Chapter 202: A New Invitation
After the May Day holiday period began, the momentum of Observing the Stars at Night gradually subsided.
For a movie market that had been growing increasingly quiet, the film’s 5.5 billion box office revenue was an undeniable confidence booster. It proved that the market still had potential, and audiences had not completely abandoned cinemas.
Thanks to the success of Observing the Stars at Night, Lu Xu’s total box office earnings as a lead actor officially surpassed 15 billion, making him nearly unrivaled among his peers.
Moreover, Lu Xu’s strong presence in his films made it clear that the box office success was closely tied to his personal appeal. There was no doubt—these achievements were solid and undisputed.
Unlike before, the release of Observing the Stars at Night did not bring any significant changes to Lu Xu’s resources. This was because the offers he received were already recognized as top-tier within the industry. After winning the Contention Award for Best Actor and leading Fearless Life to a massive box office success, film crews were eager to hand him scripts.
After all, Lu Xu was more than capable of handling them.
With Observing the Stars at Night becoming a box office sensation, the scripts coming his way could hardly get any better—they had already reached the highest level possible.
The buzz surrounding Observing the Stars at Night also skyrocketed the attention on his current project, Code A77. Previously, the film had been criticized for “lacking depth,” but now, many industry insiders were predicting that it would also bring in substantial profits.
Lu Xu’s mysterious box office magic was something no one in the industry could ignore.
Feather of Youth, a low-budget film with little initial expectation, had managed to earn over a billion. Some had once mocked Lu Xu for never starring in a true blockbuster, but when he finally did, it resulted in the second-highest box office earnings in film history.
Thus, even though Code A77 seemed destined to flop—regarded by highbrow insiders as a “low-tier” film unworthy of attention—it still held the potential to become a major hit.
Just like when Lu Xu was still filming TV dramas, any script that passed through his hands recently—even if he had only expressed interest in it but didn’t end up taking the role—became a highly sought-after project among actors.
Lu Xu’s ability to pick scripts was widely recognized in the industry. Even the projects he ultimately declined for various reasons were bound to have their merits.
…
After the promotional period for Observing the Stars at Night ended, Lu Xu returned to the set of Code A77. The major scenes in the script had already been filmed, leaving only the final wrap-up portions.
Director Wu Ming quietly pulled Lu Xu aside, mentioning that just as the film was nearing completion, a wave of eager investors had suddenly appeared. “If they had come to me earlier, I wouldn’t have had to worry about saving money—I could’ve just gone all out on the special effects.”
Unfortunately, at this stage, even with additional funding, the most they could do was upgrade the crew’s catering by a level.
Wu Ming knew perfectly well that these investments were all because of Lu Xu.
Code A77 had been shooting steadily without much attention. The only reason people had taken notice of the production was because Lu Xu was the lead actor. But recently, Wu Ming had been receiving one phone call after another—some inquiring about the filming progress, others asking if he needed more funding—so much enthusiasm that he could hardly keep up.
Now, he understood why so many top directors became increasingly arrogant—the people around them were just too good at flattery. No one ever opposed them; they were treated like emperors.
Wu Ming observed Lu Xu closely. Despite Observing the Stars at Night becoming a massive hit, Lu Xu had not become arrogant in the slightest.
Back on set, he still only brought along a single assistant, never arrived late or left early, and no matter how simple the scene, if the production required it, he executed it with meticulous dedication.
In most film productions, big-name stars are never kept waiting. Typically, once they arrive on set, their scenes are shot immediately to ensure not a single minute of their time is wasted. However, Lu Xu was patient. For some scenes, the director worried about making him wait and suggested postponing to the next day, but Lu Xu was willing to wait until the other scenes were finished so he could complete his own that same day.
Wu Ming could only describe working with Lu Xu in one word—comfortable.
Though Lu Xu had grudges against Liu Rennong and had openly criticized several celebrities and productions, among the directors and actors who had worked with him, he remained one of the most well-regarded.
For an actor, social skills were important.
Lu Xu wasn’t the kind of actor who charmed everyone he met or made people feel instantly at ease wherever he went. But within any production team, he was the most welcomed type of actor—one who brought in several times the investment return and generated endless profits.
In short, although their collaboration wasn’t long, Wu Ming had developed great admiration for Lu Xu.
The plot of Code A77 was relatively simple, and Wu Ming did everything he could to highlight Lu Xu’s striking looks. The film didn’t demand particularly high-level performances, yet Lu Xu still strived to showcase his best acting within the character’s framework.
He was the most cooperative, hardworking, and dedicated actor Wu Ming had ever worked with.
And, of course, he was handsome—a very important detail.
…
After Code A77 wrapped up, there was still time before Lu Xu would start filming director Mu Lang’s new movie, leaving him with a period of free time.
His next project was still undecided, and Xu Wen was busy selecting suitable scripts for him. That afternoon, while discussing an expiring business contract with his manager, Xu Wen suddenly took a call.
A moment later, he returned with a serious expression.
“What’s wrong?” Lu Xu asked curiously.
“Guess who just called me.”
Lu Xu guessed from company executives to various production teams, then to platforms and TV networks he had worked with, but Xu Wen shook his head at every suggestion. After a brief pause, the manager finally revealed a name.
It was someone Lu Xu found familiar—a well-known authority from the Contention Awards committee.
“They want to invite you to be a judge for this year’s Contention Awards.”
There were two types of judges for the Contention Awards. One group voted on the submitted films to determine the nomination list, while the other voted on the nominees to decide the final winners.
Since the committee had specifically reached out to Lu Xu, it was clear that they were inviting him to join the latter group.
In other words, Lu Xu would be part of this year’s jury panel.
“Me?” Lu Xu pointed at himself. “Am I even qualified?”
His question amused his manager. “Why wouldn’t you be? Do you know how many actors in Contention Awards history have won twice from just two nominations?”
At present, Lu Xu was the only actor in Contention Awards history with a perfect record—nominated twice, won twice, with a 100% success rate.
Very few actors had won the Best Actor award twice, and among those still alive, only Lu Xu and one other person remained.
For prestigious awards like the Contention Awards, jury selections typically favored actors with close ties to the institution—at the very least, they had to have won the award before.
On the surface, having a young actor like Lu Xu judge the performances of older, more seasoned actors seemed unconventional. But when considering the core criteria for evaluating performances, no one was more qualified than him.
The awards committee had carefully considered this decision before extending the invitation.
Each year, the jury was composed of professionals from various fields, including directors, actors, and screenwriters. Historically, jury members tended to be older, and the Contention Awards organizers felt the need for a younger voice—someone who could represent the perspective of the new generation of filmmakers.
Unfortunately, in this industry, there were very few young people who could command authority.
At least in the acting circle, young actors occasionally emerged, but breaking into the directing and screenwriting circles was even more difficult.
“Is the Contention Awards trying to challenge the Golden Flame Awards?” Lu Xu asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” Xu Wen shook his head. “But if there is a rivalry, the Golden Flame Awards started it first.”
The Golden Flame Awards had deemed Lu Xu unqualified to win, while the Contention Awards seemed determined to show the world that not only was he qualified, but he also had the authority to decide the winners.
“Choosing this timing is certainly interesting,” Lu Xu remarked. “Since they’ve invited me, I’ll accept.”
After all, the Contention Awards had already honored him with two Best Actor titles—something even Lu Xu himself had not expected.
For a long-established and well-respected award to make such a decision was no small feat.
When he won for Fearless Life, the Contention Awards jury had not considered the fact that he had already received one major award, nor had they hesitated over the potential consequences of awarding another prestigious title to a young actor. They simply believed he deserved it—so they gave it to him.
The jury panel for this year’s Contention Awards consisted of five members, and Lu Xu was one of them. The jury president for this year was director Cheng Chi. Lu Xu had never worked with him before, but he knew Cheng Chi was a low-profile yet exceptional filmmaker.
Although Cheng Chi had directed only a few films, he had swept the country’s three major film awards early in his career and was also one of the most decorated directors in international competitions.
…
The three major film awards were traditionally held in the second half of the year. The jury panel members were announced first, followed by the list of nominees, and before the awards ceremony, several promotional events would take place.
For instance, before the Contention Awards ceremony, they launched a new film showcase event, providing a platform for small-budget films, short films, and animated works—projects that typically wouldn’t get mainstream distribution—to gain exposure.
Of course, the most exciting moment was always the announcement of the nomination list. Fans of various actors and regular moviegoers alike would create a commotion—some making early predictions, some feeling disappointed that their favorite films didn’t make the cut, and others outright criticizing certain nominees for being undeserving.
But this year, as soon as the Contention Awards jury panel was announced, it caused an uproar online.
The last name on the list appeared unremarkable—just two plain-looking characters. Even the Contention Awards’ official poster was simple, exuding an air of calmness unrelated to the entertainment industry.
However, this name alone carried immense attention—
[Lu Xu?? Is this the actor Lu Xu, or just someone with the same name?]
[I searched the Contention Awards’ membership list with Ctrl+F—there’s only one Lu Xu, and his profession is listed as ‘actor.’ It has to be him.]
[The Contention Awards is too indifferent, not even including a brief introduction.]
[So… Lu Puppy can now decide this year’s winners? Why does this feel like watching a particularly outstanding kid making everyone proud?]
[It feels like Lu Xu was just getting nominated not long ago, and Reverse City wasn’t that many years back either, right? And now, in the blink of an eye, he’s already a jury member.]
As soon as Lu Xu’s name appeared, some critics with rigid opinions attempted to argue that he was unqualified, that he lacked the credentials or skill. But after reviewing the records… surprisingly, among this year’s jury members for the three major awards, Lu Xu’s track record actually made him very qualified!
The remaining full-grand-slam winners of the three major domestic awards were mostly retired from public appearances. Below them was the group of actors who had won two major awards—and Lu Xu happened to be among them. Not only that, but he had won two Contention Awards.
In an era where domestic cinema no longer fixated on chasing international accolades, the three major national awards had become the highest honors for actors.
Perhaps Lu Xu himself was not the absolute best fit, but compared to some of this year’s other jury members across the three major awards, there were several who were even less qualified than him.
Lu Xu’s new role sparked public interest in the jury selection for all three major awards. After the Contention Awards and the Critics’ Choice Awards jury lists gained attention, this year’s Golden Flame Awards jury list also came under scrutiny.
[By the way, does anyone else feel like this year’s Golden Flame Awards lineup… is weaker than the other two?]
[Agreed.]
[+1. The jury president is a well-respected director, but the rest of the panel… honestly looks like filler. Are we allowed to say this?]
Like the Contention Awards, the Golden Flame Awards also had five jury panel leaders each year. Compared to last year’s lineup, this year’s selection was noticeably inferior—some would even call it a complete drop-off in quality.
Among the five jury members, only one was a former Golden Flame Best Actress winner.
Even without comparing it to the Contention Awards, the Golden Flame lineup felt unimpressive—even the Critics’ Choice Awards had put together a stronger panel.
[At this point, I can only @LiuRennong and say—look at what you’ve done!]
[Isn’t this exactly what they deserve? Barely any film crews even submitted for consideration this year. This isn’t even the most awkward part—wait until the nomination list drops, you’ll feel even more secondhand embarrassment.]
[Dead—karma came back so fast. Remember how arrogant a certain award used to be? I wouldn’t mind if the three major awards turned into just two.]
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