Climbing the steps and pushing through the door—familiar recipe, familiar taste. The oval-shaped lobby, the extra-long counter, the entrance decorated with X-shaped light strips were all exactly the same as in her memory.

The past came flooding back all at once. The scenes of her and Chen An watching movies here were vivid in her mind. She remembered once standing outside the barrier, flirting with Chen An: “Handsome guy, would it be convenient for me to treat you to a movie?”

Chen An had said: “If it’s you, yes.”

As if with a blink of an eye, she could still see him standing by the counter smiling at her.

Cheng Lele shook her head, shaking out these untimely memories, and tried to assess things professionally.

Four words. Improperly maintained.

Although Taixi was a small place, the cinema’s renovation back in the day had absolutely been on par with first-tier city standards. The style was elegant, the equipment advanced, and the service quality was excellent. Cheng Lele had previously thought the resale was because this year’s pandemic had caused problems with the investor’s capital chain.

Now it seemed this wasn’t a situation that developed overnight. Apart from the decline of the external business environment, internal operations and maintenance showed problems everywhere you looked.

The screens originally used to display the film schedule were all turned off, replaced by a black and white printed sheet, wrinkled and pasted on the marble countertop. Because it had been replaced multiple times, the tape marks on it had started turning black. On the light box hanging in the concessions area, the popcorn combo pictures looked like they’d been used for ages. After price changes, the original prices were directly crossed out with marker. The LED-played trailers and movie posters in the light boxes included quite a few outdated films that had already finished their runs. A yellow maintenance sign leaned crookedly on one side of the escalator leading to the second floor, and neither the up nor down escalators were moving…

The entire theater’s condition was perfectly integrated with the external cinema logo reading “Sheng Chang Ying Wan” (backwards), blatantly declaring to every passing customer “we’re about to close”—though that wasn’t quite accurate, because in the huge lobby, aside from her, there were no passing customers, even though today should have been the golden time of the National Day holiday for cinemas.

Cinema business, besides film sources, relied on excellent external business environments to attract foot traffic and good internal operations to retain repeat customers. This cinema had neither going for it. If that shopping mall in the east side of the city opened a new cinema, this would be a dead end.

This individual investor was probably an amateur who got scammed and became the sucker.

Cheng Lele pulled at the corners of her mouth. Who would have thought her colleagues’ jinx would actually come true.

She had to at least hold on for six months. Cheng Lele thought with a headache.

Cheng Lele had been inside for quite a while. The ticket seller, standing alone at the counter in the cold and quiet, had noticed her long ago.

“Here to watch a movie?” The young man greeted her.

Cheng Lele thought, not even a polite “welcome” greeting, just the same tone as an acquaintance asking “have you eaten?” At first listen, it was somewhat interesting.

She pulled her luggage over: “Recommend something.”

The young man was quite honest: “I recommend you don’t watch. The next few showings haven’t sold any tickets. If nobody buys any, I can get off work early.”

Cheng Lele pouted: “Then if I buy a ticket, wouldn’t I have the whole theater? Give me one.”

“Ugh.” The young man sighed. “Does this count as reverse marketing?”

Cheng Lele leaned there looking at the schedule on the printed paper and frowned. This schedule was too unreasonable. Such good time slots at eight or nine o’clock, and only one film showing.

She looked around: “You seem to know quite a bit. Where are the other employees?”

“Gone to eat.”

Cheng Lele checked the time—it was almost nine: “That’s tough, eating this late.”

“It’s okay, they started eating at seven.”

Cheng Lele licked her lips: “Working here seems pretty comfortable. Are you hiring?”

The young man said: “There’s not even one customer. Why would we hire anyone?” He glanced at the suitcase beside Cheng Lele and asked, “You looking for work? Go to Dahai Cinema. They just opened, should need people.”

Just one disaster after another. Whatever she worried about came true.

“Dahai Cinema? When did it open?”

“October 1st.”

No wonder. She had checked in September, when it hadn’t opened yet, so naturally there was no box office data.

Cheng Lele asked: “Are Xingchen and Dahai owned by the same individual investor? The names have quite the CP vibe.”

The young man laughed. He was bored alone here, and having caught a chatty customer, it was perfect for relieving boredom: “No. Their boss is called Li Dahai.”

“Then your boss is called—” She thought for a moment. It seemed to be President Chen. “Chen Xingchen?”

The young man laughed even more heartily: “Our cinema has had three owners, but the cinema name has never changed.”

Oh right, Xingchen Cinema had always been called that. She’d been led astray by that line of thinking.

“Everyone else went to Dahai, why are you still working at Xingchen? Trying to be an astronomer?”

The young man said: “Miss, you’re really funny. Everyone has different pursuits. I like that it’s easy here and nobody bothers me.”

“Your boss doesn’t manage things?” Cheng Lele raised her eyebrows.

“Mm, he comes over just to sleep. Doesn’t ask about anything.”

“You guys have dormitories here?”

The young man shook his head: “No, our boss sleeps in the theater. Pretty weird guy.”

Cheng Lele thought, he probably realized the mess he’d taken on was hopeless and shut himself in.

Having chatted enough, she pointed to the nearest showing. “Give me one ticket for ‘My People, My Homeland.'” She took out her phone to pay.

The young man said: “Miss, we’ve hit it off so well chatting, I’ll treat you.”

“That’s too kind, we just met. How could I let you spend money?”

The young man waved his hand: “Why would I pay? You can just go right in.”

“Not afraid of ticket inspectors?”

The young man said: “What ticket inspector would come to our broken cinema? We don’t sell enough tickets in a day to pay their salary. Besides, if someone like that really came in, it’d be like looking for lice on a monk’s head—I’d spot them right away.”

“You’re not afraid I’m one?”

The young man said disdainfully: “How is that possible?”

Cheng Lele thought, she actually sort of was. At least she represented the theater chain, and the chain collected franchise fees based on box office percentages, so she had some supervisory authority.

She didn’t stand on ceremony with the young man anymore. She left her suitcase at the unmanned customer service center, and remembering something, turned back to ask: “After I go in, you don’t have to personally go upstairs to play the movie, do you?”

“Congratulations, you can answer quickly now!”

Cheng Lele gave a thumbs up from afar: “Nice, thanks for the one-stop service.”

She entered the theater. Her butt hadn’t even touched the seat when the big screen started playing the movie, not a single ad or trailer—actually quite peaceful. She took out her phone to check the time. It started early—great!

It was like her own private cinema. Very lavish.

Sigh!!!

After this whole experience, Cheng Lele really had no temper left at all.