—who were then unwittingly drawn into the plot themselves.

The threads of thieves, guardians, and others began to unravel simultaneously, skillfully interwoven to create a chemistry that was almost unbelievable.

The film’s humor arose from the plot itself, not from childish slapstick. The dialogue, too, was witty and apt, never forced for the sake of a laugh, but emerging naturally from the unfolding story.

Aside from Feng Lei’s portrayal of Xie Xiaomeng, who supplied plenty of comedic moments, the trio of petty thieves led by Dao-ge also contributed their share of laughs.

Their antics felt familiar, as if these things could happen in real life. One memorable scene showed the three running a con in a car, lamenting the difficulties of being a swindler—eliciting hearty laughter from the audience.

Other highlights included:

Dao-ge holding Xie Xiaomeng hostage and demanding that the factory director, his father, exchange the jade for his son. One of Dao-ge’s companions nervously remarked, “This has turned into a kidnapping. That’s not our specialty!”

When old Xie received the ransom call, he assumed his son was in on a scheme to swindle him and ignored it completely, leaving Dao-ge and his crew dumbfounded and Xie Xiaomeng with a well-deserved beating—karma at its finest.

Dao-ge, mimicking Xie Xiaomeng’s Cantonese, said, “Come, young master, call your daddy.” This echoed, with comedic effect, the earlier scene where Xie Xiaomeng made a phone call from the bathroom.

Later, when Xie Xiaomeng told Dao-ge that the stone he’d given his girlfriend was real jadeite, Dao-ge exclaimed, “You’re insulting my character—and my intelligence!” The look on Dao-ge’s face when he later realized he’d swapped real jadeite for a fake only made the joke land harder.

Every time Hei Pi boasted about his speed and threatened to just grab the jade and run, Dao-ge would solemnly remind him, “Class, remember your class.”

Dao-ge also mocked Hei Pi’s flamboyant wardrobe: “Dressed like that, are you going for sexy? You’re just starting out—keep a low profile.” Hei Pi would earnestly point to his clothes and declare, “Brand name—Baleno!”

Perhaps these lines seem unremarkable on their own, but woven into the context of the story, they became genuine comedic highlights.

The actor playing Dao-ge, Liu Ye, had previously only done bit parts. But in this film, his performance was spot-on—especially his expression when he realized he had swapped real jadeite for a fake, which was simply brilliant. Throughout the film, he came across as a seasoned actor, his skills on full display. Who would have thought he had only ever been an extra before?

His expressions were as evocative as the look on Chen Xiao’s Jack when he realized he’d killed his own employer—frustration and regret were not enough to capture their feelings.

Of course, there were many standout roles in the film. Huang Yao’s Hei Pi was certainly one of them. Huang Yao brought the character to life, especially in the final sequence, when he ran while eating a bun—his contorted face was the finishing touch of the entire movie. In a film full of crazed characters, his wild expression seemed to embody the collective madness.

The film’s plot was unquestionably a success. While not exactly full of twists and turns, it was so cleverly constructed as to be worthy of applause. The characterizations were also superb. In most films, it’s an achievement to remember the leads, but here, even the supporting roles left a deep impression—each with their own unique traits and flashes of brilliance.

There was Bao Shihong, the stubborn head of factory security, and his straightforward, action-oriented friend Sanbao. Old Xie and his wayward, womanizing son, who never hesitated to spend money. Dao-ge, ruthless when needed; clever Xiao Jun; impulsive Hei Pi, ready to wield a hammer at any trouble. The overbearing yet cowardly secretary, the cold-blooded, gun-loving swindler Feng Dong, the self-important international thief Mike.

Even Yang Xiner’s cameo as Bao Shihong’s wife, brief as it was, left a strong impression on the audience.

With so many gripping plotlines, such memorable characters, and countless classic lines that left the audience in stitches, the success of this film was already assured.