CDJMM – Volume 4 -Chapter 42 Filming in the Interstellar Era (42)

“Empress Wu Zetian’s life is filled with too many mysteries and unknowns. Separated from us by nearly ten thousand years of temporal fog, we can only catch fragmented glimpses from the remnants of later generations’ records—still far, far from the truth…”

Hua Xiasheng rubbed his eyes, wiping away two tears.

This wasn’t his first time watching the CCTV documentary channel’s The Mystery of Empress Wu Zetian.

Over the past month, he had watched this documentary four or five times, each viewing bringing new emotions and insights.

At first, he was deeply moved that ancient Huaxia had been able to produce such a rigorous and detailed historical documentary. But as time passed, a growing sadness took root in him instead.

Just what kind of brilliant, dazzling civilization had humanity once created on Earth?

He didn’t know. In this era, no human knew.

What kind of era was the present?

Fragmented histories, severed civilizations, restless hearts, alien cultures flourishing, Earth culture in full decline.

A chaotic, disoriented era.

No one paid attention to Ancient Earth Civilization Studies anymore. In fact, many schools had already removed this major and field of research entirely.

In Hua Xiasheng’s graduation photo, he stood alone.

He once had classmates; but before graduation, they all switched to money-earning majors—finance, light-brain programming, screenwriting…

In the end, only Hua Xiasheng remained.

He studied alone, graduated alone, stayed at the university alone, and alone supported the entire Ancient Earth Civilization Studies Department of Luodu University, teaching hundreds of students over the years.

Because of his perseverance, even though only a few dozen students graduated from the department each year, it had survived until now, never abolished.

As long as young blood remains, history will always be a young discipline.

When no one was around, Hua Xiasheng had asked himself countless times:

Why am I still holding on?

He pondered this question for his entire life.

Only a few days ago did he finally find the answer:

Pride, and unwillingness.

He was proud.

Even with broken records, severed heritage, and weakened humanity—still, he was proud.

His pride didn’t come from himself, but from the brilliant civilization his ancestors created.

Even the fragmented words in ancient texts, fleeting as a startled glimpse of a leopard through a tube, shook his heart and stirred his soul.

Back then, without advanced technology, without modern knowledge, those “primitive” ancestors of humanity— with their hands, their feet, their flesh and blood—built an epic, immortal civilization.

How could one not be proud?

And if such pride and history were lost forever, how could one not feel unwilling?

How could later generations erase their ancestors’ brilliance and honor, yet revere the Zerg as creators, as enlighteners? How could Hua Xiasheng possibly accept that?

In this era of confusion, the stories of ancestors were the anchor preventing humanity from drifting, the signpost guiding them forward.

But would there ever come a day when humans could find that anchor again?

If one day, humanity forgets its roots and acknowledges the Zerg as their progenitors— would they still be human?

Just imagining this possibility made Hua Xiasheng weep through the night, unable to sleep.

“Grandpa! The Ark Awards ceremony is about to begin!”

His granddaughter’s voice snapped him out of his grief. His spirits lifted immediately; he opened his light-brain and pulled up the livestream.

In a sense, Empress’s Royal Dog was the sister production to The Mystery of Empress Wu Zetian. The documentary also used many clips from the film. He had gone to the cinema after hearing the praise.

He had to admit—the director was a genius!

By telling history from the perspective of a dog, he lowered the barrier to entry, allowing more viewers to walk into theaters and truly settle down to read history.

Empress’s Royal Dog fulfilled the responsibility of educating the public. In his mind, it was the only film worthy of winning the Ark Award.

…

This year’s Ark Awards ceremony was held in Brus City, capital of the European Federation.

In the interstellar era, the Earth Alliance consisted of six planets:

• Peace Star, where Huaguo was located
• Red Star, home to several pro-Huaguo Asian countries
• Freedom Star, home of the American Federation
• Democracy Star, base of the European Federation
• Equality Star, home to several African nations
• Nature Star, comprising various small countries and regions

Huaguo’s capital was covered in thick snow at this time of year, but Brus City on Democracy Star was warm and humid, like summertime.

Le Jing’s eveningwear was made of special material—warm in winter, cool in summer—automatically adjusting temperature, so despite wearing a suit on the red carpet, he did not feel hot.

This time, he finally had a female companion.

Zhang Yanfang sighed. “Who would’ve thought, at my age, I’d still get to walk the Ark Awards red carpet.”

Le Jing grinned. “There will be many more unexpected things in the future. Isn’t living all about encountering the unimaginable?”

By now, both Le Jing and Zhang Yanfang were no longer the obscure young director and little-known actress they once were. So this time, they stayed noticeably longer on the red carpet.

Journalists and photo-robot reporters worked frantically, shutters firing nonstop. From time to time someone shouted:

“Walk slower!”

“Please smile at me!”

“Give us a wave!”

The deep-featured female host approached them, smiling brightly. Her flowing yellow gown shimmered as the translation device at her lips rendered her fluent English into Chinese:

“Director Shi Jing, Ms. Zhang Yanfang, welcome to Brus City. Have you been here before?”

Le Jing replied, “No, this is my first time.”

Zhang Yanfang said, “I’ve been here before—but that was decades ago.”

“Then what do you think of Bruce City?”

Shi Jing and Zhang Yanfang offered polite praise.

If it ended there, it would’ve just been a standard, well-behaved interview. But as a descendant of the British Empire, this female host had undoubtedly inherited the “fine” traditions of the British tabloids.

“I heard you think Tulip Beauty is a piece of political propaganda by the Zerg. Was this evaluation made from an objective standpoint? After all, we know…” The host showed an ambiguous smile. “You’re competitors, aren’t you?”

“I’m not despicable enough to use such underhanded tactics to attack a rival,” Le Jing said bluntly. “I said what I said purely out of a director’s social responsibility. I refuse to turn a blind eye to those who use disgusting tricks to induce and brainwash audiences in order to achieve their unspeakably evil goals.”

The female host blinked rapidly, trembling with excitement. “You believe Tulip Beauty is an evil film? That it’s a Zerg conspiracy?”

Le Jing’s eyes were quiet and bright, like a solitary star hanging in the night sky—unyielding, never swayed. “What else could it be? Would you fall in love with the roast chicken on your dining table? Humans are nothing but food to the Zerg. It’s been only a thousand years of peace, and already humans are trying to dig out the so-called humanity and emotions of the Zerg, letting themselves be moved by the so-called ‘love’ in a movie. Please. Lying to yourself to this degree is nothing but laughable.”

The young man curved his lips in a mocking smile, his gaze sharp, edges unsheathed: “As expected, the only lesson humans ever learn from history is that humans never learn anything from history. Compared to the Zerg, humans are far too forgetful.”

Camera flashes burst like fireworks, shutters nonstop. Through countless lenses, Shi Jing’s words spread across the globe, reaching everyone watching the live broadcast.

As a world-class film award, the Ark Awards had a live viewership reaching hundreds of millions.

People from dozens of countries across six planets tuned in. Any small stir on the stage could trigger massive discussion—let alone a statement as controversial as Le Jing’s. Immediately, voices in countless languages erupted across the Earth Alliance:

“Who is this kid?”

“Isn’t he being way too extreme?”

“Clout-chasing clown!”

“Finally someone says it!”

“Well said! Anyone praising human–Zerg romance is brain-dead!”

Different people took different stances, sparking endless debates.

But controversy brings heat—and attention!

A storm of multilingual arguments swept across all social platforms; many forums opened massive dedicated threads.

And this… was exactly the reaction Le Jing wanted.

His individual strength was still too small. His voice didn’t carry enough weight.

Only by placing himself at the eye of a public-opinion storm—drawing more and more attention—could his words gain enough weight to be heard by the masses.

Of course, this also meant attracting the attention of the Zerg… becoming their target.

But the most dangerous place is often the safest. Just like the eye of a tornado is actually a windless zone.

Only under the full glare of public exposure could he achieve maximum safety.

Targeting a nameless director and targeting a controversial director who generates enormous public buzz—those two difficulties were worlds apart.

Even if the Zerg wanted to assassinate him, they would have to prepare flawlessly, leaving no trace. Otherwise, reporters and netizens with their obsession for gossip and conspiracy theories would tear them apart.

…

Le Jing’s crew was placed in the second or third row by the organizers. Not long after, the Tulip Beauty crew entered as well. Led by staff, they sat on the right side of Le Jing’s team, separated only by the aisle—facing each other from a distance.

Le Jing’s gaze locked onto Tian Hui, his eyes filled with doubt and deep contemplation.

He hadn’t seen Tian Hui in a long time.

In his memory, Tian Hui was a cowardly, vile man. But this time… Le Jing clearly sensed something was different.

A strong sense of wrongness radiated from him.

Sensing Le Jing’s gaze, Tian Hui turned his head and offered a polite, restrained smile.

Le Jing frowned, a dull ache pressing between his brows. The feeling of wrongness only grew stronger.

The host took the stage and began the opening speech.

Le Jing withdrew his gaze and slowly began organizing his thoughts.

What followed, for him, was not a pleasant experience.

Tulip Beauty: ten nominations, eight wins.

The Empress’s Imperial Hound: zero.

Tulip Beauty was the biggest winner of the year.

Le Jing’s brow throbbed. The host, the presenters, and the judges—all gave him the exact same unsettling feeling as Tian Hui.

Expressionless, he watched the Tulip Beauty crew walk on stage again and again. Expressionless, he listened to the host announce, “Tulip Beauty is humanity’s new-era interpretation of the Zerg, a re-examination of the Dark Three Hundred Years, and a representation of the brilliance of human art.” Expressionless, he watched Tian Hui lift the golden Best Director trophy.

And at last—he laughed.

A sharp, icy laugh.

For humanity. For civilization.

The sight before him was enough to stain the history of human civilization with shame.

So that’s how it is.

So that’s how it is.

Even the Ark Awards—representing the peak of human art—had fallen.

The Ark Awards were no longer humanity’s Ark Awards.

…

Cao Desheng sighed. His suspicions had finally been confirmed.

He exhaled a weary breath: “The Ark Awards no longer belong to humanity.”

But… but!

The war wasn’t over.

He stared at the young face caught briefly by the roaming camera. Deep in the youth’s serene eyes burned a growing inferno.

This young man had not been extinguished.

As long as the spark of humanity survived—the war would never end.

His phone rang. He answered lazily. A calm voice came through: “I’ve already submitted your proposal to the higher departments. Next, we’ll begin the strictest political vetting on Shi Jing.”

Cao Desheng smiled in relief, fine wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes. “Good.”