CDJMM – Volume 4 -Chapter 60 Filming in the Interstellar Era (60)

Luo Bao and Luo Lan were watching the live broadcast of the Ark Awards.

The red carpet glittered with stars. Handsome men and beautiful women made dazzling appearances, radiant enough to overwhelm the cameras.

Throughout the entire opening ceremony, Luo Bao and Luo Lan kept searching the red carpet with their eyes, wishing they could drill their eyeballs into the screen, yet they still didn’t find that familiar figure.

“Strange… how come we still haven’t seen Director Shi?” Luo Lan wondered. “‘The Five-Starred Red Flag Beneath the Wooden Plank’ is one of the award favorites this year. Don’t tell me Director Shi is late?”

“What does being a favorite matter?” Luo Bao muttered resentfully. “Back then, The Empress’s Hound had such a sensational box office, and he still went home empty-handed. People laughed at him for ages!”

“This time is different! Ever since the assassination of the President of the European Federation, the European government has been putting extra emphasis on politically correct messaging in media.” Luo Lan tried to comfort him. “The Five-Starred Red Flag Beneath the Wooden Plank echoes the spirit of the times. It inspired countless people to stay determined in the fight against the Zerg. If the Ark Awards don’t choose it, what else could they choose?”

Luo Bao deeply agreed, but as he stared at the screen—still without a trace of Shi Jing—his brow furrowed despite himself. He muttered, “Finally a chance to hold his head high… Please don’t let something happen now…”

In the end, Luo Bao and Luo Lan were destined for disappointment.

Even when the opening ceremony ended, they still hadn’t seen Shi Jing appear on the red carpet. The entire cast of The Five-Starred Red Flag Beneath the Wooden Plank attended—without a single absence.

Luo Lan’s face turned pale, her voice trembling. She grabbed Luo Bao’s sleeve helplessly. “Brother… Did something happen to Director Shi?”

Luo Bao’s face also went white. He patted her. “Don’t talk nonsense. Maybe he got stuck in traffic. He’ll show up later.”

The fan group exploded over the incident, everyone wildly speculating why Shi Jing hadn’t attended the opening ceremony.

King’s Wrath: “Maybe he’s stuck in traffic.”

Lulala: “Impossible. The rest of the crew is here!”

Give Xiu’er Some Watermelon: “Then maybe something unexpected happened. Director Shi didn’t ride with the cast.”

Black Cat Knight: “Director Shi didn’t come??”

Even if I steal bikes, I still won’t write: “What nonsense! Director Shi got nominated. Why wouldn’t he come? This is the Ark Awards!”

After discussing it for ages, no one reached any conclusion.

Luo Bao was equally bewildered.

On such an important day… where exactly had Shi Jing gone?

This year, The Five-Starred Red Flag Beneath the Wooden Plank was sweeping the awards as the biggest winner. Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Supporting Actor, Best Supporting Actress, Best Music, Best Cinematography… so far, it had won eight out of twelve nominations.

If it also won Best Director and Best Film, then with a score of ten wins out of twelve nominations, it would become one of the brightest records in Ark Award history.

As everyone waited anxiously, the moment for the Best Director Award finally arrived. The broadcast cut to the five nominees—yet Shi Jing’s seat was the only one empty.

Luo Bao’s heart pounded in panic.

At the same time, countless voices of doubt erupted across the world:

“What is going on?”

“Where is Shi Jing?”

“Why isn’t he here?”

“He didn’t come???”

On the screen, the host—wearing a deep-blue mermaid gown—opened the envelope, paused for a few seconds with a dramatic expression, then announced loudly:

“—The winner of the Best Director Award is… Shi Jing!”

She began clapping first, and soon the entire venue filled with applause—enthusiastic, yet undeniably awkward.

The winner’s absence… probably the most embarrassing moment in the history of the Ark Awards.

Luo Bao nearly burst into tears.

As someone who had followed Shi Jing for years, he understood better than anyone how much this award meant to him!

Shi Jing had fought and struggled for two years, only receiving recognition in the third—and now he couldn’t even be on stage to accept the award himself!

Luo Bao couldn’t help harboring a faint hope.

Could this be a suspense stunt planned by the Awards? Maybe Shi Jing would suddenly walk onto the stage in the next moment amid thunderous cheers!

After the applause faded, the female host showed a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Unfortunately, Director Shi Jing had a scheduling conflict and could not attend the Ark Awards tonight. He specially entrusted his personal assistant to accept the award on his behalf.”

“Please welcome Mr. Zhao Guang.”

A young man he did not recognize stumbled onto the stage. His expression was worse than crying. Looking closely, his eyes were indeed shimmering with tears!

Luo Bao sighed endlessly in disappointment. As he watched the timid young man, he could only frown, picking faults left and right.

“Damn! This coward is embarrassing!” Luo Bao complained. “Don’t tell me he’s going to freeze and forget his lines!”

The host handed the golden trophy toward the assistant with a bright smile—but the assistant didn’t reach out to take it. He shook his head, took a deep breath, as if wanting to say something… but choked.

The female host’s hand holding the trophy froze awkwardly in mid-air, neither up nor down. The camera even zoomed in for a close-up of her embarrassed expression.

She withdrew the trophy resentfully, looked at the young man who seemed to have something to say, and waited patiently for him to speak.

Luo Bao stomped anxiously, “Say something! Are you mute?!”

The host and the guests below all began applauding at the same time, trying to use the applause to encourage the stage-frightened young man.

For some reason, as the applause grew louder, the young man’s face turned even uglier.

Finally, after the applause subsided, he whispered in a voice as thin as a mosquito, “Director Shi Jing… refused to accept the award.”

…What?

Luo Bao patted his ear, thinking he’d misheard.

Not just him — the entire venue fell into deathly silence, and the host’s smile completely froze.

The young man continued, stammering.

“Teacher Shi… wanted me to tell… the Ark Award Committee… that the current… Ark Award is not qualified for him to accept.” Sweat poured down the young man’s face, turning him deathly pale. But his next sentence suddenly became surprisingly clear: “Teacher said, as a first-class director, he will not accept a third-rate award.”

In the suffocating silence, the young assistant bowed deeply to the guests, then fled the stage as if escaping for his life, pushing through the stunned audience and directly leaving through the door.

Luo Bao was dumbfounded. A current of electricity shot up his spine to his cerebral cortex, sending an indescribable rush through his whole body.

“Shi Jing is way too badass!!!” Luo Lan’s eyes sparkled like stars, her face flushed from excitement. “Exactly! The Ark Award is nothing — we don’t even care about it!”

Only then did Luo Bao finally regain the ability to speak. He took a deep breath, his whole body tingling with goosebumps as an excited scream escaped his mouth: “Ahhh!! So cool!!” He muttered to himself, “Really, so damn cool!”

“That was one brutal slap to the face.”

“No wonder it’s Shi Jing!”

Shi Jing’s refusal to accept the Ark Award inevitably set off a huge storm. Public opinion churned back and forth, but Le Jing ignored all of it.

Other people’s mouths belonged to them — whatever they wanted to say, they could say. It wouldn’t cost him a single piece of flesh.

All his energy was now focused on his new film, I Have a Dream, and he had no time to bother with anything else.

…

In June of 6020, the Human Expeditionary Army defeated the Zerg forces, seizing ownership of a resource star.

The war had lasted a year, and this was the first time humans had achieved victory on a frontal battlefield.

The victory came at the perfect time. Not only did it completely sweep away the low morale at the frontlines, but when the news reached the rear, it gave the civilians a strong dose of reassurance.

Humans of different skin colors and nationalities embraced one another, cheering loudly to celebrate this hard-won triumph.

At the same time, Le Jing received a call. A mechanical, emotionless voice sounded: “We have already shown our sincerity. Now it’s your turn to show yours.”

Le Jing replied softly, “Not enough. Still not enough.”

What was one little victory?

To the Zerg, the losses from this defeat were negligible — it didn’t impact the larger situation at all.

The Zerg were still far too strong.

Le Jing had no intention of becoming a pawn in the Brain Worms’ bid for power.

Not to mention the questionable feasibility of the assassination plan they proposed — even if it succeeded, all it meant was that the Brain Worms would inherit the Queen’s political legacy, become the new rulers of Zerg Star, and from then on launch wars against humanity without worry.

“…You should know, we don’t necessarily have to cooperate with you,” the voice said stiffly. “Our other human friends would be happy to show sincerity.”

“Then let’s end the cooperation,” Le Jing shrugged, unconcerned. “I didn’t really want to work with you in the first place. In our human words, cooperating with you is like asking a tiger for its skin.”

“Hmph. I hope you won’t regret this decision before you die.”

Le Jing’s smile deepened lazily. “Don’t bother trying to scare me. You haven’t squeezed out my value yet — you wouldn’t let me die.”

What answered him was the furious hang-up tone on the other end.

Le Jing tightened his grip on the terminal, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

He could already see victory.

No matter how unwilling they sounded on the phone just now, in the end the Brain Worms could never allow humanity to lose.

If the humans were defeated and the Queen devoured all the resources of the human planets, her power would skyrocket — something the Brain Worms absolutely didn’t want.

And without humans distracting the Queen on the frontal battlefield, the worms’ own operating space would shrink drastically, and the Queen would be free to conduct internal purges.

As long as the Queen lived, the Brain Worms had no choice but to ally with humanity.

But once the Queen died, that would also mark the end of the human–Brain Worms alliance.

It didn’t hurt to sell someone else’s land, but selling your own was painful. So after seizing power, the Brain Worms would need to replenish their lost resources quickly — and the easiest, most convenient target would be the humans.

The war would not end with the Queen’s death.

But at least by then, humans would be in a favorable position.

Compared to facing a centrally controlled authoritarian regime, a chaotic Zerg Star fractured by military warlords was much easier to deal with.

Of course, all of that was still far in the future — too far to think about now.

The chaos of war and rapidly shifting international situations could not affect Le Jing’s pace.

He always knew what his real profession was.

His new film I Have a Dream was already mostly prepared, and would likely be released around July.

Le Jing was already doing his best to speed up, but to maintain quality, he could only make one or two films per year.

Too slow.

Compared to Le Jing’s ambitions, this pace was painfully slow.

He brushed his hair back, stretched out his long legs onto the coffee table, a rare bit of childlike frustration showing on his face.

He puffed his cheeks, sighed, “Time waits for no one…”

The doorbell suddenly rang.

Le Jing brushed his hair aside, got up from the sofa, walked through the living room, and stood at the entrance. The screen displayed an ordinary-looking face.

Oh — it was his personal bodyguard, Comrade Special Forces King.

He opened the door. “Come in.” He turned around, leisurely preparing to flop back onto the sofa like a salted fish, but the soldier’s cold voice sounded behind him:

“Teacher Shi Jing, comrades from the National Security Department would like to have a chat with you.”

Le Jing froze mid-step. He turned slightly, his face showing his habitual cool smile. “Chat about what?”

“They will explain when they arrive. For now, please come with me,” the soldier said sincerely, one hand in his pocket.