LOI Chapter 64 — The World Turned Upside Down

After the initial cut of “Express” was completed, Rong Ke re-dubbed the characters, so he knew the direction of the film.

In the end, Jiang Hua still went with the version where Yan Zhi was the mastermind behind the heist. The entire film developed along multiple storylines that intertwined, filled with tension, excitement, and blood-spattered scenes. It was a crime thriller that kept viewers on the edge of their seats.

Rong Ke had considered that this film might align with the style of the Sand Harbor Film Festival and could possibly win an award, but he never imagined that even Yan Zhi would receive a nomination.

— How would professionally trained actors feel about this?

“Express” being shortlisted for the Sand Harbor Film Festival became the most discussed topic of the new year.

Rong Ke’s nomination for Best Actor wasn’t enough to grab headlines. However, Yan Zhi’s crossover into acting and receiving a Sand Harbor Film Festival nomination for his first work piqued people’s curiosity about the film to its peak.

Before departing for Sand Harbor, Rong Ke and Yan Zhi took the airport VIP channel as usual.

The ground staff leading the way recognized them and couldn’t help but ask curiously, “Are you going to attend the Sand Harbor Film Festival?”

“Yes.” Having just come out of the lounge, Rong Ke wasn’t wearing sunglasses or a mask, and he appeared approachable and relaxed.

“My whole family are your fans. I knew you’d be aiming for mainstream awards,” the staff said, then glanced at Yan Zhi and added, “I just didn’t expect Mr. Yan to have acting talent too.”

Indeed. Rong Ke said to himself.

“He’s talented at everything he does.”

“That’s because he’s too excellent.” Yan Zhi put his arm around Rong Ke’s shoulders and told the staff, “I can’t fall behind either.”

“I really envy you both,” the ground staff said, guiding them to the boarding gate. “I hope you win awards. I’ll support you at the cinema!”

“Do you think I can win an award?” Yan Zhi asked Rong Ke quietly.

“Hard to say.” Rong Ke’s feelings were rather complicated.

He had two conflicting thoughts: personally, he hoped his boyfriend would win; professionally, he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy at the thought of Yan Zhi receiving a nomination for such a prestigious award for what was essentially a vanity project.

“But,” Rong Ke added, “be careful how you answer questions at the media interview this afternoon. Sand Harbor media love sensational headlines, like ‘slap in the face’ and such.”

“Okay,” Yan Zhi said. “I’ll try not to say much. I don’t want to steal Director Jiang’s thunder.”

After landing in Sand Harbor, they headed straight to the hotel for hair and makeup, skipping lunch entirely. They then joined Jiang Hua for an interview with Sand Harbor media.

In the hotel’s second-floor café, various media outlets formed a semicircle, cameras pointed at the three seated behind a long table.

Jiang Hua sat in the middle, with Rong Ke and Yan Zhi on either side. Each held microphones from three or four different media outlets.

“Director Jiang, how do you feel about ‘Express’ being shortlisted for the Sand Harbor Film Festival?” a reporter asked.

“I’m quite emotional,” Jiang Hua said, holding up the microphone. “My style is rather niche. I didn’t expect to receive recognition from a mainstream award.”

“I heard Yan Zhi contributed many ideas to the concept of this film. Is that true?”

“Yes, Yan Zhi is a very imaginative person with many brilliant ideas,” Jiang Hua praised Yan Zhi generously. “During filming, we often had brainstorming sessions that lasted for hours. Later, in post-production, he also offered many constructive suggestions. You could say half the credit for this film goes to him.”

There were some things Jiang Hua couldn’t say explicitly, but Rong Ke knew.

After deciding to aim for the Sand Harbor Film Festival, Yan Zhi had reviewed all previous award-winning films to understand the festival’s style. During post-production, Jiang Hua also considered Yan Zhi’s opinions when selecting footage, ultimately creating a film that met both his own standards and those of the Sand Harbor Film Festival.

Yan Zhi wasn’t relying solely on talent to “bully his way through.” He always strived for perfection in everything he did. As Zhou Lin would describe, he was like that student in class who was both smart and hardworking.

The reporter continued, “What are your expectations for tonight, Director Jiang?”

“Of course, I hope to win, but it’s alright if we don’t. Being nominated is already very exciting.”

Jiang Hua knew how Sand Harbor media liked to stir up drama, so he kept his answers vague.

“Express” was nominated for several awards, including Best Picture. The reporter clearly wanted to know how many awards he expected to win, but Jiang Hua pretended not to understand.

The reporter asked more directly, “Are you confident about winning Best Picture?”

“It’s hard to say,” Jiang Hua replied. “The other films are excellent too.”

Seeing they couldn’t get much from Jiang Hua, the reporters turned their attention to Rong Ke. “What led you to collaborate with Director Jiang?”

Rong Ke’s answer was equally cautious: “A senior colleague recommended it.”

“How is working with Director Jiang different from working with other directors?”

“The main difference is the freedom. We could film without strictly following the script.”

“Could you elaborate?”

Rong Ke gave a brief example, but soon enough, a reporter asked the core question, “Are you confident about winning Best Actor tonight?”

“No,” Rong Ke said.

He really wasn’t confident, considering he was competing against established actors.

Even if he were, he would still say no, because he didn’t want to see headlines in Sand Harbor tomorrow about him eating his words.

The reporters then turned to Yan Zhi. “How do you feel about collaborating with Director Jiang this time?”

“Filming was more fun than I imagined,” Yan Zhi said.

“Will you venture into the film industry in the future?”

“Not necessarily.”

Yan Zhi’s answers were all very brief, demonstrating through his actions that he indeed didn’t want to steal the spotlight.

As the interview was nearing its end, a reporter quickly asked, “Are you confident about winning Best New Actor?”

Rong Ke thought to himself, it’s a good thing he reminded Yan Zhi to be cautious when answering questions.

It was well known that the Sand Harbor Film Festival’s Best New Actor award tended to go to younger actors. The industry generally assumed that the youngest nominee would win.

As luck would have it, one of the nominees this time was a thirteen-year-old actor, widely considered the frontrunner by the industry.

Although when Yan Zhi had asked Rong Ke if he could win an award, Rong Ke had answered “hard to say,” the reality was that according to Sand Harbor Film Festival conventions, Yan Zhi’s chances of winning were slim.

— Unless all the judges had gone mad.

Yan Zhi leaned towards the microphone, his answer still brief. “Yes.”

A sudden burst of camera shutters filled the air. Rong Ke was startled but maintained his professional smile.

He glanced at Yan Zhi, who happened to be looking at him too, with an expression that seemed to say: Honey, see how cautious I am? I only answered with one word.

Rong Ke: “…”

After the hour-long interview, almost all media reports focused on one point: Yan Zhi was confident about winning Best New Actor.

Despite claiming not to steal the spotlight, Yan Zhi became the focus of the interview with just one word.

“When I told you to be cautious, I didn’t mean just speak less.” As the black business car slowly drove towards the red carpet, Rong Ke looked at the trending topics on Weibo with a headache. The public was discussing whether Yan Zhi could win the award, and everyone’s conclusion was unanimous: Yan Zhi would likely end up embarrassed.

“It’s fine. Having confidence is a good thing,” Jiang Hua chimed in. “He’s already crossing over into acting. Even if he doesn’t win, the media won’t be too harsh.”

“But Sand Harbor media can be very cruel,” Rong Ke worried.

“Do you all think I’m just there to make up the numbers?” Yan Zhi asked.

“According to Sand Harbor’s convention, the thirteen-year-old actor should win,” Jiang Hua said.

“Isn’t it boring to follow conventions every year?” Yan Zhi said. “If I were a judge, I’d give the award to myself.”

Sometimes Rong Ke truly admired Yan Zhi’s ability to never overthink and approach everything with a sense of fun.

“Forget it,” Rong Ke sighed. “Whether we win or not, at least we can be sure our film won’t lose money.”

“Well… not necessarily,” Jiang Hua said. “Yan Zhi made a few additional investments later. We need to reach 80 million in box office to break even. With strict domestic censorship, we might need to cut some scenes. It’s hard to say how that will affect audience reception…”

As Jiang Hua analyzed the film’s market prospects, Rong Ke’s gaze shot towards Yan Zhi, silently questioning: Additional investments?

Just then, the car stopped at the red carpet. Yan Zhi opened the door and said, “Baby, it’s time to walk the red carpet.”

The Sand Harbor Film Festival’s red carpet event included photo opportunities and interactive sessions. Rong Ke maintained a graceful professional smile throughout, posing for the media and answering the host’s questions.

It wasn’t until they finished walking the red carpet and sat down in their designated seats in the main hall that he found a chance to quietly ask Yan Zhi, “You made additional investments?”

“Just a little money, not much,” Yan Zhi said.

Judging from the break-even amount Jiang Hua had mentioned, Yan Zhi’s “little money” was likely in the eight-figure range.

They had just spent 20 million on the Tianxi Yunwan house. Rong Ke wanted to grab Yan Zhi’s collar and shout: You reckless spendthrift!

Considering the cameras all around the venue, he barely suppressed the urge to punch Yan Zhi and focused on watching the performance on stage.

The Best New Actor award was presented early in the ceremony. After the first musical performance, the host invited the presenters onto the stage.

Besides Yan Zhi and the young actor, there were two other nominees for this award, who Rong Ke did not recognize.

After the presenters announced the nominees, the big screen showed live shots of all four candidates. The discussion on Weibo became intensely heated.

[Oh my god, watching the live stream is so nerve-wracking, it’s like I’m there!]
[Wishing YZ wins Best New Actor, I love watching drama unfold!]
[I still think it’s unlikely, YZ is 27, he can’t beat the 13-year-old]
[Does Sand Harbor judge based on age? That can’t be right, can it?]
[It’s tradition, what’s so strange about it? Every award has its own rules, when in Rome…]

Rong Ke glanced at the comments, thinking along the same lines as these melon-eaters.

So when he heard the presenter announce Yan Zhi’s name, he was confused, wondering if they had to read the nominations twice.

It wasn’t until Yan Zhi leaned over to kiss his cheek, Jiang Hua excitedly stood up to hug Yan Zhi, and Yan Zhi walked to the stage amidst applause…

Rong Ke finally realized, Yan Zhi had… won?

No way, Rong Ke thought.

“Thank you,” Yan Zhi’s voice, amplified by the sound system, echoed through the venue as he accepted the trophy from the presenter. “Actually, when I said I was confident about winning, it wasn’t real confidence, but because I had to win this award.”

The presenter asked, “What do you mean?”

Rong Ke gradually came to his senses, thinking in disbelief, Yan Zhi winning an acting award? Has the world turned upside down?

“I needed a ceremonial stage to accomplish something,” Yan Zhi said, pulling out a silver ring from his suit pocket. Turning towards Rong Ke’s direction, he asked, “Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

The venue erupted in endless screams. Rong Ke was still stunned, thinking, wait, shouldn’t Yan Zhi be giving an acceptance speech?

The screams gradually turned into chants of “Say yes!” Rong Ke looked at his peers around him, all egging him on, and thought, the world has completely turned upside down.