Chapter 154: Thinking About Career
At the beginning of August, Reverse City, which had been in theaters for nearly a month, officially surpassed 1.5 billion yuan at the box office. For Lu Xu, this was the third film he had participated in that grossed over 1 billion yuan.
Although Zhao Yifan had a falling out with the production team, it did not affect the film’s box office performance.
Many in the industry, including key members of the production team like Lu Xu, found this surprising. After all, in some respects, Reverse City was not the type of film expected to achieve significant box office success.
Yet, the film had somehow managed to carve out a presence in the summer box office market. As of now, it ranked third in this season’s lineup—a remarkable achievement, given the fierce competition among blockbuster releases.
In recent years, movie box office revenues had gradually cooled due to the impact of short dramas, short videos, and other fragmented forms of entertainment. Unless a film’s reputation was strong enough to make it a must-watch, audiences were less inclined to go to the cinema.
[Do you think Reverse City can surpass 2 billion?]
[To be honest, considering the current state of the box office market, this result is already impressive. No wonder Zhao Yifan fought for the lead role—at least the numbers look good.]
[Another film surpassing 1.5 billion—Lu Xu is doing well in the film industry. But with three consecutive movies in the 1.5 billion+ range, it feels like he’s hit a plateau. Compared to his achievements in television, his box office performance could be even stronger.]
[You think this isn’t enough? Among male actors of his age group, who can compare to Lu Xu?]
[It’s not that it’s not enough, but he still needs a film that truly cements his status—either a box office juggernaut or an award-winning masterpiece. You get what I mean?]
A film forum once featured a detailed analysis of Lu Xu’s acting career. In the television industry, his status was unquestionable—he had records and awards to prove it. However, compared to his television works, his film projects, while of decent quality, always seemed to be missing something.
Deception didn’t quite align with the domestic market, though its overseas box office performance was unexpectedly strong.
Feather of Youth had a storyline that was too straightforward and simplistic.
Reverse City was too ahead of its time.
In other words, none of these three films were entirely convincing. At the very least, they lacked widespread public recognition. Unlike certain works where, at the mere mention of the title, audiences could immediately recall the actor, Lu Xu’s films hadn’t reached that level of familiarity.
In this regard, When I Was 18 and Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry were far more influential than the films Lu Xu had starred in.
[Honestly, doesn’t anyone think that both the audience and the industry have ridiculously high expectations for Lu Xu? He’s not Superman!]
[For most idols transitioning into acting, just getting a nomination for the Stellar Award before turning 30 is already considered a successful transformation. Don’t forget where Lu Xu started!]
Amid the lively discussions on the forum, a certain post suddenly made netizens realize something—since the disbandment of Verse, Lu Xu had achieved results that were beyond what most people could even imagine.
Because of this, many felt that for a film starring Lu Xu, surpassing 2 billion at the box office should be the norm.
[Zhao Yifan isn’t an unknown actor, right? And Enne Entertainment isn’t a completely irrelevant agency either. Why would he fight so hard for the lead role in Reverse City? Because making money at the box office is incredibly difficult! And let’s not forget—every film Lu Xu has starred in was initially dismissed by the industry, lacking strong capital backing. Breaking 1 billion under those circumstances is already insanely tough.]
…
The discussion about Lu Xu’s box office performance arose mainly because, after Reverse City crossed the 1.5 billion mark, its chances of surpassing 2 billion seemed slim. This led some people to subtly mock Lu Xu online, claiming that while his lower limit was decent, his upper limit wasn’t very high.
Some even confidently asserted that his films would never break the 2-billion barrier.
Lu Xu’s fans had a unified response to such posts: idiotic.
Looking at the history of domestic box office rankings, aside from a few films that grossed over 3 or 4 billion, not many had been more profitable than Feather of Youth. Meanwhile, Deception had earned a fortune in the overseas market, and in terms of pure profit, even How Much Do You Know might not compare.
Fans who genuinely cared about Lu Xu’s career were more than satisfied with these box office results. Yet, there were always irrelevant people eager to jump in and point out how he still wasn’t good enough, which was infuriating to watch.
Lu Xu’s journey as an actor had already far exceeded his fans’ expectations. Even the most demanding among them had never envisioned a career trajectory better than this.
Of course, from a fan’s perspective, they naturally hoped he would star in films with even stronger box office potential. However, the success of a movie couldn’t always be predicted in advance—no matter how skilled an actor was, there were always risks.
Regardless, fans were more than satisfied with Reverse City’s performance.
Although its profits didn’t surpass Deception or Feather of Youth, what mattered more to fans was seeing Lu Xu’s growth as an actor—he had shown that he could take on more restrained, deeply layered roles, fully immersing himself in the character.
Up next, Lu Xu was set to star in the biographical film Fearless Life, a project that, in some ways, was even less likely to be a box office hit than Reverse City. But as far as his fans were concerned, as long as he enjoyed filming, that was enough. The box office? That could wait until after the movie was released.
[A biographical film? You never know,] Tan Qi couldn’t help but post on the forum. [There have been films in this genre with both strong box office numbers and great word-of-mouth. Some are incredibly inspiring, some deeply moving, and they even have award potential. I have a feeling this one might be more popular than Reverse City.]
[Another brain-dead Lu Xu fan has arrived.]
[Has any domestic film of this genre ever surpassed 3 billion? Nope, not a single one.]
[…It’s obvious Lu Xu didn’t take Reverse City for the box office. Winning awards is much easier than making money. Otherwise, he could’ve just teamed up with Li Yan—wasn’t Li Yan working on a new film?]
Lu Xu occasionally browsed through forum posts—it was interesting to see how others perceived him. But when he came across this particular thread, he paused for a moment, thinking about his own reasons for accepting Fearless Life.
The truth was… he didn’t really have a reason.
Most of the projects he had taken on so far had no grand motive behind them. He simply chose what he believed was the best script out of those that landed in his hands.
Of course, he wanted to win awards—what actor didn’t? But he wasn’t obsessed with it.
As for the whole debate about surpassing 2 billion at the box office… he had to admit, audiences had set their expectations for him way too high.
It wasn’t like he was the protagonist of a cultivation novel, where breaking through to the next stage was just a matter of time. Reverse City had ultimately ended its run at 1.96 billion. His next film, Fearless Life, might not even reach 1 billion.
But one thing his fans weren’t wrong about—being the lead in a 1-billion-yuan film versus a 3- or even 4-billion-yuan film were two entirely different things.
“When I make that much at the box office, I’m retiring,” Zheng Xiao sighed. “If only I could get a 10% cut of the revenue.”
Noticing that Lu Xu was reading the forum, he couldn’t resist leaning over to take a peek.
In reality, celebrities didn’t just browse Weibo and search their own names—they also lurked on forums, looking up keywords. Lately, Zheng Xiao had been particularly fond of checking film forums. Any mention of him was usually flooded with praise.
Lu Xu, on the other hand, was a different story. Maybe he had become too famous, but netizens were at least a hundred times harsher on him than they were on others.
Of course… during the time Zheng Xiao was nominated for the Stellar Award, the forums were a complete battlefield. The same had happened with Shao Yao—when he won Best Supporting Actor at the Stellar Awards, plenty of people mocked him for supposedly clinging to Lu Xu’s golden thighs.
“Well, you have to be able to hold on first.”
Shao Yao couldn’t help but feel hurt when he saw posts like that, but Zheng Xiao’s mental fortitude was ridiculously strong. Lu Xu even suspected that if it weren’t for the constraints of being a public figure, Zheng Xiao would be actively arguing with forum users himself.
Shao Yao was eventually convinced by Zheng Xiao and started genuinely believing that being in Lu Xu’s inner circle was an honor.
Lu Xu had Lu Sect, and the two of them were at least the left and right guardians of it.
Lu Xu: “…”
His reputation was being utterly ruined by these two.
Marketing accounts loved to claim that Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao were “riding Lu Xu’s coattails.” Lu Xu never understood what that even meant. He had never once introduced a role to Zheng Xiao. The same went for Shao Yao—both had landed their roles through their own efforts. To Lu Xu, such claims were nothing short of an insult to their hard work.
In the television industry, he was undeniably at the top.
Lu Xu had seen discussions about the tier rankings of TV actors. After When I Was 18, he had firmly secured his place in the highest tier—so much so that he was even considered part of the upper echelon. These days, rankings and salary comparisons in the TV industry didn’t even include him.
The reason? First, he had been doing more films than TV dramas. Second, his achievements were so overwhelming that among the younger actors in the industry, there simply wasn’t anyone who could stand at his level.
Only after Lu Xu did the rest get their turn.
Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao had both starred in popular dramas, but they didn’t have enough of them yet to solidify their positions. For example, Flames of War had earned Zheng Xiao a Best Actor nomination at the Stellar Awards and became the highest-rated drama he had ever led. However, since his other leading roles hadn’t performed as well, he remained somewhere between first and second-tier status.
Shao Yao was in a similar position, ranking around 1.5-tier. However, his resume included Voice of the Dead and Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry, along with a Best Supporting Actor win at the Stellar Awards, which meant his salary was slightly higher than Zheng Xiao’s.
Objectively speaking, in the TV industry, both of them were doing exceptionally well. Whether in terms of industry ranking or paychecks, they were already at a level where other actors should be clinging to them. Yet, just because they were friends with Lu Xu, they were labeled as freeloaders. That irritated Lu Xu to no end.
Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao might not care, but he did.
In fact… when Su Zhao, a former colleague from their old company, had tried to leech off Lu Xu’s popularity by pretending to be close to him, it was Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao who had spoken up for him on Me and My Friends.
Between the three of them, Lu Xu didn’t feel like they had gained much from being around him. If anything, he was the one who had gained more from them.
In acting, the higher you climbed, the harder it became to make real friends. The joy they shared while hanging out—how could that possibly be reduced to something as shallow as “clout-chasing”?
Lu Xu didn’t post on Weibo often, but he recorded their time together in vlogs. To his fans, those moments were among the rare glimpses into his true self, since he rarely engaged in fanservice.
In their eyes, Lu Xu had been hurt by the other members of Verse before, so seeing him make real friends was a relief.
They would much rather watch a carefree, laughing Lu Xu in his vlogs, acting like a silly golden retriever, than the withdrawn, brooding Lu Xu who used to sit quietly in the shadows of Verse.
