Chapter 188: Review
The directors and actors who had previously collaborated with Lu Xu were usually quite reliable. As a result, the friends or former collaborators they recommended often provided Lu Xu with excellent scripts.
“This is a tough choice,” Lu Xu sighed.
His scenes in the Black & White production had already wrapped up. On the day he returned to C City, the temperature at the filming location was gradually warming up, no longer as cold as it had been when he first arrived.
For the crew’s farewell dinner, Ren Ningyi, as usual, took him to a great restaurant. According to Ren Ningyi, while acting well was important for an actor, life shouldn’t revolve solely around acting—one had to find other pleasures too.
Lu Xu remarked, “…I can introduce a friend to you.”
Ren Ningyi happily took Shao Yao’s contact information.
During the days Lu Xu was filming Black & White, Shao Yao’s new project had also been finalized—he was set to collaborate with director Miao Zhi on Miao Zhi’s new film, A Strange City.
Back when Shao Yao had visited the set, Director Miao Zhi had taken a liking to his personality and had been keen on working with him. Miao Zhi’s new film told the story of a young man growing up in a big city, and both the protagonist’s character and appearance closely aligned with Shao Yao.
After Fearless Life, Miao Zhi had become one of the most sought-after directors in the film industry.
This wasn’t just because Fearless Life had topped the annual box office, but also because Liu Rennong’s reputation had collapsed. Despite Liu Rennong’s repeated attempts to defend himself, many audience members still believed the rumors about his alleged manipulation of film screenings.
Otherwise, why was it that, among so many directors in the industry, only Liu Rennong got caught up in this controversy?
Moreover, apart from the issue of manipulated screenings, netizens had also uncovered traces of Liu Rennong’s involvement in the previous unfair awarding of certain film prizes.
Since Liu Rennong had become a negative figure, Miao Zhi—who had been unfairly deprived of awards by him yet continued to diligently produce quality work—naturally stood in stark contrast to him.
Fearless Life was already an excellent film, and with Miao Zhi’s rising reputation, his popularity skyrocketed several times over. Many actors in the industry eagerly looked forward to working with him.
However, in private, Miao Zhi had confided in Lu Xu that he didn’t want to be this famous.
“I’ve always just focused on making films honestly, and now I’m suddenly getting all this attention. It feels too overwhelming,” Miao Zhi said helplessly. “Luckily, the audience’s focus shifts easily. Once a new hot topic emerges, they’ll probably move on to something else.”
Even while A Strange City was still in the preparation stage, many actors had already set their sights on it.
According to gossip blogs and sources close to Miao Zhi, there were rumors that A Strange City might be another collaboration between Lu Xu and Miao Zhi.
If that were the case, many interested actors gave up on the idea. They knew very well that they wouldn’t be able to compete with Lu Xu.
After all, Lu Xu and Miao Zhi already had the precedent of Fearless Life.
However, not long after, the lead actor of A Strange City was officially announced—it was actually Shao Yao.
Actors who had failed to land the role couldn’t help but feel a bit sour, and in private, some muttered, “Tch, being close to Lu Xu really makes a difference. Even the dogs and chickens rise to the heavens.”
Shao Yao had been steadily rising in recent years, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say his career had doubled in success. Both he and Zheng Xiao were in the process of transitioning from television actors to film actors—among their peers, the two were certainly strong competitors.
Having another “Lu Xu 2.0” or even a “Lu Xu 3.0” emerging in the film industry was definitely not good news for others. Unfortunately, they couldn’t stop Lu Xu, nor could they necessarily block Shao Yao or Zheng Xiao—especially since the former was starring in Miao Zhi’s new film, with a high chance of skyrocketing to success.
Shao Yao had also seen the mockery online. If this had happened before he worked with Lu Xu on Voice of the Dead, he might have been upset or anxious. But now, he simply accepted it calmly. Through his performances in Voice of the Dead and Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry, he had come to a clear realization—only the work itself mattered.
No amount of explaining or panicking would help. Only his performances could shut those people up.
And he wanted to shut them up.
Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao, of course, fully supported him. For Shao Yao, he had always had his friends backing him, and his agency didn’t impose too many restrictions on him, offering him wholehearted support.
The positive emotions his acting career brought him had long since outweighed the negative ones. He was no longer who he used to be.
After finishing their conversation about Shao Yao, the three inevitably started talking about Lu Xu’s next film.
[Have you decided on a script yet?]
Lu Xu sent a speechless emoji. [Didn’t I just finish filming Black & White? Why are you guys even more eager than my agent?]
[It’s because you have too few projects lined up,] Zheng Xiao replied. [I have two dramas and a film waiting to be released, and Peony’s about the same. But you… when is Observing the Stars at Night coming out?]
[If nothing unexpected happens, by the end of this year.]
[The Spring Festival slot?]
[Yeah.]
[The Spring Festival releases… that’s going to be intense. But at least next year’s holiday season shouldn’t have any of those screening manipulation issues. Observing the Stars at Night should do well at the box office.]
[5 billion!]
[You’re underestimating it—6 billion, at least.]
Lu Xu: […The way you two are talking sounds exactly like my anti-fans.]
[Your highest-grossing film so far is Fearless Life, which nearly hit 4 billion. Li Yan’s highest is over 4 billion. Based on that, a film starring both of you should gross at least 8 billion—I’m even being conservative here.]
Lu Xu: […I need to have a word with your math teacher.]
Was that how box office revenue was calculated? Absolutely ridiculous.
Li Yan informed Lu Xu that Observing the Stars at Night was basically locked in for a Spring Festival release. Though it was still early, the production team had already begun planning the film’s promotional strategy.
After all, the film’s production cost was massive. To maximize box office returns, heavy investment in marketing was a must.
Both Lu Xu and Li Yan felt immense pressure.
Big-budget films might seem like guaranteed box office hits, but in reality, the pressure to break even was immense. Since they were the lead actors, investors had put their money in largely because of their names.
Of course, their previous box office track records gave them some leeway—even if this film underperformed, it wouldn’t be a career-ending disaster. However, while Observing the Stars at Night could afford not to be a massive success, it absolutely couldn’t flop as hard as Sanzu River.
Lu Xu, however, felt less pressure than Li Yan. The latter occasionally overthought things, while Lu Xu had a simpler approach—he trusted what he had seen during filming.
A film that had been crafted with such dedication from the entire creative team could not perform poorly at the box office.
Much of the stress surrounding the production stemmed from Sanzu River, but really, why should that film’s failure concern them?
Sanzu River flopped simply because it was destined to flop. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less.
…
After returning to C City, Lu Xu spent most of his time selecting new scripts. Seizing the opportunity, Xu Wen kicked him off to shoot a magazine cover for a top publication’s 50th-anniversary edition. The issue was a grand event featuring only top-tier celebrities—those who had been popular for years and still maintained a steady output of high-quality work.
Among them, Lu Xu was considered a junior, but in terms of actual achievements over the past few years, he was undoubtedly one of the most successful stars in both television and film.
Lu Xu’s shoot was part of a male celebrity special, while the magazine also ran a female celebrity feature. In a way, the entire issue turned into a battleground for luxury brands—each trying every trick in the book to get their chosen celebrities to wear their designs on the cover, vying for exposure and proving their brand’s prestige.
Once the issue hit shelves, it immediately sold out. Lu Xu even found copies being resold on second-hand websites—at a much higher price than he had expected.
Of course, even in resale, the sellers made sure to prominently tag “Lu Xu” in their listings, even emphasizing which number fashion cover this was in his acting career.
Lu Xu: “?”
He was already puzzled, but when he saw the top comment on one platform asking, “I can’t even imagine how much Lu Xu’s X photos would sell for,” he became even more bewildered.
To his surprise, the comment section eagerly launched into a discussion.
[What exactly do you mean by ‘X photos’?]
[Actually… there’s a precedent. Does anyone remember Lu Xu’s first endorsement? It was for a sub-brand of Z-brand shampoo.]
[I remember! I must’ve watched that shampoo commercial a million times.]
[At the time, Z-brand included Lu Xu’s photos as a promotional bonus. I recall they were randomly distributed, so different customers received different pictures. Back then, some rich lady bought a ton of sets just to collect them all.]
[I remember that a single photo from that set used to sell for anywhere between 100 to 300 on second-hand websites. Now, no one’s listing them anymore. A few years ago, a rich lady sold a full set, and the price was unimaginably high.]
[In that photoshoot, Lu Xu actually showed a little skin, but not much.]
[Just enough to be tantalizing—subtle, hazy… Honestly, it’s more appealing than outright nudity. Plus, Lu Xu doesn’t have that sleazy vibe, you know? It doesn’t feel cheap at all.]
[Totally get it!! I just watched some MV recently, and I swear I’ve seen more bare asses than I ever wanted in a lifetime.]
Lu Xu: “…”
He had filmed quite a few commercials over the years. Though he hadn’t shot too many magazine covers, he had done a fair number—just not as his main focus, since he prioritized acting. His forays into fashion were more like side gigs in between filming projects.
He had assumed that fans would be more interested in his high-end endorsements, but after all this time, the thing people still fixated on the most was that very first shampoo commercial for Z-brand.
Lu Xu had collaborated with other shampoo brands since then, and one of them had even suggested replicating the Z-brand commercial. But he had turned it down, citing his reluctance to repeat himself.
He could still clearly remember the regretful look on the brand executive’s face.
Not that he had any regrets about it himself.
…
After Black & White, Lu Xu’s next script was another commercial film.
This time, it was a sci-fi movie—more specifically, a blend of science fiction and drama. His character was essentially a Super Saiyan—a weaponized, invincible existence created and controlled by a secret organization.
The film did not deviate from the usual style of this genre—in the end, his Super Saiyan-like character, who was also an ace assassin, was destined to betray the organization.
Lu Xu accepted this film because it featured thrilling action, with plenty of shootouts and explosions.
The moment he finalized the script, news about it had already surfaced on marketing accounts. Lu Xu couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly gossip spread whenever he was involved.
Most marketing accounts simply noted that his new project was another commercial film. However, a few accounts that regularly criticized him had already linked his name to words like “fallen” and “arrogant.”
According to these accounts, Lu Xu had supposedly abandoned well-crafted productions in favor of flashy, superficial blockbusters—all for money.
[A Contention Award-winning Best Actor, choosing to star in a film with no artistic depth—truly heartbreaking.]
Lu Xu: “If it hurts so much, why not go to the hospital?”
He had never categorized films into rigid hierarchies, yet according to these people, not only was the TV industry a tier lower than the film industry, but even within the film industry, there was a hierarchy of its own.
Art films that didn’t make money looked down on commercial blockbusters, and even among art films, some mocked others for lacking true depth.
Lu Xu: “I’m just picking a film to shoot—does it really warrant this much discussion?”
It wasn’t like he saw himself as some lofty, artistic figure. Was there something wrong with choosing a more mainstream film?
Lu Xu realized that no matter what he starred in, there would always be a wave of criticism.
As far as he was concerned, the film he had chosen was anything but superficial. It had intense gunfights, advanced sci-fi elements, and high-tech special effects—completely different from the style of Observing the Stars at Night.
Films of this kind were actually quite rare in the domestic market. Some did exist, but most ended up as web films, which usually had weaker plots and lower-budget effects.
But precisely because there were so few theatrical films in this genre, Lu Xu was willing to take it on.
He had always been fairly casual when choosing projects, and after becoming famous, he became even more so—his choices were purely based on what he felt like doing.
