Chapter 72: #Film Emperor Jiang And His Little Beloved Wife#

In January, Jiao Si made it into the Venice Film Festival shortlist through China’s regional selections. In the main competition, it received an unprecedentedly high score for a foreign-language film. The judges gave the director’s control over the story’s pacing and structure, as well as the actors’ performances, very high praise.

When news came that Jiao Si would be screened as the opening film of the festival, Qu Heng, who rarely drank, actually got drunk that night—his drunkenness filled with satisfaction and smiles.

In February, just before Lunar New Year’s Eve, Lin Lan welcomed the first snow of winter. Snowflakes drifted down over the whole city, covering the gentle night in a layer of crystal white.

On that snowy day, Jiang Qi and Zhi Qi went to the Civil Affairs Bureau to collect their marriage certificate, officially becoming a pair of “young spouses”—the legal kind.

The girl, who hadn’t even graduated from university yet, suddenly found herself part of the married crowd. For a moment, staring at the bright red marriage certificate, she was a little dazed.

“Jiang Qi, are we really married already?” Zhi Qi looked at the photo of herself and Jiang Qi in white shirts, leaning against each other on the certificate, and couldn’t help but laugh. “It feels so unreal.”

In truth, Jiang Qi felt the same.

Convincing Zhi Minglin and Mei Ran, marrying Zhi Qi… Each and every one of these things was on the level of “unbelievable” for Jiang Qi, so unreal it felt like he was dreaming.

As if he had fallen into an endless sweet dream, his whole world wrapped in soft cotton candy, tender and fluffy at the slightest touch.

But when the dream ended, it turned into reality.

Jiang Qi hugged her from behind, his usually cool voice now softened with rare satisfaction:

“Qiqi, let’s go home.”

At last, he could rightfully bring her home—their home, belonging to just the two of them.

Last month, under Zhi Yu’s advice, Jiang Qi had already paid the down payment on a new apartment in Dong District.

It was a fully decorated unit, ready to move into, but since all the furniture was new and needed time for the paint to air out, Jiang Qi renewed the lease with their current landlord for another year.

So for now, the two of them were still living in the apartment that Shen Lei had originally rented for him.

In truth, life wasn’t much different from before they married, except that Jiang Qi had become clingier—if before he had exercised a little restraint, now with the “marriage certificate” lifting all restrictions, he fully transformed into a large loyal dog. Whenever he wasn’t busy filming, he was childish enough to wish he could stick to Zhi Qi every second.

Whenever they both had free time, they made up for years of missed experiences—like going on dates, shopping, walking hand-in-hand together…

Many times, paparazzi captured their silhouettes on the streets. Even blurry, candid photos couldn’t hide their stunning looks or the deep affection shining in their eyes.

#Film Emperor Jiang and His Little Beloved Wife#

Ever since Jiang Qi impatiently announced their marriage on Weibo right after they got their certificate, this hashtag had climbed onto the trending charts countless times.

At one point, netizens even voted them as the “most shippable CP.” The top-tier, traffic-driving male film emperor X the beautiful, fair-skinned top student little fairy—just imagining this pairing was enough to make people giddy.

Especially as Jiang Qi’s public image gradually improved thanks to Qu Heng’s article, someone like Zhi Qi—a non-celebrity wife—became fans’ most ideal choice for a “sister-in-law.”

She was beautiful, never caused trouble, and in the candid photos taken of her, she was always seen quietly and sweetly clinging to Jiang Qi. According to the timeline sorted out from Qu Heng’s article, the two had known each other since childhood—a love of redemption.

Tsk, truly addictive to the extreme.

Besides, finding a low-key girlfriend outside the entertainment circle meant it wouldn’t affect his resources within the industry.

When Jiang Qi signed his contract with the company, he hadn’t hidden the fact of his relationship with Zhi Qi. He openly said he wasn’t going to maintain some idol persona designed to please fans. He had a girlfriend, planned to get married, and would make all of it public.

Even so, Chen Ding still signed him again.

After all, in the face of absolute strength, things like “persona” were far too insubstantial. With Jiang Qi’s popularity, acting skills, and potential future development, any company that could sign him but didn’t would be the real fool.

Chen Ding was a seasoned, well-established company with a mature operating model; they weren’t going to make foolish mistakes.

And indeed, their judgment was correct—Jiang Qi’s opportunities hadn’t decreased because of marriage. On the contrary, after acting in two films that both earned him high praise from their directors, even more scripts came his way.

Perhaps this was because Jiang Qi was never the kind of star who depended on fan support to survive. He had always walked the path of “black-red” (infamy bringing fame), rebellious and defiant, never bothering to clarify scandals—how could someone like that gather fan-circle idol followers anyway?

So whether he had a girlfriend, got married, or even had children, it wouldn’t affect the industry’s assessment of his “value.”

Face, acting skills, talent and comprehension, plus endurance and willingness to work hard—these solid qualities were what truly mattered in the eyes of production teams.

It was just that Jiang Qi, for now, wasn’t planning to take on too many roles.

Other than the summer shoot already decided for Under the Reign of the King, he only accepted a few magazine shoots and events. He wasn’t overworking himself—one could say he was completely lacking in “career ambition.”

Whenever Xiao Yongfei, who had once again become his agent, asked why he didn’t seize the momentum and pick up more “cakes” (offers), Jiang Qi always answered honestly:

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to digest them.”

To be frank, he had never received systematic training. For him, acting relied entirely on instinct and talent, so Jiang Qi could only perform using an “immersive” method.

This meant that at any given time, he could only fully devote himself to one role—studying the character’s heart, digging out everything, and then bringing it to life. How could someone like that possibly juggle several projects at once?

You only take on as much as you can handle—otherwise, Jiang Qi feared he might metaphorically choke himself to death.

This simple but practical truth, he had long since understood deeply.

“Fair enough.” Xiao Yongfei had also come to understand Jiang Qi’s temperament, so he didn’t press further. He just sighed in regret and, at the same time, frantically booked him a pile of “commercial activities” to fill the gaps in his schedule.

Flipping through the iPad to check the calendar, he lowered his eyes and said:

“Starting next month, it’ll be rounds of film festival selections. You’ve been shortlisted for four this time. I don’t think Golden Tree will give you a second Best Actor, but you still have to show face at the event, understand?”

When applying for the film season selections earlier, Qu Heng had already submitted Jiao Si—the edited version that was ready but not yet officially released—to major film festivals.

The result, of course, went without saying. A film capable of being shortlisted for the Venice Film Festival opening would naturally be unbeatable at domestic awards as well. Whether for directing, production, lighting, or the script… everything that could be nominated, was nominated—let alone the actors.

Jiao Si  was a major male-lead film starring Jiang Qi, so naturally he would be shortlisted for Best Actor at this year’s major film awards, just as Mu Xi was for Looking at the Sky last year.

Shen Lei always regretted that if Jiang Qi didn’t step back from the industry, the remaining Best Actor awards at other ceremonies would be nearly impossible to escape… Every time he mentioned it, he would sigh in regret.

Although it might sound almost unreal, since his debut, Jiang Qi had essentially always acted in films destined for awards.

Exceptional talent and the right mentor are hard to find, but Shen Lei and Jiang Qi had just happened to meet each other. With his unique vision, Shen Lei had shaped an unprecedented “Ziwei Star” in the entertainment world, and also left himself with a perfect work.

Listening to Xiao Yongfei confidently say that “Golden Tree probably won’t give a second Best Actor,” Jiang Qi didn’t find the remark arrogant. It wasn’t as if he had already won—he simply thought it over and asked, “Then do you think I can get Best Actor?”

Would he make a mark at other film awards this year?

“Is that even a question?”

Xiao Yongfei couldn’t help but laugh. “You should ask instead: how many do you think I can win?”

Based on the reviews coming in from abroad and the industry’s trends, it was almost certain Jiang Qi would win Best Actor and Qu Heng would win Best Director.

The only real “unknown” was how many awards Jiang Qi would take.

Jiang Qi thought for a moment, then asked, “Do I need a female companion to walk the red carpet with me this time?”

He remembered that last year, Xiao Yongfei had repeatedly brought up the idea, but he had always refused.

Xiao Yongfei froze for a second, then his eyes lit up: “Wait, you’re actually willing to walk with someone?”

If this emotionally fastidious, unconventional Jiang Qi could accept walking the red carpet with a female celebrity, that would be free publicity of the highest order!

“Mm.” Jiang Qi nodded, speaking seriously. “I want to bring my wife with me.”

Last year at the Golden Tree Awards, he had promised Zhi Qi that he would bring her to the festival so she could watch him accept the award. Unfortunately, her school obligations had disrupted those plans. Now with another opportunity, he naturally wanted to make up for that regret.

…

Xiao Yongfei was speechless for a moment and thought to himself, “I knew it.”

Still, Jiang Qi’s mysterious, beautiful non-celebrity wife appearing publicly for the first time would certainly create a huge buzz.

So he nodded: “Of course, I’ll handle the wardrobe arrangements.”

As for brands wanting to sponsor Jiang Qi and his mysterious wife, the list was likely endless.

Under the Reign of the King was tentatively scheduled to start filming in mid-August. For now, Jiang Qi’s work mostly consisted of magazine shoots and commercials, along with attending some commercial events. He wasn’t too busy and usually returned home quite early.

The young lady, on the other hand, had a backlog of courses due to her previous car accident, so she had been catching up recently, usually returning home later than Jiang Qi.

As long as Zhi Qi got home later than him, Jiang Qi could assume the role of a “house-husband,” cooking meals and waiting for her.

The girl had once joked that compared to such a devoted and attentive husband, she—barely able to cook even instant noodles—was practically useless. Should she also learn to cook and make a meal for him?

Jiang Qi just shook his head.

He didn’t need Zhi Qi to cook for him. He only wanted to spoil her, letting her live a life free from the burdens of daily chores.

During dinner tonight, Jiang Qi brought up the film festival again, a topic he had mentioned to Xiao Yongfei earlier.

“Ah? You want me to walk the red carpet with you?” Zhi Qi sounded surprised at first, but after a brief moment of thought, she smiled and nodded: “Sure, I’ll go with you. This time I’ll have a holiday for it.”

Thinking it over, she realized Jiang Qi’s intent—he wanted to make up for last year, when she hadn’t been there to see him receive his award.

Now that she understood, she was determined to fulfill his request.

The trophy Jiang Qi won last year was still in her “treasure chest” under the bed. It was a gift from him, unique and irreplaceable.

And Zhi Qi thought…

Jiang Qi would give her another one this year.

In China, the three major film awards were the Golden Tree, Bai Ling, and Sheng Yu. These were currently the most authoritative awards in the domestic film industry. There were many others, but none as prestigious as the third.

Last year, Jiang Qi had already won nominations for the Golden Tree and Sheng Yu awards for his role as Mu Xi in Looking at the Sky. However, Bai Ling, being a provincial award in Northern City, had not nominated him—perhaps because of the unresolved “scandals” in Jiang Qi’s past.

But this year, with his role as Chen Si, he had swept all three nominations.

The Golden Tree Awards ceremony had already passed. As predicted by the media, the chairman wouldn’t give the same young actor a second Best Actor award in such a short time. When the Best Actor title went to someone else, Chen Ding wasn’t overly disappointed.

Still, even with foresight, there was some regret. After all, Chen Si was a truly outstanding role. Because the film hadn’t been released yet before the ceremony, only the judges had been impressed, not the general audience—somewhat of a pity.

According to Shen Lei’s estimates, Jiang Qi was “almost certain” to win Best Actor at the Sheng Yu Awards.

When asked why, he rolled his eyes and said frankly: “If you hadn’t stepped back from the industry last year, that award would have been yours—let alone this year.”

Every time he mentioned it, he couldn’t help but get a little annoyed, always adding a parting jab calling Jiang Qi a “useless thing.”

Then, giving Jiang Qi a disdainful glance, he got up and left.

But Jiang Qi felt that nothing in this world was ever truly “foolproof.”

Besides, he had only just debuted, acted in two films, and left a whirlwind of scandals in the industry. Could he really just breeze through every role and win Best Actor each time? That seemed far too unrealistic.

In truth, Jiang Qi didn’t care all that much about whether he would win Best Actor. It was just that when he thought of Zhi Qi accompanying him to the Sheng Yu Film Festival, he couldn’t help but feel a little excited.

Having only one trophy at home seemed a bit lonely.

He wanted to get another one.

And then… throw them both to play with Zhi Qi together.

Time passed quickly, and it was already mid-July.

The awards ceremony coincided with the height of summer. It was scorching, and even at night there was barely a hint of coolness. Thousands of people moved through the enormous venue, which felt like a giant steam chamber.

Any celebrity walking the red carpet in such heat without looking “greasy” had to have a face capable of withstanding the scrutiny of 360-degree high-definition cameras.

Compared to male celebrities in their suits and ties, female celebrities might wear more revealing gowns or dresses, which seemed easier—but in reality, all the adhesive, tight layers sticking to their skin in the heat made it even more uncomfortable.

Zhi Qi, wearing such a gown just once, deeply understood the “difficulty” of being a female star.

She wore a Spring-Summer haute couture fairy dress in a soft chestnut-pink hue. The long hem sparkled as it trailed the floor. Her slender, graceful swan-like neck and delicate shoulder blades were exposed. Her slim waist was subtly cinched, making her appear almost ethereal, fragile enough to be held in one hand.

The stylist hadn’t done anything elaborate with her waist-length, slightly curled hair. She simply added a few feathers matching the gown near her ears, making the little fairy resemble a delicate, lively canary.

With only minimal makeup, her face was pure and enticing, breathtaking in its natural beauty.

“Her skin is amazing,” the stylist couldn’t help but exclaim while doing her makeup. “Less makeup is always better. Her skin is so soft and moist you could practically squeeze water from it. I’ve done makeup for countless actresses, and none of them are as fair and tender as you…”

Zhi Qi smiled faintly, offering no comment—after all, she had never seen other actresses.

“Sis-in-law, you’re really beautiful, I’m not even joking,” the stylist teased, noticing her gentle silence. “Your face is rare in the entertainment industry. If you went in, you could totally market the ‘nation’s first love’ look and team up with Qi-ge for maximum effect.”

All of Chen Ding’s staff naturally called Jiang Qi “Qi-ge,” so they referred to Zhi Qi as “sis-in-law.”

The stylist was just speaking casually, but Zhi Qi had never even considered such a thing. She quickly shook her head, her small hands waving: “I couldn’t do that.”

Her goals had been clear since childhood—steady and deliberate. Even Jiang Qi hadn’t been a surprise. She had long planned out her future life and career—the entertainment industry had never been part of her plan.

Seeing this, the stylist couldn’t help but chuckle. Her eyes curved into a smile as she said to Zhi Qi, “Sis-in-law, you’re really adorable.”

Zhi Qi was amused, a faint blush rising on her fair cheeks.

When Jiang Qi changed and came to find Zhi Qi, he saw her in the fairy gown. Her slender shoulder blades were like the first snow, seemingly glowing faintly.

A vision to feast one’s eyes on, the young man’s gaze darkened.

However, after getting married, he no longer seemed like such a reckless young man in this regard.

Jiang Qi restrained himself, his gaze softened. He walked over, leaned down, and wrapped his arms around the girl’s waist, his voice low: “Let’s go.”

Although he made no unnecessary gestures, every movement that touched Zhi Qi was gentle, as if the girl in his arms were some rare treasure.

Outside, Jiang Qi’s public image had always been cold and aloof. Even the stylist had never seen him so “tender.” She was surprised, but at the same time, she realized that the rumors weren’t just empty chatter.

Everyone said Jiang Qi doted on his wife to the extreme. Seeing it in person today, she understood that it was true.

It wasn’t some “persona” or marketing ploy. He genuinely cared for her with all his heart. In public, he even tried to restrain himself, but the contrast with his usual demeanor was so striking that it was easily noticeable.

The stylist quietly watched the couple’s backs as they walked away, seeing their similarly slender, upright figures. Four words flashed through her mind:

A match made in heaven.

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