Chapter 219: Award Evaluation
Upon seeing Lu Xu’s statement, netizens widened their eyes in surprise, marveling at his decisiveness.
For the past two years, the Golden Flame Awards had been in a terrible state. With Liu Rennong—the main culprit—completely withdrawing from the industry, the organizing committee had already shown goodwill toward Lu Xu. The reason public discussions resurfaced about the “Three Major Awards” was naturally due to the Golden Flame Awards’ deliberate maneuvering.
The Golden Flame Awards had laid out a stepping stone for Lu Xu. If he had simply gone along with it, achieving a grand slam of the Three Major Awards would have been effortless. However, his stance turned out to be unexpectedly firm—before this, Lu Xu had rarely issued personal statements.
Some people claimed that Lu Xu was being too arrogant, but when they looked online, the majority still supported him.
[Turning to the Golden Flame Awards now would be a betrayal of Fearless Life. Was Fearless Life not good enough? Why shouldn’t it receive the award it deserves?]
[Is the Golden Flame Awards planning to pretend that nothing ever happened? Sorry, but Lu Puppy doesn’t buy into that. If you ask me, the Golden Flame Awards should at least maintain what little dignity it has left. That way, audiences might still have some respect for it.]
[Lu Xu is so badass!!!]
[Someone already pointed this out before—audience trust in the Golden Flame Awards took decades to build, but it only took a year or two to destroy it. The Golden Flame Awards has lost its credibility. For a film like Clay Man, winning a Golden Flame Awards wouldn’t mean much. But for the discredited Golden Flame Awards, having a film like Clay Man participate is crucial.]
Industry insiders speculated that Lu Xu might not attend next year’s Golden Flame Award ceremony. However, no one expected his rejection to be so uncompromising.
[It simply doesn’t deserve it.]
[How could our Lu Puppy possibly be worthy of such a prestigious Golden Flame Award?]
Of course, the truth was—Clay Man had received overwhelmingly positive reviews this year. If it only applied for the Contention Awards and the Critics’ Choice Awards, it would deal yet another fatal blow to the Golden Flame Awards.
Mischievous netizens even came up with an idea for the Golden Flame Award committee: [Go find Liu Rennong! He’s making films overseas now, an internationally renowned director. Invite him back, and boom—instant international prestige! Guaranteed to skyrocket the award’s credibility!]
[What a brilliant idea.]
The Golden Flame Award organizers, of course, understood that this was pure mockery. But at this point, the award had fallen so far that anyone could trample on it.
In the past, the Golden Flame Awards and the Contention Awards were considered equals, frequently engaging in joint events. However, ever since Liu Rennong became the chairman of the jury, the Contention Awards had begun interacting more with the Critics’ Choice Awards instead.
It was clear—the Golden Flame Awards had been excluded.
On the surface, the Contention Awards maintained its dignity and refrained from openly kicking the Golden Flame Awards while it was down, but in practice, its actions said otherwise.
[They should never have invited Liu Rennong in the first place!]—this was the drunken lament of a core member of the Golden Flame Awards committee.
However, what he regretted wasn’t refusing to award Fearless Life or Lu Xu. He had always felt that Lu Xu lived too recklessly, showing no deference to his seniors. He believed Lu Xu needed to be “humbled” and “taught a lesson.”
What he truly regretted now was the rapid decline of the Golden Flame Awards’ prestige—because it had cost him dearly.
Without the Golden Flame Awards’ golden reputation, the perks he once enjoyed had plummeted. At public events, organizers no longer treated him with the same respect. On top of that, sponsorship funds for the ceremony had dwindled, PR budgets from major companies had shrunk… The financial loss was the most tangible and painful consequence.
These core figures had been leeching off the Golden Flame Awards for decades. Now, it wasn’t that they couldn’t suck any more blood—it was just that there was far less to feed on. And that kind of loss wasn’t something they could easily accept.
Liu Rennong had patted his back and left, washing his hands of everything that followed. But the Golden Flame Awards still had to keep running—and it couldn’t afford to look too disgraceful.
That core committee member had since grown resentful toward Lu Xu, blaming him for being too disrespectful. He even spoke poorly of Lu Xu in public on multiple occasions. However, aside from people like Zhang Zhizhen who echoed his sentiments, others either responded with awkward laughter or made a few sarcastic remarks.
Everyone knew that Lu Xu wasn’t someone to be trifled with. The Golden Flame Awards had no chance of reconciling with him, but others still wanted to collaborate with him. Whether it was his ability to win awards or his talent for bringing in box office revenue, he was someone worth coveting for a long time.
It was widely acknowledged in the industry that Clay Man had a low budget, yet its final box office earnings were nothing short of astonishing.
In May—a typically quiet season for films—Clay Man managed to rake in a staggering 2.6 billion at the box office!
Given its cost, the film would have been profitable even if it had earned just 200 million.
Once the numbers were released, a curious netizen posted on a film forum:
[Am I the only one who suddenly realized that not a single one of Lu Xu’s films has ever had a profit lower than ten figures?]
[Wait… how much? Ten figures?!]
[Yes, you read that right—ten figures. After deducting production costs and promotional expenses, each of his films earns more than 1 billion in profit. And I’m not talking about just one film—every single one of them! Honestly, I find it absolutely insane.]
[Now that you mention it, I…]
Usually, when it came to discussing awards on film forums, conversations flowed endlessly. Fans of celebrities, fans of specific works, and even casual viewers would compile long lists of contenders. Every year during awards season, the forums would become especially lively.
In contrast, discussions about box office performance were far less common. After all, the phrase “box office appeal” sounded simple, but in practice, it was incredibly difficult to achieve.
Actors who genuinely brought in ticket sales rarely boasted about it, while those who frequently bragged about their box office draw often found themselves exposed after just one or two films.
At first glance, actors of Lu Xu’s age—or even those slightly younger—also had impressive box office numbers. However, when it came to Lu Xu’s actual figures, terrifying was the only way to describe them.
Less than a week after Clay Man was released, Lu Xu had officially become a “20-billion Film Emperor.”
[I only dare to take part in billion-dollar subsidies, and yet Puppy’s leading-role box office has already reached 20 billion. Absolutely terrifying.]
[This is hilarious. I contributed to that number too! Hehehe, I willingly paid for Lu Puppy’s movie tickets. Also, with Code A77 and Clay Man both released, can we all agree that Lu Xu’s box office appeal is undeniable?]
When the media compiled their lists, Lu Xu was, without question, the most successful actor to transition from television to film. Even among movie actors, he ranked among the most accomplished. Acting skills, box office numbers, critical reception… even his personal life—he had no weak points whatsoever.
Although his transition to the film industry had its ups and downs, his rivals often self-destructed for various reasons before he even had to make a move.
[In a way, this is part of Lu Xu’s supernatural luck.]
Notably, in director Mu Qian’s series The Story of Time, the two episodes featuring Lu Xu also became instant hits, triggering an explosion of interest in the show.
As a result, people couldn’t help but sigh—whatever Lu Xu starred in, people would buy tickets. It was as if he was born to be favored.
…
Lu Xu also felt that he was incredibly lucky. While he put his all into acting, other actors worked just as hard—yet he always seemed to reap far greater rewards than most.
During the promotional period for Clay Man, the sight of long queues of fans eager to attend events stood in stark contrast to the fact that Ma Yanwen had been voted “the most hated character of the year.”
All in all, Clay Man wasn’t the highest-grossing film of the year. However, when the year-end reviews rolled in, whether in terms of impact, critical reception, cinematography, or performances, it consistently ranked among the most memorable films for audiences.
[I’m jealous, I’m seriously jealous. How does everything this guy films turn into a classic?] Zheng Xiao couldn’t help but wail in their group chat.
He saw Lu Xu often. He had watched every single one of Lu Xu’s movies. To be honest, he was used to being blown away by his performances. But after watching Clay Man, Zheng Xiao found himself thinking about something the entire time in the theater—what had been going through Lu Xu’s mind when he played Ma Yanwen?
If it had been him, even if he dared to take on the role, there was no way he could have portrayed the character with such… rawness.
That was the only word he could use to describe Ma Yanwen.
Even if Ma Yanwen had ultimately been revealed as a serial killer, Zheng Xiao wouldn’t have been surprised. Lu Xu had the ability to play such roles convincingly. But the thing was… Ma Yanwen had never done anything shocking or extreme. He was just an ordinary person.
That was exactly what made the role so difficult to play. Even when portraying his emotional outbursts, there were natural, realistic limitations.
A serial killer could be fearless, could act without restraint. But Ma Yanwen couldn’t.
Zheng Xiao let out a deep sigh. [Lu Xu, you should start teaching classes.]
Shao Yao immediately liked the message in agreement.
[Sure,] Lu Xu replied without hesitation. [But the tuition will be expensive. Is that okay?]
[How much?]
Lu Xu quoted a price.
[No way!] Zheng Xiao protested immediately. [That’s way too expensive. Give me a 90% discount, and I’ll consider it.]
[Too cheap. Doesn’t match my worth.]
The two haggled back and forth until they settled on a 50% discount. Lu Xu agreed, and the three of them set a time for what they called a friendly exchange on acting.
Feeling smug, Zheng Xiao changed Lu Xu’s contact name to “ruthless scalper and shady businessman.” But one day, he accidentally discovered that Lu Xu had labeled him as “big sucker.”
Zheng Xiao: “……”
[Fine, I can be a big sucker. But at least don’t let the big sucker himself find out.]
Lu Xu graciously complied and changed it to “one of the few rich people in my friend circle.”
Zheng Xiao: [Fine, whatever.]
…
That year, Lu Xu skipped all three major film awards, even though every organizing committee—including the Golden Flame Awards—had invited him without exception.
While some of the key figures hinted that Lu Xu was being disrespectful, the Golden Flame Awards tried to keep up the appearance of “moving him with sincerity.”
Lu Xu said he was truly touched and asked them not to do it again next time.
Clay Man wasn’t even in the running for awards that year, so their gesture was completely pointless.
Sometimes, Lu Xu felt helpless. He had realized something about the industry—when he was sincere, people acted arrogant; but when he acted arrogant, they pretended to be the victims.
In any case, he had no intention of ever attending another Golden Flame Awards event. He even discussed it with Director Mu Lang in advance.
If Mu Lang wanted Clay Man to be considered for the Golden Flame Awards, Lu Xu had no objections—but when it came to the Best Actor category, he told him there was no need to submit his name.
“Why submit it?” Mu Lang responded bluntly. “I already won that award long ago. I don’t care about it anymore.”
Mu Lang was one of the few directors in the industry who had completed a sweep of the three major awards.
Chronologically, Clay Man would be competing in the following year’s awards season. However, during the prelude to this year’s season, Lu Xu received a notice—he, along with Director Mu Lang and several other key members of Clay Man, had to take a trip abroad.
Clay Man had been nominated for multiple major awards at the Sunset Film Festival, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Actor.
In terms of prestige, the Sunset Film Festival wasn’t as renowned as the Oscars. Ever since Hollywood became the global center of film production, the Oscars had risen to dominance, becoming the ultimate prize that filmmakers worldwide aspired to.
However, the Sunset Film Festival had its own strengths. It was far more inclusive of global films than the Oscars. Many films that might be overlooked elsewhere often found a platform at Sunset, even if they lacked a star-studded cast.
Mu Lang was no stranger to the Sunset Film Festival. Several of his past films had made it to the final selection rounds.
That year, Clay Man was considered one of the strongest contenders at the festival, with industry professionals predicting a high likelihood of winning.
As for Lu Xu, he was described as “a rising star.”
[Honestly, he’s already a dazzling star—the world just doesn’t know it yet.]
[Time to introduce the world to Lu Xu!]
With the festival’s increasing attention, clips from Lu Xu’s performances started circulating on international social media.
It didn’t take long for overseas audiences to make a shocking realization—the character Ma Yanwen from Clay Man was played by the same actor as ‘Code A77’.
[Wait… this is the same person?]
[???????]
