Chapter 155: The Female Grandmaster
At the end of the promotional period for Reverse City, Lu Xu stopped paying attention to Zhao Yifan’s news. It wasn’t until later that he found out Zhao Yifan had quietly unfollowed him on Weibo.
A long string of ellipses floated through Lu Xu’s mind. He couldn’t understand—if the other party was this petty, why had he followed him in the first place?
During the release of Reverse City, Zhao Yifan had pulled a questionable stunt, which naturally damaged his reputation. However, thanks to the film’s box office success of over 1.9 billion, Enne Entertainment still managed to secure a few lead roles for him.
That being said, directors of Mu Lang’s caliber no longer had any interest in working with Zhao Yifan.
In response, Enne Entertainment issued a statement, subtly implying that the new generation of directors was just as talented and needed more support and collaboration. They even cited Gao Xingchuan, the director of Deception, and Feng Rui, the director of Feather of Youth, as examples.
Netizens: “……”
[Couldn’t they have picked better examples? Did they really have to use Lu Xu’s name to boost their credibility?]
Enne Entertainment’s reasoning wasn’t entirely unfounded. In recent years, the film market had seen plenty of disastrous failures, like Zhang Zhizhen’s The Swordsman. Actors had become far more cautious when choosing scripts and no longer blindly worshipped so-called top directors.
However, Enne Entertainment seemed to have conveniently forgotten that not all young directors lacked integrity.
The productions Enne Entertainment selected for Zhao Yifan were those that cared nothing for an actor’s character, acting skills, or reputation. They only cared about hype—ironically, the worse Zhao Yifan’s reputation got, the more attention these productions could gain.
At Feiyang Entertainment, such productions wouldn’t have even passed through Xu Wen’s initial screening.
But Xu Wen understood—Zhao Yifan’s perspective was different from Lu Xu’s.
Aside from the year he left Verse, when his career experienced a brief slump, Lu Xu had spent most of his acting career in the spotlight. Verse was a top-tier boy band, and from the moment he first starred in My Baby Prince, it had already surpassed The Watchers in popularity. From then on, he kept breaking records, winning awards, and delivering hit after hit.
Even if the box office numbers of his films didn’t always break records, they were still figures that many actors could only look up to.
Zhao Yifan was his senior, having been in the acting industry for nearly 15 years. Yet, he had always hovered around the second tier of the film industry. His highest-grossing lead role was in Reverse City.
In the entertainment industry, being stuck in the middle was the worst position to be in.
Those who made it big had everything handed to them, while those who had completely faded into obscurity no longer bothered dreaming of stardom.
The most awkward situation was undoubtedly someone like Zhao Yifan—neither here nor there.
At events, he could stand in the second row, but he would rarely ever make it to the first. Though it seemed like just a single row’s difference, in reality, the gap was immense.
As he neared 40, Zhao Yifan was likely growing more anxious. At this stage, it would be difficult for him to maintain a balanced mindset. Rather than fading into obscurity, it was better to give it one last shot.
Xu Wen had encountered many artists like him. Without looking too far, Feiyang Entertainment itself had several such cases.
The entertainment industry was, at its core, a game of fame and fortune. Whether an artist was popular or not wasn’t just about fan perception—terms like “small-time nobody” or “forgotten actor” weren’t just casual labels. A lower status meant worse treatment, and the cold stares and neglect they faced were unimaginable to outsiders.
From this perspective, Zhao Yifan might have made the best choice for his current situation.
Lu Xu, on the other hand, had no need to follow such a path.
Since Zhao Yifan had already made his choice, unless he could continue producing hits, his path would only become narrower. Lu Xu saw no need to look down on him—ignoring him was enough.
Even he had to admit that in the acting industry, there weren’t many who had a smoother journey than he did.
He truly had been fortunate.
…
By the second half of Fearless Life’s filming, Lu Xu suddenly received a phone call.
The movie he had invested in, The Female Grandmaster, had been released.
In addition to its domestic theatrical release, The Female Grandmaster had also been screened at both international and domestic film festivals. According to director Mo Qi, the film’s reception was far better than she had expected.
For this project, Lu Xu had taken a completely hands-off approach—he was solely responsible for the investment. Everything else, from casting to script decisions, was handled by Mo Qi and screenwriter Lin Hui, while the filming progress was relayed to him by Xu Wen.
To be honest, the production of The Female Grandmaster had taken longer than he had anticipated.
According to Xu Wen, Mo Qi had spent every cent of Lu Xu’s investment on the film itself. The crew had endured a difficult production process, but the core creative team had persevered.
However, despite participating in film festivals and award competitions, the movie had little recognition domestically. The number of screenings allocated by theaters was relatively low, and with its September release—caught between the summer blockbuster season and the National Day holiday—the overall market was sluggish. As a result, The Female Grandmaster’s box office earnings looked even more dismal.
Over the phone, Mo Qi sounded a little guilty. “I’m sorry, Lu Xu. I wasted your money.”
“You invested in it yourself too, didn’t you?” Lu Xu chuckled. “As long as the film got made, it wasn’t a waste.”
Although Lu Xu’s words reassured her, Mo Qi still couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.
Ever since its early stages of development, The Female Grandmaster had been met with skepticism. Mo Qi had faced countless setbacks and rejections just to bring the film to life. In a way, Lu Xu was the only person who had believed in it—and, ultimately, the film’s sole investor. Naturally, Mo Qi had wanted to live up to his trust.
That same day, after receiving the call, Lu Xu went to the cinema alone to watch The Female Grandmaster.
As expected, the September film market was sluggish. The theaters were dominated by arthouse romance films and horror movies, their posters featuring oversized teardrops on protagonists’ faces or expressions of sheer terror. These genres had a limited audience to begin with, yet even compared to them, The Female Grandmaster had the fewest screenings.
The showing Lu Xu attended was scheduled for 9:10 PM. The theater was eerily empty, with barely a handful of people inside. Even after the movie started, only two or three more viewers trickled in.
But… the film was far better than Lu Xu had expected.
It told the story of a female grandmaster’s lifelong struggle.
Though her name remained unknown, her existence unacknowledged, she had fought against the odds her entire life. As a child, she was disregarded simply for being a girl—her father refused to pass down the family’s martial arts techniques to her. After marriage, she managed household affairs while her husband pursued business. Yet, when her brother passed away and her husband fell ill, she took up the family’s ancestral martial arts and carried its legacy forward.
Against adversaries who looked down on her, she countered a hundred punches with a single strike. When foreign invaders threatened their land, she defended her home and country with both her martial arts and her unwavering sense of justice.
The female grandmaster was fierce and decisive, yet steady and reliable. She commanded trust and respect, and in battle, she fought with unyielding passion. The lead actress’s martial arts skills were outstanding—every punch landed with such power that the audience couldn’t help but be fired up.
When she finally took the mantle of grandmaster and subdued one opponent after another, the theater erupted into applause.
The Female Grandmaster had been written by a female screenwriter, and the emotional depth of the storytelling was especially poignant. Lu Xu had never worked on a script written by a female screenwriter before—all the productions he had acted in had been penned by men. The difference in perspective was undeniable.
From a viewer’s standpoint, Lu Xu could easily list three or four elements that made The Female Grandmaster so compelling.
What a shame. He let out a soft sigh. The film’s screening schedule was simply too limited.
According to Mo Qi, she had tried negotiating with the theater chains, but they refused to increase screenings for The Female Grandmaster. They simply didn’t trust Mo Qi—both a newcomer and a female director.
As Lu Xu scrolled through reviews of The Female Grandmaster on his phone, he found that, just like its screening schedule, the number of reviews was pitifully low. However, the comments from those who had actually seen the film were overwhelmingly positive.
He was so focused on reading that, as he exited the theater, he accidentally bumped into two audience members coming out from the back row. Though he wasn’t particularly bulky, his height alone made the impact noticeable—he almost stepped on someone’s foot. Quickly, he apologized.
What he had forgotten, however, was that he had left the house without much of a disguise that day.
The moment someone exclaimed, “Lu Xu?” he was recognized almost instantly.
By the time Lu Xu returned to the set, a video of him watching The Female Grandmaster had already spread online.
[So many movies came out in September, and this is the one Lu Xu supports the most?]
[Is The Female Grandmaster actually good? I’m curious.]
As a result of Lu Xu’s visit, many of his fans became intrigued by the film. When they searched online, they discovered that although The Female Grandmaster had a low screening count, its ratings were far from low. The few film critics who had seen it had also given it positive reviews.
Meanwhile, the other films released around the same time had received mediocre reception. The romance films felt like scams, and the horror movies were just rehashing old tropes—so predictable that audiences found themselves dozing off in the theater, with no motivation to keep watching.
Those fans who went to see The Female Grandmaster out of curiosity ended up coming to the same conclusion: it was a great film.
As the movie gained more attention, its screening schedule gradually improved.
At this point, marketing accounts began digging into the production journey of The Female Grandmaster—how director Mo Qi secured funding, the actors’ pre-filming fitness and martial arts training, and the challenges they had to overcome during shooting.
Eventually, one marketing account connected The Female Grandmaster to Lu Xu. After thoroughly investigating the investors and gathering information from the film’s production team, they discovered:
[Certainly, The Female Grandmaster was funded by Lu Xu.]
[The source of this investment was likely the profit share Lu Xu received from Deception.]
[As fate would have it, Deception initially struggled to find a lead actor. The script had been in Yue Hui’s hands for a long time before finally landing with the right person—Lu Xu. When filming Deception, Lu Xu didn’t even take an upfront salary; instead, he signed a revenue-sharing contract. And it was precisely this decision that earned him an astonishing amount of money, which he then used to support The Female Grandmaster, another project that had faced similar difficulties.]
[Director Mo Qi had reached out to every industry contact she could at the time. But according to her, she never approached Lu Xu—she didn’t even know him back then. It was Lu Xu who took the initiative, offering to invest in The Female Grandmaster.]
[And because of that, The Female Grandmaster was able to come to life.]
The Female Grandmaster was undeniably a great film. In its story, the female grandmaster faced discrimination and countless obstacles. Outside the film, Mo Qi and screenwriter Lin Hui—both women—faced their own discrimination, not because of their work, but simply because of their gender.
As details of Mo Qi’s struggles and hardships became widely known, audiences sympathized with her. Whether out of empathy or because of the film’s deeply emotional storytelling, the result was the same—The Female Grandmaster’s box office revenue skyrocketed.
Screen time, publicity, and details—combined with audiences resonating deeply with Mo Qi and Lin Hui’s efforts to fulfill each other’s dreams and reclaim recognition for a female figure—allowed The Female Grandmaster to carve out its own path for survival in the otherwise quiet September release window.
The box office revenue leaped from seven figures to eight, and on the day it surpassed 100 million, both the industry and The Female Grandmaster’s production team had a strong premonition—this film was about to explode in popularity.
And all of this had a great deal to do with Lu Xu.
The production budget for The Female Grandmaster was 70 million. This was already a result of Mo Qi cutting costs as much as possible. As a new director, she paid extreme attention to detail, which led to a longer filming cycle and additional time spent on actor training. Though Lu Xu had invested a significant sum, Mo Qi never treated him as an unlimited source of funds.
To her, Lu Xu’s willingness to support the film’s production was already an immense kindness.
After all, making this film was her and Lin Hui’s dream—not Lu Xu’s.
On the day The Female Grandmaster hit a single-day box office of over 100 million, its total revenue officially surpassed 500 million. Given the film’s continued upward trajectory, it was foreseeable that the box office would soon break past the 1-billion or even 1.5-billion mark.
This also meant that Lu Xu, who had covered more than half of the film’s investment, would receive returns proportional to his funding.
[Investment expert Lu Puppy!]
[The wealthiest of all dogs!]
[I thought Lu Puppy had already made enough from Deception to retire, but The Female Grandmaster’s earnings are absolutely insane! I don’t even dare to calculate it!]
With this sudden financial windfall, Feiyang Entertainment quickly assigned two bodyguards to Lu Xu—because, in a way, Lu Xu himself had become a walking money-printing machine.
