CDJMM – Volume 4 – Chapter 31 Filming in the Interstellar Era (31)

Originally written off by the industry as a sure loser and merely a “runner,” The Republican-Era Literary Masters Chronicles pulled off back-to-back upsets, winning both Best TV Drama and Best Director. Such a dramatic twist instantly ignited the media’s excitement, and they wrote about it extensively.

China Film & TV Weekly commented, “This represents the Red Peony Awards’ return to artistry. After years of compromising with capital and traffic, the Red Peony Awards have finally rediscovered their original intention and given The Republican-Era Literary Masters Chronicles a fair evaluation. Time has proven this was a brilliant move! According to data statistics, last night’s Red Peony Awards reached its highest viewership peak at the exact moment the crew of Literary Masters Chronicles lifted the Best TV Drama trophy. Sixty million real-time viewers once again reminded the industry of the power of the silent majority…”

Where there were media outlets praising the drama’s win, there were naturally media outlets sour about it. There’s a saying in fandom culture: “Your stance determines your brain.” This applies perfectly to entertainment media as well.

Entertainment media are backed by different capital forces, which naturally means they lean toward different interests. Since The Republican-Era Literary Masters Chronicles won, the capital behind Dawn Breaks was, of course, unhappy.

Normally, these capital-backed media would already be furiously attacking Literary Masters Chronicles, accusing it of shady dealings and condemning the Red Peony Awards for being unfair.

But… Literary Masters Chronicles was just recently praised by People’s Daily, officially stamped as a “mainstream masterpiece.”

…And that was awkward as hell.

If they attacked Literary Masters Chronicles, wouldn’t they be running straight into People’s Daily’s gunfire? They weren’t bold enough for that.

So Entertainment Star Weekly took another approach, showering Dawn Breaks with glowing praise:

“Using the Dark Three Hundred Years as its backdrop, Dawn Breaks vividly depicts humanity’s desperate struggle for survival—an epic portrayal of the light of mankind. Though it did not win an award, it remains the uncrowned king in countless viewers’ hearts.”

—Since they couldn’t bash Literary Masters Chronicles, they would simply praise Dawn Breaks. By praising Dawn Breaks, weren’t they indirectly saying Literary Masters Chronicles wasn’t worthy?

Luo Bao slammed the Entertainment Star Weekly page shut and spat angrily. “Ugh! If that trash drama really won an award, the judges would truly be blind.”

Luo Lan snorted. “Why bother paying attention to them? It’s just PR fluff. Dawn Breaks only won Best Actor and Best Actress because of PR anyway.”

Mentioning this reminded Luo Bao of a recent annoyance. “And those Mo Ran and Liu Yi fans still aren’t satisfied. They’re on Xingbo yelling nonstop, dragging us left and right, accusing Literary Masters of rigging the awards, acting like they’ve suffered some huge injustice.”

Luo Lan crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Why do you care about them? They’re just brain-dead stans—nothing that’ll amount to anything. We’re not like them. We’re career fans; we only care about our idol’s career. So—” She looked at Luo Bao expectantly. “Do you think Director Shi can win the Sky-Star Award this time?”

At that, Luo Bao perked up. “Originally we thought Literary Masters Chronicles wouldn’t win anything, but clearly we were wrong. So for the Sky-Star Award this time… Director Shi really might win again.”

Luo Lan blinked dreamily. “If Director Shi wins again, he’ll be the youngest director ever to receive the Sky-Star Award…”

…

Coincidentally, the Qijiang Video editorial department was also buzzing with discussion — everyone talking about whether Fenglang Juxu: Young Marquis could win.

“If Young Marquis really wins the Sky-Star Award, our site is going to get a huge spotlight!”

A female editor kindly reminded Qianhe, “Hey! Xiao Qian, talk to the chief editor, have her bring it up to upper management. Maybe we can pull some strings and do some PR?”

Qianhe laughed helplessly. “You think this is the Red Peony Awards? The Sky-Star Award values artistry. The judges choose winners based on artistic merit — it’s not something you can just PR your way into. Besides…”

The editor leaned forward. “Besides what?”

“Besides… the Sky-Star Award has never given a win to an AI-made film.”

“Why??”

Qianhe sighed and rubbed his face. “Because AI films have no emotions. AI actors are ultimately products of cold programming. A film that can’t move its audience emotionally is a failed film.”

The female editor disagreed. “But I cried at the end of Young Marquis! When Huo Qubing died I was bawling!”

Qianhe patiently explained, “That’s because the story was good… Let me put it this way: when have you ever seen an animated film win an acting award?”

The editor paused, realized something, then asked again, “But Young Marquis’s story is amazing! It could still win Best Film.”

Qianhe shook his head again. “That wouldn’t be fair to real films. Actors work so hard honing their craft, crews work overtime to perfect their movies — and then the award goes to an AI film? That hurts the real film industry. That’s why the Sky-Star Award rarely even nominates AI films; even if they’re nominated, they don’t win beyond that.”

The female editor finally understood. She sighed for Young Marquis, then quickly comforted Qianhe:

“It’s fine! Even if it can’t win the Sky-Star Award, we still have our website’s Youth Theme Competition! The first-place prize is 1 million! The results aren’t out yet, but with a Sky-Star nomination, Young Marquis is basically guaranteed to win.”

Qianhe could only smile wryly and nod.

Yes… Shi Jing was still young. Being nominated was already remarkable.

He had many years ahead of him. As long as he focused on making real films, he would win the Sky-Star Award someday.

…

Song Minghan had watched last night’s Red Peony Awards live broadcast as well. Literary Masters Chronicles winning gave him a huge sense of relief.

With an award under his belt, even though Shi Jing was a newcomer, he now had credentials.

But one Red Peony Award wasn’t quite enough. If only he could also win a Sky-Star Award…

Song Minghan shook his head with a laugh. Even he knew that idea was wishful thinking. Shi Jing was so young, and winning the Red Peony Award was already an unexpected blessing. And the film he submitted was an AI film — the Sky-Star Award’s least favorite category. The chances of winning were extremely slim.

Still… they would wait a bit longer.

After the Sky-Star Awards ceremony, Shi Jing would probably be free. Then he could discuss the documentary project with him.

…

Meanwhile, the Sky-Star Award judging committee was fiercely debating whether Fenglang Juxu: Young Marquis should win.

Only six days remained until the ceremony, and the winners still hadn’t been decided — extremely rare for the Sky-Star Awards.

The core issue was that Young Marquis left many judges conflicted.

Judge Wu Tianming fully understood this. He was the one who was blown away by Young Marquis and strongly pushed for the AI film to advance to the final round.

Now the judges were split into two opposing camps:

“Never in Sky-Star Award history has an AI film won Best Film!”

“It’s a new era. Maybe the rules should change!”

“Nonsense! If an AI film wins an award, have you ever thought about how much it will damage the authority of our Starry Sky Awards?”

“In terms of plot and artistry, The Young Marquis Who Sealed the Wolves at Juxu absolutely deserves Best Film. Are we really going to abandon such a good movie just because of these so-called rules and saving face?”

“No matter how good it is, it’s still an AI movie! There isn’t a shred of technical substance! If a film like this wins, is that fair to real films?”

Seeing the argument growing fiercer with neither side able to convince the other, the film festival chairman, Cao Desheng, cleared his throat and raised his voice: “Everyone quiet down, let me say a few words.”

“I agree with Director Wu Tianming’s proposal. After all these years, it’s time for our Starry Sky Awards to make some changes.”

A director immediately panicked and cut in: “Chairman, you also think the Best Film award should go to The Young Marquis Who Sealed the Wolves at Juxu?! That’s not fair to the other films!”

Cao Desheng sighed and pointed at him. “You—always so hot-tempered. Can’t you let me finish speaking?”

The director awkwardly rubbed his nose. “Sorry, sorry, please go on.”

Cao Desheng swept his gaze across the room, taking in everyone’s varied expressions, then calmly offered a proposal.

The moment he spoke, the room fell silent.

People looked at each other in astonishment.

Wu Tianming noticed the expressions of even the most opposed directors beginning to soften.

After a long moment, one of the previously opposing directors quietly broke the silence. “If that’s how it’s arranged, then I have no objections.”

……

September 22nd.

The annual Starry Sky Awards red carpet glittered brilliantly. Films from over sixty countries and regions across six planets arrived for competition. More than a hundred media outlets from home and abroad were present, and over twenty channels of the Earth Federation were broadcasting live.

Many of Shi Jing’s fans were already waiting in the livestream to watch his red carpet appearance.

……

Le Jing once again walked the red carpet alone.

It wasn’t that he wanted to be different—he just didn’t want the media fabricating romantic rumors.

“Director Shi, why are you walking the red carpet alone again? Where’s your girlfriend?”

Le Jing looked toward the reporter. Thanks to his excellent memory, he recognized her as the same one who had asked him why he didn’t have a female companion on the Peony Awards red carpet.

He shrugged and answered with a bright smile: “Waiting for the country to assign me one.”

The reporter burst out laughing and snapped several close-up shots of him.

Although smart robots were highly advanced and could easily handle tasks like photography, the photography world still valued “hand feel.” Robot-taken photos weren’t bad, but they always lacked something—a sense of light and composition that only seasoned photographers developed after tens of thousands of shots. And since there would be a press conference after the ceremony, major media still sent real reporters for photos and interviews.

Compared to the utter lack of attention at the Peony Awards, Le Jing received a warm welcome from hosts and reporters this time, staying on the red carpet for a full five minutes for photos.

Afterward came the usual interview questions:

“Director Shi, congratulations on winning the Peony Award’s Best Director. Your winning age sets a new record!”

Le Jing replied humbly, “Thank you, thank you. I’m still young. I have many shortcomings. I’ll work even harder in the future.”

The female host asked, “Your film The Young Marquis Who Sealed the Wolves at Juxu has been nominated for Best Film. Do you have confidence in winning?”

Without hesitation, Le Jing said, “No confidence.”

The host laughed. Clearly, she also didn’t think he would win—the question was just a formality. So she continued, “Then who do you think will win?”

Le Jing paused for a few seconds, then answered seriously: “I don’t know. I think they all have more hope than me.”

The host laughed again. She then asked several predictably official questions about his views on other films and his future plans. Le Jing answered them smoothly.

After finishing the interview, he was escorted to a seat in the second row.

To be honest, Le Jing never expected to win. He came merely to build credentials.

Even he admitted that making AI films was much simpler than real films. If he won, it would be a huge blow to the crews and actors who painstakingly worked on real productions.

Just being nominated already surprised him.

In his plan, his next film, “The Empress’ Imperial Hound,” was his true awards contender.

So while other nominees pretended to be calm, Le Jing was genuinely relaxed. After all, The Young Marquis Who Sealed the Wolves at Juxu had no chance of winning.

As he expected, the Best Film award ended up going to an art-house film. Its director and crew excitedly ran onto the stage. Le Jing applauded politely.

This was the final segment of the festival before the press conference and banquet.

But those were celebrations for the winners. Le Jing wasn’t interested and planned to leave afterward.

He was calm—but his fans watching the livestream were devastated.

Luo Bao and Luo Lan sighed repeatedly. The fan groups were full of gloom. Some rational fans began comforting themselves:

“After all, it’s an AI movie.”

“Director Shi is still young; he has plenty of chances.”

“Yeah, the next movie will definitely win.”

“Winning a Peony Award was already a pleasant surprise. He’s only 24; he still needs more experience.”

By the end, even Luo Bao was convinced and thought not winning wasn’t so bad. Just being nominated at 24 was amazing!

……

After the Best Film winners left the stage, the host returned to center stage to give the closing remarks—at least that was what should have happened.

Instead, the host invited the festival chairman, Cao Desheng, onto the stage.

An elderly man, frail with age; the world-famous director An Yun was his student.

He slowly swept his gaze across the audience. His eyes carried a heavy weight that made everyone sit up straight.

Then he spoke:

“This year marks the 1,423rd anniversary of the Starry Sky Awards. Since its founding, our mission has always been to discover art and interpret humanity. To encourage creation, we have always valued legendary stories crafted through real light and shadow, and following these principles, we have selected countless Best Films—all of them masterpieces of their time.”

As he reminisced, tears glimmered in his eyes.

Many in the audience also fell into memories.

Cao Desheng ended his recollection and sighed softly, then his tone grew heavier.

“But times are changing. The sudden rise and rapid development of AI films cannot be ignored. In recent years, we’ve begun to reflect—have our principles become too absolute? Have we been so focused on real films that we’ve overlooked the achievements of AI films? Many outstanding AI films have been born in recent years. Their box offices flourished; audiences loved them. Yet they never received the recognition of the Starry Sky Awards.”

The audience was overwhelmed with shock. If Cao Desheng weren’t so respected, people would’ve already begun whispering.

Le Jing’s heart pounded. An unbelievable guess surfaced in his mind.

Could it be…?

“This year, another excellent AI film was nominated for Best Film. Are we really going to ignore its quality because of tradition and prejudice? But if this film wins, is that fair to real films? Before finalizing the list, our judges had a brief debate. In the end, we decided…”

Cao Desheng paused deliberately. His eyes seemed to rest—for just an instant—on Le Jing before he continued slowly:

“This year’s Best Film award will still go to a real film. However, starting today, the Starry Sky Awards will establish a new Best AI Film Award to honor outstanding AI films and encourage their creation and development.”

The reporters nearly fainted from excitement.

Many snatched up their light-brains, racing to publish the news.

Viewers at home stared wide-eyed, holding their breath as they witnessed history.

“I announce that the winner of the first Best AI Film Award is—”

Amid overwhelming anticipation, the elder finally spoke the title softly:

“The Young Marquis Who Sealed the Wolves at Juxu.”

As thunderous applause and cheers erupted, Le Jing slowly stood up, struggling to steady his astonished heart.