Who Needs a CEO? I Choose Stardom

As everyone knew, unless a true classic was born, the odds of Best Director and Best Actor/Actress going to the same film were extremely low.

Even if she saw her own work through rose-colored glasses and felt *Demon Suppression Tower* was excellent in every respect, Ni Bingyan wasn’t thick-skinned enough to call it an epoch-making classic capable of sweeping all the major awards.

Luo Guangkun had already bagged Best Director, and with such strong competition for Best Actress, Ni Bingyan no longer held out hope of winning. The last vestiges of nervousness in her heart dissipated completely.

“Standing here today, holding this heavy award, I feel like I have so much to say, but now that it’s time to speak, I’m at a loss for words.”

Luo Guangkun stood on stage, giving his acceptance speech.

Hearing his opening, everyone thought he was an honest, simple man who didn’t even know how to say something clever. But after a pause, when he spoke again, it was enough to give them whiplash!

“I told myself, if I can’t think of anything good to say, I should just go home, organize my thoughts, and say it properly the next time I get a chance to stand up here. But then I thought, there are so many outstanding directors out there, it’s anyone’s guess if I’ll ever be this lucky again in my life. So I might as well just say whatever comes to mind! No point in holding back!”

You have to admit, people from the Northeast are all natural-born comedians.

As soon as these humble words left his mouth, he had praised both the organizing committee and his peers. Even his competitors couldn’t help but smile and applaud, feeling honored by his remarks.

“First, I want to thank my team. As everyone knows, I love to shoot on location in nature. For this film, *Demon Suppression Tower*, my team followed me to freeze in a snowfield and then to get blasted by wind in the desert. No one complained about the hardship, and no one said they were tired. They are indispensable for being able to present such a visual feast to the audience!”

Luo Guangkun gave a crisp bow.

Some film crews only needed to set up a green screen in a studio. Their staff didn’t have to endure the wind and rain, and food and drink were more convenient. But when it came to having an interesting experience, you had to follow a director like him, who loved to shoot all over the world.

‘The people watching the live broadcast must be really happy to hear this, right?’

No wonder his team didn’t have a high turnover rate. This was a director who knew how to manage a team.

“Second, I want to thank our actors. It’s well-known that to make a good film, the quality of the script and the production team aren’t the only deciding factors; you also need highly cooperative actors.”

Luo Guangkun smiled and pointed in Ni Bingyan’s direction.

“Speaking of which, I have a little something to reveal. Did you know? For the scene where Lu Ling makes her entrance, in the Forest Sea and Snowfield of the Northeast, in temperatures below minus thirty degrees Celsius, Ni Bingyan filmed it with ice cubes in her mouth. It was all because she was worried her warm breath would give Lu Ling a ‘human’ touch and ruin the aesthetic beauty of the shot.”

In the past, there were many people willing to make sacrifices for their roles, and veteran actors considered it a basic professional principle. But nowadays, no one did that anymore.

Forget about freezing in the real Forest Sea and Snowfield with ice in your mouth; some people even used body doubles for green screen shoots in a studio.

“When I first met her, I thought a delicate little girl like her would never be able to handle hardship. I figured she’d be pestering me for time off! But her performance in the very first scene completely blew me away.”

Luo Guangkun bowed again. “Thank you, my leading lady. It was a great pleasure working with you.”

Ni Bingyan hadn’t expected this. She glanced at Huang Ge, then shot to her feet in a fluster, taking the microphone a staff member handed her and repeatedly denying it.

“No, no, that’s just what an actor is supposed to do. It’s not worthy of such praise!”

‘If he praises me to the high heavens, what will the other actors in the cast think?’

‘This Old Luo doesn’t seem like someone with such low emotional intelligence!’

But as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, Luo Guangkun spoke with a hearty laugh.

“Did you hear that, Xiao Ni? After hearing so many sweet words from me, when I come looking for you for a second collaboration, you can’t tell me you don’t have time!”

The crowd erupted in laughter once again!

Ni Bingyan breathed a sigh of relief and put on a surprised expression.

“Does this mean I have a new job already? With so many people watching, you can’t go back on your word!”

Many people had wanted to be in his cast before, and now that he’d won a Golden Horse, even more would be lining up to work with him. Ni Bingyan just took it as a joke and didn’t think he was serious.

Luo Guangkun nodded with a chuckle and continued thanking his family and the fans who supported him. His witty language and natural comedic timing kept the audience laughing.

Everyone had a different style when it came to acceptance speeches.

Some liked to be sentimental, some preferred philosophical musings, and some enjoyed spouting dignified nonsense. Most people just gave a series of repetitive thank-yous.

But there weren’t many who, like Luo Guangkun, could turn a simple thank-you speech into something special, even sneaking in some personal business.

The moment he finished his acceptance speech, two topics had already appeared online, their popularity skyrocketing.

#Ice-Breathing_Archer_Ni_Bingyan#, #Ni_Bingyan’s_New_Job#.

Lu Ling used a bow and arrow as a weapon in the movie, so the hashtag, paired with GIFs clipped from the film, was quite amusing.

As for why Luo Guangkun wasn’t mentioned in the hashtags?

Who would click on it if he were?

Hadn’t you seen the #Golden_Horse_Best_Director_Luo_Guangkun# hashtag? Its popularity was practically dead on arrival.

He wasn’t one of those highly famous, outspoken ‘troll’ directors. Even if he won an award, not many people cared.

After all, no matter how much you like an egg, few people bother to track down the specific chicken that laid it.

But it was a different story with Ni Bingyan. Her ability to trend was terrifyingly effective. Anything involving her saw its popularity soar.

After receiving his trophy and coming off the stage, Luo Guangkun was practically radiating an irrepressible joy. Ni Bingyan chuckled and reached out to take the Golden Horse, stroking it over and over.

“Here, let me soak up some of your good luck! Maybe in a few years, I’ll be able to win one too!”

In truth, Ni Bingyan knew that Luo Guangkun had given her a special shout-out because he’d guessed she was likely to be an also-ran, while Huang Ge was a strong contender to win. He did it to cheer her up.

Having spent months together day and night while filming, Ni Bingyan had long since discovered that this burly, rough-looking man actually had a very sensitive heart.

She said this to show that she hadn’t been expecting to win this time, so there was no great disappointment to speak of.

Sure enough, after hearing her words, Luo Guangkun was slightly taken aback for a moment, then he smiled.

“That’s right, you’re still young! Look at me, I’m over forty and I’ve only just won one. You’re not even thirty yet, there’s no need to rush at all.”

“Congratulations, congratulations!”

After Best Director came Best Feature Film, followed by Best Actor. Huang Ge’s heart was now completely set on the award, and he was in no mood for small talk. He offered a simple congratulations and then sat still again.

The awards were being presented on stage; it would be rude to talk at a time like this.

Everyone sat down and turned their attention back to the stage.

Best Feature Film was won by *Endless Summer Night*, a film from Taiwan.

It was a very moving film about a poor, backward mountain village that relied on trafficking women for years to continue the village’s family lines.

Due to the inconvenient transportation and the locals banding together, it presented immense difficulty for the police to solve the cases.

The story follows a female police officer, Xing Na, who goes undercover and, after enduring countless hardships, finally manages to rescue eighty-three women.

At the end of the film, some of the victims couldn’t bear to leave their children and chose to stay; some felt ashamed and chose to live elsewhere as strangers; while others bravely returned to their original families with their children, only to be either accepted or ostracized…

A single film depicted all the vicissitudes of life.

Its win for Best Feature Film was well-deserved.

With such a gem preceding it, Ni Bingyan felt a little sorry for the actress at her own company who had competed with her for a role.

The script she had landed was also about human trafficking.

It had supposedly already wrapped filming.

Even for different awards, it was impossible for them to be given to the same type of film two years in a row.

On top of that, a subject like this was unlikely to achieve high box office numbers.

It was debatable whether the movie would even get a theatrical release.

It was just bad luck. The two companies were located on opposite sides of the strait, had no regular dealings with each other, and yet both focused on the same issue at the same time.

The company from Taiwan was quicker to act, or perhaps, that actress was more highly valued, so their movie was filmed first.

To have such a brutal clash of themes was truly tragic.

Thank goodness she had chosen *Inheritor* and *Zui Sheng Building* back then.

Ni Bingyan let out a breath of relief, feeling like she had dodged a bullet.