Famous! Ch.222

Chapter 222: Discussion

Lu Xu: “……”

Being urged like this gave him an immense sense of pressure.

So, Lu Xu started sneaking around, but no matter what disguise he wore, his fans could always spot him in the crowd right away.

In Lu Xu’s own words, this was the loneliness of being too handsome.

His manager had stockpiled a pile of scripts for him. He had taken a long enough break this time, yet the invitations kept pouring in, stacking up into a thick bundle.

Although he hadn’t filmed for a while, there was no doubt that Lu Xu remained the most sought-after actor in the industry.

Typically, actors at the peak of their careers had little time for breaks—not only did they need to keep filming, but the massive film market also needed them to.

However, this time, Lu Xu did not immediately accept a new script after his adjustment period ended, because the annual awards season was approaching again.

Yet once again, Lu Xu did not submit his name for the Golden Flame Awards. The organizing committee had strongly hinted that they hoped he would apply—even though Lu Xu’s words could be sharp and his actions did not sit well with some core figures of the Golden Flame Awards. Still, he was not only a box office guarantee but also one of the top contenders for Best Actor this awards season.

The Golden Flame Awards had always been proud, yet they knew they couldn’t compare to the Sunset Film Festival. In some ways, the Golden Flame Awards’ categories and reforms had been modeled after major international awards.

Lu Xu had already won Best Actor at the Sunset Film Festival. If he were to enter the Golden Flame Awards, the Best Actor trophy would undoubtedly be his for the taking.

But Lu Xu simply refused.

When it came to such matters, he was incredibly stubborn. The Golden Flame Awards organizers had even convinced several renowned directors to mediate, yet Lu Xu still refused to give them any face.

The submission deadline had long passed, but the Golden Flame Awards were even willing to make an exception for him.

But no matter how much the Golden Flame Awards tried to persuade him, Lu Xu remained unmoved. In the end, he even stated his own condition:

“If Director Miao Zhi persuades me to participate, then I might consider it.”

The Golden Flame Awards Committee: “……”

Did they not want to?

Miao Zhi was even harder to convince than Lu Xu. The committee had at least dared to send people to persuade Lu Xu, but when it came to Miao Zhi, they wouldn’t even dare to try. Not only was Miao Zhi sharp-tongued, but if he was truly displeased, he might very well show up at their door uninvited.

Those from the older generation who had been in the film industry knew each other well. Even if Miao Zhi wasn’t personally acquainted with them, he certainly knew their mentors, senior or junior colleagues. If Miao Zhi really came knocking, it would be an absolute humiliation for them.

They had already lost face once due to the results of the awards that year when Fearless Life was in the running.

Now, having to invite esteemed directors to intercede on their behalf was yet another embarrassing moment.

The only reason Lu Xu had been relatively polite to these directors was because they were genuinely respected and well-regarded in the industry. As for why these directors were willing to step in, it was simply because they didn’t want to see the Golden Flame Awards—a prize built on the efforts of past generations—fall into decline.

The current core members of the Golden Flame Awards didn’t seem to care, but that was only because they had never experienced the hardships of the award’s founding. They were not the ones who had made sacrifices, they were not the ones who had set the standards, and they were certainly not the ones who had once painstakingly sifted through hundreds of handwritten letters from across the country to select the audience’s favorite films.

They had never put in the effort—but someone had.

The veteran directors had even advised the Golden Flame Awards committee: rebuilding trust wouldn’t come from convincing an actor like Lu Xu to return, but from the awards themselves upholding the highest standards in selecting the most deserving works.

Even if there were fewer films in competition, it didn’t matter. If there were no suitable works, it was better to leave the award vacant. Moreover, there was no need to fixate solely on the mainstream awards season favorites—they could also look toward lesser-known films and discover hidden gems among them.

They needed to rebuild the audience’s trust step by step.

However, it was uncertain whether the current Golden Flame Awards committee would take this advice to heart. The award had long since lost its ability to significantly impact the film market, yet the tendency toward short-term gains remained as strong as ever.

Leaving an award vacant was not as simple as it sounded. It involved public relations, the operations of various talent agencies, and ultimately, it all boiled down to vested interests.

Even though the prestige of the Golden Flame Awards had diminished, a Best Actor or Best Actress trophy from it still held significant value for actors. Leaving a category empty for a year meant that both individual actors and their agencies would lose the benefits tied to the award.

In truth, this problem wasn’t unique to the Golden Flame Awards—most film-related awards faced similar issues to varying degrees. The difference was that the Golden Flame Awards had reached its breaking point earlier than the others.

In its early years, the Golden Flame Awards had its golden era, going through a difficult rise and making substantial contributions to the growth of domestic cinema. But now, all of that seemed like a distant memory—something not even worth mentioning anymore.

…

The story of Lu Xu and the Golden Flame Awards, though brief, felt like something that could go on for days.

While Lu Xu’s film career continued to soar effortlessly, the Golden Flame Awards, in contrast, looked more and more like a joke. This downturn was not something they would recover from anytime soon—it was the price they paid for their past decisions, particularly their association with Liu Rennong.

But this price wasn’t one Liu Rennong himself had to bear—the consequences fell squarely on the Golden Flame Awards.

This awards season, the hottest topic of discussion was: Would Lu Xu win the third Contention Award of his career?

The reason for this speculation was simple—Lu Xu’s performance in Clay Man had been so exceptional that it was impossible to ignore.

In the past, if he didn’t win, he simply didn’t win—no one would make a fuss about it.

To this day, no male actor had ever achieved the monumental feat of winning three Contention Best Actor awards. The difficulty was simply too high—even those who had already won two trophies often lost their bid for a third due to various reasons.

In a way, this was intentional on the part of the Contention Awards committee.

Award ceremonies valued diversity—they couldn’t allow a single actor to dominate for multiple years.

However, Lu Xu had already won a Best Actor trophy at the Sunset Film Festival. Beyond that, during the awards season prelude, Clay Man had generated more buzz and attention than any other film.

There was no doubt—Clay Man was a powerhouse.

The story, the performances, the cinematography… there was simply nothing to nitpick.

The only obstacle? Lu Xu had already won two Best Actor awards.

At his age, even just being nominated made him stand out as one of the younger contenders.

[I don’t care, I don’t care—Clay Man absolutely deserves to win! If it doesn’t, I’ll be so mad!]

[+1 Clay Man deserves to win. Lu Xu’s performance was absolutely stunning. I’ve watched all five nominated films, and in my book, his acting was the best.]

[Lu Puppy has to make history!!! But I have a feeling the Contention Awards won’t give it to him this year. He’s already won multiple times. Fearless Life winning back then was already a breakthrough. If Clay Man wins too, the jury might face a lot of pushback.]

[Reminder: This year’s Contention Awards jury president is Liao Yusheng.]

[Ah… yeah, it’s not looking good.]

Everyone knew that Liao Yusheng was a notoriously stubborn, old-school director who leaned heavily toward traditional films. He was rigid in his views, unwilling to compromise, and if he set his mind to something, he never failed to see it through.

Since Liao Yusheng was the jury president, it meant that this year’s Contention Awards winners would largely reflect his personal preferences. He was known for being both stubborn and fiercely argumentative—if he had a favorite, he wouldn’t hesitate to fight for it, even if it meant clashing with the other judges.

Back when he was just a regular jury member, he had already been notorious for fiercely defending his choices. Now that he was in charge, it was almost certain he would give his all to push for the film he favored.

The only question was—which film did he favor?

One thing was practically taken for granted by everyone: Clay Man was not on that list.

[…Come on, don’t be like that. You never know.]

[Honestly? Lu Xu’s chances of winning aren’t that high. I think it’s a real shame, but award decisions always consider multiple factors—not just acting. Unless Lu Xu’s performance is so overwhelmingly superior that even after being ‘discounted,’ he still crushes his competition.]

While Lu Xu had the highest buzz and audience support, most award predictions didn’t place him at the top in terms of actual likelihood of winning.

The other four nominated actors were all strong contenders as well. If the award went to someone else, at least it wouldn’t be as awkward as when Fearless Life had lost Best Director and Best Actor at the Golden Flame Awards.

[Besides, Liao Yusheng doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate an actor like Lu Xu. He prefers the low-key, humble type. He probably finds Lu Xu too flashy.]

[Lu Xu is flashy???? I can’t argue with a lot of things, but that conclusion? Absolutely questionable. He’s not flashy—he’s just famous. He’s everywhere because he’s that big. I mean, who has a box office total of over 20 billion and doesn’t attract attention? If that’s what ‘flashy’ means, then what, should Lu Xu just lock himself indoors and never be seen again?]

[Some people are really bending over backward to justify why Lu Puppy won’t win. The sad part? Even if you cut his awards in half and slashed his box office earnings, his achievements would still be beyond what most actors could dream of.]

Lu Xu’s fans were utterly exasperated.

Every year, as long as Lu Xu was nominated, there would always be a wave of naysayers during awards season. In the past, at least some of their arguments had a semblance of logic and coherence. But now? Aside from the same repetitive nonsense, could they at least come up with some new and reasonable excuses?

To his fans, this was nothing more than empty chatter. If marketing accounts could only manage this level of commentary, they might as well go work construction instead.

If Clay Man failed to secure a Contention Award, fans would certainly feel disappointed. But Lu Xu’s achievements over the past few years had given them enough confidence to stand their ground.

Even if Clay Man suffered a loss, Lu Xu’s next trophy was bound to come.

After so many years of acting, it wasn’t just Lu Xu who had grown more confident—his fans had too. That confidence was something Lu Xu had painstakingly built, piece by piece.

An actor’s glory was also the glory of their fans.

After winning at the Sunset Film Festival, Lu Xu noticed that someone on Weibo had labeled him as an “international film emperor.” He took a screenshot and quietly sent it to his manager.

Lu Xu: [This doesn’t fit my low-key image at all.]

Xu Wen: [Do you even have that kind of image?]

Lu Xu: […Why wouldn’t I?] He could hardly stop himself from retorting. [This feels like naming your dog ‘International’ and suddenly thinking your whole family is globally recognized.]

His agent couldn’t help but remind him, [Isn’t your nickname ‘Lu Puppy’? So… Lu International?]

Lu Xu: […Forget I said anything.]

Then, Zheng Xiao sent him a screenshot from an overseas Chinese media outlet with an even more outrageous description—

[Lu Xu: Broad Chest, Stunning Fashion, Enchanting the World!]

Lu Xu: “……”

He had already been tired of hearing “Lu Xu’s stunning fashion dominates the world.” Now they were saying he was enchanting the world too? This was beyond ridiculous.

They might as well say Ma Yanwen had conquered the world instead.

…What broad chest? He had no damn broad chest.

Lu Xu sent Zheng Xiao a speechless emoji. [What kind of things are you looking at online all day? Can you read something with morals, taste, and journalistic integrity for once?]

Zheng Xiao explained that someone else had sent it to him, but that person was too afraid to send it to Lu Xu directly, so they used him as a middleman instead.

Lu Xu: [And by ‘someone else,’ do you mean yourself?]

Zheng Xiao chose silence.

Lu Xu knew Zheng Xiao’s nature all too well.

In any case, these media descriptions were making Lu Xu question whether he was starring in something highly inappropriate and, in turn, making him doubt his own profession.

Where exactly did he have a broad chest?

…The news somehow got picked up by domestic marketing accounts. Not only did they post it online, but they also sparked heated discussions about Lu Xu’s chest. Soon, a bunch of bored netizens joined in.

#Too much free time

#Get a job

Lu Xu sneakily tried to report the posts, but every complaint was rejected.

#The whole world is broken

Forget it. He wasn’t going to argue anymore.

Once the Contention Awards ceremony officially kicked off, Lu Xu’s focus was entirely on the awards themselves.

Regarding this year’s nominations, his mindset was simple: Fight for it if I can, and if I don’t win, there’s always a next time.

The nominees had all met the judges, and when Lu Xu first came face-to-face with Liao Yusheng, he thought the man did indeed have that stern, unsmiling look. But he didn’t seem as terrifying as the rumors suggested.

Compared to previous years, this edition of the Contention Awards didn’t change much—only adding a small tribute segment. This suggested that while Liao Yusheng had his own ideas, he still largely respected tradition.

Seriousness was preferable to overconfidence. Based on Lu Xu’s experience working with directors, those with a serious demeanor were usually open to listening to feedback. The overconfident ones? Not so much.

By the time the nominees participated in award-related events, the winners were more or less already decided. Unfortunately, Lu Xu couldn’t read the outcome from Liao Yusheng’s face—the man remained completely unreadable from start to finish.

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