In the cinema, the ending song of 'The Girl Who Leapt Through Time' began to play softly, but most of the audience sat in complete silence.
Had you thought the ending wasn't a bad one?
Not exactly. The heroine changed the fate where she was supposed to die, prevented her friend's death, and her close friend Chiaki also fulfilled his wish of coming to this era to see the art exhibition, then returned to his own time. Most importantly, just like director Jing Yu, the "old bastard" said, no one died.
And yet, why does it feel so suffocating inside?
There wasn't any grand, dramatic romance. From an omniscient perspective, Chiaki came to this world, met the heroine Makoto, fell in love with her, and before returning to his own time… planned to confess his love.
You could tell by how he tried everything to confess to her during those crucial two days. Confess and leave—he had likely made that decision long ago.
As for the heroine, because the trio's relationship had always been pure friendship at first, she hadn't considered romantic development. But after Chiaki's repeated confessions, and her best friend telling her that she liked Chiaki too, she was finally forced to face her true feelings for him.
The time-traveling process was essentially a journey where the heroine constantly examined her heart and matured.
Only… the moment she finally faced her own feelings was also the moment Chiaki confessed. And their love disappeared at that instant.
A girl from the present and a boy from a far-distant future could never have a real ending—but that feeling, and especially that last line: "I'll be waiting for you in the future."
After watching, Fang Qing walked out of the cinema like a lost soul. Most of the audience in her showing wore similarly pensive expressions. The male viewers were okay—after all, if you brought your girlfriend to watch it, you couldn't very well act too emotional. But the female viewers were different.
This film had a brief, clear-cut ending with no drag, but that only made the emotional undercurrents laid over an hour of foreshadowing explode all at once. Many girls sat frozen in place as the credits rolled, replaying everything in their heads. It wasn't until they left the theater that the tears began to well up.
By then, it was already past 10 PM, yet the cinema was still packed. The new viewers, brimming with excitement as they entered with their girlfriends, didn't notice the wistful expressions on the faces of those leaving.
Meanwhile, online, comments and reviews of the film were overwhelmingly dominant compared to those of others airing during the same period.
"Thank God I watched it alone. If I went with my girlfriend, I probably wouldn't have wanted to talk to her after—it's the kind of movie you need to process in silence."
"I cried so hard. The first hour, I thought it was a sci-fi slice-of-life comedy. The heroine was just using her god-tier power for goofy stuff. But then… that final moment. Chiaki's 'I'll be waiting for you in the future!' and her 'I'll run to you!' broke me."
"And Jing Yu had the nerve to say this one wasn't a tearjerker? I swear, this old troll—when will he ever be honest?"
"Old bastard Jing Yu. I don't even know how to roast him anymore. Every one of his films is so good, even if I end up crying. But I always want to punch him afterward. What kind of messed-up god, in his own fictional world, refuses to give his characters a happy ending? The rule that Chiaki had to return to the future and never meet Makoto again because he revealed he was from the future—that rule was unnecessary, right?"
"No, that's not it. From the audience's perspective, it feels tragic. But honestly, would the movie have hit so hard if it weren't for that setup? Yes, it hurts. But sometimes, only tragedy can deliver that depth of emotion. If it weren't for that twist, Chiaki's 'I'll be waiting for you' wouldn't have been nearly as impactful."
"True. But still—so damn painful!"
"I feel bad for the Qixi couples. This was definitely a romance movie, sure, but the atmosphere after watching it is anything but sweet. That Qixi holiday vibe? Pretty much dead."
"I mean… isn't it possible that Chiaki's era isn't that far in the future? Maybe she could live long enough to meet him again?"
"You really think so? Her era still has flip phones and bicycles. His era can develop time machines and inject temporal energy into people. You think a regular girl could bridge that gap in one lifetime? Be real—those two are separated by at least tens of thousands of years. 'I'll be waiting for you' was just a comforting farewell. If she managed to preserve her body perfectly, Chiaki might be able to find her fossil."
"God, stop! I was already feeling miserable; now you've made it worse."
"Old bastard loves his tragic beauty. What can we do? Sigh…"
"Is there a sequel? I need a second part!"
"What would a sequel even show? If they forced a happy ending, it would lose all its weight. Maybe it's better left like this."
Online, reviews of 'The Girl Who Leapt Through Time' were flooding in endlessly.
Meanwhile, other films released during the same Qixi holiday period—like 'The Deep Blue Sea'—barely got any attention.
Of course, some professional critics still reviewed those movies. Most agreed that 'The Deep Blue Sea', for instance, wasn't bad at all. From a technical and narrative standpoint, it was solid—a well-crafted seasonal film with no major plot holes or stupidity.
But some things just aren't comparable.
At least for most audiences, after watching 'The Girl Who Leapt Through Time', they walked away with a lingering emotional ache that the other movies simply couldn't evoke. That kind of emotional impact showed up most clearly in the reviews.
The positive rating for 'The Girl Who Leapt Through Time' was sky-high, and people were already going back for second and third viewings. On Qixi's opening day, it easily claimed the top box office spot with 167 million, without any suspense.
In contrast, other media-hyped films released at the same time only managed around 89 million, with 'The Deep Blue Sea' being the best of the rest.
Romance films are the type that easily stir conversation and controversy, but don't usually rake in massive numbers.
They can't compare to those 500–600 million CGI spectacles that dominate opening days.
Still, as a Qixi release, given its budget and promotion level, to achieve this kind of opening performance was enough to shock the industry.
After all, 167 million might not be much in the grand history of Great Zhou cinema—but put another way, this film broke even on its first day.
And that leaves a completely different kind of impression.