Chapter 447: The Living Are Made of Flesh and Blood! |
At the press conference.
Those ten minutes of "public execution" had completely fried the reporters' CPUs.
The international media, who had originally planned to just go through the motions and ask a couple of brain-dead questions like "Do you like kimchi?", now had completely changed expressions.
"Director Jiang! Does this extremely realistic lens language mean you're declaring war on Hollywood's aesthetic of violence?"
"Mr. Jiang! That look in your eyes at the end of the clip was utterly despairing! How did you experience that feeling of being near death?"
Jiang Wen sat back down in the center seat, the buttons on his collar still fastened perfectly tight.
His expression was mocking.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he slowly picked up the bottled water on the table, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip.
"What's the rush?" Jiang Wen set the bottle down. "Weren't you all dumbfounded just now in there? Come back to your senses yet?"
Just then, a sharp voice cut through the noise.
"Mr. Jiang!"
From the crowd, Kim Bigmouth, the one who had been shut down at the airport, stood up.
He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. The lenses caught the light, but they couldn't hide the venom in his eyes.
"That clip just now was indeed shocking. But I'm very curious—was that facial muscle spasm state you showed in the film really just acting?"
Kim Bigmouth held up his microphone, speaking rapidly, afraid of being interrupted.
"As far as I know, there are some special cosmetic procedures now, or... certain prohibited substances that can induce extreme mental euphoria, that could also achieve that effect."
"After all, a normal human's micro-expressions are hard-pressed to reach that level of distortion."
The reporters' gazes once again fixed on Jiang Ci's face.
This was practically accusing Jiang Ci to his face of being a "plastic surgery face" and a "drug addict."
In Korea, an artist tainted by these two things was basically socially dead.
This wasn't just questioning—this was a smear campaign in front of the global media.
"Bam!"
Jiang Wen slammed his hand on the table.
"You motherf—"
Just as Jiang Wen was about to stand up, a hand grabbed his arm.
Jiang Ci tilted his head and shook it at Jiang Wen. Then he turned his face to look at Kim Bigmouth below the stage.
He reached out and picked up the unopened bottle of water in front of him.
"Click."
Jiang Ci did something no one expected.
He aimed the bottle opening at his own palm, tilting his wrist.
"Splash—"
A stream of clear water poured out, soaking his hands.
Then, he raised both hands and pressed them against his face.
A rough, harsh scrub.
Water droplets dripped down his chin.
Right there, in front of hundreds of camera lenses, he thoroughly washed his face.
Ten seconds later.
Jiang Ci lowered his hands, casually grabbed a tissue from the table, and carelessly wiped the water off his chin.
He lifted his head, leaned forward, his entire face almost pressed right up against the row of microphones on the table.
The big screen showed a close-up of him.
No muddy trickles of foundation peeling off.
Only his bronzed skin, glowing with a healthy sheen after being shocked by the cold water.
Because of his rough scrubbing, his cheekbones were flushed red.
But it didn't affect his handsomeness in the slightest.
On the contrary, the image of water droplets clinging to his eyelashes,
trickling down the bridge of his straight nose, carried an overwhelming wave of raw masculine energy.
Jiang Ci looked at Kim Bigmouth, a faint, sarcastic smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
He picked up the microphone, his voice steady.
"See clearly now?"
"In my hometown, only dead people lying in boxes for people to pay respects need to be painted up like dolls, terrified that someone might notice they've stopped breathing."
Jiang Ci paused, his gaze sharp.
"The living rely on flesh and blood. On bones."
"As for the drugs you mentioned..." Jiang Ci let out a cold laugh, pointing at his own head. "My drug is right here. A sense of belief, understand? Oh, I almost forgot—you people only believe in Botox."
"Boom—"
The place exploded.
The camera flashes went crazy, the shutter sounds as dense as machine-gun fire.
Kim Bigmouth's face turned ashen. He opened his mouth to retort, but found himself completely unable to utter a sound.
Just then, the side door of the venue was pushed open.
Park Tae-hyun walked in, surrounded by a group of bodyguards.
He had just spent a full twenty minutes backstage touching up his makeup.
Now, his face was flawless, his foundation white and glowing, every strand of hair fixed at the most perfect angle.
He had originally planned to make a grand entrance, showing off the host country's style.
But the moment he appeared, he felt the atmosphere was off.
Everyone was looking at him with a strange expression,
and then glancing at Jiang Ci on the big screen—his face covered in water droplets, his skin rough yet explosively handsome.
The contrast was too brutal.
The smile on Park Tae-hyun's face froze.
"God..." The editor-in-chief of a French fashion magazine couldn't help but exclaim in admiration. "Now that's a man. That's the texture carved by God himself."
Park Tae-hyun didn't understand French, but he could read the editor's disgusted glance in his direction.
He ground his molars down to dust, but he still had to maintain that semi-permanent smile as he stiffly walked to his seat and sat down.
He had barely settled in.
A blonde-haired, blue-eyed European-American reporter stood up, staring at Jiang Ci with fanatical eyes.
"Mr. Jiang! I'm a reporter for TIME Magazine. Earlier on the red carpet, you mentioned 'lion dance' and 'kung fu.' Does that indicate a new direction for you after Icebreaker? Can you give us a live demonstration?"
Jiang Ci raised an eyebrow.
A demonstration?
There was no lion head here, no plum-blossom stakes.
His gaze swept across the table and landed on the black marker pen in front of him.
It was an ordinary plastic pen the organizers had prepared for signing in.
Jiang Ci extended two fingers and pinched the pen.
"Kung fu?"
Jiang Ci chuckled softly, his fingers twitching slightly.
"Whoosh whoosh whoosh—"
The pen spun rapidly around his fingertips.
This wasn't the showy kind of pen-twirling students did.
The pen's shadow flashed, like a dragon darting back and forth.
Suddenly!
Jiang Ci's wrist gave a violent shake, and the blurred shadow froze.
"Thud!"
A dull, heavy sound.
That originally fragile plastic marker pen had been driven straight into the solid wood conference table in front of him!
The jaws of every reporter in the room nearly hit the floor.
That was solid wood!
How much hand strength did that take?
Park Tae-hyun looked at the pen and shrank his neck, feeling like it had just stabbed into his own carotid artery.
Jiang Ci let go of the pen, leaned back in his chair, his expression as calm as if he had just thrown away a piece of trash.
He said, in fluent English, to the dumbfounded European-American reporter:
"This isn't kung fu for fighting."
"This is called 'Awakening Lion, Dotting the Eye.'"
"In our East, some souls have been sleeping for far too long. They've pretended to sleep so well that even they've started to believe it."
Jiang Ci shot a glance at the pale-faced Park Tae-hyun beside him, his words carrying a clear implication.
"At times like that, you need to take a needle and give a sharp stab."
"It hurts, so they naturally wake up."
The moment he finished, Jiang Wen snatched the microphone from beside him.
"One more thing."
Jiang Wen pointed at the pen still trembling on the table.
His eagle-like eyes swept across the Korean media in attendance, finally landing on Kim Bigmouth.
"Back in my country, that trick also specializes in curing eye diseases."
"Too bad, some people's eyes are blind even with eyeliner. And if their hearts are dirty, even bathwater can't clean them!"
...
The press conference ended.
Jiang Ci and Jiang Wen strode off the stage amidst the still-dumbfounded gazes of everyone present.
Online, all hell had broken loose.
On Korea's largest forum, Naver, several hashtags rocketed up the trending chart.
#JiangCiNaturalBeautyAssault#
#WhatIsChineseAwakeningLion#
#TheLethalPowerOfAPen#
Even the Korean fangirls, who usually defended their homegrown oppas to the death, had massively defected.
[Shibal! I want to slide down his nose too!]
[For a second there, I thought Park Tae-hyun oppa's makeup... was a little too thick.]
[So this is a Chinese tough guy? I want him to splash a bottle of water in my face too!]
In the backstage corridor.
Jiang Ci was holding his jacket, ready to go back to the hotel and catch up on sleep.
A figure blocked the way.
Park Tae-hyun.
He had now shed that gentle, refined mask.
He stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. His eyes, carefully lined with eyeliner, were filled with pure venom.
His bodyguards had already cleared the area. The empty corridor held only the few of them.
"Mr. Jiang, had your fun in the spotlight?"
Park Tae-hyun spoke in Korean, and the translator beside him immediately whispered the translation.
Jiang Ci stopped and looked at this top star, who was a full head shorter than him. He yawned.
"Good dogs don't block the path. Didn't they teach you that?"
Park Tae-hyun's cheek twitched. He took a step forward, his voice sinister.
"This is Busan!"
"You think a few cheap tricks for publicity can win you the award?"
Park Tae-hyun sneered, leaning in close to Jiang Ci.
"Let me tell you the truth. This year's jury chairman is my father's golf buddy. Half the jury members have accepted gifts from me."
"At the awards ceremony tomorrow, you're destined to be nothing but a runner-up. That trophy already has my name engraved on it."
"I'll make you sit in the audience, watch me lift that trophy, and then clap for me with a smile."
Park Tae-hyun reached out a hand, intending to pat Jiang Ci's face,
just as Jiang Ci had patted his chair on the red carpet, to reclaim his pride.
"Slap."
Just as his hand was halfway there, Jiang Ci grabbed it.
Jiang Ci's grip was incredibly strong.
Park Tae-hyun felt like the bones in his wrist were about to shatter.
His face went pale with pain, but he wanted to scream and couldn't bring himself to.
Jiang Ci wasn't angry.
On the contrary, he smiled.
"Rigged?"
Jiang Ci let go, shoving Park Tae-hyun away like he was tossing out trash.
Park Tae-hyun stumbled back two steps, clutching his wrist, staring at him in terror.
Jiang Ci pulled a wet wipe from his pocket and leisurely wiped the hand that had just touched Park Tae-hyun.
"Since this table is already crooked..."
Jiang Ci balled up the wipe and casually tossed it.
The wipe traced a parabolic arc, landing perfectly in the trash can five meters away.
"Then this time, I didn't just come for the meal."
Jiang Ci lifted his head, his eyes blazing like torches.
"I came to flip the table."