Chapter 409: Top-Tier Tension! This Is What a True Clash of Titans Looks Like!
He simply walked.
His spine was straight, his stride steady.
Thunderous applause and screams erupted from the audience below.
This was the background actors’ true-to-life performance—seeing a living Gu Huai in person, who wouldn’t go crazy?
Gu Huai walked to the center of the stage and stopped.
He slightly raised his hand to acknowledge the audience below.
His movements were elegant, refined, impossible to find fault with.
But behind the monitor, Gu Zhiyuan’s eyes narrowed.
“Incredible…” Gu Zhiyuan muttered to himself.
Gu Huai was smiling, waving.
But his gaze didn’t land on a single person’s face.
His line of sight remained fifteen degrees above the horizon—he was looking at the lights.
And those people applauding frantically below?
In his eyes, they might as well have been just noise on a background prop.
Gu Huai walked to the standing microphone, resting one hand on the mic stand.
“It’s a pleasure to be standing here.”
Gu Huai’s voice carried through the speakers, magnetic, warm,
with that official tone unique to big stars.
“As an award presenter, I’ve witnessed the birth of many newcomers.”
He said “pleasure,” but the depths of his eyes were as still as dead water.
“The winner of this year’s Best Newcomer Award is…”
Gu Huai picked up the gold-foil envelope.
According to the original script, there was a comedic beat here:
The big star, unfamiliar with Chen San, would misread “Chen San” as “Chen Er” or something similar, showcasing his carelessness.
Jiang Ci sat in the front row.
He wore that ill-fitting oversized suit, the shoulders still hanging empty.
He clutched the fabric on his knees tightly, his palms slick with sweat.
He was waiting for Gu Huai to mispronounce his name.
On stage.
Gu Huai unsealed the envelope.
He pulled out the card.
His movements suddenly froze.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
The scene was terrifyingly silent.
Gu Huai stared at the name on the card, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.
That expression seemed to say: This counts as a name? This won an award?
Then, Gu Huai smiled.
He casually placed the card on the podium, not even glancing at it a second time.
Gu Huai leaned toward the mic, his tone extremely natural as he said:
“Congratulations… uh, this friend here.”
Below the stage, Jiang Ci’s body went rigid.
In the script, Chen San had already prepared to rise and bow,
his butt just barely lifted an inch off the chair.
At this moment, he was frozen mid-motion.
He hadn’t mispronounced the name.
Because in the eyes of that big star, he wasn’t even worthy of having his name mispronounced.
He didn’t even deserve a name.
“This friend.”
Four words, nailed straight into the top of Chen San’s skull.
Jiang Ci instantly got into character.
His face displayed the dazed confusion of a soul leaving its body.
“What? So happy you’re stunned?”
On stage, Gu Huai tilted his head slightly, making a polished joke through the microphone:
“Looks like our newcomer really isn’t used to this kind of scene.”
Below, a round of kind but piercing laughter rippled through the audience.
Jiang Ci, portraying Chen San, slowly straightened up.
Somewhat nervously, he tugged at the hem of his ill-fitting suit,
trying to cover up a hole that didn’t exist.
Then, he walked up to the stage.
The distance was only ten meters.
Jiang Ci stumbled his way forward.
He tripped on the red carpet, nearly falling, earning a few low chuckles.
Three meters away from Gu Huai, he stopped.
He didn’t dare go any closer.
Because the light on Gu Huai was too bright, too glaring, making him feel deeply inferior.
Jiang Ci bent over and bowed deeply to Gu Huai.
A full ninety degrees.
He stayed like that for a long time, not getting up.
On stage, the big star portrayed by Gu Huai wasn’t moved by this grand gesture.
He just waited politely, even using the opportunity
to lift his wrist and glance at the million-dollar watch.
Finally, Jiang Ci straightened up.
He looked at Gu Huai, a fawning smile plastered across his face.
Gu Huai extended his hand.
That hand was slender, fair.
Jiang Ci froze for a moment.
He instinctively looked at his own hand.
Chen San panicked.
He frantically rubbed his hand hard against his pant leg.
Once, twice.
Trying to wipe off those “stains of life” that wouldn’t wash away.
Only then did he extend his hand.
Their fingertips touched.
Gu Huai’s fingers just barely brushed against Jiang Ci’s fingertips.
Like a dragonfly skimming water.
A touch, then instantly withdrawn.
Even as he pulled his hand back,
Gu Huai naturally, almost casually, adjusted his cufflink.
The movement was incredibly fast; if you weren’t watching closely, you wouldn’t notice it.
But Chen San saw it.
Everyone behind the monitor saw it.
Jiang Ci’s hand still hung in midair.
Stiff.
Awkward.
He slowly withdrew his hand and clenched it into a fist.
Gu Huai didn’t look at him again.
He picked up the heavy trophy from the hostess’s tray.
Then, just casually shoved it.
The trophy was thrust roughly into Jiang Ci’s arms, hitting his chest with a dull thud.
“Keep it up.”
Gu Huai’s lips moved slightly, spitting out two words.
No sound, just a lip movement.
Such a level of dismissiveness that he couldn’t even be bothered to use the energy to make a sound.
Having done all this, Gu Huai turned around.
Clean and sharp.
His job was done; time to leave.
All he left Jiang Ci was a perfect silhouette.
On the stage, only Jiang Ci remained.
He clutched the trophy.
The trophy was gold, very shiny, reflecting his own disheveled, greasy face.
Sparse applause started up from below.
Everyone was waiting for him to get off stage, waiting for the next segment.
Jiang Ci lowered his head.
His shoulders began to tremble.
A kind of extremely suppressed, self-mocking laughter.
Gu Huai had already reached the edge of the stage, one foot about to step into the shadow of the wings.
Just then.
“Thank you, teacher!!”
A roar, without warning, exploded in front of the microphone.
Gu Huai’s footsteps stopped.
Jiang Ci clutched the microphone stand tightly.
He stared wide-eyed at Gu Huai’s back, at the blurry faces in the audience.
“My name is Chen San!!!”
Jiang Ci’s voice echoed through the hall.
“Chen with the ‘ear’ radical on the left!”
“San, as in one, two, three!!!”
The script had Chen San telling the big star,
telling those who looked down on him, telling this messed-up world—
I have a name!
I’m not “this friend”!
My name is Chen San! I’m a living, breathing person!
The audience below was dead silent.
Everyone was stunned stupid by this sudden outburst.
Gu Huai stood at the edge of the shadows.
He turned around, slowly.
At that moment, the breath of the entire venue seemed to stop.
Everyone thought he would be angry, shocked, or show a hint of displeasure.
No.
Gu Huai looked at the hysterical man on stage.
He tilted his head slightly.
The corners of his mouth lifted.
He revealed a flawless, professional smile.
Then, he gave a slight nod.
Turned, and disappeared into the darkness.
That silent contempt completed the final slaughter of Chen San’s dignity.
Jiang Ci, as Chen San, stood in the spotlight.
The trophy clutched tightly in his arms.
“CUT!!!!”
Gu Zhiyuan hurled his megaphone to the ground.
“Perfect!!!”
“So f*cking awesome!!”
“This is cinema! This is art!!”
He rushed out from behind the monitor, wanting to hug both of them.
The set erupted with applause, cheers, and whistles.
The staff members hugged each other in excitement, and even the girl playing the hostess was crying.
“Teacher Jiang is a god!”
“Teacher Gu’s look just killed me!”