Chapter 189: Subtle
Whether in his past life or this one, Lu Xu had always belonged to the kind of actors who had the freedom to choose their roles. He had strong confidence in himself and clearly understood what types of characters he could handle.
Some actors, however, had to take roles arranged by their agencies. Such arrangements had both pros and cons, as neither the actor’s nor the agency’s judgment was necessarily correct.
When Lu Xu initially signed with Feiyang Entertainment, what he valued most was the freedom to choose his own roles. Since his signing, Feiyang Entertainment had never interfered with him, and his own judgment had proven to be right.
In short, Lu Xu believed that an actor’s career was long, and there was no need to be confined to a single genre. If he wanted to try something, he would go for it—after all, there was always room for trial and error.
Of course, perhaps this kind of freedom only came after achieving fame. Without recognition, actors had little say in their careers. If a particular film flopped disastrously, it could affect the entirety of an actor’s career.
Take The Swordsman, for example. It had once been a major turning point for Zhang Che. He used to be quite well-known, but now, he had almost disappeared from the scene, completely withdrawing from the competition among leading young actors.
The turnover in the acting industry was too fast. Throughout Lu Xu’s transition from TV dramas to films, his competitors had changed at every stage. On one hand, he had risen too quickly. On the other hand, there was a clear hierarchy among actors. Once Lu Xu reached a certain level, his rivals could no longer be people like Gu Sinian, Chen Ye, or Zhang Che—it was inevitable that there would be a shift.
Lu Xu cherished the freedom he had and was grateful for his current position.
…
After returning from the Black & White production set, C City had already become quite hot. The weather had been inexplicably warm in recent years, and Lu Xu figured that if he were to start shooting a new movie, he would likely have to endure the heat once again.
However, the preparation for the new production was also progressing slowly. According to the director, all the high-level VFX companies available for collaboration had already been contracted by other productions. “VFX-heavy films have been quite popular these past few years, but the industry itself hasn’t expanded. The top talent is still limited to the same few companies,” the director explained.
If the production wanted high-quality effects, they couldn’t just settle for subpar work—they had to wait until a VFX company was willing to take on the project.
For big-budget films, it was common to work with multiple VFX studios rather than relying on just one.
Lu Xu had inquired about one particular studio with a solid reputation. At the moment, it was handling post-production for a sci-fi series he had invested in. To be precise, both he, Zheng Xiao, and Shao Yao had invested in the project.
He had to admit—the progress of that series was incredibly slow, much slower than any of the dramas he had previously been involved in.
He had been so busy over the past two years that if the topic of VFX companies hadn’t come up, he might have completely forgotten that he had invested in that show.
After funding that project, Lu Xu had slightly slowed down his investment pace. However, both he and Xu Wen still received messages on their phones requesting investment opportunities. If a script showed potential, Lu Xu would take a look and occasionally invest a small amount.
The reality of the entertainment industry was that the bigger the director or the star, the less they struggled to secure funding. Investors tended to chase after these established names, while truly underfunded films—such as The Female Grandmaster—were the ones least likely to attract financial backing.
Of course, after The Female Grandmaster became a massive box office success, Lu Xu had simply focused on acting and collecting his salary for subsequent films. Even for big productions like Observing the Stars at Night, he hadn’t considered switching to a profit-sharing model to cut costs.
Perhaps it was because both he and Li Yan were widely recognized for their ability to draw audiences. If a film had strong box office potential, investors would be reluctant to split any part of the profits with the lead actors.
In any case, joining the new production would require more patience.
Fortunately, Lu Xu had plenty of it.
During this period, Lu Xu focused on reading scripts. The director had given him an early heads-up, asking him to get into shape this month. According to the script, the Super Saiyan character would be wearing tight-fitting outfits and would have multiple different looks—Lu Xu could basically think of himself as a male model.
G-brand enthusiastically sponsored the production with a full set of costumes.
Lu Xu couldn’t help but entertain a bit of conspiracy theory, suspecting that the production team had cast him in the lead role partly to save on costume expenses.
When he asked about it, the director neither confirmed nor denied the suspicion. Instead, he chuckled and said, “You took the bait yourself. Can’t blame me for that.”
Lu Xu: “…Alright, fine.”
The waiting period was exceptionally long. The production team arranged for professional trainers to work with him, not only to improve his physique but also to train him in action sequences and gunfight choreography. While Lu Xu had experience with action films, he hadn’t done too many in this lifetime.
But since the production had set expectations, he was determined to meet them with precision and discipline.
In daily life, Lu Xu was laid-back, but when it came to filming, he gave 100% effort. That was his unwavering commitment as an actor.
The wait dragged on for more than half a year.
Securing investment was the first and most crucial step in making a movie, but even after that, countless challenges lay ahead. This only reinforced Lu Xu’s belief that he could never be a director—being an actor was much easier.
Miao Zhi had once asked him if he was interested in directing, hoping to mentor him into the field. It was a kind offer, but Lu Xu rejected it without hesitation. He knew his strengths lay strictly in acting. At most, he could manage as a casting director or an acting coach, but running an entire set? That was best left to the professionals.
…
The new film hadn’t even started shooting yet, but Lu Xu had already achieved a model-worthy physique (his own words).
He hadn’t actually lost weight. According to the director’s aesthetics, a truly good physique wasn’t about being skinny like a stick but about exuding masculinity—lean but not scrawny, muscular but not bulky.
Lu Xu: “Are you casting an actor or picking out premium pork?”
The director was extremely satisfied with Lu Xu’s new physique. Lu Xu himself was quite pleased as well. But above all, the most satisfied party was—G-brand.
Because the annual awards season was about to begin.
Lu Xu had always been a natural clothes hanger, but after his recent training, he had become the ultimate clothes hanger. He was already recognized as the male celebrity who best suited G-brand’s menswear, and now, he fit the brand even more perfectly.
It was no exaggeration to say that in recent years, every awards season had become a peak sales period for G-brand. Their financial reports clearly showed a direct correlation between award season and skyrocketing sales.
And it was all thanks to Lu Xu, the undisputed sales champion.
The suit he wore at the Contention Awards ceremony last year sold out the same night. Even after the brand urgently restocked across all boutiques, it remained impossible to find.
On regular days, G-brand provided Lu Xu with a generous supply of private wardrobe pieces. Many outfits that had seemed underwhelming or uninspiring on the runway were completely transformed when he wore them, leading to massive spikes in sales.
This year, Fearless Life was proving to be an even stronger contender than Reverse City.
Last year, Reverse City had secured nominations for the Contention Awards, Golden Flame Awards, and the Critics’ Choice Awards, and this year, Fearless Life was expected to follow suit.
Compared to Reverse City, Fearless Life was a more traditional film, with a higher likelihood of winning.
At the start of last year’s awards season, Reverse City had yet to establish itself as an overwhelming frontrunner. Its competitive edge truly soared only after Lu Xu won the Contention Award.
But this year, even during the early awards season buzz, Fearless Life was already exuding an extraordinary level of momentum.
Professional film critics, film bloggers, forum commentators, certain screenwriters and directors, as well as respected actors without new works in the running, all unanimously mentioned Fearless Life in their interviews.
[The most unforgettable film? Of course, Fearless Life.]
[With last year’s Reverse City as a point of comparison, the contrast makes Fearless Life even more striking. Lu Xu’s performance was outstanding—I can’t find a single reason why he shouldn’t win an award.]
[Fearless Life. And only Fearless Life.]
On top of that, Fearless Life was the year’s highest-grossing film, making its public recognition far superior to other contenders.
Even within the industry, actors, screenwriters, and directors with nomination voting rights didn’t necessarily watch every film submitted for awards consideration. But since Fearless Life had an exceptionally high box office, many insiders had already seen it.
From this perspective, Fearless Life had a major advantage.
Then, the jury panel members for various awards were announced.
The Contention Awards maintained their traditionally conservative lineup.
The Critics’ Choice Awards continued their reputation for being experimental.
But the biggest surprise was the Golden Flame Awards—this year’s jury president was none other than Liu Rennong.
[???? Have they lost their minds??]
[What the hell is the Golden Flame Awards doing? Did they run out of options? Did they have to pick Liu Rennong? I’m speechless.]
[…Alright, I get it. Lu Xu’s chances of winning a Golden Flame Award just dropped again. Hilarious. If he gets nominated this year, that’ll make it three times.]
[Liu Rennong as jury president???? Is the Golden Flame Awards trying to rehab his reputation? What kind of dirt does Liu Rennong have on the organizing committee? Why are they so desperate to keep him relevant?]
The backlash was so intense that the Golden Flame Awards had to issue an official statement specifically addressing their decision to appoint Liu Rennong.
The official reasoning was that Liu Rennong had deep industry experience, a distinguished track record among his generation of directors, and high-quality works that justified his role as jury president.
His appointment had been decided at the conclusion of the last Golden Flame Awards cycle and reaffirmed at the start of this one after careful deliberation. The committee insisted that it couldn’t be altered just because of unproven rumors.
Regardless of the speculation, Liu Rennong’s directorial achievements alone made him fully qualified for the position.
Netizens: “…Sure, keep telling yourselves that.”
Everyone knew that with Liu Rennong in charge, the first to suffer would inevitably be Lu Xu. Their longstanding animosity was common knowledge.
[Honestly, I think the jury already disliked Lu Xu, which is why they put Liu Rennong in this position.]
[+1. The nomination for Feather of Youth already subjected Lu Xu to a storm of criticism—he never got any real favoritism, just backlash. Then came Reverse City—even the ultra-traditional Contention Awards crowned him Best Actor, while the Golden Flame Awards, supposedly bolder in their choices, ignored him. And now, this year? You just know there’s more drama coming.]
With the jury panels for all three major awards officially announced, Lu Xu already anticipated that sweeping all three was out of the question.
“Let’s just see how it goes. It’s not like I’m done making movies.”
Logically speaking, his chances at the Golden Flame Awards or the Critics’ Choice Awards should have been higher this year—after all, he had already won the Contention Award, and these prestigious ceremonies rarely awarded the same actor again in such a short time.
But now, with the Golden Flame Awards practically off the table, his best shot was at the Critics’ Choice Awards.
That said, the Critics’ Choice Awards had a history of favoring unconventional picks. If a film was both a commercial success and critically acclaimed, the committee might deliberately overlook it just to appear unpredictable.
Suddenly, Fearless Life’s once-dominant position had become rather uncertain.
