Chapter 448: Bro's Just Tired, Don't Overthink It, Okay? |
The next evening at seven.
Busan Film Center.
Under the dome, the lights were as bright as day.
Here gathered half of Asia's film world, the red carpet ending at a huge open-air theater, hundreds of seats filled to capacity.
Outside, fans' screams rose and fell, the two countries' cheering squads silently vying across the security line.
On one side, synchronized Korean chant banners; on the other, though fewer in number, the momentum of the "Five-Star Red Flag" and "Jiang Ci" light boards surged like a tide.
Inside, it was a different scene.
Director Jiang Wen stood with his hands behind his back in front of the seat labeled with a name, his weathered face dark as storm clouds.
"Second row? All the way at the edge?"
Looking ahead, the center C position in the first row was occupied by Park Tae-hyun in a silver designer suit, legs crossed, chatting and laughing with the chairman of the judging panel.
In contrast, the Icebreaker crew was not only placed off to the side, but surrounded by a ring of random Korean B-list influencers who had popped up out of nowhere, holding phones for selfies and live streams, their noise driving people mad.
"Perfect."
Jiang Ci yawned, not even lifting his eyelids, and plopped down into the seat at the very edge.
He loosened the slightly tight frog-button at his collar, stretched his long legs, and slouched them out into the aisle.
"Director Jiang, this spot's roomy, convenient for stretching." Jiang Ci adjusted into a limp pose, "Also close to the exit. If we don't win later, we can bolt without queuing."
Jiang Wen, half-amused and half-angry, slapped Jiang Ci's shoulder, "You kid, your nerve's something else."
Though cursing under his breath, Jiang Wen still sat down with a black expression.
The pair of lion-head walnuts he'd been rolling for ten years spun rapidly in his palm.
The live broadcast director, probably acting on some instruction, wanted to capture the Huaguo team's "despair" and "envy" on camera.
The giant screen obeyed.
The camera cut to a close-up of Jiang Ci.
On screen, the man slumped in shadow, chin slightly tucked, eyelids half-lowered.
Around him, perfume and silk, laughter and smiles — the vortex of fame and fortune.
Only he looked like a tiger dozing off, or a bandit pacing and calculating how to take everyone here down.
The online livestream exploded.
[Holy crap! That look! Is he here to accept an award or to assassinate someone?]
[Park's smiling out front, Jiang Ci's gaze is icy in the back.]
[Is this the aura of a top-tier actor? Even sleeping, he gives me chills down the spine!]
[Shut up, my brother's just sleepy! He's been hauling bricks on set for two days!]
On stage, the lights abruptly changed.
Explosive electronic music blared.
Park Tae-hyun, as the opening guest, switched into an even flashier sequin outfit and stormed the stage with twenty dancers.
High-energy song and dance, he winked at the camera and bit his lip now and then.
Korean fans in the audience screamed crazily, the sound waves rattling the ceiling.
The sudden noise jolted Jiang Ci awake; he opened his eyes sharply.
His body reacted faster than his brain.
After playing the street ruffian A Jie on set in Flower City for days, he'd slipped into performance trance — it had become muscle memory.
The opening act ended.
The awards ceremony officially began.
The atmosphere shifted from loud to oppressively tense.
The early awards were all technical categories.
Best Editing, Best Sound, Best Art Direction...
Icebreaker had nominations across the board and strong support.
After all, its bone-crunching realism and oppressive cinematography were widely recognized in the industry.
"And the Best Editing award goes to..."
The presenter lengthened his tone.
Jiang Wen stopped rolling the walnut, leaning slightly forward.
"The Youngest Son of the Chaebol Family! Congratulations!"
Jiang Wen's hand froze mid-air.
That was a commercial, assembly-line film from Korea, its editing scattered and chaotic.
Next up.
Best Sound — Korean film Seoul Love.
Best Art Direction — Korean film Castle Fright.
One after another.
Icebreaker was left running alongside the winners.
Even that art-house film whose lines were barely audible snatched a consolation prize.
The walnut in Jiang Wen's hand cracked with a sharp snap, a fissure appearing.
His expression was no longer merely displeased; it was feral, like he could eat someone alive.
Intermission.
In the corridor outside the restrooms.
Jiang Ci turned the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, trying to dispel the drowsiness that clung to him.
In the mirror, his eyes looked even redder from the bloodshot veins.
"Amazing..."
A voice of admiration came from behind.
The silver-haired Hollywood producer David Smith stood at the doorway, staring at Jiang Ci with fanatic intensity.
"Jiang! Inside, your presence just now... it was utterly enchanting!"
Smith gesticulated, "That sort of contempt for everything around you, that danger like it's about to explode at any moment... how do you do it?"
Jiang Ci turned off the tap and flicked the water droplets from his hands.
How did he do it?
Hungry.
Sleepy.
And disgusted by the organizers.
"Mr. Smith."
Jiang Ci faced him, rubbing his hollowed stomach, answering a different question, "Is there food around here?"
Smith blinked, "What?"
"I'm starving." Jiang Ci said earnestly, "If I had a bowl of jajangmyeon right now, I could blow up all of Busan."
A flicker of confusion passed through Smith's blue eyes.
He quickly pulled out a small notebook, solemnly jotting it down:
[Source of the Eastern hero's power — (some mysterious energy replenishment).]
"I'll remember that!" Smith snapped the notebook shut, "If you come to Hollywood, I promise to prepare this... Noodles! for you every day!"
At that moment, a sharp perfume note drifted over.
Park Tae-hyun, flanked by four or five bodyguards, strolled over.
He held a flute of champagne, his makeup still flawless, but his expression's smugness refused to be hidden.
"Yo, isn't this Mr. Jiang?"
Park paused, stumbling through broken English as his gaze scanned Jiang Ci's plain black suit, "Hiding out here? Find the air inside too stuffy?"
He swirled his glass, his tone airy:
"Shame about the technical and supporting awards earlier... but it's normal, after all, some things aren't just about acting."
It was naked flaunting.
"By the way." Park leaned in, lowering his voice, "I've booked the most expensive hotel on Haeundae tonight for the celebration banquet. Lots of investors and directors will be there."
"Too bad some people might not be in the mood to attend."
Jiang Ci looked at him as if at a fly buzzing in his ear.
"Finished talking?"
Jiang Ci said casually.
Park was momentarily taken aback.
"If you're done, move aside." Jiang Ci reached out and gently pushed Park to one side.
Being ignored cuts deeper than anger.
Park's champagne nearly spilled.
He gritted his teeth, staring at Jiang Ci's back, "Put on an act then! Let's see how you act after Best Actor is announced!"
Intermission ended.
The ceremony moved into its final crescendo.
Everyone's hearts were in their throats.
Earlier awards had merely been buildup, the true Asura field was about to begin.
"Next, the most anticipated award of this festival — Best Actor."
The stage lights dimmed.
A spotlight hit the front of the podium.
Cannes Best Actress Jeon Do-yeon, in a black evening gown, stood gracefully at the microphone.
On the big screen, the image split into five.
The five nominees' faces appeared.
Park Tae-hyun immediately sat up straight, wearing that humble, expectant smile, hands clasped as if in prayer.
In the corner, Jiang Ci remained slouched, still picking at his nails.
Jeon Do-yeon lifted the golden envelope.
She smiled briefly at the audience, then slowly tore it open.
"Shhh—"
The crisp rip of paper sounded particularly sharp in the silent venue.
Jeon reached inside and pulled out the card.
Her gaze fell on the name.
Her professional smile, in that instant, showed the slightest flicker of freeze.
Her pupils tightened a fraction, and she looked up toward the audience, her expression stunned.
At that moment.
Jiang Wen's hand clenched the armrest so hard veins bulged.
Park Tae-hyun leaned forward, his butt half off the seat, poised to stand and accept cheers.
Jiang Ci stopped picking his nails.
He lifted his head.
The lazy glaze in his black-and-white eyes finally dissipated.
"Here we go."
He murmured.