Chapter 144: Am I Too Old?
“The pay is really high,” Lu Xu sighed.
“Really high,” Xu Wen echoed like a parrot.
“Really high.”
The two of them sighed for a long time before reluctantly putting the script down.
Although the pay was generous, Lu Xu simply didn’t have the courage to accept it. He had a strong feeling that if he took this role, his lifelong reputation would be ruined in an instant.
If the movie became a hit, that would be fine. But if it flopped, the lead actor would undoubtedly be nailed to the pillar of shame, and Lu Xu couldn’t afford to take that risk.
More importantly, he didn’t want to trick his fans into the theater with a movie like this.
Feather of Youth had been criticized within the industry for having a simplistic storyline, but compared to Sanzu River, Feather of Youth was practically a towering skyscraper. Meanwhile, Sanzu River was at best an unfinished, crumbling building.
Lu Xu had already decided not to take the role, but he couldn’t help feeling curious—how many of the names on the production’s “invited actors list” would actually agree to it in the end?
That being said, Lu Xu had no doubt that if the production team was willing to offer him such a high paycheck, the salaries they were offering other actors must also be substantial.
“They really have money to burn.”
Having personally invested in The Female Grandmaster, Lu Xu knew how costly filmmaking could be. Beyond actor salaries, there were countless other expenses required to keep a production running smoothly.
A rough estimate suggested that Sanzu River would spend hundreds of millions just on actor salaries alone. Adding in the filming costs, promotional expenses, and theater distribution fees, unless the movie became the highest-grossing film of the year, it would be impossible to break even.
All he could say was that even in the extravagant world of showbiz, only a handful of productions could afford to spend money like this.
…
Lu Xu turned down Sanzu River, but Xu Wen still had plenty of scripts waiting for him. Lu Xu had already done small-budget films, and he had taken on a big production like Reverse City as well. Now, he had no particular preference for any specific genre—he just needed the script to be decent.
After much discussion with his agent, they finally narrowed it down to two options: a biopic and a sci-fi film. In the current film market, both were considered niche genres, but the scripts had potential.
“With only two to choose from, the decision becomes easier,” Lu Xu said. “Neither of these starts filming anytime soon, so I can take a break for a while.”
“Want to take another look?” Xu Wen asked.
The scripts that reached Lu Xu had already been carefully filtered—anything obviously unsuitable for him had been ruled out. In fact, Sanzu River wasn’t really a good fit for Lu Xu either; it had only made it to him because the offered pay was ridiculously high, making it hard for Xu Wen to reject outright on his behalf.
“No, these two will do,” Lu Xu shook his head.
The biopic covered a long timespan and offered a richly developed character, though it lacked the kind of excitement that would guarantee box office success.
As for the sci-fi film, the script was wildly imaginative. Lu Xu’s only concern was whether the current level of visual effects could faithfully recreate the stunning scenes described in the screenplay.
But then again, no script was perfect, and audience tastes varied greatly. Lu Xu was simply choosing based on his own artistic preferences. If he could find viewers who shared his vision, that would be ideal.
Although Lu Xu had yet to finalize his next project, news of him rejecting Sanzu River spread like wildfire.
By the third morning, he received a call from Yue Hui.
“I heard you turned down Sanzu River?”
Lu Xu was surprised. “Why does it feel like the whole world knows about this?”
“Well, I heard about it, at least. Good call.”
Lu Xu grew curious. “Did they invite you too?”
“I’m not interested,” Yue Hui said. “The production also invited Li Yan, and he turned it down too.”
“Nobody cares if we reject it, but you turning down Sanzu River has already made it to the trending searches.”
Yue Hui couldn’t help but joke, “Why do you always get dragged into every controversy?”
Lu Xu: “….”
Seriously, why did he attract weird situations like a magnet?
Sure enough, the moment he hung up on Yue Hui, he saw a glaring headline on the trending list: #Lu Xu Rejects Sanzu River#
[Puppy, you’re really famous now. Every production crew wants to name-drop you.]
Lu Xu sighed. “…I haven’t even ascended the throne yet.”
At this rate, with how often he was trending, someone would probably start writing a daily chronicle of his life soon.
Yeah, no thanks.
#Most Emperors Don’t Live Long#
The one in Son of Heaven was an exception.
Anyway, gossip accounts were eagerly reporting on Lu Xu’s rejection of Sanzu River, treating it like a major industry event and expressing their “regret” over his decision.
[This was clearly an opportunity to act alongside veteran actors and form deep connections with industry giants, yet Lu Xu chose to give it up—what a pity.]
[Lu Xu may have broken into the film industry, and the box office results of Deception and Feather of Youth were solid, but objectively speaking, he’s still on the fringes. Compared to major directors and influential actors, his connections remain limited. Taking on Sanzu River would have significantly helped him overcome this shortcoming, yet for some reason, he decided to pass on it.]
[It’s truly unfortunate. Feiyang Entertainment, Lu Xu’s agency, has deep roots in the industry, and his agent, Xu Wen, is well-connected. So why such short-sightedness?]
While gossip accounts were busy feeling “sorry” for Lu Xu, renowned director Zhang Zhizhen bluntly stated, [This just proves that he’s not suited for filmmaking.]
Somehow, it all came back to John Logie Baird again.
This time, though, Lu Xu didn’t want to blame Baird. Instead, he turned his frustration toward the Lumière brothers—if they hadn’t invented cinema, Zhang Zhizhen wouldn’t have had the chance to make such remarks.
In reality, while negotiating with Lu Xu, the Sanzu River production team had also been reaching out to other actors in the industry. On one hand, they were aggressively expanding their “invited actors list,” and on the other, they were making bold claims about the film’s ambition, declaring that Sanzu River would go down in cinematic history as an internationally top-tier special effects masterpiece, showcasing the pinnacle of Chinese film industry capabilities.
[We will spare no expense for this.]
[Even if we go bankrupt, we will make Sanzu River a success!]
Lu Xu: “….”
In short, rejecting Sanzu River was supposed to be an enormous loss for him.
With all the hype the production was generating, Lu Xu almost felt embarrassed to admit that the only reason he turned it down was that he thought the movie simply wasn’t good enough.
“Let’s just say I lack the skills to take on such a high-end project.”
But…
“…I honestly don’t see how this script is supposed to ‘save’ the Chinese film industry.” Lu Xu furrowed his brows—a habit his manager had repeatedly forbidden, since his naturally striking features made the expression look ridiculously comical.
“Maybe it could have been saved at some point, but after this so-called ‘rescue effort,’ it’s well and truly dead.”
Xu Wen hesitated. “…A desperate revival?”
Lu Xu blinked. “That’s the only way to see it, I guess.”
That just made it all the more crucial for him to stay out of it.
Maybe the Chinese film industry was originally meant to take the hit, but if he got involved, the one going down might just be him.
Lu Xu usually didn’t pay much attention to what happened to the projects he turned down—whether they flopped or became hits.
Even though gossip accounts loved making compilation lists like “Blockbusters That Were Once Rejected by Certain Actors,” Lu Xu felt that once he had made a decision, there was no point in regretting it.
Since he was the one who made the choice, he had to take responsibility for it.
The only reason he was keeping an eye on Sanzu River was because the film’s marketing team was simply too good at hyping it up.
One day, they announced a collaboration with a major Hollywood VFX company. The next, they revealed that some award-winning actors and pop superstars had joined the cast. Then, on top of all that, they threw in a subtle jab at Lu Xu, claiming that he would “regret rejecting Sanzu River for the rest of his life.”
Thankfully, Yue Hui and Li Yan came to his rescue.
During an interview, Yue Hui was asked about all the big names joining Sanzu River, and he sighed dramatically, “I’m starting to regret it. Does turning down Sanzu River mean I missed out the same way some British actors missed out on Harry Potter?”
Li Yan, on the other hand, remarked wistfully, “If it weren’t for scheduling conflicts, I definitely would’ve taken Sanzu River. I really hope they turn it into a franchise—maybe by the fourth or fifth installment, I’ll finally get my chance to be part of it.”
The Sanzu River production team had been boasting endlessly, but they had never actually considered the idea of making multiple films. Now that Yue Hui and Li Yan had hyped it up so much, the production couldn’t just run with it and claim they were planning sequels—so they had to dial down their aggressive marketing a little.
Privately, Lu Xu, Yue Hui, and Li Yan had already met for dinner and had a pretty good idea of what was really going on with Sanzu River. It wasn’t something they could openly discuss, though.
In fact, it wasn’t just the three of them—most of the actors who had accepted roles in the film probably knew the situation as well.
But every actor had their own priorities.
Lu Xu, Yue Hui, and Li Yan weren’t the type to jump into investments. They had enough money, access to good projects, and a steady share of box office profits. Sanzu River was offering a hefty paycheck, but it wasn’t tempting enough to make any of them feel like they had to take it.
In the end, Sanzu River developed almost exactly as Lu Xu had predicted.
Yes, the cast was packed with award-winning actors, and yes, they had indeed brought in a Hollywood VFX team. But all the buzz seemed to peak before filming even started. Once production officially began, the hype suddenly died down. There were barely any set leaks, and no behind-the-scenes shots of those supposed “intense acting duels” between the industry’s top talents.
In fact… those big-name actors weren’t even on set for that many days.
After Sanzu River started shooting, the promotional focus on Lu Xu gradually faded. The media shifted its attention to the film’s newly announced lead actor.
Interestingly enough, the main role went to a fresh-faced talent signed under Liu Rennong Studio—someone even younger than Lu Xu.
After Qi Di was dropped from the studio, all of its resources had been redirected toward this newcomer, Bei Hong, who was quickly being hailed as the “strongest rookie” of recent years.
But apparently, starring in Sanzu River wasn’t enough for Bei Hong—he seemed quite eager to bring up Lu Xu in interviews.
“I have no intention of surpassing Teacher Lu. He’s my senior in the industry.”
“And I don’t think I was just a second choice for the role. Teacher Lu had his reasons for declining, and the production must have chosen me because I was the best fit for Qiao Baiyu.”
With their new lead actor being compared to Lu Xu so openly, the Sanzu River team naturally jumped in to back him up—what some media outlets called a “bold and protective” stance. They claimed that Lu Xu was “a thing of the past” and that Bei Hong was now the “precious star” of the production.
At this point, Lu Xu couldn’t hold back anymore and finally posted online: [You guys are already halfway through the script—mind giving me a guest role while you’re at it?]
[Sanzu River featuring special guest: Lu Xu.]
[They keep saying he doesn’t matter, yet every promo somehow still includes him. Did they at least pay him a marketing fee?]
[LMAO, no matter what happens, the Sanzu River team always has something to say about it.]
[HAHAHAHA, as a spectator to this whole drama, I can confidently say—Lu Xu really did nothing this time, but somehow, they keep dragging him into it.]
[Lu Xu: Who am I? Where am I? What did I do? I just took a nap, and the sky collapsed.]
[Can’t help but feel bad for our poor Lu Puppy]
From Lu Xu’s perspective, the Sanzu River team had clearly mastered the art of “denial-based publicity.” They mentioned him at least 800 times a day yet shamelessly refused to admit it.
And sure enough, after Lu Xu posted his sarcastic Weibo, the Sanzu River production account responded in mock surprise:
[Teacher Lu, aren’t you overthinking this? You have absolutely nothing to do with Sanzu River at this point. Why would we be talking about you?
[Or… could it be that you’re just too free these days, with no new projects in sight?]
The passive-aggressive tone in their official response was absolutely off the charts.
So, the very next morning, before their post had even been up for a full 24 hours, Lu Xu tagged the official Sanzu River account and posted:
[I’m at your set entrance. Come out.]
Come fight me!
Of course, all he really did was upload a collection of Sanzu River’s promotional posts—243 instances where they had name-dropped him since the whole fiasco began. Among them were 13 separate occasions where newcomer Bei Hong had specifically referred to Lu Xu as a “senior.”
The underlying implication? Lu Xu was too old.
So, following the same strategy he had used when roasting The Watchers back in the day, Lu Xu threw their own words right back at them, replying in an equally passive-aggressive tone:
[Do I really look that old?]
[Not even a little!]
[??? LMAO, shouldn’t actors be compared based on skill? Why are they obsessed with implying Lu Xu is ancient? Do they have some kind of condition??]
[On one hand, they claim Lu Xu has nothing to do with Sanzu River, but on the other, they’ve used him in over a hundred marketing posts. Is it really that hard for their rookie to gain attention on his own? Can’t even walk without holding onto Lu Xu’s name?]
[Yeah, Lu Xu might be older, but that doesn’t change the fact that Bei Hong looks old.]
[Just realized—Lu Xu has only dissed the Sanzu River team once this whole time.]
[The real shady thing about Sanzu River is how they kept name-dropping Lu Xu while reaching out to actors, making both the industry and fans think he was about to take the role. But the moment he declined, they turned around and started dragging him nonstop. Isn’t this the exact same playbook as Zhang Zhizhen? Leech off his popularity first, then get bitter when he won’t play along. If this isn’t textbook desperation, I don’t know what is.]
[…Lu Xu didn’t post Bei Hong’s picture, and I won’t either—I don’t want to ruin anyone’s day. But to describe him in words: a face shaped like a winding rugged path, features scattered like fallen and mottled leaves, and a jawline reminiscent of a sheer cliffside.]
This is probably gonna end up like the 2018 Chinese film Asura. A film that cost $113 Million USD and was pulled from theaters after 3 days after a $7.3 Million USD opening weekend.