Chapter 444: Who Taught You to Translate Like That? |
Busan International Airport.
As Asia’s top star-making factory, the arrivals hall here is a battlefield of Long Guns and Short Cannons year-round.
Today it was especially heavyweight.
With the Busan Film Festival opening soon, all manner of gods, demons, and monsters were parachuting in.
A well-known Korean paparazzo called Kim Bigmouth was holding a selfie stick, livestreaming in a sarcastic, insinuating tone in Korean.
“Hello everyone! Next through customs are the delegation from Huaguo!”
Kim Bigmouth pushed up the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, his mouth stretching to his ears in mockery,
“Everyone knows how male stars from Huaguo are styling themselves lately… that look, ghostly pale foundation, that auntie-red lipstick.”
He even made a delicate finger gesture as if applying lipstick, and the Korean viewers in the livestream lost it.
[Haha, after all, they produce so many pretty boys over there.]
[Hope to see real actors, not walking makeup display cases.]
[I heard Jiang Ci is a top star? Probably another porcelain doll who needs an assistant to walk him two steps?]
Kim Bigmouth read the comments and laughed even more brazenly. “Reliable sources! Jiang Ci is here this time chasing the Film Emperor! I bet he spends three hours just on makeup for camera!”
No sooner had he finished than the automatic doors slid open to the sides.
The noisy arrival area fell eerily silent for a second.
Leading the way was a middle-aged man in a black Zhongshan suit.
Jiang Wen wore sunglasses, hands clasped behind his back, walking with a domineering S-shaped stride,
that bandit vibe seeping from his bones made the surrounding Camera Flashes lag by half a beat.
But that wasn’t the main point.
The main point was the man walking right behind him.
Or rather, the man who looked like his “bodyguard.”
A slightly worn black Windbreaker, zipped all the way up to hide his chin.
A baseball cap pulled so low the brim obscured his eyes.
The exposed skin was not the imagined porcelain pallor, but bronze, full of wildness.
He carried a large suitcase in each hand, the muscles in his arms standing out with effort,
Veins winding across his wheat-colored skin, his walking testosterone practically exploding through the screen!
Kim Bigmouth was stunned into silence.
“Th…this must be the bodyguard, right? Where’s Jiang Ci?”
He tiptoed desperately, trying to spot the legendary “delicate porcelain doll” behind the two.
But the “bodyguard” stopped in front of the Media Area.
He seemed to notice Kim Bigmouth’s camera and slightly turned his head.
He took off the sunglasses.
At that moment, those eyes—clear black and white, pupils ink-dark.
That face, sharply cut, skin not especially fine, yet because of this raw, explosive life force, his sexual magnetism was off the charts.
Three seconds later, a soprano-like scream erupted!
“Oppa—!!!”
Korean girls, whose aesthetics had long been ruled by assembly-line idols,
had never seen this “wild dog” type of handsome. It was a dimensional reduction strike!
Kim Bigmouth’s eardrums buzzed from the screams, and the livestream comments had completely flipped!
[Holy shit! Holy shit! Now that’s a man!]
[I want to wash my clothes on his abs! Don’t stop me!]
[That damn skin tone! That damn boyfriend energy! Going crazy!]
Kim Bigmouth’s face went ashen on the spot.
He wouldn’t accept defeat!
As a sharp-tongued reporter, he could not lose!
Kim Bigmouth squeezed through the crowd, thrust his microphone at Jiang Ci, and blasted in broken Chinese:
“Mr. Jiang! I heard you’re filming a ridiculous comedy recently?”
“Does that mean you couldn’t handle a role with the depth of Icebreaker,”
“so you chose to act like a fool in a role that doesn’t require skill to lower your status?”
The questions were pointed and vicious, plainly aimed at wrecking the scene.
Jiang Wen’s sunglasses shifted as if he was about to explode.
Jiang Ci raised a hand to stop him.
Jiang Ci lazily tilted his head and scanned Kim Bigmouth from head to toe.
The look was like observing a street punk who didn’t know what was coming.
Suddenly Jiang Ci smiled.
He extended a finger and scratched his brow.
“Comedy?”
“Handsome, do you know what the core of comedy is?”
Kim Bigmouth faltered, “W-what?”
“It’s tragedy.”
Jiang Ci stepped forward, and the immense aura forced Kim Bigmouth to recoil instinctively.
“You came out here to report without even understanding that?”
Jiang Ci tugged at the corner of his mouth, but Kim Bigmouth felt a cold sweat run down the back of his neck.
“Seems your professional skills need work. Go back and retake the course, handsome.”
Having said that, he didn’t bother to look at Kim Bigmouth again, put his sunglasses back on,
grabbed a suitcase in each hand, and strode toward the entourage van.
Jiang Wen followed and couldn’t help whistling.
“Handsome? That word is authentic!”
The entourage van disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Kim Bigmouth was left standing there, his face flushed liver-color.
That night, on Korea’s largest social forum Naver, a hot post rocketed to the top:
“Are Huaguo male stars this wild now? This is walking testosterone!”
The accompanying image was a high-resolution candid of the exact moment Jiang Ci took off his sunglasses.
No retouching, no filters, even the pores on his skin clearly visible.
But it was precisely this unfiltered reality that made Korean netizens, used to airbrushed idols, fall in love overnight.
…
Busan Paradise Hotel.
As the official hotel for the festival, the lobby glittered in gold, the fragrance so strong it could send a person off.
At the elevator entrance,
Jiang Ci and Jiang Wen had just about to step in when a group of black-clad bodyguards blocked them.
“Sorry, please wait.”
The guards quickly cleared the area with such force that anyone unaware would think a head of state had arrived.
Moments later, a young man in a silver sequin suit walked over amid a crowd fawning like satellites.
Park Tae-hyun.
A homegrown Korean top star and one of the leading candidates for Film Emperor this time.
Made up down to the hair, his eyeshadow was the trending peach-blossom look, lips glossed to a plump pout.
Seeing Jiang Ci and Jiang Wen, Park Tae-hyun stopped, removed his sunglasses, and revealed a practiced smile he had rehearsed thousands of times.
“Oh? Isn’t this Mr. Jiang from Huaguo?”
Park spoke fluent English, his gaze sliding over Jiang Ci’s “construction-site style” Windbreaker and dark skin with unhidden disdain.
“Must be tough, seems like the shooting conditions in Huaguo are rather… harsh.”
Park took out a handkerchief and pretended to press at his nostrils with affected elegance.
“I heard Icebreaker is about drug enforcement?”
Park kept smiling, “That kind of subject is too heavy, and the ideological stance is too strong,”
“It probably doesn’t fit the international jurors’ favored ‘universal values’ and ‘aesthetic of art.’”
The implication was clear: your film is backward and politically suspect, it won’t win awards.
Jiang Wen didn’t understand English, but he understood expressions.
Especially Park’s affected nose-pressing!
“What the hell is that guy yammering about?” Jiang Wen asked Jiang Ci in Chinese, frowning.
Jiang Ci expressionless: “He’s saying our film’s theme is too hardcore and the judges won’t like it.”
“Bullshit!”
Jiang Wen exploded on the spot, pointing at Park Tae-hyun’s nose and spitting out pure Beijing dialect:
“Tell this powdered-up pretty-boy! I make films to record truth, not to lick those foreign bastards’ asses!”
“Tell him to wash the makeup off his face before lecturing me on art! What a joke!”
Jiang Wen’s shout, full and forceful, instantly quieted the entire lobby.
Park, though not understanding the words, shivered at Jiang Wen’s fierce presence.
“He… What did he say?” Park forced calm and asked Jiang Ci.
All eyes in the lobby turned to Jiang Ci.
Jiang Ci looked at Park Tae-hyun and put on an extremely “polite” smile.
He bowed slightly and, in a crisp London accent, translated slowly:
“Director Jiang said your choice of perfume is very… unique.”
Park blinked, his expression softening and preparing the polite reply.
Jiang Ci then added the second half, his tone still composed:
“Unfortunately, an excess of artificial fragrance just masks the scent of you as a person.”
The room fell deathly silent.
This wasn’t translation.
This was killing someone’s heart.
Park’s smile froze on his face, that thick layer of foundation nearly cracking.
“Ding.”
The elevator doors opened.
Jiang Ci swung his suitcase and made a gesture of “after you” toward Park, all mockery in his eyes.
“We won’t squeeze in with you, after all… we’re pretty earthy and might offend you.”
With that, he grabbed the still-unsated Jiang Wen and turned to another service elevator.
The elevator doors closed.
Jiang Wen stared at Jiang Ci in puzzlement. “How did you translate just now? The bastard’s face went green as a cucumber.”
Jiang Ci shrugged. “I followed your core intent completely and added one tiny bit of processing.”
Jiang Wen snorted coldly. “You little smartass.”