Chapter 242: Main Story Completed
Tan Qi knew very well that for Lu Xu, this was an exceptionally difficult Contention Award to win. However—as long as Lu Xu remained in the film industry, as long as he continued to have the chance to be nominated, each future competition would only become tougher.
Lu Xu would never treat each award as his last, and as his fan, neither would Tan Qi.
Halfway through the awards ceremony, the atmosphere grew increasingly lively.
Although the main venue remained calm, and the celebrities maintained their composed smiles, Tan Qi couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath this tranquility, an undercurrent was quietly surging.
The audience didn’t pay much attention to the technical awards. The only times complaints surfaced were during the announcements for Best Cinematography and Best Animated Feature—since the final winners often differed from what the audience had expected.
Of course, the criteria for evaluation were fundamentally different for both sides.
After that, the live chat comments quieted down, with only a few netizens occasionally popping up to ask:
[Has Best Actor/Best Actress been announced yet?]
Upon receiving the answer [Not yet] they would silently retreat again.
Tan Qi kept waiting. During this time, she also busied herself with other things. Occasionally, the camera would pan to Lu Xu, showing him either chatting with the Director or Zheng Xiao, or wearing a composed smile.
The live director seemed especially eager to give Lu Xu screen time, as if hinting at the award’s outcome.
But as someone who had watched several Contention Awards before, Tan Qi knew better—getting a lot of screen time was normal for Lu Xu, and it didn’t necessarily mean he would win.
Although—Lu Xu had indeed won many awards.
[Lu Xu is Lu Xu!!]
[Haha, whether Lu Xu gets screen time or not, he’s going to win an award anyway, okay? The director is just cutting to him for the ratings. Who doesn’t know that Lu Xu is the king of viewership?]
As the awards ceremony dragged on, minute by minute, the audience occasionally caught glimpses of moments the director didn’t focus on—a celebrity quietly dozing off, or someone’s eyes welling up with tears.
The ceremony’s schedule was undeniably long and tedious. Even the celebrities’ smiles appeared more formulaic than usual.
The Sovereign Descends the World won Best Costume Design and Best Original Score. However, it missed out on Best Original Screenplay, which went to a more niche film with a uniquely structured plot.
That particular film hadn’t been nominated for Best Picture or Best Director, meaning that, for this award, all five nominated films were still on equal footing.
Chang Aiwei remained relaxed.
Regardless of how The Sovereign Descends the World performed at the Contention Awards, the film had already made a massive profit—its box office earnings alone exceeded the combined total of the other four Best Picture nominees.
With its commercial success secured and its nomination at the Contention Awards, The Sovereign Descends the World was, without question, the most cost-effective production of the year.
Li Yan’s latest film, A Season of Good Rain, was a more artistic piece with limited box office appeal.
Of course, since Li Yan starred in it, the movie still made money—just not nearly as much as The Sovereign Descends the World.
Li Yan never explicitly stated it, but from what Lu Xu gathered, taking on A Season of Good Rain was, in part, a strategic move to push for awards recognition.
“I used to think as long as a film made money, that was enough,” Li Yan had once said. “But maybe I’m getting older—now I feel like winning an award wouldn’t be so bad either. I guess people are just endlessly greedy.”
In some ways, Li Yan envied Lu Xu’s position.
At the very least, when it came to acting, Lu Xu had no weaknesses.
But Li Yan only felt envy—he had no intention of changing his approach, nor did he obsess over winning awards. If a good project came his way, he was willing to compete, but there was no need to overthink it.
After so many years in the entertainment industry, Li Yan had seen through a lot—the more he chased after certain things, the more elusive they became.
Besides, at his level of fame, gaining something always came at a price.
If he were an unknown, insignificant actor with little value, the price others demanded from him would be minimal.
But now, as the highest-grossing lead actor in the film industry, if he wanted a specific award and was willing to trade for it, the cost would inevitably be far greater than he imagined.
Not to mention, he wasn’t a naturally gifted actor like Lu Xu.
In Li Yan’s view, the reason Lu Xu had won so many awards wasn’t because he had “traded” for them—it was because his acting was so exceptional that it stunned everyone in the industry.
If you were a director, you wanted to work with Lu Xu. If you were an actor, you wanted to surpass him.
Even if obstacles existed, filmmakers who admired true talent were always willing to clear a path for Lu Xu.
Someone like Liu Rennong was a rare exception.
In all his years in the industry, Li Yan had never expected a renowned director to ruin the reputation of the Golden Flame Awards just to satisfy his own selfish desires.
And yet, the Golden Flame Awards foolishly allowed Liu Rennong to destroy them.
Of course, both had paid the price.
Liu Rennong had been swindled out of a fortune and was now entangled in endless lawsuits.
To repay his debts, he was stuck overseas, making low-budget films.
As for the Golden Flame Awards, they had completely lost their credibility. No matter how much they struggled to restore their image, it was futile.
Li Yan even suspected that at this year’s Contention Awards, Lu Xu would still receive favoritism.
Or perhaps—it wasn’t favoritism at all.
Rather, Lu Xu’s performance was compelling enough to sway the judges—to make them overlook any potential disadvantages he carried and award him the prize.
Li Yan had asked himself: if Lu Xu won again this year, would he feel jealous? Would he grow resentful toward him?
Jealousy was inevitable.
But resentment? That wasn’t necessary.
If anything, Li Yan figured he would choose to collaborate with Lu Xu again, using him as a benchmark to push himself further.
Truthfully, aside from his relatively average luck with awards, Li Yan was already recognized as a top-tier actor in the industry. Even before working with Lu Xu on Observing the Stars at Night, he had realized that Lu Xu was the kind of actor who could rival him at the box office.
He just hadn’t expected that day to come so soon.
In just a few short years, Lu Xu had caught up to him in terms of lead actor awards—and when it came to average box office earnings, Lu Xu had even surpassed him.
Audience affinity was an unpredictable thing. Li Yan had climbed to the top of the box office rankings largely because of it—while other actors fought tooth and nail for numbers, he could easily hit high box office figures with any film he starred in.
For a long time, Li Yan believed he had no real competition.
Then Lu Xu appeared.
It was fair to say that Lu Xu reignited his motivation to keep striving.
When Li Yan’s total box office revenue surpassed 30 billion, the actor right behind him was Lu Xu.
At that time, Lu Xu was still a fair distance away, though both of their numbers had been boosted by Observing the Stars at Night’s earnings.
But soon after, Lu Xu’s Code A77 and Clay Man were released in quick succession, closing the gap even further.
Then came Observing the Stars at Night again.
Lu Xu had become the driving force behind Li Yan’s continued ambition.
As Li Yan glanced at Lu Xu, Lu Xu happened to look back at him. The two exchanged a smile, and the camera captured the moment perfectly.
Marketing accounts wasted no time screenshotting it and promptly titled the image: “Rivals.”
The seating for The Sovereign Descends the World and A Season of Good Rain crews wasn’t too far apart, but it wasn’t close enough for Lu Xu and Li Yan to casually chat. After their brief eye contact, both averted their gazes, their expressions gradually turning serious.
[The transformation from O to A—please refer to the gif.]
[…Let it go, thanks.]
[The evolution from dog to human—please refer to the gif.]
[This I agree with. Modo modo.]
Because—in just a few moments, the Best Actor award would be announced.
For Lu Xu, sitting in this same position under the same kind of spotlight was nothing new. He had been through this process four times already.
But no actor ever felt it was too many.
To have one’s performance recognized and honored—no other event could compare.
The presenter for this award was Yuan Meng, last year’s Best Actress winner. As she walked on stage, the cameras once again focused on the five Best Actor nominees.
Lu Xu, despite his serious expression, was the most relaxed among them.
Shi Tianhao, the oldest of the nominees, had small eyes. If not for the applause, the brief camera pan over him might have made it seem like he had dozed off.
Li Yan gave the camera a small wave.
Xie Zejie and Ni Xiuzhu, on the other hand, each had their own brand of tension. When the camera landed on them, both looked visibly stiff.
[Who do you think it’ll be?]
[It’s happening, it’s happening!!]
The big screen first played clips from the five nominees’ performances—the emperor’s blend of mercy and ruthlessness in The Sovereign Descends the World, the helpless father crying in the rain, the husband embracing his wife… Each had its own brilliance.
[Emmm… so, I kinda wanna say something.]
[Yeah… when By the River was first promoted, the trailers kept marketing Ni Xiuzhu’s scene, but after watching the full movie, you realize—that scene was basically all it had to offer.]
[Exactly, you just put my thoughts into words, haha. That moment was the absolute highlight of By the River. That’s it.]
[So yeah, I wouldn’t be happy if Ni Xiuzhu won, but I have to admit, the guy is talented. Everyone in the industry knows it, and even we gossip-loving netizens know it. Blame the gossip—it has ruined me.]
The audience had their own opinions.
So did the guests in the room—but in the end, they all clapped for the nominees.
Tan Qi paused what she was doing, her eyes locked on the screen.
As the presenter opened the envelope, she felt a wave of nervous energy flood her body, her heart pounding wildly.
[And the winner of this year’s Contention Award for Best Actor is—]
In that moment, Yuan Meng’s voice felt distant yet strangely clear, echoing in Tan Qi’s ears.
No moment had ever felt this long.
Lu Xu smiled faintly.
Ni Xiuzhu pressed his lips together.
Xie Zejie’s gaze flickered, momentarily unfocused…
In just a few seconds, Tan Qi felt as if she had gained sudden clarity—seeing so much in the briefest of moments.
“The winner of this year’s Contention Award for Best Actor is—”
“Lu Xu, The Sovereign Descends the World.”
The weight in her heart suddenly lifted.
She watched as Lu Xu rose from his seat, high-fiving Chang Aiwei, bumping fists with Zheng Xiao—then, from across the room, he gave a small wave to Li Yan.
Li Yan responded with a smile, while Ni Xiuzhu—caught in the frame but not the focus—couldn’t hide his dissatisfaction in that brief moment. Realizing he had been caught on camera, he quickly adjusted his expression, forcing a smile.
But it was too late.
His fleeting moment of disappointment had been captured completely.
Lu Xu rose from his seat and ran toward the stage. Whatever he said in his speech, Tan Qi could no longer remember.
She only remembered how full of life he looked as he accepted the award, his smile shining brighter than the stars.
Lu Xu was a miracle in himself!
“This is Lu Xu’s fifth Contention Award nomination and his fourth win. He previously won in the XXth, XXth…”
The voiceover was so clear as he took the stage, and Tan Qi felt an overwhelming sense of pride swell in her chest.
In the history of the Contention Awards, there had never been an actor like Lu Xu—and there never would be again.
Even as he stood on that stage, he was telling his fans: “This won’t be the last time.”
He must have known how difficult it would be to win another Contention Award in the future.
But he was still pushing forward, still sprinting toward his goal.
Tan Qi couldn’t hold back her tears—she really couldn’t.
Lu Xu had created possibilities when everyone thought it was impossible.
Just like in every show, every film he had starred in—whenever people doubted him, he still succeeded.
[Our brilliant Puppy!!]
[Please keep acting forever!]
It was as if Lu Xu heard the voices of his fans from the stage.
He lifted the trophy high and declared firmly:
“I will always love acting. I will act until I’m 80!”
“I will keep standing here—until the end of my life!”
That part was too extreme—as long as he kept acting, the world would remain beautiful.
[End of Main Story.] Extra chapters next 😊
Awwwwwwww 😭😭😭😭