Chapter 176: Aftermath
After this incident, Liu Rennong, who had always maintained a “flawless” image in the industry, suddenly showed cracks.
These photos were almost undeniable proof.
Although there was no direct evidence proving that Liu Rennong had played a role in the collusion between theaters and production crews, just having him involved in one How Much Do You Know film was enough. How was it that every high-screening movie had him in it?
[…As someone who had recommended Fearless Life to many friends, I truly believe that if screenings followed normal market rules, Fearless Life’s box office earnings should have been much higher than they were.]
[If it weren’t for Fearless Life making people resent the high screening rates of Uncertain Return, how much longer would the audience have been kept in the dark?]
[I wasn’t surprised at all. If Liu Rennong was truly as humble and cautious as he appeared, why would he sign Qi Di, a rookie who was arrogant to the extreme? And Bei Hong—does anyone really think it was a good idea for a newcomer’s first film to be Sanzu River, such a ‘big production’?]
[…In my opinion—just my personal view, okay?—Director Miao Zhi’s skills were honestly no worse than Liu Rennong’s. His early works had a unique spark, and although his recent films had dulled a bit, I could still see that he was infusing his own thoughts into them. He just wasn’t as strong in marketing, that’s all.]
When it came to directors, the audience’s understanding was naturally not as deep as with actors. Since everyone believed Liu Rennong was “widely respected,” his reputation naturally spread.
[I suddenly understand why Liu Rennong is so popular in the cinema. He is a great benefactor to the cinema.]
In fact, even before Shen Wenjie was exposed, some of Qi Di and Bei Hong’s actions had already displeased many viewers. However, since both of them were signed artists under Liu Rennong Studio, the audience, despite their dissatisfaction, kept their thoughts to themselves and did not express them.
After all, Liu Rennong was widely recognized as easygoing and friendly—everyone said so. As a result, those who disliked him ended up looking like outliers.
[Now that I think about it, how many top directors are actually easy to deal with?]
Although netizens did not sympathize with Shen Wenjie—Uncertain Return had already taken enough advantage, and if anyone deserved sympathy, it should be the other films in the Spring Festival slot—Liu Rennong’s act of burning bridges after crossing them was even more infuriating.
Did other film crews owe Liu Rennong something by default?
Netizens also dug up an old incident regarding Liu Rennong’s competition for an award against Miao Zhi.
Compared to past rumors like “Miao Zhi was the loser” or “Miao Zhi and Liu Rennong were sworn rivals,” this time, netizens uncovered more details. For instance, an entertainment newspaper from years ago featured several industry insiders expressing their anger over Liu Rennong winning the award.
Back then, the internet was almost nonexistent, so there was no large-scale PR campaign to whitewash the situation as there is today. At least from the feedback of several directors and film critics at the time, the award’s outcome was indeed controversial.
Moreover, while Liu Rennong’s film career had been smooth sailing since then, his movies had still received some harsh critiques. It wasn’t as if they were all high-quality productions, as netizens had assumed.
In fact—he himself was actually a major player in media manipulation.
[…I just realized how frequently he trends online, even more than some B-list celebrities.]
[The era of traffic-driven films was also started by him, don’t forget. I was going through past news recently and realized that while his films often competed for international awards, the attention they received was always focused on elements outside of the films themselves—things like tripping on the red carpet or getting hugged by a naked man. The buzz was always there, but as for the awards…]
The more people dug, the more shocking their discoveries became. Looking closely at Liu Rennong’s past rumors—especially when viewed alongside the various incidents that occurred during his film releases—it became clear that Liu Rennong was an absolute treasure boy of the film industry.
He was just good at hiding it.
High screening rates? The production team benefited from those. Tripping on the red carpet? That was the actors’ doing. Throwing a diva tantrum? That was Qi Di. Taking on Sanzu River and earning an absurdly high paycheck? That was Bei Hong. Liu Rennong himself seemed untouched by it all.
[Liu Rennong looked so disappointed when he mentioned Qi Di that I actually felt bad criticizing him. I mean, he really put in the effort to promote Qi Di, after all. Qi Di was the one who made mistakes—what does that have to do with him?]
[Hilarious. Do people really think Qi Di alone could have snatched resources from so many others?]
Public opinion started shifting against Liu Rennong. So far, he hadn’t responded, but Zhang Zhizhen stepped in to speak up for him:
[Just having a meal together means he’s manipulating screening rates? Can’t it just be that his films are genuinely good? Instead of all this speculation, maybe some people should reflect on themselves. You can’t just be jealous of truly outstanding individuals just because you’re not good enough yourself.]
Zhang Zhizhen would have been better off staying silent—his words were like poking a hornet’s nest. Netizens erupted.
…They were protesting unfair screening distribution, so how did that suddenly turn into them being jealous of “outstanding” people?
Zhang Zhizhen got heavily criticized, his comment section flooded with backlash. Of course, Liu Rennong didn’t escape unscathed either.
Some netizens even began to suspect that Zhang Zhizhen, unable to secure funding for his own films, had simply found a new career path as an “internet punching bag”—at least this way, he wouldn’t have to worry about making a living and could still profit off the traffic.
“It’s intentional—he’s stirring up hate for Liu Rennong.” Xu Wen concluded.
Liu Rennong was known for his “good relationships,” so to outsiders, it seemed like he got along well with his peers. Even though Zhang Zhizhen wasn’t exactly known for having a great temper, Liu Rennong still managed to maintain a harmonious relationship with him. Before Zhang Zhizhen’s career hit rock bottom due to The Swordsman, the two had worked on several projects together and even served as judges for a few awards.
When it came to award selections, even though Liu Rennong ranked ahead, he still made a point to fully respect Zhang Zhizhen’s opinions as a senior director.
The two weren’t far apart in age—Zhang Zhizhen had only started directing a few years earlier—but Liu Rennong’s deference made Zhang Zhizhen feel especially valued, to the point where he had publicly praised Liu Rennong several times.
“Zhang Zhizhen only had one flop, The Swordsman, yet he ended up in a situation where he can’t even get a movie project now. Even though he still holds a few consultant titles, his influence has clearly waned, and within the industry, he’s gradually losing his voice.”
“The Swordsman was released even later than How Much Do You Know,” Xu Wen said softly. “Yet, both stopped making films—one is still thriving, while the other is condemned by everyone. How could Zhang Zhizhen possibly accept that?”
“The Swordsman was a self-inflicted failure, but Liu Rennong snatched screening slots from other films—isn’t that even worse than The Swordsman flopping? Of course, Zhang Zhizhen would feel resentful.”
At the core of it, neither Zhang Zhizhen nor Liu Rennong was the forgiving type, so it was only natural for Zhang Zhizhen to be fueling the fire against Liu Rennong.
Zhang Zhizhen started engaging with netizens in the comment section, frantically “defending” Liu Rennong. But the more he “defended” him, the harsher the criticism against Liu Rennong became. Old scandals were dug up and rehashed repeatedly by netizens, turning the comments into a full-blown exposé.
However, Xu Wen speculated that the revelations from Shen Wenjie would have only a limited impact on Liu Rennong. How Much Do You Know and Silent K*lling had already been in theaters for too long—even if it was proven that their high screening rates were manipulated, there was no way the production teams would cough up the profits they had already secured.
Besides, Shen Wenjie had no concrete evidence.
All he really accomplished was tarnishing Liu Rennong’s reputation a bit and ensuring that future films attempting to follow the How Much Do You Know model would suffer devastating losses.
If a movie continued to dominate screenings despite its quality not matching its placement, audiences would eventually take action, shutting out films associated with Liu Rennong.
Liu Rennong’s status in the industry came from two things: his prestigious “renowned director” label and his well-known close ties with theater chains.
His directorial prestige had already been somewhat shaken by the audience’s growing suspicions about How Much Do You Know, and as for his relationship with the theater chains… he could remain close to them, but insiders would no longer trust him so easily.
Even though Shen Wenjie hadn’t revealed much, he had subtly implied that Liu Rennong was shifting blame.
The entertainment industry was full of shrewd people—especially when money was involved, where everyone was sharper than ever. Moving forward, directors might just prefer to focus on making decent films and earning their box office numbers honestly rather than pulling off stunts like Uncertain Return.
—
Shen Wenjie had leaked the scoop, Zhang Zhizhen had “defended” Liu Rennong, but when netizens summed up the situation, they somehow dragged Lu Xu into it as well, declaring this as yet another victory for their so-called “messenger of justice.”
In the past, Lu Xu would at least protest and explain that he had nothing to do with it. But now? He had completely given up—netizens could say whatever they wanted. As long as they were happy, he didn’t care anymore.
Seriously, all he had done throughout this whole mess was participate in the roadshow for Fearless Life.
In fact… thanks to his “messenger of justice” status, Fearless Life saw another surge in box office revenue after a brief plateau. As netizens put it, they wanted to “channel energy” to Lu Xu so he could better restrain Liu Rennong.
Fearless Life continued its upward trajectory, surpassing 3 billion, then 3.5 billion. This figure exceeded all industry predictions for the film’s final earnings. However, it ultimately fell short of the 4-billion milestone, with its final box office total stopping at 3.877 billion.
Even so, Fearless Life still became the highest-grossing film of the Spring Festival season.
Amid the controversies surrounding Uncertain Return, reporters sought out Miao Zhi and Lu Xu for their thoughts on Liu Rennong’s alleged “box office fraud.”
Miao Zhi’s response was straightforward: “I don’t know him well. Don’t ask me.”
Lu Xu, on the other hand, said: “If this is true, then every other film in the Spring Festival lineup deserves an apology. Unfortunately, I have yet to hear one.”
On camera, Lu Xu neither displayed smug satisfaction as the “victor” nor took the opportunity to kick Liu Rennong while he was down. He simply stated the reality of the situation—this was just a public feud between Shen Wenjie and Liu Rennong.
And yet, neither Shen Wenjie—who was first the perpetrator and later somehow became a victim—nor Liu Rennong, who had secured high screening slots for Shen Wenjie’s film, had offered an apology to the other movies in the lineup.
Fearless Life, despite being the box office champion, was still a victim.
And so were the other films.
[Yeah.]
[I just realized—whether it’s Shen Wenjie getting screwed over or Liu Rennong’s reputation collapsing, they both brought it upon themselves. The real victims were actually the other films that had to compete against Uncertain Return during the same release window.]
[Feels like Puppy suddenly grew up. After winning the Contention Award for Best Actor, he’s become more and more dignified.]
[Just to clarify—Lu Xu has always been dignified. It’s just that his opponents never were, so he had to respond in ways that might not have looked dignified.]
During this Spring Festival season, Fearless Life was undoubtedly the most influential film, and Lu Xu was unquestionably the most influential actor.
Because he was willing to speak up, the other films in the lineup immediately united.
All the films except Uncertain Return simultaneously posted on social media, calling for a fair and just competitive environment.
In subsequent interviews, many filmmakers from these movies mentioned Fearless Life and Lu Xu, expressing their gratitude for having Fearless Life in this release period. They were thankful that Lu Xu, as the lead actor, dared to stand up to certain industry figures—even to the theater chains themselves.
Fearless Life had already secured 3.8 billion at the box office. For Lu Xu, staying silent would have had no negative impact—only benefits. And yet, he still chose to speak up.
[Whether in the TV industry or the film industry, Lu Xu is still the same Lu Xu.]
[Every day as a Lu Xu fan is another day of liking him even more.]
The more Lu Xu spoke out, the more despicable Liu Rennong and his associates appeared by contrast.
Even though Liu Rennong never admitted to any wrongdoing, he could no longer enjoy the trust he once had.
