Chapter 156 156 Film Crew

Chapter 156: The Crew

The industry found the skyrocketing box office of *Female Grandmaster* bizarre while also expressing bewilderment at Lu Xu's earning power.

Drawing crowds is one thing, but even his invested films could become hits?

With *Female Grandmaster*'s lineup, who saw blockbuster potential?

"...Speaking of which, has Lu Xu’s annual income already surpassed Ling Ge Entertainment?"

"Way past that. Just his earnings from films these past few years are equivalent to a mid-sized company."

"Ling Ge Entertainment hasn’t been profitable lately. Wei Fangfei’s incident cost them a lot, and Verse’s members... let’s not even get started. If they hadn’t let Lu Xu go, Ling Ge Entertainment wouldn’t be in such rough shape."

"But consider this—if Lu Xu had stayed at Ling Ge Entertainment, he might never have reached this level. Ling Ge only cares about quick cash, including when they formed Verse—it was just a cash grab from the start, except Verse blew up unexpectedly."

The entertainment industry doesn't do income rankings anymore, but if one were made, Lu Xu would undoubtedly be near the top—especially after *The Deception* and *Female Grandmaster*, which put him ahead of many long-established A-list actors.

"Just pure luck of the draw."

"If I were one of Verse’s members, seeing Lu Xu’s current success would probably make me sick."

As predicted, *Female Grandmaster*’s final box office topped out at 1.5 billion. A staggering sum flowed into Lu Xu’s bank account, still insane after taxes.

"Teacher Lu, take me under your wing!"—Zheng Xiao from a neighboring crew voiced his hopes.

This was one of the rare times Zheng Xiao had used "Teacher" with him since they met.

Shao Yao was still out there eating dust.

Whenever Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao video-called him, they hardly recognized him anymore—the person on-screen was dark, thin, and flashing a set of gleaming white teeth.

Shao Yao’s current project had been dragging on forever. During filming, he hardly ever broke for side gigs, focusing solely on the production itself.

Regarding Lu Xu’s financial success, Shao Yao was just thrilled: "With enough money, maybe we could bankroll TV dramas or films ourselves later?"

"Sounds good!"

When others attributed Lu Xu’s success to sheer luck, Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao disagreed—the reality of the film industry was that those surefire projects would never land with an outsider like Lu Xu.

Those sour investors who claimed Lu Xu was just lucky—why hadn’t they invested in *Female Grandmaster* earlier?

As *Female Grandmaster*’s box office soared, gossip accounts exposed the investors and studios Mo Qi had initially approached.

Lu Xu wasn't her first stop.

For one reason or another, they refused to invest in *Female Grandmaster*. Yet once the film succeeded, it suddenly became "Lu Xu got lucky."

"Pfft. And this is the so-called ‘prestigious’ film industry."

"That’s exactly why Lu Xu deserves the money! And he gave her free rein—didn’t look down on any new director."

"Laughable. Just sour grapes. We’re talking nine-digit profits here—every investor who passed on *Female Grandmaster* must be seething."

Fans noticed that ever since Lu Xu entered the film industry, the once-snobbish inner circle had suddenly revealed its true colors.

Desperate for money yet unwilling to humble themselves before audiences—instead demanding fans kneel and hand over cash.

Lu Xu was already wildly successful, and Li Yan’s films had raked in plenty, yet in the eyes of certain high-and-mighty film elites, they still weren’t "worthy" of the prestigious film circle.

The profits from Lu Xu's investment in *Female Grandmaster* are enough to make anyone envious. After all, countless industry lawsuits are fought over sums in the tens or hundreds of millions. *The Swordsman* flopped, sending directors like Zhang Zhizhen into fits of rage. Yet when it comes to Lu Xu, they all harbor an inexplicable arrogance, as if the money he earns smells like dirty money.

For fans, this has also pulled back the curtain on the so-called film industry for them.

"Lu Xu should just focus on making money—I couldn’t care less about the rest! What’s so great about the film industry anyway? Aren’t there still oddballs like Qi Di and Zhao Yifan?"

...

The script for *Fearless Life*, which Lu Xu took on, tells the story of scientist Bai Qianshan.

Bai Qianshan was an academic genius. After years of grueling studies overseas, he resolved to return home and devote himself to building up the country. Along the way, he endured countless hardships, and the work itself was full of obstacles—scarce resources, a lack of talent, and seemingly impossible tasks awaiting him.

Yet he chose to overcome them one by one. Stubborn, composed, yet possessing a scientist's mad genius, Bai Qianshan flourished even in tough circumstances, his vision wide enough to take in the whole universe.

This wasn’t a particularly complicated script, as Bai Qianshan was based on a real-life figure. The screenplay was written after extensive interviews with the subject’s family and got their blessing.

What moved Lu Xu was the script’s meticulousness and sincerity. The screenwriter had clearly put in serious work crafting a narrative that captured the rollercoaster journey of a scientist’s life.

Much like *Female Grandmaster*, even without an intricate plot, the work connected with viewers through its authenticity and emotional depth.

Lu Xu wasn’t picky when selecting scripts—he simply chose what appealed to him. *Fearless Life* marked his fourth film project, and by then, he suddenly realized that his scripts seemed to follow a pattern of complexity-simplicity-complexity-simplicity.

When *Fearless Life* began filming, Lu Xu noticed fans’ reactions. Many were against him taking on this film, primarily due to box office concerns. Indeed, compared to other movies, *Fearless Life* didn’t seem like it would light up the box office, unlikely to break the 2-billion-yuan barrier.

Truthfully, before joining the production, Lu Xu hadn’t given much thought to box office numbers—he, too, believed *Fearless Life* wouldn’t perform spectacularly.

But as filming progressed, his perspective shifted.

The outside world, including fans, only knew *Fearless Life* as a biographical film about Bai Qianshan’s life, unaware of its actual narrative. Many likely assumed it was just another run-of-the-mill biography.

But that wasn’t the case.

*Feather of Youth* had an extremely simple story, yet it still hit viewers right in the feels. Despite the constraints of its dual themes—youth and sports—it surpassed 1.5 billion at the box office.

In terms of emotional impact, *Fearless Life* was just as gripping as *Feather of Youth*, and Bai Qianshan’s story was already widely known. Thus, Lu Xu believed *Fearless Life* had a built-in fanbase.

The screenwriter had written such a meticulously detailed script that portraying Bai Qianshan took just as much out of Lu Xu as any of his previous roles.

Whenever he fully immersed himself in the character’s emotions, he felt as though Bai Qianshan was watching him.

He was portraying an extraordinary figure, and through his performance, he had to bring to life the full sweep of this character’s life—at the very least, he couldn’t tarnish the role.

...

Compared to *Reversal City*’s production setup, *Fearless Life* was a notch below.

But "a notch below" didn’t mean bad. Directors like Mu Lang represented the industry’s top tier—talented, visionary, acclaimed by peers, and backed by box office success. Meanwhile, the film industry also had another type of director—those who delivered consistently solid work across genres, often producing films above average or even bordering on excellence. However, due to their lack of distinctive personal flair, they flew under the radar, with respectable but not record-breaking box office results.

Miao Zhi, the director of *Fearless Life*, fell into this category.

Miao Zhi was short, bald, and had an oddly flat back of his skull—the kind of person who looked neither better with nor without hair. In short, he wasn’t conventionally attractive.

His personality was mild and easygoing, devoid of the temper often associated with renowned directors. He didn’t pontificate on social media either. After following his account, Lu Xu noticed the director frequently posted about the plants and birds he cared for.

He exuded a calmness atypical of someone long entrenched in the film industry.

According to Xu Wen, Miao Zhi had once been an ambitious young director. But compared to his exceptionally talented peers from the same graduating class, he always lagged slightly in career achievements. Eventually, he settled into a steadier rhythm, quietly focusing on his craft.

"Don't let his quiet demeanor fool you—he and Liu Rennong have a terrible relationship," Xu Wen remarked. "Liu Rennong rose to fame early and gave him a hard time, overshadowing him in achievements."

"Now that they're no longer young, not many know about this rumor."

Lu Xu nodded solemnly.

As the great curse master codenamed "Broken Willow," Lu Xu wondered if Miao Zhi and Liu Rennong's mutual animosity could spark a REVENGE ALLIANCE if they ended up in the same crew.

However, after joining the *Fearless Life* production, Lu Xu realized he might have overthought things.

Time had mellowed Miao Zhi into a happy-go-lucky type, cheerful and easygoing. Aside from maintaining a director’s authority during shoots, he couldn’t be bothered with anything else.

It was precisely because of this demeanor that Lu Xu suddenly noticed a few actors in the crew didn’t show the director enough respect.

The entertainment industry, at its core, runs on kissing up and kicking down. In the TV world, such incidents were common—sometimes even directors couldn’t override the whims of high-profile actors who called the shots. Take Wei Fangfei’s *Nine Turns Decree*, for example, where it was obvious the director had no say, and the script was dictated by the big-name actors.

But in the film industry, this rarely happened because movies were director-driven.

Personally, Lu Xu wasn’t overly sensitive to such dynamics. Besides him, *Fearless Life* also featured two hot young stars. Around Lu Xu, they were polite, likely aware of his formidable reputation.

But with Miao Zhi, their attitude was downright dismissive.

Not that they openly disrespected or argued with the director—they just phoned it in. When Miao Zhi pointed out flaws in their performances, they’d pay lip service, yet their next take would show no improvement.

Lu Xu frowned, but Miao Zhi seemed unfazed, calmly reiterating their shortcomings. Only then would the actors shape up a little—though in Lu Xu’s eyes, this still wasn’t the attitude a professional actor should have.

To Lu Xu, while Miao Zhi was mild-mannered and hands-off, he was still an experienced director. His seemingly casual critiques showed he had serious chops, making Lu Xu realize the man was far more capable than he appeared.

It reminded him of what Xu Wen had mentioned about Miao Zhi being suppressed by Liu Rennong.

Liu Rennong’s prowess was well-known in the industry. He had pull with investors, secured resources effortlessly, and was a crowd-pleaser—having directed films like *How Much Do You Know*, which grossed over 4 billion yuan. Qi Di and Bei Hong also had good connections, especially the latter, who landed the Best Actor role in *Sanctuary* right after debut.

Yet despite being overshadowed by someone as formidable as Liu Rennong, Miao Zhi still got films made—which showed he was no slouch.

Lu Xu respected directors and despised the industry’s tendency to suck up to winners and dump on losers, especially among young actors.

An actor’s career was long. Young actors could perform for decades, but how many once-leading stars ended up playing mothers or grandmothers? Who could guarantee perpetual fame?

Those who trample others will eventually be trampled themselves.

One day, after yet another botched take from one of the actors, Lu Xu finally snapped. His expression icy, he demanded, "Can we take this seriously? Stop wasting everyone’s time. How long are you gonna make me wait?"

Lu Xu’s cold glare was intimidating, and young actors in the industry knew all too well how swiftly he could go nuclear—his body count was long and growing.

Worse yet, Lu Xu was widely regarded as the founder of multiple disciplines in the industry.

Naturally, the actor wasn’t about to mouth off in front of him, fell in line, and nailed the scene. The suggestions previously ignored were now “heard” loud and clear.

Though Lu Xu later overheard the actor complaining to their agent about how "scary" he was, he didn’t care.

He *was* scary—and could be even scarier if pushed.