Chapter 165 165 After the Ceremony

Chapter 165: After the Ceremony

Seeing Lu Xu win the Contention Award in person, Bei Hong was more upset than anyone.

He had assumed that with Liu Rennong on the judging panel, Lu Xu would be nowhere near winning. Moreover, the Contention Award wasn’t the type to take risks—its judges tended to favor conservative selections.

Yet, this year, the Contention Award made an exception for Lu Xu.

Had he skipped the ceremony, Bei Hong might not have felt so bitter. But he had attended.

Watching Lu Xu shine on stage while he himself remained light-years away from even a nomination made Bei Hong seethe.

He had even paid to trend a hashtag for this year’s Contention Award, emphasizing his rightful place on the red carpet. But now, the entire entertainment industry’s attention was fixated on Lu Xu. His hashtag might have trended, but it was pointless—no one noticed.

The only good thing was that after the ceremony, no one compared him to Lu Xu or even mentioned the shelved *Sanctuary*.

The downside? It was only because he was not even in the same league.

Did the award *have* to go to Lu Xu?

Bei Hong couldn’t understand it. With five nominees, Lu Xu had only a 20% chance—so why did he win?

He came across a press release from his senior’s agency, throwing shade at Lu Xu, claiming that awarding him the Contention Award had "hurt the feelings of established actors." The moment the results were announced, both his senior and the agency were getting roasted.

"Logically, Song Shizhen should’ve been the most disadvantaged this year. Why single out Lu Xu instead of targeting him?"

The reason was simple: Lu Xu was young and seemed like an easy target. Criticizing him allowed people to pull rank. Song Shizhen, on the other hand, was a veteran with decades of experience—even some panel members wouldn’t dare act superior around him.

The only thing Bei Hong was grateful for now was that no one paid attention to his red carpet hashtag. If they had, he’d likely be drowning in mockery again.

Compared to Bei Hong, Zhao Yifan’s situation was way more embarrassing.

They had both starred in *Reversal City*, and Zhao Yifan was even credited as the lead. Yet, he hadn’t even secured a nomination, while Lu Xu had not only been shortlisted but won. Had Lu Xu lost, their beef during filming might have faded with time.

After all, nominations carried far less weight than wins—audiences remembered winners, not nominees.

In other words, even if mocked, Zhao Yifan believed it would only be temporary.

Truthfully, ever since joining *Reversal City* and having his DMs with Qi Di exposed, Zhao Yifan had been constantly ridiculed. But once he embraced stirring up drama, he realized he’d gotten way more famous compared to when he diligently focused on acting. Though the projects he took on now were mediocre, his past high-quality roles had never brought him significant gains.

Besides, *Reversal City* had raked in nearly 2 billion at the box office.

But now, things were different.

Lu Xu had won.

Zhao Yifan was willing to stir up drama, but he was also way too proud. He hated the thought of others thinking he was far inferior to Lu Xu.

Ever since the Contention Award nominations were announced, public opinion had written him off as inferior to Lu Xu. Missing the nomination had really gotten to him. Even if—*even if*—his performance in *Reversal City* wasn’t as strong as Lu Xu’s, he didn’t want that fact splashed all over the internet.

Yet now, it was common knowledge.

Lu Xu had won Best Actor. No matter how much Zhao Yifan insisted on Weibo or at events that *he* was the true lead of *Reversal City*, who’d buy that?

From the director to the lowest-level staffer, everyone sided with Lu Xu. Now that Lu Xu had won, even fewer people would care that Zhao Yifan had also starred in the film.

Zhao Yifan couldn’t help but wonder—if Mu Lang hadn’t favored Lu Xu so much, giving his character all the best scenes, could *he* have been nominated, or even won?

Until now, Zhao Yifan had never coveted the Contention Award. It had always felt like a pipe dream, reserved only for acting heavyweights.

But it was Lu Xu who took it.

Lu Xu had once been very close to him—they were in the same crew and even shared many scenes together.

In a way, it was the reduction of his own screen time that gave Lu Xu the breakout moment.

This made Zhao Yifan feel that the Contention Award wasn’t as unattainable as he’d thought.

If he had never come close to it, it might have been fine, but the fact that he had the chance only stoked his bitterness.

He had clearly forgotten that it was his failure to deliver in his scenes and the trouble he brought to the *Reversal City* crew that led director Mu Lang to consider trimming his role.

Given this, even if Mu Lang had given him several times more screen time than Lu Xu, it would have been detrimental to the film overall.

But Zhao Yifan would never think from this perspective.

Now that Lu Xu had become the Contention Award’s Best Actor, Zhao Yifan’s Weibo comments became a laughingstock. The more he was ridiculed, the more he resented Lu Xu, convinced Lu Xu had robbed him of his chance.

To be precise, he hated both Lu Xu and director Mu Lang for favoring him, as well as screenwriter Luo Kun for catering to him with script changes.

Had they kept the original version, even if he still couldn’t have been nominated or won the Contention Award, neither could Lu Xu.

Besides Bei Hong, there were also Zhang Zhizhen, Zhang Che, and Qi Di—the latter two had basically stopped speaking out on Weibo. Zhang Che’s fanbase had dwindled drastically, and no one cared about his melancholy anymore. Zhang Zhizhen, on the other hand, wanted to sourly comment that Lu Xu didn’t deserve the award, but unfortunately, he was still connected in the industry, having once served as a Contention Award judge.

He had long lost his fundraising clout, and his remaining industry clout came solely from his past credentials and connections—mainly reflected in his ability to offer suggestions for certain awards and occasionally serve as a judge.

The Contention Award was decided by the organizing committee led by Sang Yuan, whom he couldn’t afford to offend—the man outranked him by miles. If he spoke recklessly, he might even lose his chance to be a judge altogether.

Zhang Zhizhen kept his mouth shut, and naturally, others had even less right to speak out.

However, while Zhang Zhizhen didn’t say anything publicly, he still bitched about it behind closed doors. He even tried to incite Hang Xiaguang to protest, but Hang Xiaguang deflected with a laugh.

Hang Xiaguang couldn’t openly oppose Zhang Zhizhen, but a director on good terms with Hang Xiaguang scolded Zhang Zhizhen harshly, accusing him of ill intentions.

Zhang Zhizhen might never make another film in his life, but Hang Xiaguang still had to survive in the industry. Lu Xu was now the top rising star with both box office success and awards—who knew if they might collaborate in the future?

Hang Xiaguang had already won Best Actor before. Though he might not be happy about losing to Lu Xu this time, he would never risk a fallout over it.

Lu Xu’s box office draw was unquestionable—this was an industry consensus.

Hang Xiaguang, despite being a Best Actor, couldn’t open a movie—and he wasn’t alone. The other three nominees also faced this dilemma to varying degrees.

If he collaborated with Lu Xu, he could get a piece of that box office action.

Hang Xiaguang wasn’t the only one with this idea—the other three nominees also expressed interest in working with Lu Xu.

¥1 billion at the box office might not sound like much, but it was a milestone many actors could never achieve in their entire careers.

Hang Xiaguang couldn’t help but marvel that *Reversal City* was actually Lu Xu’s lowest-grossing project so far.

With a ¥300M+ budget, its profit barely crossed ¥1 billion. Now that Lu Xu had won the Contention Award, *Reversal City*’s online streaming numbers on various platforms had skyrocketed. Moreover, Mu Lang’s films usually had legs at the box office—overseas awards, international DVD releases… they had far more revenue streams than ordinary films.

*"Who wouldn’t want to work with an actor who can turn tens of millions in production costs into over a billion at the box office?"*—This was reportedly a blunt remark made publicly by one of this year’s Contention Award Best Actor nominees.

……

Lu Xu was incredibly busy during the Contention Award.

Before and during the ceremony, things were manageable—most celebrities maintained their decorum, and Lu Xu exchanged nothing more than polite nods with most.

But after winning the award, he immediately became someone everyone wanted a piece of.

Especially at the post-awards banquet—Lu Xu had originally planned to skip it, but he couldn’t escape. The organizers had already handed him the trophy, and if he didn’t even attend the event, it would be way too rude.

So that evening, Lu Xu swapped WeChat info with the other Best Actor nominees, as well as the supporting actor and actress nominees and winners. Mu Lang and Luo Kun also introduced him to many industry insiders.

There were even talent agents openly trying to poach him.

In the past, these agencies might have tried to sabotage Lu Xu for the sake of their own artists, but after tonight, such efforts would be pointless—unless their artist could win a heavyweight Best Actor award or star in a film that grossed over 2 billion.

That was a pretty damn high bar.

The terms under which Lu Xu signed with Feiyang Entertainment were something most agencies could match, but Lu Xu had never considered switching.

Mainly, he enjoyed working with Xu Wen, who selected scripts that aligned with his preferences. Coincidentally, even when it came to blowing off steam, they often complained about the same things.

Lu Xu was used to his freedom.

Even if other agencies now promised him full autonomy, back when he had just starred in *The Son of Heaven* and he wasn't that famous yet, Feiyang Entertainment had been willing to offer him such a contract—showing they really meant it.

In a way, Lu Xu had now reached a stage where he could choose roles based on his rep. Directors in the industry—aside from a few with certain film fixations—would directly hand him scripts they thought suited him and ask if he was interested.

Lu Xu had made a name for himself by starring in films like *Deception* and *Feather of Youth*, which were initially underestimated. Now that he had won the Contention Award, directors were even more eager to collaborate with him.

That night, Lu Xu even listened to several directors geeking out about their visions for their next films.

At first, he thought they were inviting him to star as the lead in their upcoming projects. But after a while, he realized they were actually hoping he would invest in their new films.

Lu Xu: "..."

He accepted their business cards and promised to read the scripts carefully.

However, Lu Xu didn’t consider himself an investment whiz. His previous investment in *Female Grandmaster* was purely because he thought the script was pretty damn good—but a good script didn’t guarantee box office gold.

It was all luck.

The moment he mentioned luck, the other party grew even more excited: "Exactly! In the end, it all comes down to luck!"

"Here's the thing, I don’t have that kind of luck, and neither does he—but you do."

Their tone was so earnest that Lu Xu was pretty sure they genuinely believed it.

Well, luck was indeed important.

The profits from *Female Grandmaster* were still sitting in his bank account, and Lu Xu was figuring out what to do with the money. After asking around among directors he knew, he found that most were doing just fine.

Not just Liu Chunfeng, whom he had collaborated with multiple times, but even the directors of *The Path of Bones* and *Voices of the Dead*—with hit shows under their belts, their new projects had investors lined up.

Lu Xu thought this was great. The directors he had worked with were all thriving.

If every director he collaborated with ended up in trouble, he’d start wondering if he was putting some kind of jinx on them.

In the end, it was Zheng Xiao who recommended a script to Lu Xu—the ones pitched to him at the Contention Award celebration were, let’s just say, kind of terrible, and the directors themselves were way too artsy-fartsy, all style, no substance.

In short, while Lu Xu’s money came easily, he couldn’t just flush it down the toilet.

What Zheng Xiao suggested was a sci-fi series.

Sci-fi films were struggling, and sci-fi series were even more screwed.