Chapter 194: Exposing the Truth
Most celebrities had enormous cash flow, and nearly all of them participated in various investments. In contrast, Lu Xu, who only invested in films and TV dramas, was quite rare.
Liu Rennong, a well-established director, naturally had a strong investment portfolio.
His position as the chairman of the Golden Flame Awards jury—or rather, his ability to maintain good relationships with the organizers of major awards—was closely tied to shared interests.
For example, the chairman of the previous session, one of Liu Rennong’s recommenders, held shares in Liu Rennong Studio. The two had even co-founded a film academy somewhere, claiming to have “supplied the entertainment industry with numerous outstanding talents,” while charging exorbitant fees.
In addition, his close friend, Fang You, was a prominent talent agent in the industry, managing several veteran actors. These individuals had, in one way or another, contributed to Liu Rennong’s influence in the previous Contention Awards and the current Golden Flame Awards.
Moreover, Liu Rennong had invested in numerous films and TV series—projects that all shared a subtle similarity, giving the impression of either a scaled-down version of Sanzu River or an expanded version of Nine Revolutions.
While these projects appeared unprofitable, they had actually brought Liu Rennong substantial returns.
Once people started digging into the details, netizens discovered that films favored by the Golden Flame Awards in recent years were, to some extent, connected to members of the organizing committee.
[Hah, so this is what a prestigious award looks like?!]
[…My admiration for a great director just shattered into pieces. I always thought Liu Rennong was one of the few directors who had both talent and a good temperament. I heard some directors have terrible tempers and yell at people all the time.]
[After reading all this gossip, what I hate the most is that—you can manipulate interests, you can do whatever you want within your sphere of influence, but at least don’t harm others. Can Liu Rennong really stand up and claim that Fearless Life didn’t win Best Actor and Best Director without any personal bias?]
[Why turn the Golden Flame Awards into your personal tool for settling scores?]
[No matter how tarnished the Golden Flame Awards’ reputation becomes, no matter how badly Liu Rennong’s name collapses, the biggest victim will always be the Fearless Life production team. If the awards committee itself doesn’t care about its reputation, why should we as the audience care?]
[+1. The Golden Flame Awards are being mocked everywhere, yet after so many days, they still don’t dare to open the comments section. They brought this upon themselves. Now I’m really curious—given how wrecked Liu Rennong’s reputation is, how does he plan to sell tickets for his new film?]
By now, Liu Rennong’s reputation had completely crumbled. Previously, he had meddled with film screenings, and some of his past actions had already been exposed by netizens. Now, people were being even more ruthless—undoubtedly, there were outsiders stirring the pot.
Having dominated the entertainment industry for so many years, Liu Rennong couldn’t have had only Miao Zhi as an enemy. In the past, no one could find any dirt on him, and even if they did, it was useless. But now, one scandal after another was being dug up.
By the time the Golden Flame Awards launched again the following year, the number of film submissions had dropped to less than half of the previous year’s. At that point, the awards committee finally panicked. They didn’t dare to put Liu Rennong on the jury list again and even took the initiative to sever ties with him—but it was already too late.
Lu Xu had a vague idea that the in-depth article dissecting Liu Rennong’s business dealings had been written with Xu Wen’s involvement. After that article was published, public scrutiny shifted away from Lu Xu and onto Liu Rennong and several other Golden Flame Awards judges.
But Lu Xu had no idea where exactly the material for the report had come from.
His agent only gave him a vague hint, mentioning that Director Miao Zhi had been in contact recently.
Beyond that, Liu Rennong’s interference in film scheduling had allowed certain production teams and investors to make a fortune. However, the film market had only so much space—when some people profited immensely, others inevitably suffered huge losses.
And those people were the enemies Liu Rennong had made for himself.
…
With the trending topics no longer centered around Lu Xu, he could finally focus on filming his new movie in peace.
Despite the countless obstacles caused by the Golden Flame Awards, Lu Xu had won both the Contention Award and the Critics’ Choice Award in the same year, making him the biggest winner of the awards season.
This was exactly why his fans felt indignant on his behalf—people claimed Lu Xu couldn’t accept losing, yet he had already secured two solid trophies.
The only award he missed out on was the Golden Flame Award, which should have rightfully been his.
[My puppy is always number one in my heart!!]
[Fearless Life was absolutely incredible. I hadn’t gone to the theater to watch it before, but because of all this Golden Flame Award drama, I decided to stream it online. All I can say is, after watching Fearless Life, I understand why Bai Qianshan loved this land so much—I just don’t have his strength.]
[+1, +1. Anyway, I won’t be watching any of Liu Rennong’s films from now on. If he’s so good at generating box office sales, he can do it all by himself—why even bother with us, the audience?]
Fans speculated that given how deeply Lu Xu had clashed with the Golden Flame Awards, it would likely be a long time before he had a chance at sweeping all three major awards.
Fortunately, Lu Xu himself didn’t seem to care. While gossip about Liu Rennong was spreading like wildfire online, Lu Xu had completely disappeared from the public eye.
Lu Xu’s new movie had finally secured the visual effects company he wanted, but before long, the Lunar New Year film season was about to begin again.
He was visibly getting busier.
[When I have free time, I’m bored out of my mind. But once I get busy, it’s nonstop,] Lu Xu couldn’t help but complain.
If the filming got delayed any longer, he would struggle to maintain his sculpted physique.
[Being busy is a good thing. Movies aren’t that easy to make these days.] Zheng Xiao sighed.
Both he and Shao Yao had witnessed what Lu Xu went through at the Golden Flame Awards. They could only offer him a few words of private consolation—after all, in the current film industry, neither of them had a seat at the table yet.
That was reality.
Zheng Xiao had always thought he was doing pretty well. While he hadn’t become the top actor in his agency, he was undoubtedly one of its most valued artists. Yet when it came to Lu Xu’s clash with the Golden Flame Awards and Liu Rennong, he realized he had no power to speak up for him. That made him feel like he still had a long way to go.
It wasn’t enough to just be a famous actor—he had to be a famous actor with influence. That became Zheng Xiao’s new goal.
If he had been in Lu Xu’s position at the Golden Flame Awards, he doubted he could have stood his ground as firmly.
Fortunately, Lu Xu never showed any sign of disappointment. Zheng Xiao felt that what truly disheartened Lu Xu wasn’t losing the award itself, but rather the unfair treatment toward the Fearless Life production team.
Zheng Xiao himself had never been nominated for any of the three major awards. In the film industry, he was still just a newcomer breaking in. But even if he did get nominated in the future, he suspected he would instinctively distrust the Golden Flame Awards.
Even if Liu Rennong had only been the jury chairman for one session.
[Honestly, I had already prepared myself for this,] Lu Xu said.
[You just didn’t expect him to be that shameless.] As soon as Lu Xu sent his message, Zheng Xiao immediately followed up.
Lu Xu silently replied with a puppy emoji giving a thumbs-up. [He’s just way, way, way too shameless. Why doesn’t he donate his face to build a subway?]
Only when he was with his close friends did Lu Xu let loose and indulge in his urge to rant. At other times, he had to at least maintain his idol image.
The three of them raged about Liu Rennong in their group chat, venting their frustration with passion. Lu Xu’s negative emotions quickly vanished, and he couldn’t resist bragging to them about how he had sculpted a model-worthy physique for his new film.
[Going offline.]
[You’re clearly still online!]
[Going to sleep!]
[It’s 10 a.m.—what sleep?]
There was no doubt that the phrase “model-worthy physique” had a far greater impact on the other two than anything else. Annoyed by Lu Xu’s teasing, Zheng Xiao could only brush him off. [Yeah, yeah, we saw it. Wasn’t it trending?]
This awards season, aside from the Fearless Life crew’s dispute with the Golden Flame Awards and Lu Xu winning two Best Actor trophies, the most talked-about topic was, without a doubt, Lu Xu’s physique on the red carpet and award stage.
Compared to last year’s Contention Awards, Lu Xu’s red carpet look this time was more restrained—there was an air of ascetic beauty to it, yet it made people want to explore further…
The top comment under his red carpet photos had only three words—[Stop right there!]
A perfect expression of fans’ frustration at wanting to touch, but being unable to.
Zheng Xiao couldn’t resist mocking Lu Xu, saying that if his fans saw him like this, they would finally understand what kind of mutt their so-called dream man truly was.
[A husky?] Shao Yao chimed in.
[Don’t flatter him. He’s more of a Shar Pei.]
Lu Xu: [?]
Human jealousy truly breeds evil.
As they continued chatting, the topic naturally shifted back to the Golden Flame Awards and Liu Rennong—after all, it was the one piece of gossip Lu Xu couldn’t escape lately. However, Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao only brought up Liu Rennong’s new film.
[I heard things aren’t going well. His public image is terrible now, and investors are pulling out. The production team is even thinking about suing them.]
Lu Xu responded, [The production team can’t afford a lawsuit.]
Without money, hundreds—maybe even thousands—of crew members would be left waiting around. Just stalling alone would be enough to bury Liu Rennong.
[But isn’t his film’s genre easy to get investors for?]
After Fearless Life became a massive box office hit, films with similar themes found it much easier to secure funding. Family and Nation had only gotten the green light because it rode on Fearless Life’s success.
From what Lu Xu remembered, Liu Rennong was a shrewd man—someone who would never willingly take on a losing business venture.
[The problem is, he refuses to invest anything himself,] Zheng Xiao revealed, passing along the gossip he’d heard. [A lot of people in the industry know about this. How come you haven’t heard yet?]
[…My manager didn’t tell me.]
Xu Wen had been busy digging up dirt on Liu Rennong for him, so Lu Xu felt a little embarrassed to complain.
The latest scandal surrounding Liu Rennong was that one of his investors ran into financial trouble midway through the production. The investor proposed temporarily covering part of the costs to finish shooting certain scenes, with the promise that the remaining funds would come later. But Liu Rennong refused.
Not only that, but his own director’s fee wasn’t exactly modest.
“If I remember correctly,” Xu Wen filled in the full content of this gossip for Lu Xu, “the actors in Family and Nation were eager to take on the roles, so Liu Rennong convinced them to accept low or even zero pay under the banner of gratitude, loyalty, and love—while he himself pocketed one of the highest director’s fees in the industry.”
Lu Xu: “…And then the lead actor might even have to prop up Bei Hong.”
No top-tier actor had initially wanted to take on Family and Nation. Some had even expressed sympathy for Liu Rennong.
Looking back now, anyone who actually accepted the role was the real fool.
“Why bother?” Lu Xu couldn’t wrap his head around it. “Isn’t he good at making money?”
“Maybe he has some financial deficits?” Xu Wen speculated. “Or… maintaining these social connections costs a fortune? Otherwise, with how often he’s acted as a middleman between theaters and production teams, he should’ve made a killing just from that.”
“Maybe. He’s part of the higher-ups, after all.”
Lu Xu could only sigh. Before learning the details about Liu Rennong, he had never realized the sheer variety of ways people could make money in the entertainment industry.
He had always considered his own income sources to be quite diverse—film salaries and profit shares, endorsements, corporate appearances, and even a small number of symbolic stocks from Feiyang Entertainment (though those didn’t bring in much actual profit).
But Liu Rennong? He had even manipulated stock prices and cashed out.
Back then, the other industry figures involved in the scandal had drawn more attention, so Liu Rennong had gone largely unnoticed.
For Lu Xu, this was truly an eye-opening experience.
That being said, he would have preferred to remain ignorant.
Who knew when Liu Rennong’s decline had truly begun? Perhaps from the moment he stole Director Miao Zhi’s award, he had realized that external factors mattered far more than personal effort.
And after succeeding time and time again, he had grown used to it.
By now, returning to the path of a legitimate director seemed almost impossible for him.
