Chapter 216 Regret Not Watching

**Chapter 216 – You’ll Regret Skipping This**

The only thing that intrigued Lu Xu was just how much money Liu Rennong had actually made.

If it had made the financial news, then the amount Liu had been scammed out of must be astronomical. The report mentioned a ten-digit sum in USD—but Liu wasn’t the only victim.

Even if Liu’s losses accounted for just one-tenth of the total, Lu Xu still couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to make money—at least for someone like Liu.

Their interactions had been limited, but Lu Xu understood Liu’s methods well enough. A loss of that scale… in some ways, it might as well have killed him.

Still, Lu Xu felt this outcome seemed almost fated. Liu Rennong had committed plenty of underhanded deeds—there was no way he could escape consequences entirely and walk away unscathed.

Rumors said Liu had invested heavily, spreading his ventures far and wide. When he left the industry, he hastily withdrew a significant portion, so the money lost in the scam was nearly all his available cash. How this would ultimately play out or how Liu would spend his remaining years was beyond Lu Xu’s control—he could only wish him luck.

Lu Xu occasionally found himself struck by how quickly the entertainment industry moved on. Liu had once been such a towering figure, yet barely a year after stepping back, all traces of him had vanished from the spotlight, as if he’d never existed at all.

The only thing that brought Lu Xu relief was that no one accused him anymore of being Liu’s bad luck charm.

The movie had been filmed overseas, and the money had been scammed abroad too—it wasn’t like Lu Xu had chased him there to curse him.

He had assumed Liu’s departure from the industry would mark the end of his story. But truly remarkable people could shine anywhere—even if, in Liu’s case, it meant spectacularly imploding.

“Plain old greed,” Xu Wen concluded. “He couldn’t let go of the entertainment world completely.”

“This outcome feels poetic,” Shen Wenjie must be satisfied.”

Lu Xu nodded. “I’m not complaining either.”

This ending suited Liu Rennong perfectly.

...

When Lu Xu said he was taking a long break, he really meant it. He didn’t travel anywhere exciting—he simply slept until he woke naturally, living a leisurely, low-key life.

There were countless year-end award ceremonies and stage performances, but Lu Xu hardly showed up. In the past, he had been equal parts star power and skill among actors. Now, despite maintaining high popularity, he was widely recognized as an actor who no longer relied on fan numbers.

He attended only the occasional film-related event, otherwise keeping a low profile.

Winter in C City was damp and cold. Though the wind wasn’t strong, standing outside for just two minutes was enough to make your legs start jittering. Sometimes Lu Xu rode his bike around the stadium, took a stroll along the riverbank, or visited local parks and museums. With the drop in temperature, tourist spots were quieter than usual, making his outings more enjoyable.

Fans had been running into Lu Xu more frequently lately. Whenever someone posted a video, similar clips would soon pop up in others’ feeds.

That’s how Mu Qian managed to pin him down.

“How’s your schedule these days?” Mu Qian cut straight to the point without wasting time on small talk. “Interested in a cameo?”

“Sure, what kind of role?”

Lu Xu’s immediate agreement caught Mu Qian off guard.

It had been years since Lu Xu last acted in a TV drama, and he rarely appeared at television-related events. Mu Qian had approached boldly because if Lu Xu refused, he could easily pretend the conversation never happened—avoiding any awkwardness.

After all, Lu Xu was now a top-tier film actor. It was only natural he wouldn’t want to slum it in TV dramas. Mu Qian had worked with many film actors who had made the jump to television.

But Lu Xu was different. This was the peak of his career. While he was laying low now, the moment he signed onto a new project, all eyes in the entertainment world would be on him.

It was several minutes before Mu Qian finally introduced the role he wanted Lu Xu to guest star in.

The new series was a companion piece to *The Year I Was 18*, and the character he had in mind for Lu Xu was similar to Huang Luning’s. If viewers wished, they could see it as a heartwarming extension of Huang Luning’s story.

The role could've gone to anyone, but after much consideration, Mu Qian still felt Lu Xu was the best fit.

"I'm free anytime. When do I start shooting?"

They hadn't worked together in a long time, and Lu Xu's star power had grown since their last collaboration. Mu Qian had assumed Lu Xu wouldn’t want to do TV dramas anymore, so he was surprised by how readily Lu Xu agreed.

He sent Lu Xu the schedule and script.

Since Lu Xu had nothing else going on, taking a guest role worked fine. He recognized at once that the script was still Jin Mu’s work. Though it was a companion piece to *The Year I Was 18*, its ties to the original were loose.

In short, it was still a heartwarming script.

Mu Qian had spotted Lu Xu through fan-made "chance encounter" videos.

The role required very little screen time, and Lu Xu wrapped his scenes in two days before returning to being "spotted" by fans again.

After Lu Xu guest-starred in Mu Qian’s new series, offers came flooding in, leaving Xu Wen to handle the rejections.

Lu Xu could take it easy, but his agent remained constantly busy.

Of course, Xu Wen loved his job—he hated downtime more than Lu Xu himself did.

Xu Wen no longer planned to take on new artists. Although he was now an executive at Feiyang Entertainment and not involved in daily operations, he only handled Lu Xu.

Xu Wen was satisfied with the current arrangement—to him, Lu Xu *was* his career.

Lu Xu was taking six months off, during which all his brand contracts, investment returns, and various offers—every bit of information—were managed by Xu Wen.

Occasionally, his agent would call to emphasize the sheer volume of offers coming in.

"It'd help if you were working on something. Lately, everyone seems to know you're free..."

Lu Xu had proven himself in big-budget commercial films and aced low-budget productions just as well. He could portray the passionate and righteous Bai Qianshan as convincingly as a psychopath. With so many successful examples under his belt, Lu Xu didn't need to be confined to one type of role.

Naturally, scripts of all genres came his way—including some with content so graphic it shocked even his agent.

Xu Wen turned them down, saying Lu Xu wasn't ready for that kind of exposure. But some kept persisting, assuring him that even if Lu Xu was "small" in person, the camera would make him look very "big."

Xu Wen: "...Big can get the hell off this planet!"

If proof was needed, he could just book Lu Xu for an underwear ad.

Despite years in the industry, there were still times when Lu Xu didn’t get some of these "artistic" concepts—and frankly, he couldn’t be bothered to.

When Lu Xu first became famous, his agent had secretly enjoyed the popularity. But recently, as the scripts got weirder and weirder—with production teams claiming they were roles only Lu Xu could pull off—Xu Wen sometimes found himself pitying him.

From an agent’s perspective, he thought Lu Xu had already pushed boundaries enough.

Fortunately, Lu Xu was soon saved.

His last unreleased film was finally completed and ready for release.

Director Mu Lang titled the film *Dough Figurine*.

Lu Xu thought it was a strange name—it didn’t seem to have much in common with the script. Mu Lang said he’d initially considered titles like *Double-Faced* or *Two-Faced*, but felt they were too obvious: "If the audience figures out the plot from the title alone, that’d be pretty boring."

*Two-Faced* sounded more like a political drama.

Lu Xu agreed.

As soon as the release date was announced, the film garnered an unusual amount of attention—attention way beyond what its small budget would suggest.

*Dough Figurine* had a production cost of only a few tens of millions, mostly because of Lu Xu’s hefty paycheck as the lead.

The film had a very limited setting, and while flashbacks made up a decent portion of the runtime, they just helped develop the protagonist Ma Yanwen’s character. Mu Lang was also great at keeping costs down, and Lu Xu even took a pay cut. If you removed the names Mu Lang and Lu Xu, this would’ve been just another forgettable low-budget flick.

But that’s just how it was—Lu Xu’s last three films had grossed over 12 billion worldwide. Even if he starred in a terrible movie, it’d still pull in crowds at first.

Mu Lang didn’t call *Dough Figurine* a straight-up art film. At most, it had a clever gimmick, but it wasn’t trying to confuse the audience with unnecessary twists.

Mu Lang was an ambitious director, but his ambitions weren’t about retreating into his own world—he still wanted the audience to connect with his ideas.

……

In reality, when *Dough Figurine* claimed to be a low-budget film, other movies coming out around the same time reacted with “Stop pretending.”

"Box office isn’t just about budget. I remember *Deception* and *Feather of Youth* both had modest production costs—what counts is how audiences react."

"Anyone who’s made a film knows that excessive modesty isn’t a virtue. No matter when a film is released, it’ll face competition. We won’t overestimate any movie, but we won’t underestimate any either."

"Out of all the films in this release window, *Dough Figurine* is the one I’m watching most closely."

Every studio took *Dough Figurine* seriously. Even if its budget was indeed low, just having Mu Lang and Lu Xu attached meant no one could ignore it.

The film was called *Dough Figurine*, but that didn’t mean Lu Xu was made of dough.

Even if Mu Lang + Lu Xu seemed like an awards play… *Reversal City*, an awards contender, grossed nearly 2 billion, and *Fearless Life*, another awards contender, grossed nearly 4 billion. Lu Xu was the poster child for balancing art and box office in the entertainment industry.

*Dough Figurine* was set for an early May release, a time with fewer blockbusters but packed with teen movies, romantic dramas, and family films. Its promotional tagline was: “A friendship you’ll never forget.”

The moment this tagline came out, fans immediately noticed.

*Dough Figurine* hadn’t even released a trailer yet. Fans wondered if the team was cocky or if Mu Lang just spaced it.

“Come to think of it, Lu Xu has never really done a film centered on friendship, has he?”

“Wasn’t *Feather of Youth* one? Though the main focus was Yin Pei’s badminton career, the friendship subplot was strong. Other than that, I can’t think of any.”

“*Night Sky Observations* absolutely counts! Zhang Bannu and Wei Qingfang had an unbreakable bond of friendship!”

“Does ‘unbreakable’ even fit there?”

“I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!”

To fans, even in Lu Xu’s movies with friendship arcs—even if purely platonic—there were always moments to obsess over.

Lured by the word “friendship,” fans flocked to the theaters.

After watching the entire film, which ran under two hours: “???”

“A ‘friendship’ I’ll *never* forget???”

The official blog's comment section was completely blown up.

It's definitely about friendship, no doubt—but the "friendship" shown in the movie is totally not the kind they were imagining—what the hell?!

Fans who didn't know any better saw the endless sea of comments shouting "friendship" everywhere and finally gave in to curiosity: "Is *Dough Figurine* any good?"

"It's legit amazing! It opens with a bondage play scene—you'll be hooked from the first scene."

"Yep! That locked-up opening is super intense. I swear you won’t regret watching it, plus there’s a mind-blowing friendship. For real, it's fire."

"Totally worth it. You’ll kick yourself if you miss it."

Swayed by words like "bondage," "locked up," and "play," clueless fans quietly bought their tickets.

And then—

"WTF????"

"!!!!"