There was no way to tell if Luo Xiaoding had eaten some “laughing beans” recently. It’s unlikely to find such a thing abroad, but many people back in China were really stressed and wished they could get their hands on some.
What are entertainment industry gossip stories, after all? They refresh daily, with so much drama: an actress might be a homewrecker, two stars possibly having a secret romance, or someone being photographed entering a hotel. Even a mere extramarital affair can attract massive attention. In recent years, the biggest stories have involved famous female stars or veteran singers getting divorced and remarrying, some lesser-known, washed-up celebrities committing suicide due to depression, but the most explosive story had to be the two car accidents involving Cao Dingkun and Xu Zhen. Cao died, and Xu was left half-paralyzed. Strangely enough, while both events were explosive, the former didn’t get much attention.
Audiences tend to have short memories, much like how they follow social news. Today, they’re furiously demanding justice from the authorities, and tomorrow, a more exciting piece of news pops up, and the previous outrage is quickly forgotten. But when something brings past events back into the spotlight, the public’s memory is sharp, and conspiracy theories emerge like a tidal wave, threatening to drown everything.
This time, Xu Zhen reignited the audience’s memory of another explosive piece of news by dropping an even bigger bombshell.
At the press conference, journalists rushed to be the first to break the story. Several outlets were both interviewing and sending the news to their editors simultaneously. A few online media outlets rushed to post the news, but surprisingly, it didn’t cause much of a stir at first.
Most viewers unanimously believed the media was making things up. And why wouldn’t they? The story sounded utterly fake: two big-time gay celebrities were secretly lovers, they got married, one cheated on the other with a younger man, and the younger man killed the other in a car accident. The cheating lover even covered it up.
Now, after realizing that his life was over and feeling guilty, the cheating lover came forward to tell the truth.
Is this an entertainment headline or a crime thriller?
The plot was as dramatic as a soap opera.
But soon enough, as edited videos of the press conference went online across various media outlets, the entire entertainment industry was buzzing!
It was true!
Every word Xu Zhen said was so unbelievable it felt like he was rehearsing a plot for his next drama, filled with judicial corruption and intentional murder. Watching Xu Zhen’s eyes sparkle on camera and hearing him chuckle as he pointed to his legs, saying this car accident was probably also caused by Su Shengbai, sent chills down many people’s spines.
And then came the anger!
As the saying goes, “New lovers laugh, while the old ones cry.” The pretty young lover killed the partner who had supported him for decades, and the cheating lover had covered it up for so long, only coming clean out of guilt after being personally targeted.
Xu Zhen didn’t bring the already completed film *Assassin* into this mess. To many, this felt like one of those cliché soap operas where the long-suffering spouse is killed by a home-wrecking temptress, and the one person who should speak up remains silent.
The plot was so melodramatic that the fact that the two (or actually, three) main characters were male didn’t even seem to matter much.
Cao Dingkun had been a diligent worker in the industry for decades. While he had a bit of a scandal early on, his image as a hardworking, reliable actor eventually took over. His latest movie was still a box office hit when he died, and he was regarded as one of the top male stars in the industry. At the peak of his career, he suddenly passed away, leaving behind a legacy that only grew as the public fondly remembered his work.
It was as if he had been elevated to a god-like status.
When no issues were found with his cause of death, people simply mourned him and cherished his work. But now, to be told that the truth was something so incomprehensible?
Naturally, those left behind became the target of widespread hatred.
Xu Zhen left the press conference accompanied by the police. Meanwhile, public demand for the investigation into the authorities who helped cover up the truth was growing stronger. Xu Zhen, not directly involved in the crime, seemed content to go willingly, but when the police went to arrest the actual murderer, they were stunned.
Su Shengbai’s house was already empty.
It was only now that they realized Su had been planning his escape for some time. His contract with Universal was strict, and he used to be quite image-conscious, so he hadn’t saved much money. Six months ago, he began quietly selling off his branded items, like his jewel-studded cufflinks, rings, limited-edition bags, and shoes. Two months ago, he even listed his house for sale through an agency.
While property prices in the city were high, Su’s house wasn’t in a great location. The real estate market had been down recently, so the house remained unsold.
His clothes and shoes were still in the house, and even groceries from the day before were still in the fridge. But his suitcase and backpack were gone, along with his phone.
The police found no record of him using his ID card. However, after learning of the situation, some small-time actors at his company suddenly remembered that Su had borrowed their ID cards a while back and hadn’t returned them. When the police investigated, they found that these ID cards had indeed been used to purchase train and bus tickets to various destinations, ranging from Lhasa to Kunming, Guiyang, and Hangzhou.
Now they were really in trouble. They had no idea where to start looking.
Meanwhile, public condemnation of Su Shengbai was growing louder and louder. The police were under immense pressure, as if ants on a hot pan, being driven to act faster by the flames of public opinion. With the earlier case involving Xu Zhen and the reversed investigation making the police look bad, if they failed to catch Su this time, certain people would likely take advantage and drag the government into the mud. The pressure would only snowball from there.
There was no one sabotaging this investigation—no one stood to lose from Xu Zhen and Su Shengbai’s scandal being exposed. Even Universal Entertainment, which had both under contract, saw Cao Dingkun as the real moneymaker. Jiang Changfeng wasn’t about to lose his mind and interfere—he’d probably love to throw them under the bus.
In the blink of an eye, every major media outlet went into overdrive, and the whole world learned of this absurd scandal.
Universal also made Cao Dingkun’s grave location public. Neither Xu Zhen nor Su Shengbai had bothered to arrange a funeral for him; instead, Universal had contacted the local government to ensure Cao Dingkun was buried in a public cemetery. The cemetery had never seen so much traffic—every day, fans flocked to pay their respects. Some knelt before his tombstone, weeping; others offered words of comfort for him to rest in peace; and many angrily cursed Su Shengbai and Xu Zhen.
The outcry grew so loud that even people abroad heard of it.
Cao Dingkun’s influence overseas wasn’t as great as Duan Xiubo’s, but as a representative of Chinese actors, he still left his mark. Several prominent Western entertainment journalists, out of respect, wrote long, heartfelt eulogies for him after his death.
But ironically, Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo, busy preparing for the red carpet, hadn’t seen any of this.
*****
Duan Xiubo noticed that Luo Ding had been talking less and less about the Golden Lion Awards lately. Their conversations had shifted more toward personal topics, focusing on the two of them.
They were spending more and more private time together. Luo Ding, who had previously been visibly anxious about the upcoming film festival, was now much more relaxed. He even took only a brief glance at the acceptance speech he might need to give. While trying on clothes at D&S’s workshop, no matter what color tie Gu Yaxing picked for him, Luo Ding just nodded and said it was fine.
Duan Xiubo was puzzled. “Weren’t you telling me earlier to take the Golden Lion seriously? Wu Fangyuan just handed you a green tie. Why didn’t you scold him?”
Luo Ding, still calm, replied, “That’s just his taste. Why would I scold him?”
Thinking of Wu Fangyuan’s precious golden hair, Duan Xiubo found himself speechless.
He felt that Luo Ding had changed again. In a mysterious way, it was like Luo had reached a new level of cultivation—like he’d been plucked out of boiling water and placed into an ice bath. He had become calm from the inside out.
This calm was especially evident on the day of the Golden Lion Awards.
Held every six years, the scale of the film festival was enormous. The buzz in Los Angeles was something the Film Festival couldn’t even come close to. Stars attending the event had dressed to the nines, each face a recognizable celebrity who could incite a frenzy in the crowd.
The festival didn’t rely on sponsorships, and aside from judges and nominated artists, no unrelated individuals were allowed in. The limited guest list wasn’t about quantity but about quality. The big names present were enough to mobilize entertainment media outlets worldwide.
The red carpet was packed with cameras, the flashes nearly blinding, as they tried to capture as many shots as possible. The sky was dimming, and though there was still time before the opening ceremony, the atmosphere was electric.
This year, a large number of Chinese films had been nominated, earning the media more respect, and they were assigned prime positions. A group of Chinese journalists, united by the shared experience of navigating the highly competitive industry, chatted away excitedly, setting aside professional rivalry for a while.
One reporter from a Chinese-language channel, feeling rather reflective, remarked, “Remember last year at the Film Festival? The place was full of nobodies, names we didn’t even recognize. This year’s lineup is definitely higher quality.”
“Of course!” someone immediately replied. “I came to the last Golden Lion six years ago. Security was so tight—no guest passes, no VIP perks. One ticket, one person. Even managers had to wait outside.”
“I bet the photos we take this time won’t make much of a splash. What a shame for such good news. In the past, this would’ve been huge. This year, it’ll probably just cause a minor buzz within the industry.”
“You mean because of what happened with Mr. Cao?”
“Yeah. The editor already told me not to worry about crafting big headlines. The station’s been fully focused on covering that scandal.”
“…Sigh.” A collective sigh went up from the group. “If Mr. Cao were still here, there would be one more nominee at the Golden Lion this year. He might’ve even brought home a trophy, giving our domestic film industry some much-needed recognition. Who would’ve thought Su Shengbai, of all people, could turn out to be such a person?”
“That’s what they mean by ‘you never really know someone.’ But like I said, this just shows that justice has a long reach. No matter what Su Shengbai did, he couldn’t hide forever. Now everything’s come full circle. He kicked Luo Ding to the curb, and now look at Luo Ding—he’s risen to the top while Su’s scurrying around like a sewer rat. If that’s not karma, I don’t know what is.”
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