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.”
When Luo Ding’s name came up, the group couldn’t help but feel both vindicated and envious. Most had to admit, he was just one of those people born lucky.
You could say he’d been in the industry for a long time, but his rise to stardom had only really taken off in the past couple of years. After being hurt by Su Shengbai, he went through a quiet period, then lucked into meeting some powerful connections. It was like a bamboo shoot suddenly breaking through the soil—hidden underground for so long, and then, once exposed to the wind, it just shot up.
Before anyone knew it, he’d grown into a towering tree.
Even if he didn’t win this time, just being nominated meant his standing in the industry would rise another notch. It didn’t seem right to call him a “newcomer” anymore. Look at his current career path: luxury brand endorsements, public service campaigns, national safety awareness commercials—he was on a different track from most regular actors.
And his acting skills? They were genuinely great. He had talent, luck, and the strength to back it up. Even if some people didn’t want to admit it, there was no denying it.
The movie *Assassin* was also a stroke of good fortune. Thanks to the investments Cao Dingkun made early on, the recent scandal with Xu Zhen hadn’t affected the film much. Of course, behind the scenes, Triumph Entertainment was probably working some magic. Luo Ding’s nomination for the Golden Lion was likely due, in part, to this connection. Although the film hadn’t been released yet, there was already a lot of curiosity surrounding it. People were saying it wasn’t the kind of movie that would make huge box office numbers, but with the awards buzz surrounding it, it would still have a great finish.
It was rumored that the film would also be submitted to the next Film Festival, which would likely bring it more glory.
Most people, however, were more intrigued by the relationship between Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo. Duan had helped Luo Ding a lot in the past, and they seemed to have worked well together. While fans on the internet made jokes about shipping them as a couple, many insiders knew that their relationship ran deep. Now, these two close friends were competing for the same award at the same film festival. What were they really feeling inside? Only they would know.
How could Duan Xiubo really feel, watching a junior he’d helped out climb the ranks so quickly?
Thinking back to their recent playful banter on Weibo, fans were touched, but within the industry, it was hard not to feel that it was all just for show.
They were now competitors for one of the most prestigious awards. How could there not be some bitterness, even if they had enough grace not to show it? And still exchanging congratulations?
Celebrities are good at acting, after all. Saying they don’t care about fame and success would be laughable.
Gaining a higher rung on the career ladder but losing a close friendship—such trade-offs must be difficult. But the opportunity to make such a trade? Luo Ding was definitely lucky to have it.
The weather was freezing, cold enough to see your breath. Reporters set up their equipment, and the atmosphere buzzed as the stars, many dressed in light, revealing gowns, slowly made their way onto the red carpet.
Because the nominees represented different films, each star walked the carpet solo. Luo Ding entered first, with two people after him, followed by Duan Xiubo.
Duan, naturally, had more weight in the industry.
Many first-time nominees looked nervous, but this was Luo Ding’s second time attending. He had walked dozens of high-profile red carpets—if not over a hundred. He’d been nervous during his first, but this time, all his anxiety was gone.
The men attending the festival also tried to dress lightly. Luo Ding, however, having let go of his worries, didn’t mind wearing something warmer. Over his suit, he wore a tailored, waist-cinching coat. The clean, military-style cut made him look young and sharp, more stylish than a simple suit would have.
Even Duan Xiubo hadn’t dressed so casually.
The difference in Luo Ding’s outfit immediately drew attention from a crowd of reporters. The cameras flashed incessantly, almost blinding, as Luo Ding walked slowly. While you’re not supposed to linger on the red carpet, he could still take his time.
Some reporters called out to him, trying their luck in getting a response from the stars.
Seeing that he was walking slowly, the Chinese media contingent, who had initially suspected he was trying to hog the limelight, quickly changed their minds. “Luo Ding! Could you walk a little faster? The next person is coming up behind you!” They didn’t want the heavyweights arriving later to overshadow him.
Luo Ding smiled at them, unhurried: “I’m waiting for someone.”
Waiting for someone? Who?
They soon had their answer.
The moment Duan Xiubo stepped onto the red carpet, he felt a bit nervous. But as soon as he shook off that rare feeling, he immediately started scanning the area for Luo Ding.
Sure enough, Luo Ding hadn’t walked far and was talking to some reporters ahead. As if sensing Duan’s gaze, Luo turned his head.
Then he smiled—a brilliant, beaming smile.
Duan Xiubo quickly walked over, his spirits lifting as he waved at the surrounding cameras. The photographers, however, were frustrated—couldn’t he slow down a bit? They barely had time to snap a few good shots!
Once Duan reached Luo Ding, he slowed down. Recognizing the surrounding reporters as their compatriots from China, he gave them a special greeting.
These two…
The reporters fell silent for a moment, realizing that their earlier speculation had missed the mark entirely.
Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo… it seemed their relationship hadn’t been affected by the competition at all.
Their friendship was so pure it almost felt unbelievable. A microphone poked through the gap in the crowd, and someone shouted from behind the press line, “Duan Xiubo! Who do you think will win Best Actor this year?!”
Duan raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me? How would I know?”
“Then who do you think has a better chance, you or Luo Ding?”
Sensing the mischievous tone, Duan glanced at Luo Ding and smiled. Without getting upset, he answered sincerely, “If it’s between the two of us, of course, I’d want him to win.”
Luo Ding gave him a light jab—why was he being so indulgent? He added, “I think Duan Ge has a better chance.”
Duan nudged his shoulder. They should pick up the pace—any more of this back-and-forth, and the Chinese media might start twisting their words into something awkward.
Ahead of them stretched a long red carpet, and the two walked side by side, while everyone else walked alone.
It was a bit awkward, really. When the photos were sent back to China, there were barely any solo shots of Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo—they were inseparable in every picture.
Back in China, not many people were paying attention to the Golden Lion Awards. With so few domestic attendees, most were simply waiting for the results. Right now, the nation’s focus was on finding Su Shengbai and awaiting the final verdict on Xu Zhen.
But there was one group that remained an exception.
Their loyal fans.
Both stars were typically quite low-key in their personal lives, with separate social circles. Duan Xiubo’s career was focused abroad, while Luo Ding’s was based in China. After they finished working on a few projects together, it had become rare to see them in the same frame.
Although they occasionally interacted on their public accounts, and it was clear they were still on good terms, that wasn’t enough!!!
The Golden Lion Awards turned out to be a godsend! It immediately mended the broken hearts of the fans who had been suffering for so long.
The two stars’ carefree intimacy on the red carpet reignited the fandom’s excitement.
Yet, despite being moved to tears, fans had to act aloof. They flooded the comment sections with complaints, trying to play it cool.
“Could you two be a little more careful?!! Are you desperate for a scandal?!?”
“Oh my God, my idol is hopeless—completely clueless about PR.”
“Look, look, look at that actress in the corner! Is that Omie Troki? Look at her face.”
“233333 You guys showing off your love like this—how do you think us single people feel?!”
“How do we feel?!”
“Alright, fine, I’ll pay for the marriage certificate myself. Just give me your Alipay account.”
In the pictures, Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo walked side by side down the red carpet—one in a sleek black suit, the other in a dashing, fitted coat. Judging by their matching outfits, they looked every bit like a couple.
Luo Ding was half a head shorter and much thinner. On his own, he cut a handsome figure, but standing next to Duan Xiubo, he somehow seemed more delicate.
They were leaning slightly toward each other, talking quietly, though they weren’t standing too close.
From their expressions to the corners of their mouths, everything revealed just how much they were enjoying themselves.
When the interview footage was sent back to China, the previous tension in the fandom—where Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo’s individual fans had been on the verge of clashing—suddenly evaporated like cold water poured on a fire.
All the sweet little details—it was enough to give you a sugar rush.
And there were photos to prove it.
Luo Ding deliberately slowed down after stepping onto the red carpet, waiting for Duan Xiubo. Other stars had already walked ahead of them, but he kept pacing leisurely.
The photo of Duan Xiubo eagerly scanning the crowd after stepping onto the red carpet.
The moment he spotted Luo Ding, his eyes lit up.
Then, with clear intent, he sped up, locking eyes with Luo from across the crowd, giving off serious “I’ve waited for you for a thousand years” vibes.
Later on, the reporters’ deliberately provocative questions elicited answers that were as unexpected as they were predictable.
Luo Ding said he thought Duan Xiubo would win. Duan Xiubo, in turn, said he hoped Luo Ding would win. Obviously, these kinds of answers were standard PR responses.
The issue was that they both sounded too sincere. They looked like they genuinely wanted the other to win, as if thinking, “He’d be so happy if he won—he has to win!”
Earlier, with the brewing competition between the two stars, the fan bases had started getting a bit restless, with some threatening to stir up trouble.
But now, overwhelmed with so much sweetness they couldn’t refuse, the fans could only weakly raise their hands to leave their final words.
“…They’re showing off… My idol is literally killing me!”
*******
Duan Xiubo had been floating on cloud nine ever since he realized Luo Ding was waiting for him. The allure of the Golden Lion Award had all but faded. When he signed his name, he deliberately swirled the tail of his signature around Luo Ding’s name, earning a teasing eye roll from Luo Ding, who seemed exasperated by his childishness as they made their way to the backstage area.
Their managers were waiting for them, looking completely unsurprised when they appeared together, rolling their eyes dramatically.
Mi Rui’s eyes practically ached from all the eye-rolling. Seeing Wu Fangyuan calmly offer them some hot soup he’d brought along, Mi Rui started to question his own ability to cope. Then he saw Gu Yaxing, who was rolling his eyes even more dramatically than he was, and thought maybe this was just how smart people dealt with frustration.
After all, producing someone like Wu Fangyuan—whether that was considered lucky or tragic—was up for debate.
The room was filled with big-name guests who could be considered either seniors or peers. Luo Ding felt a little conflicted—he was the youngest among the nominated actors and the least experienced.
Although Cao Dingkun had starred in many notable films, creating a formidable résumé that could intimidate anyone, that era of glory had long passed, leaving only the memories buried with him.
Yuan Bing sat a few seats away, with some unfamiliar faces seated between them. They all smiled politely at each other, but Luo Ding could easily detect the tension beneath their expressions.
It was clear that many of them were uncertain about their chances of winning.
The names of the eventual winners had already been sealed in envelopes.
The jury was made up of industry heavyweights, their influence so substantial that no one dared underestimate their power. However, at this final moment, no one in the audience was focusing on the jury.
The host, Tiffany Jane, a retired Western movie star with a mesmerizing figure, was dressed in a form-fitting gown made entirely of metallic fringes, in a soft gold color. Her tight skin seemed to glow, almost as if light was coming from within.
She smiled playfully, her tone lively, as she chatted with the stars in the audience.
The award for Best Supporting Actress went to a French actress, and Best Supporting Actor was claimed by a Black actor.
Tang Rui ended up missing out on Best Director, and none of the Chinese nominees took home any awards.
The Chinese faces in the crowd clearly looked a little deflated.
Luo Ding, however, grew more and more composed. He had plenty of time ahead of him. As long as he kept working in the film industry, there would always be more opportunities for him to chase his dreams.
Best Actor and Best Actress were announced last.
Under a romantic, starry sky, the female host teased the audience by calling out the names of several actresses before finally announcing the winner.
A 54-year-old American actress.
Yuan Bing, who had been sitting up straight, immediately slumped in disappointment, then quickly corrected herself and sat upright again. Though her face was caked in thick powder, and her smile remained bright, Luo Ding could easily sense her deep disappointment.
Duan Xiubo’s fingers lightly drummed on his leg. Luo Ding glanced around and, seeing no cameras, reached out and gently took Duan’s hand.
Duan flinched in surprise and turned to look at him.
Luo Ding patted the back of his hand and smiled at him. “Stay calm.”
“Stay calm,” Duan repeated, exhaling deeply. His posture relaxed, no longer so tense.
The actress, her steps now slowed by age, descended from the stage, her face wet with tears. Her manager quickly shielded her from the crowd, but she held onto her trophy with a white-knuckled grip, refusing to let go for even a second.
“Okay, now we’re getting to the main event,” Tiffany’s lively eyes scanned the room. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she paused ever so briefly when her gaze landed on a group of Chinese faces.
She raised the envelope in her hand.
“Who do you think I’m going to call up next? Guess!”
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