Chapter 87: Filming Wrapped

[Yue Hui won the title of Best Actor, Lu Xu missed it unfortunately.]

[Stellar Awards ended, Yue Hui and Cai Jingran won the Best Actor and Best Actress.]

[Lu Puppy didn’t win the award; that’s a bit disappointing.]

[Honestly, given the competition this year, just being nominated was already impressive. Who doesn’t acknowledge his acting skills now?]

[Lu Puppy is a literal star descended from the heavens!!!]

Following the end of the awards ceremony, discussions about this year’s Stellar Awards continued unabated. Yue Hui naturally garnered significant attention as the winner, but as the youngest Best Actor nominee in Stellar Awards history, Lu Xu also drew an extraordinary amount of discussion.

Being nominated for the Stellar Awards two years in a row was more than enough to prove the judges’ fondness for him.

[Ahhh, I still hope Lu Puppy gets nominated again next year. He was both reserved and adorable during the ceremony!]

[I hereby declare Lu Xu to be the most handsome man in formalwear in my heart!]

Tan Qi’s folder had grown with yet another batch of saved photos.

Her only regret was that Lu Xu had too few high-fashion shoots. While he looked stunning in formalwear, as a devoted fan, his existing collection of photos was far from satisfying her obsessive need to collect them all.

After the awards ceremony, a few marketing accounts brought up old stories, mentioning how The Watchers had its popularity overshadowed by My Baby Prince. They claimed that Yue Hui’s award this time was like avenging an old grudge. Some reporters even approached Yue Hui directly, asking for his thoughts on defeating Lu Xu this time.

Yue Hui had an upright appearance and decent acting skills, which had allowed him to carve out a path in the entertainment industry of his early years, crowded with talent.

Perhaps an upright face made playing a villain even more profound and terrifying. Yue Hui’s performance in Uncertain Waves was considered a major breakthrough in his acting career.

The press conference was initially harmonious. Yue Hui, in high spirits after winning the award, appeared more relaxed, and even the lines on his face seemed smoother. However, when a reporter suddenly asked that particular question, the atmosphere on-site became a little tense.

After a long pause, Yue Hui picked up the microphone and said, “I know what you’re trying to ask, and I know what you want me to say.”

“But I’m sorry, you won’t hear the answer you’re looking for.”

Hearing this, the other reporters in the audience burst into laughter.

“I’m proud of winning this trophy because my competitors are incredibly talented. To be honest, this award isn’t something that should be described with words like ‘defeat’ or ‘overcome.’ It’s more accurate to say that all five of us nominees delivered outstanding performances. I just happened to be a little luckier this time.”

“As for a show’s popularity, that’s up to the audience. If the popularity doesn’t match the competition, it simply means there are areas where the series I participated in could improve.”

With that light and effortless response, Yue Hui blocked the reporter’s question completely. Afterward, no other reporters dared to ask similarly tactless questions.

After some casual chatting between those on stage and the audience, the reporters shifted topics. Yue Hui even mentioned that he wanted to collaborate with Lu Xu on a movie.

The reporters were instantly intrigued.

Yue Hui didn’t disclose what type of movie it would be, and the reporters speculated that he was likely just making polite remarks. Of course, in the entertainment industry, polite remarks were crucial. Even if there were fierce conflicts behind the scenes, stars often had to maintain an appearance of camaraderie, acting like brothers or sisters on the surface.

Lu Xu, the type to directly call out anything that displeased him—even tagging people directly on social media—was considered a true oddity in the entertainment industry.

Yet, reporters couldn’t help but marvel at how effective his approach was. At the very least, those with ill intentions avoided him like the plague, fearing he might accidentally blurt out something shocking again.

Marketing accounts and reporters actually liked Lu Xu quite a bit. With him around, there was never a shortage of topics. Sometimes, they too disapproved of certain celebrities’ behavior, but could only make veiled comments in year-end summaries, not daring to name names. After all, one wrong move could result in a swarm of enraged fans attacking them.

When Yue Hui stepped down from the press conference, his manager glanced at his expression and instantly knew what he was thinking. “Should I look into that reporter?”

Yue Hui gave a slight nod.

Most reporters knew what questions were appropriate to ask and which weren’t. This was part of the unspoken agreement between celebrities and the media: stars gave interviews, reporters got the answers they wanted, and everyone left happy.

But that particular reporter’s question, though ostensibly about Lu Xu, was actually a veiled attack. After all, there were three other nominees for the Stellar Award besides Lu Xu.

If Yue Hui had “defeated” Lu Xu, didn’t that mean he had also “defeated” Zheng Yeping, Xia Zhenrong, and Liu Fang?

Those three had even more seniority than Yue Hui. If he had said something inappropriate, he would have been guaranteed to fall into a major trap.

Yue Hui suspected the question was instigated by one of Lu Xu’s rivals. Despite his young age, Lu Xu had managed to offend quite a few people in the industry.

“Once you’ve found out who it was, let Feiyang Entertainment know,” Yue Hui instructed.

“Got it.”

Everyone in the industry knew Yue Hui was smooth and tactful, with a solid background. However, as someone who had fought his way to success as an actor in his early years, he still believed in relying on skill to stand out. Compared to some of the younger actors, he actually appreciated Lu Xu’s straightforward nature, even if the man’s words often spared no one.

In the earlier days of the industry, there were many actors with personalities like Lu Xu’s. Acting was part of the arts, after all, and a bit of individuality was to be expected. Now, however, actors were molded by their agencies to the point of resembling lifeless mannequins, which Yue Hui found distasteful.

Inviting Lu Xu to star in a film wasn’t something Yue Hui had mentioned casually. He had a promising movie script on hand but had been unable to find a suitable young actor to pair with. When he had taken on The Watchers, the producer had sung endless praises of Gu Sinian’s acting. However, Yue Hui realized something was off after shooting just a few scenes, but by then, it was too late to back out.

Yue Hui had been deeply dissatisfied with the production of The Watchers, and in his opinion, its sudden drop in popularity had been entirely predictable.

While the industry did have young actors with solid acting skills, a film still relied on ticket sales, and an actor with zero name recognition simply wouldn’t do.

After considering all the possibilities, Yue Hui concluded that Lu Xu was the most suitable choice.

Previously, Zhang Zhizhen had tried to cast Lu Xu in The Swordsman, and Yue Hui had assumed Lu Xu would accept the role. To his surprise, Lu Xu had outright rejected Zhang Zhizhen.

In hindsight, that decision had been absolutely correct.

Zhang Zhizhen had produced one or two decent films in his early years, but his skills had since deteriorated significantly. He now dominated his productions to the extent that no one dared to alter his dreadful scripts.

Zhang Zhizhen had even approached Yue Hui for the lead role in The Swordsman. Yue Hui had taken one look at the script before tossing it straight into the trash.

If he had dared to accept such a project, his years of hard-earned reputation would have gone down the drain.

As an actor, Yue Hui was highly protective of his reputation. The Watchers was already one of the blemishes on his career. Adding a film like The Swordsman would be a burden he couldn’t bear.

Apart from attending the Stellar Awards ceremony midway, Lu Xu never requested time off during the filming of When I Was 18. He worked seamlessly with Han Xiao and Zhou Lin, who played Huang Luning’s parents, and together they completed most of the scenes depicting Huang Luning’s life after his rebirth.

Although he still failed his college entrance exams, during the wait for the admissions notice, Huang Luning busied himself with washing clothes, cooking meals, working part-time at a nearby supermarket, and occasionally helping his father carry goods.

He learned to drive and even saved a little girl who had attempted to drown herself in the river. Sadly, her death shattered what had been a happy family. Many years later, he still saw the girl’s blind grandmother crying by the riverbank.

Before rescuing the girl, Huang Luning had felt fear. He worried about disrupting some predestined balance.

But then he thought about it carefully—he himself was already the anomaly.

With that realization, he carried on boldly.

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, his life in this timeline wasn’t drastically different from his previous one. Yet perhaps experiencing it all again had altered his perspective on the world, making Huang Luning feel that life was actually pretty good.

He learned repair skills, volunteered at the community center, read books weekly at the library, became a trusted “uncle” to the children in the neighborhood, and made many new friends.

Though he didn’t achieve great wealth or fame, his days were undoubtedly better than before.

When comparing Jiang Lin and Huang Luning, the two characters both shared a carefree nature. However, Huang Luning, having lived a second life, was much more optimistic than Jiang Lin.

His optimism, in turn, influenced and changed many of the people around him.

Mu Qian noticed that every time Lu Xu finished filming his scenes, Jin Mu’s eyes always carried a hint of a smile.

The core of When I Was 18 was warmth. The story revolved around Huang Luning’s family, capturing the joys and sorrows of his daily life.

In this script, Huang Luning himself was a source of warmth.

As for Lu Xu—when he immersed himself in portraying the character on set, it was as if he glowed on camera.

Father Huang and Mother Huang never demanded Huang Luning to achieve great wealth or success; they only wanted him to live a happy and joyful life. In this lifetime, Huang Luning was following that very trajectory.

“Amazing,” Mu Qian remarked.

Mu Qian had watched several of Lu Xu’s previous works, including Son of Heaven and The Path of Bones. Yet, Huang Luning was a completely different kind of character—an ordinary person hidden among the crowd. He wasn’t royalty or a noble hero, nor was he as sharp and striking as a blade. And yet, Lu Xu played him with effortless grace.

In one scene, Huang Luning got up early to catch a bus. On the unairconditioned minibus, he hunched over, nibbling on a steaming bun. After finishing it, he curled up into a ball and fell asleep right there.

He posted photos wherever he went, bragging to his family about how well he was doing. Yet behind the camera, there were long days of hard work and exhaustion—details he never mentioned.

Lu Xu wasn’t the type of actor to show off with flashy techniques or meticulously crafted gestures to stand out. Huang Luning, by nature, wasn’t a role that suited technical flourishes.

He was one of millions of ordinary people, and the lives of ordinary people don’t require tricks.

Mu Qian could see reflections of countless individuals in Lu Xu’s portrayal of Huang Luning.

From the age of 18 onward, the street where he lived began to change. Some neighbors moved away as the area was redeveloped; others saved up enough money to buy large houses in the next neighborhood. Huang Luning didn’t become a millionaire, but he steadily built a life better than the one he had in his previous life.

At the very least, when his parents grew old, he was still by their side.

He even mustered the courage to confess to the girl he didn’t dare approach in his past life. Though she turned him down, he had no regrets. Some things, if left unsaid in youth, may never have the chance to be said again.

Sometimes, a farewell could mean half a lifetime.

In the final scene of When I Was 18, Jin Mu didn’t write it as “This was just a dream of Huang Luning,” because that would have been unfair to Huang Luning. In this scene, 40-year-old Huang Luning stood at a crossroads in life—this was the exact time when his mother had passed away in his previous life.

After that, his life had been filled with regret.

The feeling of having parents present and the feeling of having lost them were completely different.

In this scene, Huang Luning ran home, panting heavily as he climbed the stairs. His neighbors called out for him to slow down, but he didn’t dare listen. The wind howled in his ears, the sound of his breath was clear in his nostrils, his mind was blank, and his heart was uneasy, because he didn’t know what would happen next.

But when he pushed open the door, the wind blowing into the room caused the curtains to flutter, and the sunlight suddenly poured onto the floor, filling the viewer’s heart with warmth.

On the stove, beef stew was simmering, the rich aroma bubbling up.

Huang Luning couldn’t help but slow his steps, carefully restraining the breath he had caught from running, and slowly approached the kitchen. He pushed the door open—

But the door opened from the inside first. “I bought beef this morning, wash your hands and come eat!”

His mother’s hands, old yet warm, made Huang Luning’s nose tingle with emotion.

In the final shot, Mu Qian directed the camera toward the sunlight outside the window.

From that moment on, the house was no longer filled with regret. It was Huang Luning’s warm homecoming.

After the shoot ended, Mu Qian didn’t call for a stop right away.

In the span of over twenty years, from the age of 18 to 40, Lu Xu’s portrayal of Huang Luning never made him feel uncomfortable.

The unwavering determination of the 18-year-old and the gratitude of the 40-year-old were beautifully expressed, and the warmth of the character came to life under his performance.

Jin Mu had already hidden in a corner, silently crying.

He performed so well!

<< _ >>

Related Posts

One thought on “Famous! Ch.87

Leave a Reply