Chapter 445: The "Bandit" on the Red Carpet: Aura Can't Be Faked |
June 10th, Busan.
Stars from all over the world swarmed like a river of carp.
The female stars bared their backs and legs, all for a few seconds of camera exposure, while constantly watching out for sea breezes that could flip up their skirts.
As for the male stars, most had their hair shellacked with gel, wearing semi-permanent smiles on their faces, waving to the cameras.
"Here he comes! Park Tae-hyun!"
A shout came from somewhere in the crowd, and the wave of noise exploded violently.
A white Lincoln Town Car slowly came to a stop at the end of the red carpet.
The door swung open, and the first thing to emerge was a foot shod in a custom-made leather dress shoe.
Then, Park Tae-hyun himself, dressed in a silver sequin suit, stepped out.
"Tae-hyun! Sa-rang-hae-yo!"
The scene's scream decibels shot to max. Anyone who didn't know better would have thought it was some idol group's live performance stage.
Park Tae-hyun clearly reveled in this feeling of being the center of attention.
His makeup was flawless, the glitter at the corners of his eyes sparkling under the lights.
He walked very slowly.
A step, three pauses.
He threw a half-heart sign to the left and a flying kiss to the right.
He even half-squatted to shake hands with fans in the front row, triggering waves of near-fainting screams.
Over in the media area, the sound of camera shutters was a continuous roar.
"As expected from the Light of Asia. This popularity is just incredible."
"There's no denying his skin management. It's softer than any female star's."
A few Korean local reporters chattered amongst themselves while frantically pressing their shutters, faces full of pride.
In their eyes, this refined, fair-skinned, docile "flower boy" image represented the absolute peak of Asian male aesthetic standards.
Park Tae-hyun took a full ten minutes to complete his walk down the red carpet.
The host was Korean celebrity MC Kim Min-seok. Seeing Park Tae-hyun approach, he immediately thrust the microphone forward.
His tone was exaggerated: "Tae-hyun! You're so dazzling tonight it's hard to look directly at you! Do you feel confident about tonight's Film Emperor trophy?"
Park Tae-hyun brushed his bangs aside, his expression humble yet smug.
"Just being nominated is an honor... but... for the expectations of my fans, I'll do my best to keep the trophy here in Korea."
Another round of screams erupted from the audience.
Park Tae-hyun didn't rush to enter the venue. Instead, he dawdled in front of the autograph board.
He was waiting. Waiting for that film crew from Huaguo.
He wanted to show Jiang Ci what home-field advantage meant. What top-tier popularity looked like.
"Next to walk the red carpet is the 'Icebreaker' film crew from Huaguo!"
The host's voice boomed across the entire venue through the speakers.
The heat in the venue visibly dropped.
For the Korean local audience and media, a mainstream-themed film from Huaguo—with no traffic idols or trendy gimmicks—had very limited appeal.
Several Korean photographers even lowered their cameras, rubbing their sore wrists, planning to take a break.
A black Audi A8 slid inconspicuously into the red carpet starting zone.
The car came to a steady stop.
The passenger door was pushed open first.
Out stepped Jiang Wen first.
He wore an exquisitely crafted dark gray Zhongshan suit, buttoned all the way to the top, paired with old cloth shoes on his feet.
He stood with his hands behind his back beside the car door, his eagle-like eyes scanning the noisy crowd.
That feeling wasn't like a director arriving to receive an award.
It was more like a bandit chieftain who had just taken a hilltop and was coming down to inspect his newly conquered territory.
Then, a hand rested on the door frame.
Jiang Ci emerged.
The media area, which had been buzzing with whispers, suddenly fell into a moment of silence.
He wore a pure black, modified new-Chinese-style mandarin-collar suit.
The fabric was crisp and tailored, with no superfluous decorations—only a single dark-golden knotted button at the collar.
But that wasn't the main point.
The main point was the man himself.
His eyes held none of that red-carpet-star sycophancy, that desire to please the lens.
They only held a cold wildness left over from a long period of high-pressure filming.
He just stood there.
"Let's go."
Jiang Wen uttered a single word, low and gruff.
The two men walked side-by-side.
Their strides were enormous.
*Click.*
Someone pressed the shutter first.
Then, the Korean photographers who had been planning to rest frantically raised their cameras again.
Professional instinct told them that the raw, aggressive tension radiating from these two men in front of them was a hundred times more potent than all that powdered scent from earlier!
"That look in the eyes... incredible!"
"Don't block me! The light hitting his face is a work of art!"
"That director's aura is too strong! He's like the Godfather!"
The camera flashes flickered wildly, illuminating Jiang Ci's face, bare of any foundation, down to the finest detail.
He frowned slightly, as if finding the light a bit harsh, but he didn't flinch. He just cast an indifferent glance at the camera.
That single glance was captured and frozen in time.
In the photo, he looked like a lone wolf walking on the edge of night. Behind him lay thousands of vanities, but his eyes saw only the path ahead.
At the end of the red carpet.
The smile on Park Tae-hyun's face froze.
In the face of that surging, tough-guy aura, his pride and joy, his "refinement,"
suddenly appeared frivolous, contrived—like a child who hadn't grown up, playing dress-up in adult clothes.
Jiang Ci and Jiang Wen reached the interview area.
Host Kim Min-seok was also stunned by this aura. He was dazed for two seconds before snapping back to reality, quickly raising his microphone and speaking in broken Chinese.
"W-We... welcome Director Jiang, welcome Mr. Jiang Ci."
Kim Min-seok wiped the sweat from his forehead, trying to lighten the mood. "Uh... I notice other stars usually interact with their fans, make a heart sign or something. Mr. Jiang, the fans over here have been waiting a long time. Could you give us a 'heart'?"
As he spoke, he demonstrated a finger heart.
Jiang Ci looked at his two crooked fingers, a look of confusion in his eyes.
A heart sign?
Jiang Ci shook his head.
"I can't."
The refusal was crisp and clean.
Kim Min-seok looked a bit awkward: "Uh... how about something else? You could just say hello."
Jiang Ci was silent for a second.
He turned his head and looked toward the periphery of the red carpet.
There, a small group of international students waving the Five-Starred Red Flag
was being squeezed into a corner by the crowd of Korean fans, holding up a less conspicuous light board that read "Jiang He."
Jiang Ci's gaze softened.
He straightened his collar, standing upright.
His right hand clenched into a fist, slowly raised, and then, not too hard, not too soft, he thumped his own left chest twice.
It was the last gesture that the undercover narcotics officer Jiang He made to his comrades-in-arms before setting off in "Icebreaker."
*With this heart, I pledge to my family and country.*
*Thump. Thump.*
Though there was no sound, everyone seemed to hear that heavy, dull heartbeat.
"Aaaaahhh!!"
From the corner, that group of international students who had been completely deflated and pushed around suddenly erupted into heart-wrenching screams.
"Jiang He! Jiang He!"
"Icebreaker! Icebreaker!"
Their shouts were perfectly unified, forcibly drowning out all the Korean-language fan chants in the venue.
*This* was real presence.
*This* was the confidence that came from your own people.
Jiang Ci lowered his hand, giving a slight nod in that direction.
Then he turned around, leaving the cameras a view of his straight, powerful back as he strode with big steps into the venue.
...
Inside the awards ceremony.
In the resplendent, gilded hall, the air was thick with perfume and shadowy figures.
Park Tae-hyun sat right in the center of the first row, surrounded by producers and lesser-known stars hoping to network with him.
Jiang Ci and Jiang Wen's seats were arranged in the third row.
"These bastards did this on purpose, didn't they?" Jiang Wen glanced at the seat cards and sneered, "Sticking us by the aisle?"
"It's fine," Jiang Ci said, undoing the knot at his collar and letting out a long sigh. "Easier to get to the bathroom. Also easier to make a run for it if we need to."
Right now, all he wanted was to find a place to sleep.
Just then.
An old white man with a full head of silver hair and black-rimmed glasses cut through the crowd, walking straight toward them.
As he passed the first row, Park Tae-hyun's eyes lit up. He immediately stood up, greeting him in fluent English.
"Hi, Mr. Smith! I'm Park Tae-hyun. We met before..."
The old man acted as if he hadn't heard, not slowing his pace at all, and simply walked right past Park Tae-hyun's outstretched hand.
Park Tae-hyun's hand froze mid-air, his smile looking worse than a grimace.
The old man reached the third row and stopped in front of Jiang Ci.
"Excuse me."
The old man's voice was deep and powerful.
Jiang Ci opened his eyes, looking up in slight confusion.
"I'm David Smith, a producer from Paramount."
The old man handed over a gilded business card, his eyes full of straightforward admiration. "I saw your gaze on the red carpet just now."
Jiang Wen raised an eyebrow beside him, but said nothing, continuing to fiddle with the walnuts in his hand.
Jiang Ci took the card and stood up politely: "Hello."
"Young man." Smith stared into Jiang Ci's eyes. "Are you interested in playing a killer? Or a villain?"
"There's a blade hidden in your eyes. That look back you gave on the red carpet just now made me feel like you could kill a man."
Smith mimed a throat-slitting gesture, his expression excited.
"What Hollywood lacks right now is an Eastern tough guy who can make people feel danger just by standing there. Not those pretty dolls who can only dance."
As he spoke, he cast a meaningful glance toward Park Tae-hyun in the first row.
Park Tae-hyun was sitting up front, his ears perked up like antennas. Hearing this, he nearly crushed the wine glass in his hand.
Jiang Ci smiled.
He pocketed the business card and replied in fluent English, "Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Smith."
"But, compared to killing people..."
Jiang Ci paused, thinking of the broken lion's head he had lifted in the mud these past few days, thinking of Uncle Fa's powerful Iron Wire Fist technique.
He raised his hand, making the gesture of a lion dance's "high-stake probing the water" move, and in an instant, his gaze became lively and majestic.
"Right now, I'm better at lion dancing."
Smith was stunned, his face full of confusion: "Lion... dancing? What's that?"
Jiang Ci didn't explain much.
He looked at the dazzling stage ahead, his voice calm.
"It's a kind of magic... that can awaken a slumbering backbone."
"The next time we meet, I'll make sure you understand."