The sound systems in movie theaters are generally surround-sound, but there are three spots where that doesn’t really apply: the first row, the last row, and the few seats near the exits.
People who choose to sit in the last row aren’t necessarily there for the movie at all—sound quality is the last thing on their minds. As for the first row, those folks usually do want to watch the film but simply couldn’t snag better seats. And sitting that close to the screen definitely affects the viewing experience.
“Wenwen, the movie’s about to start. Would you like something to drink?” Director Liu’s voice broke Lin Shuwen out of her thoughts.
“No thanks, Director Liu. My assistant brought me some water.”
Director Liu nodded and went off to ask the others.
Soon enough, 3:30 PM rolled around. The lights in the theater dimmed, the dragon logo appeared on the big screen, and the film officially began.
The plot was actually pretty straightforward. In the near future, human aerospace technology had advanced by leaps and bounds, and spacecraft capable of traveling at 20% the speed of light had been developed—making interstellar travel a reality. Both the male and female leads were members of this interstellar mission.
Interstellar voyages are famously long and tedious; a round trip could take over a decade, with most of that time spent in hibernation. When the male lead’s hibernation pod malfunctioned and woke him up early, he found himself bored while the pod ran its self-repair cycle—so he decided to wake up the female lead for some company.
And this was exactly where Lin Shuwen made her appearance. Right next to the female lead’s hibernation pod was another pod, and inside it lay Lin Shuwen.
She counted the seconds from the moment she entered the frame to the moment the female lead was awakened—she’d shown half her face for a grand total of 17 seconds.
“Seventeen seconds and only half a face for my silver screen debut? That’s just brutal!” she grumbled internally.
From there, the story followed the predictable beats: the leads flirted, ran into a crisis, and solved it. All in all, it was textbook formulaic.
After the movie ended, Lin Shuwen had only one thought: the film had no glaring flaws—but then again, it didn’t really have any standout strengths either. It was just a very typical romantic comedy, only set in space.
The sparse, scattered applause in the theater said it all.
Director Liu had a pretty clear sense of his own work. During the Spring Festival slot, this movie would struggle to even break even—but for New Year’s? It was guaranteed not to lose money.
“Wenjie, time to go on stage!” Chen Sichu whispered softly.
Lin Shuwen nodded, stood up with Director Liu and the others, and walked up to stand in front of the screen. Theater staff quickly handed over microphones.
The host took the mic and first expressed gratitude to everyone in attendance: “Thank you so much to all our media friends and audience members for joining us at today’s preview screening. Now, please welcome Miss Lin Shuwen, who will perform the film’s theme song for us.”
The audience and media reps immediately began buzzing with chatter:
“Finally—are we getting the full version of Light Years Away?”
“I came here specifically for Light Years Away.”
“To be honest, the movie itself is pretty so-so. If the song isn’t good either, it’s probably going to flop.”
“I actually thought the movie was fine!”
“It’s passable, I’d say. Now we’ll see whether the theme song adds to it or takes away.”
Amid the murmurs, the intro of Light Years Away began to play.
A spotlight hit Lin Shuwen. She waved to the audience and then sang the first verse:
“Feel the fingertips resting at my temples,
How they freeze time in an instant,
Remember the determination in my eyes,
Maybe there won’t be a tomorrow…”
“Holy crap! Lin Shuwen’s voice is incredible—her projection is unreal!” Chen Sichu, who hadn’t gone on stage, overheard praise from audience members behind her.
A hint of pride crept onto her face. Her Wenjie’s vocal range spanned from D3 to F6—talk about versatility! And this was nothing yet.
Soon the song reached the chorus, and both the audience and the film’s creative team found themselves unconsciously holding their breath.
“I never thought I’d go this crazy for you,
Through earthquakes and tsunamis—with you, I don’t want to run,
My mind has gone insane for you,
Without your pulse, your heartbeat—none of it matters.”
“Her breath control is rock solid! Is she really singing this live?”
“Incredible. The melody, the vocal technique—both are captivating and really pump up the energy.”
“Suddenly I think this movie is a lot better. When I pair the lyrics with the scenes in my head, what was a 6 out of 10 is now an 8.”
“As expected from the queen of ‘great songs in mediocre films’—this track is genuinely good.”
“The style is really unique—it blends pop, electronic, rock, and more. Especially the way it transitions from a simple piano accompaniment to emotionally charged electronic drumbeats and a guitar solo, gradually building up the song’s emotional intensity.”
As the performance ended, Lin Shuwen bowed to the audience and said, “Thank you, everyone!”
This time, thunderous applause filled the theater.
Clearly, the audience’s approval of the song far outweighed their approval of the film itself.
Director Liu wasn’t the least bit upset. After all, the song and his movie were now deeply intertwined—if the song blew up, how could the movie not benefit?
During the Q&A session that followed, Director Liu subtly steered the conversation toward Lin Shuwen whenever he could. And she played along gracefully, picking up every cue he threw her way.
By 6 PM, the preview event had officially wrapped. Unsurprisingly, Director Liu invited the entire creative team out for dinner.
Meanwhile, online, a flood of spoiler-free reviews and reaction pieces had already started pouring in. But every single one of them, without exception, relegated the movie itself to a secondary role—instead devoting paragraphs upon paragraphs to Light Years Away.
The hashtag #LightYearsAway quickly shot up to the top of the trending charts.
At the same time, someone on Weibo posted a full-length video of Lin Shuwen performing the song live at the event. Despite the mediocre audio quality, it was still clear that the track was exceptionally well-produced and polished.
Sister Shan and Director Liu certainly weren’t about to miss this promotional opportunity.
The official Weibo account for Fly to the Cosmos and Huayue Entertainment’s official account simultaneously announced: at midnight on December 1st, Light Years Away would be available on QQ Music.
The movie’s official account also made a point of mentioning that this song was the first single from Lin Shuwen’s upcoming new album—giving her some extra publicity in the process.
Back in 2013, music platforms were still in the thick of fighting over copyrights and users, which meant they were incredibly friendly to both singers and listeners. During this era, all music was free to stream. Platforms would buy the rights and then pay artists based on play counts and downloads. Listeners paid nothing, artists earned plenty—only the platforms took a loss.
But those losses were purely a long-term investment for future monopolies. The sweet deal users and artists were enjoying now? They’d have to pay it all back later.
As for Lin Shuwen’s Light Years Away, it already came with built-in buzz, and all the major music platforms had sent representatives to negotiate. But Huayue Entertainment had always collaborated with QQ Music, and with QQ offering particularly favorable terms this time around, the exclusive streaming rights went to QQ Music in the end.
