Famous! Ch.165

Chapter 165: After the Ceremony

Bei Hong felt worse than anyone else when he witnessed Lu Xu winning the Contention Award.

He had assumed that with Liu Rennong in the presidium, Lu Xu would be far from the trophy. Besides, the Contention Awards was not one to embrace breakthroughs—its judges tended to be conservative in their choices.

And yet, this year’s Contention Awards made an exception for Lu Xu.

Had he not attended the ceremony, he wouldn’t have felt this upset. But he had come.

Watching Lu Xu shine on stage while he himself remained as distant from a nomination as if separated by an entire galaxy, Bei Hong was filled with resentment.

He had even bought trending topics for this year’s Contention Awards, emphasizing his qualification to walk the red carpet. But in the end, all of the entertainment industry’s attention was focused solely on Lu Xu. His name did trend, but it was utterly meaningless—no one cared.

The only consolation was that after the award ceremony, no one compared him to Lu Xu anymore. In fact, no one even mentioned Sanzu River, the film that had been pulled midway through release.

Unfortunately, that was only because he was deemed “unworthy” of being compared to Lu Xu.

Did this award really have to go to Lu Xu?

Bei Hong just couldn’t understand it. Five nominees, a 20% chance of winning—how did the award end up in Lu Xu’s hands?

He came across a press release from his senior’s management company, which was filled with veiled jabs at Lu Xu, claiming that awarding him the Contention Award had hurt the hearts of mid-career actors. But after the results were announced, both his senior and the management company became the laughingstock of the industry.

[Logically speaking, the one who suffered the most from this year’s Contention Award should have been Song Shizhen. Why aren’t they going after Song Shizhen? Why are they fixated on attacking Lu Xu alone?]

The reason was simple—Lu Xu was young and seemed easy to defeat. Targeting him also allowed them to put on the airs of a senior figure. Song Shizhen, on the other hand, had been in the industry far longer and was highly respected. Forget his senior—even some members of the presidium wouldn’t dare act superior in front of Song Shizhen.

The only thing Bei Hong was grateful for now was that no one cared about the trending topic he had bought for walking the red carpet at the Contention Awards. If people had paid attention to it, he would have become a laughingstock yet again.

Compared to Bei Hong, Zhao Yifan’s situation was even more awkward.

He had also acted in Reverse City and was even billed as the lead actor. Yet, he didn’t receive a nomination, while Lu Xu did. If Lu Xu hadn’t won the award, the conflict between them during the filming of Reverse City would have faded over time.

After all, a nomination had far less impact than an actual win. The audience would remember the award winner but not the nominees.

In other words, even if he were ridiculed, Zhao Yifan believed it would only be temporary.

To be honest, ever since he took on Reverse City and his private chat logs with Qi Di were leaked, he had been mocked constantly. But once he accepted that reality, he realized his popularity had skyrocketed—far beyond what it was when he had been diligently acting in quality productions. Although the projects he took on afterward were mediocre, the high-quality dramas he had previously worked on hadn’t brought him any tangible benefits either.

Besides, Reverse City had grossed nearly 2 billion at the box office.

But now, things were different.

Lu Xu had won the award.

Zhao Yifan was willing to embrace controversy, but at his core, he was extremely proud. He refused to let others believe he was far inferior to Lu Xu.

The moment the Contention Awards nominations were announced, public opinion had already decided he wasn’t as good as Lu Xu. Not being nominated had definitely dampened his spirits. Even if… even if his performance in Reverse City wasn’t as good as Lu Xu’s, he hadn’t wanted that fact to become universally acknowledged.

But now, it undeniably was.

Lu Xu had won Best Actor.

No matter how much Zhao Yifan emphasized on Weibo and at various events that he was the true lead of Reverse City, who would believe it now?

From the director down to the crew, the entire production team sided with Lu Xu. Now that Lu Xu had won the award, even fewer people would care that Zhao Yifan had also acted in Reverse City.

Zhao Yifan couldn’t help but wonder—if Director Mu Lang hadn’t been so biased toward Lu Xu, if he hadn’t given Lu Xu’s character more standout moments, would he have been nominated for the Contention Award? Maybe even won it?

In the past, Zhao Yifan had never set his sights on the Contention Award. It had always felt too far out of reach—something only veteran, masterful actors could compete for.

But Lu Xu had won it.

Lu Xu, who had once been right next to him. They had been in the same production, had even shared many scenes as rivals.

And in a way, it was his own diminished screen time that had paved the way for Lu Xu’s spotlight.

That made Zhao Yifan feel like the Contention Award wasn’t so unattainable after all.

Had he never been close to it, he wouldn’t have minded. But the fact that he had been close made his heart burn with resentment.

He had conveniently forgotten that it was his own inability to hold up his scenes that had caused issues for the Reverse City team—issues that led Director Mu Lang to cut his screen time.

The truth was, even if Mu Lang had given him several times more scenes than Lu Xu, it wouldn’t have mattered. If he couldn’t deliver, it was useless to the film as a whole.

But Zhao Yifan refused to see it that way.

Now, Lu Xu was the new Contention Award Best Actor, while Zhao Yifan’s Weibo comments were flooded with mockery. The more he was ridiculed, the more he hated Lu Xu—convinced that Lu Xu had stolen his opportunity.

To be precise, Zhao Yifan hated not only Lu Xu but also Director Mu Lang for favoring him and screenwriter Luo Kun for rewriting the script to accommodate him.

If they had stuck to the original script, then even if Zhao Yifan still wouldn’t have been nominated for the Contention Award or won Best Actor, at least Lu Xu wouldn’t have gotten it either.

Aside from Bei Hong, there were others—Zhang Zhizhen, Zhang Che, and Qi Di… The last two had essentially stopped speaking on Weibo. Zhang Che had lost a significant number of fans, and no matter how much he acted emo, no one cared anymore. Zhang Zhizhen, on the other hand, wanted to take a jab at Lu Xu, claiming he didn’t deserve the award.

Unfortunately for him, he was considered an insider in the film industry. He had even served as a Contention Award judge before.

He had long struggled to secure funding for a new film, and the only reason he still had any voice in the industry was his past credentials and connections—mainly the fact that he could offer input on certain awards and occasionally be invited to judge.

The Contention Award was decided by a committee led by Sang Yuan, and Zhang Zhizhen couldn’t afford to offend him. Sang Yuan’s credentials far outmatched his own, and if he ran his mouth too much, he’d lose even the slim chance of serving as a judge again.

Zhang Zhizhen chose to stay silent, and naturally, the others had even less qualification to speak out.

Still, while he didn’t openly criticize the results, he couldn’t help but complain in private. He even tried to persuade Hang Xiaguang to protest, only for Hang Xiaguang to dismiss him with a laugh.

Though Hang Xiaguang couldn’t openly oppose Zhang Zhizhen, a director who was close to Hang Xiaguang berated Zhang Zhizhen, accusing him of having ulterior motives.

Zhang Zhizhen might never get the chance to direct another film in his lifetime, but Hang Xiaguang still had a future in the industry. And with Lu Xu now firmly established as the top rising star in both box office and awards, there was no telling if the two would collaborate down the line.

Hang Xiaguang had already won Best Actor before. Losing to Lu Xu this time might not have been easy to accept, but he certainly wouldn’t go so far as to turn against him over it.

Lu Xu could bring in ticket sales. That was something the entire industry acknowledged.

Although Hang Xiaguang was a Best Actor winner, his box office appeal wasn’t particularly strong. In fact, all four of the nominated actors this year faced similar challenges to some extent.

If they collaborated with Lu Xu, they could at least share in his box office success.

Hang Xiaguang wasn’t the only one thinking this way—the other three nominees were also eager to work with Lu Xu.

A 1-billion-yuan box office might not sound like much, but for many actors, it was an achievement they could only dream of.

Even Hang Xiaguang couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that Reverse City was actually the least profitable film Lu Xu had starred in.

With a production cost of over 300 million, the movie’s profits had barely surpassed the 1-billion mark. But now that Lu Xu had won the Contention Award for Best Actor, its online streaming numbers across various platforms had skyrocketed. Moreover, Mu Lang’s films typically had a long-tail revenue model—international festival circuits, home media releases, overseas distribution… The ways to make money extended far beyond the typical theatrical run.

“An actor who can turn a film with just a few dozen million in budget into a 1-billion-plus box office hit—who wouldn’t want to work with him?”

—Rumor had it that one of this year’s Best Actor nominees had made this bold statement in public.

…

Lu Xu was incredibly busy at the Contention Awards.

Before and during the ceremony, things were manageable—most celebrities maintained a sense of decorum, and since Lu Xu wasn’t particularly close with many of them, their interactions were mostly limited to polite nods.

But the moment he won, he became the center of attention.

Especially at the post-ceremony banquet.

Lu Xu had originally planned to skip the event, but there was no escaping it. After all, the organizers had just handed him the award—if he didn’t even show up to the banquet, it would be seen as a blatant snub.

And so, that evening, Lu Xu ended up adding the other Best Actor nominees on WeChat, along with the nominees and winners for Best Supporting Actor, Best Supporting Actress, and Best Actress.

Mu Lang and Luo Kun also introduced him to several influential figures in the industry.

There were even talent agency executives openly trying to poach him.

In the past, these agencies might have attempted to block Lu Xu in favor of their own artists, but after tonight, that was no longer necessary—unless their actors could secure a major Best Actor award or lead a film that grossed over 2 billion yuan.

That was a pretty high bar.

Most agencies could easily offer Lu Xu the same contract terms as Feiyang Entertainment, but switching agencies had never crossed his mind.

The main reason was his smooth working relationship with Xu Wen. Xu Wen always picked scripts that aligned with his preferences, and—perhaps most importantly—when they complained about something, they always ended up complaining about the same things.

Lu Xu was used to his freedom.

Even though these agencies were now willing to grant him full autonomy, back when he was just starting out in Son of Heaven and was still relatively unknown, Feiyang Entertainment had been willing to sign a contract that gave him that same level of independence. That alone showed their sincerity.

At this point in his career, Lu Xu had reached the stage where his name alone could secure him roles.

In the industry, unless a director had a strong personal attachment to traditional casting practices, most would directly offer him roles they believed suited him, simply asking whether he was interested.

Lu Xu had made a name for himself by starring in films like Deception and Feather of Youth, which were initially overlooked. Now that he had won the Contention Award, directors were even more eager to work with him.

That night, he found himself listening to several directors enthusiastically discussing their ideas for their next films.

At first, he thought they were pitching him as the lead actor.

It wasn’t until a little later that he realized—they were actually hoping he would invest in their new projects.

Lu Xu: “…”

He accepted their business cards. As for the scripts, he would read them carefully.

However, Lu Xu never considered himself an investment expert. His decision to invest in The Female Grandmaster was purely because he thought the script was well-written—but a good script alone couldn’t guarantee box office success.

It was all luck.

When he mentioned luck, the person across from him became even more excited. “Exactly! In the end, what really matters is luck!”

“The problem is, I don’t have that kind of luck, neither does he—but you do.”

The sincerity in their voice was so overwhelming that Lu Xu couldn’t help but suspect they genuinely believed it.

Well, luck was pretty important.

The profits from The Female Grandmaster were still sitting in his bank account, and he had been thinking about how to spend the money. He asked around among the directors he was familiar with, only to find that they were all doing quite well.

Not just directors like Liu Chunfeng, whom he had worked with multiple times—even the directors of The Path of Bones and Voice of the Dead had successful projects in hand and no shortage of investors.

Lu Xu thought that was great. The directors he had worked with were thriving in their careers.

If every director who collaborated with him ended up struggling afterward, he might have started wondering if he was some kind of bad luck charm.

In the end, it was Zheng Xiao who introduced Lu Xu to a new script.

The ones pitched to him during the Contention Award celebration event had all been… difficult to describe. Their directors had strong arthouse tendencies, focusing more on artistic expression than on storytelling.

Simply put, even though Lu Xu had made his money easily, he couldn’t just throw it away.

The script Zheng Xiao recommended was for a sci-fi drama.

Sci-fi films already had a hard time in the industry, and for sci-fi dramas, it was even tougher.

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