Chapter 447: Lost, Lonely, Melancholy

Whenever you're abroad, you can't avoid encountering such ideological issues; there are always some people who like to stir up trouble.

Just answer openly—it's no big deal.

As long as you're talented and can make money, they can't touch you—that's how capitalist societies work.

Yu Xian winning the Oscar naturally led to his speech at the press conference being republished by the media, seemingly angering certain mainstream outlets, who launched verbal attacks against him.

The U. S. publication *Today in America* did not feature Yu Xian's photo on its front page or inside pages when reporting the Oscar results.

Its headline questioned Yu Xian's win: "Is Yu really more outstanding than other producers?"

This questioned his ability—he truly wasn't that outstanding; he won the Oscar through clever manipulation.

The *Los Angeles Times*'s professional film critic wrote an article expressing dissatisfaction with the award outcome.

He publicly acknowledged Yu Xian's achievement but simultaneously questioned why *Years a Slave* didn't win, arguing the Oscars weren't particularly fair, claiming Yu Xian had fallen short of *Years a Slave* in certain aspects of producing *Moonlight*, and lamenting that the latter didn't win Best Film.

The *Los Angeles Times*'s online poll showed 43% of respondents supported Yu Xian's win—supporters were fewer than half.

It can be said that *Moonlight*'s win sparked widespread skepticism, and Yu Xian himself drew much criticism too—though some Black people did support him.

If you keep complaining, they'll call you racist.

This silenced most mainstream media; in this place, that label is serious.

Yu Xian said nothing—he followed Fang Hong's instructions to stay hidden, avoiding all programs and media, and would remain silent for a while.

This kind of thing is dangerous—it's a serious matter.

It's actually quite normal; anyone who wins a major award faces such doubts—questions about unfairness, about whether the winner truly deserved it.

Cannes and Berlin were the same—when *Black Coal, Thin Ice* won, media questioned it too; it's the same domestically and internationally.

But this film carried racial tensions within it.

Fortunately, U. S. public opinion wasn't loud—who cares about an Asian winning?

Yet news of Yu Xian's win was reported in China, first by *Universal*.

"Breaking: Yu Xian wins Oscar for Best Film!"

This article was only a few dozen characters long, simply stating he won and which award he received.

It was later republished by *China News Service*, with content changed to: "On the evening of April 2nd local time in the United States (morning of April 3rd in Beijing time), the 86th Academy Awards ceremony was grandly held at the Dolby Theatre in Hollywood, Los Angeles."

In the Best Film category, Chinese producer Yu Xian, 凭借 his outstanding production work on *Moonlight*, outperformed several major American producers and emerged victorious.

He thus became the first Chinese person and the first Asian to win this prestigious award.

When questioned by reporters, Yu Xian said he was Chinese and thanked Mr. Hong, declaring he would forever be a descendant of the dragon.

This report was far richer, placing heavy emphasis on "descendant of the dragon."

Other second-tier media quickly followed suit.

"Yu Xian wins Oscar for Best Film, thanks Mr. Hong, calls himself: descendant of the dragon!"

"Yu Xian shines at the Oscars, becomes first Chinese to win Best Film, calls himself: descendant of the dragon!"

"Shocking! Descendant of the dragon Yu Xian triumphs at the Oscars, thanks Mr. Hong."

"Deep dive into Mr. Hong's past and present!"

Beyond media, even scholars commented on Yu Xian's Oscar win: "His commercial contribution exceeds that of Li Xiaolong and Fang Long!"

Indeed, Yu Xian has produced multiple films; commercially, he had long surpassed those two—over two billion U. S. dollars combined.

And he surpassed Li An—he's Best Film, while Li An is only Best Director.

But no one thinks he's stronger than Li An; Li An has real talent, while Yu Xian is purely clever manipulation.

Yet this didn't stop domestic media from elevating him to a very high position—simply because he was Chinese, a pure Chinese.

Just like Fang Long winning a Lifetime Achievement Award received far greater honors.

This kind of news suddenly appeared across major Chinese information websites—not only mainstream official media reported it, but also grassroots online newspapers and self-media did too.

They dug into Yu Xian's entire life: What did he start out doing? What did he do later? How was he in school? How was he at Yutu? How was he in the U. S.?

One of his classmates from the Beijing Film Academy Photography Department said: "He had excellent grades—among us, he was a top scholar."

Even Yu Xian's teacher, in an interview, said: "Yu had a good relationship with the Principal. I still remember when they made their first film, they came to me to apply for the Youth Director Project."

That was when they made their first film, with no money.

"Is the Mr. Hong Yu Xian mentioned the Principal?" asked the reporter.

"I don't know—you should ask him," the teacher waved his hand and shook his head.

If they could ask him, they wouldn't have to interview people around Yu Xian—they simply couldn't reach the Principal.

The Principal rarely gives media interviews.

Netizens were also very curious and interested, digging into who Mr. Hong was.

"Who exactly is this Mr. Hong? Anyone with any clue?"

"No one knows—if anyone did, they wouldn't say!"

"Definitely the Principal—the Principal's surname ends in Hong; if it's not him, I'll stand on my head and eat shit."

"Maybe it's the state—sending Yu Xian undercover in Hollywood to prepare for Chinese-language cinema to dominate Hollywood."

"You're really stretching your imagination, guy upstairs."

"No one has come forward to claim Mr. Hong."

"."

Netizens speculated wildly; some even guessed correctly, but few believed them.

It's normal—without hard evidence, it's all guesswork.

Just like Liu Tianxian and the Principal both know they're dating, but without hard evidence, it's just speculation—it doesn't cause any real impact.

If there was hard evidence, the public outcry would be huge.

Yu Xian's Oscar win didn't trigger a major public outcry—some just treated it as ordinary news.

Mainstream media hyped it up simply because this news made people feel proud—that's the point of such stories.

Actually, he didn't care what Yu Xian was like; he cared only about the meaning Yu Xian represented.

At night, Liu Tianxian had her long hair tied up, wearing a pink silk pajama with excellent drape that fell all the way to her calves, quite alluring.

She wiped oil from her hands, smeared it lightly across her fair face, walked to the bed, lifted one corner of the quilt, kicked off her shoes, and slipped inside.

Fang Hong pounced beside her like a dog in heat, sniffing all over her body, sniffing here, sniffing there.

"Are you a dog?" Liu Tianxian slapped his head.

"Stinky treasure, you smell so good," Fang Hong cooed.

"You're the stinky treasure—get off the bed before you've washed! Go clean up," Liu Tianxian pushed him.

Fang Hong shamelessly pressed closer, rubbing against her, his voice still sweet and whiny: "No, no, stinky baby."

"Eh?"

Liu Tianxian shivered—it was way too clingy, she got goosebumps all over—but she was smiling, actually enjoying this clinginess.

If outsiders saw the Principal like this, it would shatter their worldview; to them, the Principal was arrogant, cold, and aloof.

Nothing like this sticky, childish behavior.

"What's wrong, my dear treasure?" Fang Hong kept being clingy.

"Good baby, good baby, come on!" Liu Tianxian wrapped one arm around his shoulders, leaning close—this position was convenient.

With her other hand, she gently stroked his face; the man's skin was rough.

The oil on her hand hadn't dried yet, so it felt greasy against Fang Hong's face—but Fang Hong felt wonderful, soft and silky.

"Having a wife is great—every night I get to sleep wrapped in my wife's arms," Fang Hong nestled into Liu Tianxian's embrace; her chest was warm and soft.

"Before you had a wife, were you lonely and寂寞?" Liu Tianxian smiled.

"Of course I was lonely and寂寞—no one to talk to, just lost, lonely, and sad, like in the script of Gravity, staring into the lonely universe, that heart felt endless solitude," Fang Hong said.

Hearing this, Liu Tianxian savored the words carefully; she, too, had once felt this way. If she amplified this feeling, maybe her acting would improve even more.

"What about you? Have you ever felt this way?" Fang Hong asked.

"I did—for a while, when I was cyberbullied, I felt the whole world abandoned me. I hid alone in a dark corner, silently licking my wounds," Liu Tianxian spoke with poetic flair.

"Then hold tighter," Fang Hong hugged her waist tightly.

Liu Tianxian squeezed back with force, pulling him firmly into her arms—this gave her a sense of security.

That feeling was one she never wanted to experience again.

The room's lighting was dim, warm and intimate; the two lay quietly entwined.

Liu Tianxian gently patted his shoulder, her cheek pressed against his forehead, whispering softly: "Hey, call Yu Xian—he's probably having daytime there."

"Why call him?" Fang Hong was confused.

"I saw the news—he won an Oscar. Call and ask him," Liu Tianxian said.

"There's nothing to ask—this award was cheap luck; he didn't even want it," Fang Hong's tone turned serious.

"Just call to say congratulations! You're such a person—when someone wins a big award, you won't even say hello," Liu Tianxian scolded him.

"Fine, call him—the phone's on the nightstand!" Fang Hong pointed to the nightstand on her side, 示意ing her to get it.

Liu Tianxian turned, reached out one hand, grabbed the phone, then handed it to him.

Fang Hong swiped the screen, tapped a checkmark, and the phone unlocked instantly.

Nowadays, smartphones have numeric locks, pattern locks, but biometric unlocking hadn't yet become that common.

Still, Liu Tianxian watched it all, without any hesitation.

Fang Hong pulled up his contacts and dialed Yu Xian.

The phone rang "beep-beep" twice, then connected quickly.

"Hey Principal, the sun must've risen in the west—you're calling me this early," Yu Xian's tone was relaxed—he'd clearly hit it big.

It was daytime in the United States, roughly morning; previously, Fang Hong always called during the day, when it was nighttime for him—rarely did he call at night.

"Congratulations, Yu Xian, you won an Oscar!" came Liu Tianxian's sweet, high-pitched voice.

Fang Hong was playing the lackey, holding the phone up to Liu Tianxian's mouth.

"Oh, so it's Sister-in-law?"

Yu Xian was surprised—shouldn't it be late at night there? Were these two lying in bed together? Was the goddess being slept with?

He sighed: "Ah, just a small award, nothing worth mentioning."

"Still a small award? An Oscar? Our domestic media are all reporting on you!" Liu Tianxian said.

He was so calm—she'd be ecstatic if it were her.

Fang Hong stayed silent; Yu Xian was putting on an act again, but Liu Tianxian didn't know him well enough to realize it.

Probably forgot Yu Xian liked to pretend.

"Really? How are our domestic media talking about me?" Yu Xian was curious—he loved being praised.

If anyone criticized him, he'd get angry and fight back.

"They're saying you're amazing—the pride of the Chinese people, Asia's number one, going all out to praise you," Liu Tianxian's voice was lovely.

"Oh, too much, too much—I just did something tiny, how could I be Asia's number one?" Yu Xian's tone was regretful, but inside he was ecstatic.

Meaning: he hadn't even tried hard yet, and he was already Asia's number one—if he did try, who could possibly compete?

He only listened to the domestic media's hype; overseas media didn't care at all.

"Don't be so modest—so many people would kill to get it," Liu Tianxian said, glancing at Fang Hong, implying something.

This man had acted for years, just like her—only ever won Macau Best Director, nothing else.

Fang Hong's hand slipped under the quilt, into her clothes, pinched her belly—talk about it, but drag him into comparison too.

Liu Tianxian felt it, slapped his hand, glared at him—such a troublemaker.

"That's true—my starting point is already someone else's endpoint; my achievements are merely the starting point for others who strive their whole lives." Yu Xian's tone was brimming with pride.

Mostly because the goddess praised him like that—his vanity exploded, he was giddy beyond measure; Liu Tianxian had once been his dream goddess!

Fang Hong couldn't stand his bullshit—he was acting like a damn actor.

"That's right, Fang Hong should learn from you," Liu Tianxian said.

"I love hearing that. Actually, Fang Hong has ability—he just has too much utilitarianism," Yu Xian began lecturing in the tone of an elder, far too smug.

"You hit the nail on the head. He can make art films; his cinematic ideas are advanced, but he thinks they don't make money and are a waste of time, so he won't make them," Liu Tianxian agreed, offering her own critique.

She had always thought her man was talented—he could paint, write screenplays, direct films, and had his own ideas about cinema, but he always fixated on box office returns.

Fang Hong was speechless—these two were now lecturing him.

"So people shouldn't be too utilitarian; they must calm down and focus on creation, letting go of fame and profit."

"I'll let go of fame and profit? You go drink wind and eat dust—do you think your mortgage's paid off? Do you think your fuck buddies are fed?"

Fang Hong couldn't take it anymore—he cut in directly, as the two were getting more and more worked up.

Liu Tianxian hit him—she was crude.

"Principal, you're here?" Yu Xian was startled—he hadn't heard Fang Hong's voice for ages and thought the man wasn't around.

So he dared to give him a critique.

"You wish I wasn't here?" Fang Hong said.

"Calm down, calm down—I was just discussing your strengths with the goddess. I do recognize your strengths," Yu Xian changed his tune.

His tone instantly shifted—to praise.

Say what you will, complain as you like, but making money is the core—if you don't make money, you drink wind and eat dust. Who cares about your honors or compliments? Everyone looks at the money.

Without money, you can't move an inch in the United States—no matter how awesome you are.

"How's that a strength? It's clearly a flaw," Liu Tianxian was displeased—she'd finally found someone willing to talk about this.

Ordinary people wouldn't dare discuss how the Principal was—how did they know she wouldn't tell him?

"That's not right, goddess—I ask you, which came first, the chicken or the egg? Obviously, you need the chicken first to lay an art film egg—the Principal is that chicken," Yu Xian spoke again in the tone of a seasoned elder, lecturing Liu Tianxian.

He lectured both husband and wife.

He added: "Principal, I didn't mean you're a chicken."

"You fucking asshole, talk like some old scholar—can't you just stop pretending?" Fang Hong said.

Liu Tianxian hit him again—she was rough.

"I've always been like this—you just never noticed," Yu Xian boasted.

"Are you saying we're both wrong? Fang Hong isn't artistic—that's wrong; I'm artistic—that's also wrong?" Liu Tianxian picked up on the implication.

"No no no," Yu Xian hastily denied.

"You did! Now tell me—who's wrong?" Liu Tianxian's tone turned stern.

"You're both right," Yu Xian avoided offending anyone.

"No, you must pick one," Liu Tianxian displayed her womanly nature.

Yu Xian's head throbbed—he realized he'd gone too far; in trying to impress, he'd offended both of them.

"You're both right—I'm the one who's wrong," he said.

"Don't dodge the question—name one. If you don't, we won't stop," Fang Hong pressed him, forcing him to face his own arrogance.

"Please let me off—I was just speaking on impulse, really! You're both right, I'm the one who's wrong!" Yu Xian begged.

Tonight's over—don't wait, we have to get up at four to handle things.

(End of Chapter)