Chapter 238: Variety Show
Serving as a talent show judge was merely something Lu Xu’s fans had hoped for. However, after this expectation flooded the comment section of his Weibo posts, Lu Xu actually received an invitation from one of the most popular talent show programs at the time.
“Do you want to participate?”
Xu Wen felt that Lu Xu hadn’t joined many variety shows. Although he still had an image to maintain, at Lu Xu’s level, he had complete freedom to do whatever he wanted—no one would criticize him for it.
If it were for money, everyone knew that Lu Xu wasn’t particularly interested in investments. He wasn’t some hidden tycoon in the industry—his income came entirely from filming movies and commercial endorsements.
Recently, with The Sovereign Descends the World, Lu Xu had secured a revenue share.
The film industry’s revenue-sharing model was still underdeveloped. The only reason Lu Xu managed to get a share was that the production team wanted to minimize their losses. Even though a film starring Lu Xu was unlikely to lose money, investment always carried inherent risks.
After The Sovereign Descends the World surpassed 3 billion yuan at the box office, the investors began to regret their decision.
But since the contract was already signed, it was too late to take it back. Besides, compared to the total box office earnings, the portion given to Lu Xu was relatively small.
According to some insiders, Lu Xu personally earned a nine-figure sum from The Sovereign Descends the World.
The exact accuracy of this figure was unknown, but barring any surprises, it was likely the real amount.
[So rich!!! Please sponsor me!!!]
[It’s probably because The Sovereign Descends the World was riskier, so the production team was willing to sign that kind of contract with Lu Xu. If it had been Observing the Stars at Night or Code A77, even just a small percentage for Lu Xu would be equivalent to what some talent agencies make in an entire year.]
[Feiyang Entertainment is still standing strong—who do you think is the reason for that?]
[Tycoon Lu Xu—I’m dying of laughter. I don’t even have this much virtual game currency, but I still have to say, Lu Xu is like a top sales champion. When a top seller closes a huge deal, what’s wrong with getting a bigger commission? At least the box office numbers are real.]
[Some films are absolute garbage, yet that doesn’t stop certain actors from signing nine-figure contracts. (Yes, I’m throwing shade.)]
A few years ago, the entertainment industry still had so-called celebrity rich lists. But in recent years, as stars have found more diverse ways to make money and contracts have become more discreet, it’s become impossible to determine a celebrity’s true income just from public information. On top of that, more and more actors are seen as “undeserving” of high pay, so the industry has stopped deliberately exposing income figures.
Lu Xu was one of the few actors who could command high pay without facing backlash from the audience.
After all, if you gave Lu Xu 100 million, he could generate 5 billion in returns.
Hiring him or hiring someone else—the math was simply too easy.
Besides, even if Lu Xu didn’t take high pay, someone else would. So why not let it be him?
At least Lu Xu himself was pleasant to look at, and his films were just as enjoyable.
When selecting projects, Lu Xu never deliberately lowered his asking price. However, if it was a collaboration with big-name directors he had a good relationship with—such as Mu Lang or Miao Zhi—he would lower it when necessary.
Ultimately, the entertainment industry was all about interests. Film crews could tear each other apart over box office revenue. As one of the most representative actors in the film industry today, if Lu Xu lowered his pay, other actors would have to follow suit. Otherwise, compared to Lu Xu’s cost-performance ratio, anyone standing next to him would seem overpriced.
Lu Xu might be able to push back, but he alone couldn’t take on the entire entertainment industry.
In the past, when Lu Xu battled Liu Rennong, it was because Liu Rennong was just one person, and his presence genuinely harmed the interests of other filmmakers. By going against him, Lu Xu naturally had people willing to stand on his side.
But if he continuously lowered his price, other actors would inevitably be unhappy.
Since Lu Xu was part of the film industry, he still had to follow its rules to some extent.
In any case, his fans already knew that he was never particularly driven by money—though at the same time, he was never short of it.
…
As for the talent show invitation that Xu Wen had asked about, Lu Xu ultimately declined. “I stopped participating in these things years ago. Now that I’m practically an old man, is there even a point?”
Lu Xu feared that if he tried to show off his dance moves on stage, he’d end up breaking a bone.
Xu Wen: “…You’re not that old.”
Lu Xu was being a little dramatic.
“Then how about you go?” Lu Xu glanced at Xu Wen. “Isn’t there a reality show for managers these days? I heard the pay is pretty good. Didn’t they invite you?”
“They did.” Xu Wen shook his head. “Forget it, that kind of environment doesn’t suit me.”
He had watched that show, but for some reason, he felt that the managers participating didn’t seem very down-to-earth. Instead, they gave off an air of arrogance, as if they were looking down on everyone else—which wasn’t his style.
All of them claimed they were about to create “the next [superstar’s name],” but Xu Wen believed that every individual was unique. A successful star was one of a kind; there was no such thing as a perfect copy.
Admittedly, the pay was tempting—one variety show appearance could match half a year’s worth of managing Lu Xu.
But on that show, a few managers had smugly boasted about the artists they represented, as if they were using them to elevate their own status.
To Xu Wen, however, Lu Xu wasn’t his product. He had no need to use Lu Xu to boost his own worth.
Xu Wen knew he was a fairly competent manager—he understood his own abilities. He and Lu Xu worked well together, maintaining a smooth and enjoyable partnership.
He wasn’t the type to make casual remarks about Lu Xu, nor did he want his participation in a show to bring Lu Xu any unwanted negative attention.
That said, since Lu Xu had time on his hands, Xu Wen eventually found a variety show that satisfied both of them—one that promoted traditional Chinese culture.
In summary, just one word: Mahjong!
Fans upon hearing the news: “?”
[You said you couldn’t dance for a talent show, you said you’ve already done a travel show, you said sports shows were too exhausting. I was just touched that my idol was dedicating himself to promoting traditional culture… but… your ‘national treasure’ and mine seem a little different.]
[Emmmm… I mean, technically, it still counts?]
[??? Alright, when the tide goes out, we finally see who’s the real slacker.]
[Lu Xu, oh Lu Xu, what am I supposed to say about you?]
In any case, Lu Xu rarely participated in variety shows throughout the year. Light and Shadow Journey had indeed done wonders for promoting films, but when Lu Xu sat at the mahjong table, struck a pose, and called out “Pong!”, his fans—despite being mentally prepared—still felt utterly speechless.
What’s more, they soon discovered that whenever a game was short of one player, Lu Xu would go all out, calling on every possible connection he had to fill the seat.
[I suspect this show didn’t have the budget to invite guests. Hiring Lu Xu alone is like hiring a hundred people.]
[Same… Lu Xu even dragged My Baby Prince leads Yang Shu and Xia Xuewen into it.]
[Lu Xu gets paid, but do the others?]
Since Lu Xu’s way of recruiting guests resembled a scam, the show soon faced accusations that it wasn’t paying its participants. In the end, the production team had to issue an official statement denying the rumors, insisting that all invited guests were properly compensated.
Yang Shu and Xia Xuewen also came forward to clear the air immediately.
Among the actors Lu Xu had worked with, the two of them belonged to the category that had decent early attention but gradually faded into the background. Back when My Baby Prince was in production, it was a completely unnoticed project. The fact that Yang Shu and Xia Xuewen later secured the second male and female lead roles was already thanks to the series’ accumulated reputation.
After appearing on this mahjong variety show—especially with Xia Xuewen displaying exceptional card skills—their popularity surged once again.
Rumor had it that a certain director was preparing a mahjong-themed film, and many viewers were recommending Xia Xuewen for an audition.
At the mahjong table, Xia Xuewen completely lost herself in the game. She didn’t care who was sitting across from her—she just kept winning and winning.
It was only after the game ended that she realized she had completely offended some industry heavyweights.
[From arrogance to extreme humility, hahaha.]
[At the start of the game: ‘I am the emperor.’ At the end of the game: ‘I am a humble servant.’]
[Not gonna lie, sister’s skills are insane. She’s fierce, she’s ruthless, she’s unstoppable.]
Xia Xuewen’s unexpected transformation won her a wave of new fans. When audiences revisited My Baby Prince, they could hardly believe that she was the same person who played the heroine Zhong Baobei.
At the same time, the show also revealed that Lu Xu wasn’t exactly a mahjong prodigy. However, he improved little by little with each episode. And since mahjong was inherently a fun and engaging game, even just watching as a spectator was entertaining.
Though the show wasn’t a top-tier hit, its popularity remained steady throughout its run. After all, celebrities who usually carried an air of dignity were now sitting at a mahjong table, scheming and backstabbing each other like seasoned tricksters.
Even Shao Yao, who was widely recognized as a kind and honest person, managed to trick Lu Xu into losing a round after participating in one of the episodes.
[From sl*ve to master—what a comeback.]
[That honest and sincere face… and yet he committed such an evil act.]
At first, the show had relied on Lu Xu to invite guests. But as its popularity grew, celebrities began volunteering to participate. The beauty of mahjong was that there was no need for introductions, small talk, or staged cooperation—once seated, they could start playing. Even if they weren’t familiar with each other, after losing a round or two, they’d naturally become acquainted.
Although Lu Xu faced some criticism for “setting a bad example for minors,” the variety show itself wasn’t meant for all age groups. A few complaints didn’t bother him in the slightest.
All in all, the show earned Lu Xu the title of a “career booster”, as it wasn’t just Xia Xuewen who experienced a resurgence in popularity. Several other celebrities—previously overlooked by the audience—also gained renewed attention.
As fans put it, “Lu Xu’s metaphysics is still at work.”
After about ten episodes, Lu Xu shifted his focus to promoting his upcoming spy thriller. The Sovereign Descends the World was set for a Chinese New Year release, while the spy film was scheduled for National Day—both among the most competitive slots of the year.
The Sovereign Descends the World had a niche historical theme, whereas spy thrillers typically garnered more mainstream attention. Like Fearless Life, this new film was another tearjerker. But while Fearless Life centered on perseverance, the spy thriller revolved around sacrifice.
The protagonist fell just before the dawn of victory. Though he perished in the darkness, he paved the way for those who came after him.
While The Sovereign Descends the World surpassed 3 billion yuan at the box office, the spy film exceeded 3.5 billion. That year, among the top five highest-grossing films, two starred Lu Xu.
Of course, this was nothing new.
Since his debut in cinema, none of Lu Xu’s films had ever dropped out of the top ten in annual rankings. And ever since Fearless Life, nearly every movie he starred in had secured a spot in the top five.
After the release of the spy thriller, the total box office earnings of films starring Lu Xu were just shy of 30 billion yuan, placing him second on the actors’ rankings—only behind Li Yan.
At this point, the only reason for the gap between Lu Xu and Li Yan was the number of films they had starred in. If Lu Xu took on one or two more projects, he could easily catch up.
However, neither Lu Xu nor Li Yan cared much about these rankings. Since Observing the Stars at Night, they hadn’t collaborated again, but they still kept in touch—chatting occasionally and even promoting each other’s films.
Both had built solid reputations among audiences, and having once been sidelined by the so-called “core circle” of the film industry, they naturally felt a sense of camaraderie.
In the past two years, their treatment within the industry had improved significantly.
Perhaps it was due to Liu Rennong’s departure, or maybe the industry had simply realized the necessity of actors who could anchor the box office with 30 billion+ yuan films. Either way, the value of actors like Lu Xu and Li Yan became even more apparent.
Without high-grossing films to hold the market together, the film industry would grow cold, and audiences would begin to lose faith in it.
Li Yan was doing well, and Lu Xu—unsurprisingly—was thriving.
Their casual conversations reassured them that they both remained level-headed, which only made their chats more enjoyable.
That said, there hadn’t been an opportunity for them to collaborate again recently. The right script—one that could showcase both actors’ strengths—had yet to appear. Additionally, both Lu Xu and Li Yan commanded high fees, which most productions simply couldn’t afford. If a film did manage to cast them both, a significant portion of the budget would go toward their salaries alone.
Still, the two believed that they would work together again someday. All they had to do was wait.
After all, an actor’s career—especially in film—is a long one.
…
As it turned out, their next meeting came much sooner than either of them had expected.
Li Yan was a homebody—aside from work related to his films, he rarely went out. Lu Xu was well aware of this, and while he wasn’t exactly an outgoing person either, he was slightly better than Li Yan, occasionally appearing on variety shows.
One of the perks of being an A-list celebrity was that the higher you climbed, the more freedom you gained. Both Lu Xu and Li Yan had strong autonomy over their careers—neither their managers nor their agency heads could force them to do anything.
In a way, they were their own bosses.
Throughout the year, Lu Xu didn’t run into Li Yan often. Their meetings were usually limited to film premieres, film festivals, and… award ceremonies.
That year, both actors were nominated for Best Actor at the Contention Awards.
When Lu Xu saw the nomination list, he was momentarily stunned. Then, he remembered—Li Yan’s film had been released the same year as The Sovereign Descends the World. In fact, Lu Xu had even bought a ticket to support it.
“Getting older really messes with your memory,” Lu Xu muttered, trying to cover up his momentary lapse. Sigh.
His much older manager: “…”
“Don’t look at me like that.” Lu Xu could easily read that ‘I’ll just watch you keep showing off’ expression.
All in all, this year, Li Yan and Lu Xu were competitors.
Li Yan had long been a box office powerhouse, but when it came to awards, his track record paled in comparison to Lu Xu’s.
This was his second time being nominated for a Contention Award, but during his first nomination, he had lost to a veteran actor with greater industry recognition and an undeniably commanding performance.
For Li Yan, this trophy was naturally of great significance.
Meanwhile, Lu Xu already had three Contention Awards under his belt. If he were to win a fourth, his awards journey could practically be described as “wholesale collection.”
Originally, Lu Xu could have been ruled out as a serious contender this year. However, after a thorough analysis by film critics, industry experts, and insiders of the award season’s landscape, the conclusion was—
Lu Xu was still a strong competitor.
#Three-Time Winner Still Holding the Fort#
#The Weather’s Getting Cold, Time for Lu Xu to Retire#
