Losing Money to Become a Tycoon: Starting with Games
Chapter 429: There Is a Website as Steady as a Rock
Qian's efficiency was quite high. Before dinner time even arrived, the new film review had already been sent over.
"Alright, The Emperor's New Clothes Really Does Look Good"
"This was originally a three-star long review, but after watching it a second time, I've decided to change the rating."
"Previously, I thought this was a pretentious film, especially the inclusion of advertisements within the movie—forcing the audience to watch ads along with the protagonist. That was simply a flaw among flaws!"
"But after a second viewing, I realized I was wrong. Every single one of these ads was actually carefully designed, and each carried deeper meaning!"
"First of all, none of these ads featured real-world brands. There was no shameless product placement, which preserved the viewing experience for all audiences. Compared to the common practice of 'pay-to-appear' casting and sponsorships, this alone deserves praise!"
"Secondly, the ads themselves are very well-made. Not only are the filming techniques excellent, but the variety is also impressive—some are comedic, others are postmodern and surreal. On one hand, they help immerse the audience in this futuristic world; on the other, just watching these ads is entertaining enough on its own!"
"Thirdly, the ads help connect the story. A simple example: the judge played by Zhang Zuting actually appeared in a TV commercial at the very beginning, and the female host who later rises to prominence also appeared in earlier ads. These are details you only notice on a second viewing."
"Finally, the ads carry sharp satire! When the protagonist drinks beer, the ads push fried chicken and red wine; when he loses money, they push loan services; when his savings increase, they start recommending financial products. This is clearly a satire of big data and privacy leakage!"
"I originally thought ads were just ads, but now I realize I was completely mistaken. To include advertisements in a film without annoying the audience—and even deepen the film's meaning through them—is simply brilliant!"
"I once believed this film merely wore a sci-fi skin, with nothing more than decent visuals. But now I know I was wrong—this film is filled with reflections on the future and technology!"
"Domestic sci-fi films have long fallen into a misunderstanding, always chasing grand spectacle and epic narratives. But A Better Tomorrow takes a different path, focusing on ordinary people. For Chinese sci-fi cinema, this is clearly a promising direction!"
"In short, I am deeply impressed by this film. Five stars, no explanation needed!"
"I deeply repent for previously misunderstanding this film. Not being able to appreciate it was entirely due to my own narrow vision and low level of thinking…"
The final paragraph was nothing but variations of the same apology, repeating over and over: "Anyone who criticizes this film just doesn't understand it!"
Clearly, it was just padding to reach the word count…
Pei Qian had asked him to write at least a thousand words, but he was still about three hundred short in the end, so he had no choice but to repeat himself to fill the space.
Although this approach felt somewhat like scamming for money, Pei Qian didn't mind at all.
This Mr. Qian had completed the task quite well!
Pei Qian's only requirement had been to find a very tricky angle and forcefully praise the film—and Qian had indeed found one: the advertisements!
Pei Qian had originally added ads into the movie simply to pad the runtime, so it would meet the requirements for theatrical release.
But look at how Qian praised them.
He practically made the ads sound even better than the actual movie!
If he had praised the film's themes or the actors' performances, it might have sounded somewhat believable, and audiences wouldn't immediately suspect that the reviewer had been paid.
But praising the ads in the movie?
And with such a dramatic change in attitude?
Surely many people would recognize this as forced praise, right?
Surely some would realize he had been paid to alter his review, right?
Without hesitation, Pei Qian paid the remaining balance, already eager to see the latest comments under this review.
Of course, it would take some time for viewers to notice the edited review.
Pei Qian decided to wait a bit before coming back to check, and instead went online to see how the competitors' paid commenters were performing.
After browsing for a while, Pei Qian couldn't help but sigh—his competitors really seemed wealthy.
Their paid commenters were absolutely everywhere.
The capability of paid commenters was certainly important, but sheer numbers mattered even more.
If you wanted numbers, you had to spend money. Accounts of different levels all had to be paid to write negative reviews and give low ratings, and that cost was far from small.
But the larger the scale, the happier Pei Qian became!
Although these paid comments were rather repetitive—things like "loose plot," "unconvincing acting," "cold dialogue," "stuffed with ads," "lacking sincerity"—once there were enough of them, they really could blur the truth.
After all, the purpose of such campaigns was to influence people who hadn't seen the movie yet. If the criticism wasn't harsh enough, it wouldn't discourage them.
Not only that, a large-scale low-rating campaign had already begun. At noon, the score Pei Qian saw was still 88, but now it had dropped to 86—and it seemed to be continuing downward.
Pei Qian spent a full hour scrolling through negative reviews, and his mood finally improved a bit.
"I wonder which kind soul hired these commenters. They really solved my urgent problem!"
"Hmm… maybe I should go check the reactions to Qian's revised review."
Pei Qian opened the comment section under Qian's review. The first few pages were old comments, so he skipped them.
"Huh? There are already so many comments in just one hour?"
"Did people realize he got paid to change his review and start calling him out?"
Full of anticipation, Pei Qian looked at the newly posted comments.
"One of the greatest qualities that make a decent human is the capability of admitting mistakes and correcting them!"
"So someone who used to bash it has finally found their conscience?"
"I said it before—this isn't some brainless popcorn movie. You have to savor it! If you just skim through it, you'll miss a lot of details and think it's bad. But after a second viewing, those details completely change your impression, right?"
"That angle about the ads is really interesting. I used to treat them as background and didn't pay much attention—just thought a few were funny. Now I realize there's so much meaning behind them!"
"Great writing. Makes me want to watch it again!"
"I've been meaning to do that too!"
"The author's apology at the end feels very sincere. Just based on that attitude, I'm considering switching from hater to fan."
"This review made me realize that success is never accidental. How many carefully planned details must there be behind a successful film? Director Zhu Xiaoce is amazing!"
"Can I repost this?"
"I want to share it too."
Page five.
Page six.
…
The last page.
After reading through all the new comments, Pei Qian scratched his head in confusion.
What the hell???
Such obvious forced praise—and none of you noticed?
Don't you feel even a little disgusted?
He got paid to change the review!
He really got paid! I can testify!
Is nobody going to do anything about this?!
Pei Qian was speechless. The audience's focus was just too strange. Instead of questioning why the reviewer changed his opinion, they were actually paying attention to the ads in the movie?
What happened to coordinating with the competitors' paid commenters?
The cooperation hadn't even begun—and it was already over…
Pei Qian opened the Gouyan app and took a look. As expected, tomorrow's screening schedule had been released, and A Better Tomorrow had received even more showtimes!
It felt like he was surrounded on all sides.
"Come on, paid commentator brothers! Even if you're fighting alone now, my heart is with you!"
For some reason, Pei Qian suddenly felt a bit sorry for those paid commenters.
Logically speaking, these people twisted facts and spread misinformation for personal gain—they should have been detestable.
Yet somehow, whenever they got involved with him, they felt like praying mantises trying to stop a chariot—charging forward one by one to their deaths, crushed miserably.
And President Pei was like a hostage tied to that chariot, forced to watch them being ground into dust under the wheels—silently wishing them well with tears in his heart.
For some reason, Pei Qian suddenly felt like a tragic character.
…
…
February 24th, Thursday. The third day of A Better Tomorrow's release.
Peng City.
The meet-and-greet had just ended, and the main creative team promoting the film finally caught a brief moment to rest.
Zhu Xiaoce dropped heavily into a chair. "I'm exhausted!"
Zhang Zuting smiled from the side. "Film promotion is always like this. Director Zhu, you'll get used to it."
Huang Sibo had also been running around nonstop. As he pounded his legs, he scrolled through his phone, checking online reviews of the film.
"Overall, the reception is pretty good. Our movie has basically blown up."
"However, some paid commenters have clearly been mobilized. They've been spamming for three days straight. Our ratings are dropping on many platforms—even on the Gouyan app, it's already fallen to 83."
Zhu Xiaoce thought for a moment. "Should we report this to President Pei? If we ask Mr. Lin from Shenhua Films to step in, this kind of issue should be easy to resolve, right?"
Huang Sibo considered it, then shook his head. "We could resolve it, sure—but we can't keep owing favors to Mr. Lin. We've already relied on them too much for this film's promotion."
Zhu Xiaoce nodded. "That's true. This is our own problem. Besides, a drop of a few tenths of a point isn't a big deal. It's not worth bothering Mr. Lin over something so minor."
The group fell into silence, with only the soft sound of Huang Sibo continuing to pound his legs.
But as he kept going, he suddenly struck harder—thump!
"Holy crap!" Huang Sibo couldn't help but curse.
Everyone looked at him in confusion. "What's wrong?"
"Look at this!" Huang Sibo handed over his phone.
On the screen was a trending post titled:
"Tracking A Better Tomorrow's Ratings Across Major Platforms—See Just How Insane the Paid Commenters Is (Ongoing Updates)"
The content of the post was simple: it used screenshots to continuously record the rating changes of A Better Tomorrow across various platforms.
For example, on the Gouyan app, the score had dropped from the initial 88 all the way down to 83, clearly showing how aggressive the paid commenters' campaign had been.
Other websites showed similar trends—the ratings were all declining, just to varying degrees.
However, there was one exception.
The TPDb website.
Its rating had remained steady at around 91—as stable as a rock.
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