Chapter 238: 238 Variety Show

Chapter 238: Variety Show

Serving as a talent show judge was merely a wish from Lu Xu’s fanbase. However, once his Weibo comments were taken over by these demands, he indeed received an invitation from a hit talent show.

"Do you want to participate?"

Xu Wen felt that Lu Xu rarely did variety shows. Though he still needed to keep up appearances, given Lu Xu’s status, he could do whatever he wanted without anyone questioning it.

If anyone thought Lu Xu was just chasing a paycheck, everyone knew he wasn’t particularly keen on investments—he wasn’t some secret industry mogul. His income came solely from film projects and commercial endorsements.

For his latest film, *Reign Supreme*, Lu Xu received a cut of the profits.

The profit-sharing model in the film industry wasn’t yet mature. The reason Lu Xu secured such a deal was because the production team was just trying to cut their losses—even though they knew a film starring Lu Xu was unlikely to bomb, investments still required real capital.

After *Reign Supreme* surpassed 3 billion at the box office, the investors felt some buyer’s remorse.

But the contract had already been signed, and there was no backing out now. Besides, compared to the profits from the box office, the share given to Lu Xu was a drop in the bucket.

However, according to insiders, Lu Xu personally pocketed a nine-figure sum from *Reign Supreme*.

The accuracy of this figure couldn’t be verified, but barring any surprises, this was likely the amount Lu Xu took home.

"So rich!!! Be my sugar daddy!!!"

"It’s only because *Reign Supreme* was seen as a gamble that the production team dared to sign such a contract with Lu Xu. If it were films like *Night Sky Observations* or *Number A77*, even a small percentage for Lu Xu would outearn some agencies in a whole year."

"Feiyang Entertainment remains strong to this day—who’s to say it isn’t because of Lu Xu?"

"Big Baller Lu Xu, LOL. I don’t even have that much money in Happy Beans, but I still want to say: Lu Xu is like a top performer. When a top performer closes a big deal, what’s the harm in getting a bigger slice? At least the box office numbers are real."

"Some films are total garbage, yet certain actors still sign nine-figure contracts (yes, I’m calling them out)."

A few years ago, the entertainment industry still had so-called "rich lists," but in recent years, as celebrities found new ways to cash in and contracts became more confidential, it became impossible to gauge a star’s true earnings from public records. Moreover, with more and more actors whom audiences deemed "unworthy" of high paychecks, the industry no longer deliberately disclosed income data.

Lu Xu was one of the few stars whose high earnings didn’t provoke fan outrage.

After all, if you paid Lu Xu 100 million, he’d earn you 5 billion.

Hiring him versus hiring someone else—the choice was a no-brainer.

Besides, even if Lu Xu didn’t take high paychecks, other stars would. Might as well let Lu Xu have them.

At the very least, Lu Xu himself was pleasant to look at, and so were his films.

When selecting projects, Lu Xu didn’t deliberately lower his asking price, though he would cut deals for well-established directors like Mu Lang and Miao Zhi, whom he had good relationships with.

The entertainment industry was, after all, a world of interests. Studios could fight tooth and nail over box office numbers. As one of the most representative actors in the film industry, if Lu Xu lowered his price, other actors would have to follow suit—otherwise, compared to Lu Xu’s bang for your buck, anyone else would seem like a bad deal.

Though Lu Xu could hold his own in disputes, he couldn’t single-handedly take on the entire entertainment industry.

His past clash with Liu Rennong happened because Liu was just one person, and his actions genuinely harmed the interests of other filmmakers. When Lu Xu opposed him, others naturally sided with Lu Xu.

But if Lu Xu kept lowering his fees, other actors would inevitably grow resentful.

Since Lu Xu was part of the film industry, he still had to play by its rules to some extent.

At any rate, fans knew that while Lu Xu wasn’t obsessed with chasing wealth, he certainly wasn’t short on money.

...

Here’s the refined translation incorporating the expert suggestions:

Regarding the invitation to the talent show that Xu Wen mentioned, Lu Xu ultimately declined: "I passed on this years ago, and now I’m too old and creaky. What’s the point?"

Lu Xu feared showcasing his dancing on stage might actually leave him with broken bones.

Xu Wen: "...You’re not that old, are you?"

Lu Xu was laying it on thick.

"Then why don’t you go?" Lu Xu eyed Xu Wen. "Haven’t there been reality shows about agents lately? I heard the pay’s great. Didn’t they invite you?"

"They did." Xu Wen shook his head. "No thanks—that scene’s not for me."

Xu Wen had watched the show but found the participating agents out of touch and full of themselves—a far cry from his own approach.

They all talked about molding the next big thing, but Xu Wen believed every star was one-of-a-kind—you can’t mass-produce success.

Though the pay tempted him (one show matched half a year’s earnings managing Lu Xu), he bristled at how agents name-checked their clients to hype themselves up.

To Xu Wen, Lu Xu wasn’t merchandise. He didn’t need his artist’s fame to validate his worth.

He was a pretty good agent who knew his strengths. Their working relationship thrived on mutual trust and ease.

Xu Wen refused to exploit Lu Xu for clout or risk exposing him to unfair criticism through some show.

Since Lu Xu had downtime, his team lined up a reality show celebrating Chinese heritage.

Or in two words: mahjong!

Fans reacted: "?"

"No to dancing, ‘done’ travel shows, ‘too tired’ for sports—I was touched by his cultural dedication until... our definitions of ‘heritage’ clearly differ."

"Em... how does this not count?"

"??? Well, ‘when the tide recedes, you see who’s swimming naked.’*"

"Lu Xu, oh Lu Xu—what am I supposed to do with you?"

(*Chinese idiom implying true colors are revealed under pressure)

Truth was, Lu Xu rarely did variety shows. While *Light and Shadow Journey* boosted his film’s promo, fans still facepalmed watching him at the mahjong table, shouting "pung!" and striking poses.

They soon noticed he’d rope in everyone in his contacts when players were short.

"Pretty sure this show was too cheap to pay for guests—booking Lu Xu was like hiring a hundred."

"Right? He even dragged in *The Noble Son* leads Yang Shu and Xia Xuewen."

"Lu Xu got paid—but did they?"

With Lu Xu’s recruitment looking shady as hell, accusations flew about unpaid guests. The producers eventually set the record straight: all participants were compensated.

Yang Shu and Xia Xuewen confirmed this immediately.

Among Lu Xu’s past co-stars, these two had some early buzz that fizzled out. Still, *The Noble Son* started as a nobody project—their later roles as supporting leads came off the back of it.

The mahjong show (especially Xia Xuewen flashing serious skills) gave them a second wind. Word is a director’s planning a mahjong film, and plenty of fans are pushing for Xia Xuewen’s audition.

At the mahjong table, Xia Xuewen completely forgot herself, not caring who the big shots across from her were—she just kept winning relentlessly.

Only after her winning streak did she realize she'd provoked people far beyond her league.

"From arrogance to groveling, hahaha."

"At the table: I reign supreme. Off the table: I’m a servant."

"Honestly, her skills are next-level—both slick and ruthless."

Xia Xuewen’s newfound persona won her countless fans. When audiences revisited *The Noble Son*, they could hardly believe she played the same character as Zhong Baobei.

Through the show, fans also saw Lu Xu’s mediocre mahjong skills, though he improved each episode. Mahjong itself was wildly entertaining, and even spectating was a thrill.

While not a blockbuster, the show maintained steady popularity. Idols, usually weighed down by polished images, revealed their cutthroat sides at the table.

Even the famously gentle Shao Yao tricked Lu Xu into a loss after joining one episode.

"The underdog becomes the tyrant."

"That innocent face hides a devilish mind."

Initially, Lu Xu had to recruit guests, but as hype grew, stars volunteered. The best part of mahjong? No intros needed—just sit and play. Strangers became fast friends after a few losses.

Though criticized for "negatively influencing minors," the show wasn’t family-friendly, so Lu Xu shrugged off the backlash.

Ultimately, the show cemented Lu Xu as a "hype man." Xia Xuewen wasn’t the only one revived—several overlooked stars got fresh attention.

As fans put it, Lu Xu’s Midas touch wasn’t fading.

...

Around ten episodes in, Lu Xu resumed promoting his spy film. *Reign Supreme* was set for Spring Festival, while the spy film targeted National Day—both prime release windows.

*Reign Supreme* was less mainstream, while the spy film had broader appeal. Both were tearjerkers: where *Fearless Life* centered on devotion, the spy film focused on sacrifice.

The protagonist fell just before dawn—perishing in darkness but lighting the way for his successors.

*Reign Supreme* grossed just over 3 billion yuan, while the spy film surpassed 3.5 billion. That year, two of the top five highest-grossing films starred Lu Xu.

This was par for the course.

Since his debut, none of Lu Xu’s films had missed the annual top ten. From *Fearless Life* onward, nearly all ranked in the top five.

After the spy film, his total box office neared 30 billion, placing him second among actors—hot on Li Yan’s heels.

The gap stemmed only from Lu Xu’s fewer lead roles. A couple more films, and he’d overtake him.

Neither cared much for rankings. Though they hadn’t collaborated since *Night Sky Observations*, they still chatted and promoted each other’s work.

Both had cultivated audience goodwill, and having been ostracized by the film establishment, they found camaraderie in shared struggles.

Recently, their fortunes had turned.

Perhaps Liu Rennong’s exit helped, or perhaps the industry needed reliable blockbusters—hits pulling 3 billion-plus—making actors like them indispensable.

Without such anchors, the industry would wither, and audiences would lose interest in theaters.

Li Yan thrived—and Lu Xu? He soared.

After some casual conversation, the two found that the other still maintained rationality, which naturally lifted their moods.

However, there haven’t been many opportunities for collaboration between them lately—there’s a lack of scripts that would allow both leads to shine. Besides, both Lu Xu and Li Yan command high salaries, putting them out of reach for most productions. Even if they were hired, their fees would eat up a huge portion of the budget.

But both believe there will be chances to work together in the future. They just had to bide their time.

An acting career spans decades, especially for film actors.

...

In fact, Lu Xu and Li Yan crossed paths sooner than expected.

Li Yan only leaves his cave for film business—something Lu Xu knows well. Lu Xu himself isn’t particularly fond of going out either, though he’s slightly better than Li Yan, making the occasional variety show appearance.

The perk of being A-list is that the higher you climb, the more freedom you gain. Both Lu Xu and Li Yan have strong autonomy—not even their agents or agency heads can force them to do anything.

In a way, they are their own bosses.

Throughout the year, Lu Xu rarely bumps into Li Yan. Usually, it’s at red carpet events, film fests, or... awards shows.

This year, both were nominated for the Contention Award for Best Actor.

Lu Xu did a double-take when he saw the nomination list, then remembered that Li Yan’s film and *Reign Supreme* were released in the same year—he'd even caught it in theaters.

"Age messes with your memory," Lu Xu joked, sighing.

His much older agent: "..."

"Don’t look at me like that." Lu Xu could easily read that "I'm-so-over-this" look.

In any case, this year, Li Yan and Lu Xu became competitors.

Li Yan had previously drawn attention for his box office performance, but when it came to awards, he couldn't hold a candle to Lu Xu. This was only his second nomination for the Contention Award—the first time, he didn’t win, as the award went to a more established and critically acclaimed actor.

For Li Yan, this trophy was especially important.

Lu Xu already had three Contention Awards. If he won a fourth, he'd be collecting them wholesale.

Originally, Lu Xu might have been excluded, but after a group of film critics, experts, and industry insiders analyzed this year’s awards season, the conclusion was—Lu Xu was still very much in the running.

#Three-Time Champ Defends His Throne#

#Winter’s Coming—Time for Lu Xu to Retire#