Chapter 105: Success Is Never Perfect

Chapter 105: Success Is Never Perfect

Hearing Zhang Le’s words, Yang Xin’er felt a surge of bittersweet emotion wash over her. She smiled softly, her heart brimming with sweetness.

For any woman, if her man never showed a hint of jealousy, it wasn’t a sign of absolute trust, but rather that she had become dispensable in his eyes.

Of course, excessive jealousy inevitably points to deeper issues of trust.

Zhang Le rarely got jealous, for he had immense confidence both in Yang Xin’er and himself. That confidence swelled considerably after he had won over Yang Xin’er’s family. Yet, that didn’t mean he was entirely immune to jealousy.

His jealousy stemmed from how much he cared about Yang Xin’er.

As an actor, forbidding Yang Xin’er from taking any roles but his own would be unfair, even cruel. But if he constantly yielded and allowed her to accept roles from Yueyang, he found it hard to overcome the barrier inside his heart.

As for the reasons he cited about the special effects company and technology, those were merely excuses. The decision to shoot that so-called martial arts film was also a spur-of-the-moment choice.

Choosing a martial arts film was not meant to spite or undermine Yueyang; rather, it was a promise he had made to the outdoor host earlier—not empty words.

“Next time, I’ll come back strong!” After “Crazy Stone” lost at the Golden Dragon Awards, next time he would strike hard. If the previous era’s most dazzling Chinese-language film at the awards was Ang Lee’s martial arts film, there was no doubt about it.

There was another reason behind this choice. Zhang Le, after all, was a disciple of Wudang. When shooting martial arts and action films, he could not escape that identity.

He was a successor of the Wudang Golden Cicada Sect—a fact he had revealed during an interview. Though nowadays, few people mentioned Zhang Le’s Wudang disciple status, and as time passed, even fewer recalled his martial arts skills.

The protagonist Li Mubai in “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” was a Wudang disciple, and the film showcased many scenes of Wudang Mountain, greatly promoting Wudang culture.

That film had sparked a wave of medieval martial arts enthusiasm internationally, and Wudang culture surged in popularity.

Although Zhang Le’s identity as a Wudang disciple had little bearing on this world, he felt it was meaningful to contribute something to Wudang.

At this Golden Dragon Awards, Zhang Le’s nominations shone brightly, though he wasn’t the frontrunner for any award. Still, no one expected him to return empty-handed. While the grand prize seemed unlikely, consolation awards on the margins were anticipated.

Yet to everyone’s surprise, the first award Zhang Le won was not for “Crazy Stone” but for Yueyang’s “Dragon Inn.”

Once again, he took home Best Original Film Song, though he felt no joy. Still, a customary speech was necessary when accepting the award.

No one expected this would be the only award Zhang Le won at this Golden Dragon Awards. Every nomination for “Crazy Stone” ended in defeat—even the highly anticipated Best Original Screenplay award slipped through his fingers.

He felt somewhat lost, even aggrieved, and a sense of irony lingered. The only saving grace was that this wasn’t his first time winning Best Original Film Song. Otherwise, if his first and only Golden Dragon statuette came from Yueyang’s film, he would surely have been crushed.

“Crazy Stone” was left empty-handed at this Golden Dragon Awards, utterly defeated. Yet, what vexed the winning filmmakers was that Zhang Le, who had nearly nothing to show for his efforts, attracted far more media attention than they did.

“Crazy Stone’s” failure stirred controversy, especially over the Best Original Screenplay award. Many netizens rallied behind Zhang Le online, questioning the fairness of the Golden Dragon Awards.

However, the awards maintained a rock-solid reputation for fairness. Furthermore, the winning films were indeed outstanding and persuasive. Unlike the online skeptics, mainstream media expressed not doubt but regret for Zhang Le and “Crazy Stone.”

“Next time, I’ll come back strong!”

This phrase was the media’s most quoted remark about Zhang Le after the ceremony, naturally his own words. At the same time, the popularity of “Flirting Scholar” invited much mockery from the press.

“Next time? What will you bring next time? ‘Flirting Scholar’? That film’s chances of nomination are slim, aren’t they?”

“Your role as Ma Cheng in ‘No Way Out’ did get some buzz, but you were only nominated as an actor. Even if you won, would that really count as ‘coming back’?”

Zhang Le’s “Crazy Stone” was a crushing defeat at the Golden Dragon Awards, and many media outlets gleefully piled on. Among peers, there were overt and covert jabs, schadenfreude abounding.

Zhang Le watched coldly in silence, though inside he was seething.

Yang Xin’er’s overnight rise to fame, followed by repeated successes, had long stirred envy. At last seeing Zhang Le stumble, many media and individuals saw an opportunity they dare not miss.

But had they considered that, as a first-time director, Zhang Le’s debut film had earned multiple nominations at the Golden Dragon Awards, including heavyweights like Best Director and Best Film?

Success may never be flawless, but it was still success. Yet so many media and people twisted this imperfect success into failure, mocking and sneering. Some expressed bewilderment.

Envy and jealousy are truly the ugliest aspects of human nature. To them, success that is not perfect is failure.

Yang Xin’er sensed the breath Zhang Le was holding back. That breath stemmed from his pride. The emptiness of “Crazy Stone” at the awards left him disappointed. Media and some filmmakers fanning the flames turned his disappointment into simmering anger, craving release.

And the outlet for that release was naturally his new film.

No one expected “Flirting Scholar” to slap those critics in the face. Watching media and fans alike, though they did not know Zhang Le as well as Yang Xin’er did, they understood his nature: wherever he failed and lost face, that was exactly where he would rise again to reclaim it.

“Why don’t we take a walk after filming this movie?” Yang Xin’er suggested, glancing at Zhang Le.

“Why?” Zhang Le asked, puzzled at first, then catching the meaning, he shook his head and smiled. “A walk to relax sounds good. Proving myself doesn’t have to be rushed.”

“You’ve already proven you’re better than anyone else. What you need to prove now is that you can be even better,” Yang Xin’er said with a smile.

Her words were no mere comfort, nor the biased praise of a lover’s eyes seeing only beauty. In their circle, who at Zhang Le’s age could compare to him?