By announcing the release schedule of all his upcoming works in advance, Jing Yu had undoubtedly stirred up a wave of excitement among his fans.
At the same time, he had also allowed his fellow TV drama writers to breathe a sigh of relief.
After all, none of the projects he announced were TV dramas. It seemed that, for now, his attention was firmly on the film industry.
With Jing Yu having finalized the company's roadmap for the next quarter, the entire team at Blue Star Media & Film shifted from several months of high-intensity production to a more laid-back, semi-idle mode.
After all, the entire company typically revolved around Jing Yu's workload.
Though two original dramas were still in the works for the winter season, no one was treating them with the same intensity they reserved for Jing Yu's own creations.
Take 'The Girl Who Leapt Through Time'—a 40–50 million RMB investment that grossed over 700 million. That's a profit margin of 300–400%.
The new in-house writers might have potential—some even had experience on other networks—but they were still nowhere near Jing Yu's level.
Different expectations meant different levels of pressure. Though the production teams for those two dramas had already begun filming, the company's overall focus was clearly still centered on Jing Yu.
After all, the boss had once again locked himself away in his office.
The company had been running for two or three years now. The older employees were well aware of what kind of person their boss was.
The outside world called him a "once-in-30-years genius" in the film industry. Still, the people at Blue Star Media knew better—that label was too conservative.
Jing Yu was more like a once-in-a-century monster.
He'd regularly "disappear" into his office for a month, and when he emerged, he'd have an entire script in hand—one that would go on to dominate the industry for the next six months or more.
Sometimes, he'd even come out with the full background soundtrack already done.
At that point, "genius" wasn't even enough to describe him.
And lately… he was clearly in closed-door mode again.
From experience, that meant he'd be making some kind of announcement within the month. Everyone in the company was on edge, waiting.
These days, the clearest shortcut to success in the industry was getting involved in one of Jing Yu's projects.
Plenty of staff were already trying to figure out how they could sneak into his next production.
A week passed.
On September 17th, a quiet day, the first teaser for 'Voices of a Distant Star' dropped on Qingyun Video, and an hour later, it aired on Yunteng TV as well.
It was noon, scorching hot outside. Office workers and students alike were just looking for shade to hide in and melt.
But the moment that the mobile notification buzzed on their screens, people perked up instantly.
By now, Jing Yu's fanbase was massive—absurdly massive. Every move he made was under constant watch.
The news about the trailer for 'Voices of a Distant Star' spread like wildfire.
"A trailer for a twenty-minute short film? Really?!"
"Old Bastard really knows how to tease people."
"Two-minute trailer? That's literally 10% of the whole thing!"
"Old Bastard is a legend, but for real—go shoot a drama already! Two-hour movies just aren't enough!"
"Spending 50 million on a 20-minute short film is such a waste. He could've made a whole series with that."
"Don't forget 'The Garden of Words' is coming too, and that one's 20+ minutes long with a 20 million budget. I guess after all those big-budget effect-heavy shows, Old Bastard's rewarding himself with two romance shorts."
"Rewarding himself?"
"Why not? You know how it is. Some actors always go on to do silly CEO dramas after filming something serious.
Feels like it's the same for Old Bastard—making huge profits off blockbuster FX shows for the company, but romance films are what he truly loves."
"Exactly. He clearly takes romance works seriously. I mean, he's even starring in 'Voices of a Distant Star' himself…"
After everyone vented in the fan groups, they finally tapped the play button to watch the trailer.
And once their eyes were glued to the screen, nobody had the energy to chat anymore.
A barren, blue planet steeped in mechanical atmosphere.
Massive spacecraft hovering in orbit.
And giant robots moving through the stratosphere.
Unit 00?
Unit 01?
The designs were different, but the thick mechanical armor, the cockpit interface, and the pilots inside…
Everyone across Great Zhou instantly thought of 'Evangelion'.
And the visual quality? It felt… better than 'Evangelion'.
Then again, it made sense.
'Evangelion' had 13 episodes and a total budget of under 300 million.
'Voices of a Distant Star' was only 20 minutes, but had a 50 million RMB budget.
Per minute, it costs more than three times what 'Evangelion' did.
Still, despite its sci-fi look, the core of 'Voices of a Distant Star' clearly had nothing to do with mechas.
This was a story about love, time, and distance.
Thematically, it had much in common with '5 Centimeters Per Second', though the message it conveyed was quite different.
'5 Centimeters Per Second' told the story of people growing apart over time and distance.
But 'Voices of a Distant Star' wanted to express something else entirely:
Even if you're separated by eight light-years—so far that a text message takes eight years to send—human feelings can remain unchanged.
From that shift in message, you could also see how Makoto Shinkai's philosophy had evolved.
In the past, he focused on the pain of how human emotions couldn't survive distance.
Now, he was telling us that they could.
But after watching the trailer, many of Jing Yu's fans had a bad feeling in their gut.
The core plot seemed simple.
From the brief glimpses in the teaser, most people guessed it would be a sci-fi romance.
The male lead, Noboru Terao, stays on Earth.
The female lead, Mikako Nagamine, is chosen to join a UN task force to track down alien invaders in the solar system.
She boards a ship to chase them down.
Of course, that sci-fi setup wasn't really the point.
The real story was about how their emotions evolved as the distance between them grew.
At first, they could contact each other every few days.
Then it became every few months.
Eventually, the UN fleet went silent after a battle eight light-years away.
By the time Noboru, now 24, finally graduates and enlists in the interstellar fleet to follow in Mikako's footsteps, a single message she had sent him—eight years ago, during a life-or-death moment—finally arrives on his phone.
The trailer didn't explain all this directly. But the flashes of the solar system, Jupiter, Mars, Saturn, and the blue Earth—those visuals blew the audience away.
It was breathtaking, far beyond what anyone in Great Zhou had expected.
And in a way, it felt like a new form of cultural storytelling.