Brother Dao Took the Entertainment Industry by Storm, Fans Beg Me Not to Kill Anymore

Chapter 185: Bragging? I Only Know How to Versailles!

Shu Han was, among all the artists Liu Rulan had managed, the one with the most and highest achievements.

Back then Shu Han was only a stunt double, earning his living from the bruises and scars of fights. Liu Rulan noticed him at a shoot and signed him, making him an artist under Jiaxing Entertainment.

Shu Han was not an absolute heartthrob—nowhere near the likes of Tong Junhui or Su Shengxi—but at that time the film industry hadn’t yet been completely reshaped by fan economies. Pale-faced pretty boys and flowery heartthrobs faced natural prejudice and stereotypes; by contrast, Shu Han’s rugged looks, cleaned up into a tough-guy image, were especially marketable in filmmaking circles.

On top of that, Shu Han came from a stunt background and rose during the final heyday of martial arts stars, so he was able to ride that momentum all the way into Hollywood.

Hollywood back then wasn’t as complicated as it is now. Movie production was declining year after year; the “Hollywood halo” and the “American Dream halo” behind it were fracturing, losing the irresistible allure they once had. Actors still took pride in being able to break out internationally and appear on Hollywood screens—many inside the industry fought tooth and nail for that path.

But in the end, very few managed to actually go out and firmly establish themselves in Hollywood.

Shu Han carved out his place there through his martial skills and solid acting. It was his own effort and sweat, step by step, that brought him to where he is today.

Unlike the two spoiled brats he later encountered, Shu Han and Liu Rulan parted ways amicably. After he went abroad, there wasn’t much Jiaxing Entertainment or Liu Rulan could do to help, so rather than holding him back, Jiaxing Entertainment negotiated resource swaps with the foreign star-making workshop that wanted Shu Han, helping him chase a better development path.

Of course, Liu Rulan’s help was indispensable in that process.

Shu Han was the kind of person who worked diligently, repaid kindness, and valued loyalty. He was deeply grateful for Liu Rulan’s early cultivation of him, and to this day they maintained an excellent relationship.
The last time Liu Rulan personally visited Ning Jiaqi at his home was over ten years ago.

Back then Shu Han had already shown promise in the industry but hadn’t landed a suitable leading script. After some inquiries, Liu Rulan learned of the script No Bait, and like today, she brazenly visited Director Ning’s home seeking an audition opportunity.

At that time the industry’s review processes and systems weren’t as standardized. Ning submitted the script and began preparations immediately, never imagining that No Bait would later be killed off by stricter policy review thresholds and shelved for over a decade. After hearing Liu Rulan’s pitch, he still agreed to give Shu Han an audition to see whether he fit the role—

And the result was naturally quite good. Shu Han fit the look, his acting was solid, and his understanding and interpretation of the script were spot on. After comparing several candidates, Ning Jiaqi decisively chose Shu Han.

Unfortunately, the script was later blocked, and Ning’s production plans died in the cradle; the day the script would see the light of day was nowhere in sight.

Fortunately, Liu Rulan did not lose heart. She later secured another, more suitable script for Shu Han, and he impressively used that role to achieve box office success, launching his career as a martial arts superstar.

Now, years flashed by in the blink of an eye, and the same people and the same events were happening all over again.

Only this time, Liu Rulan was seeking the opportunity for Xiao He instead of Shu Han.

After listening to Liu Rulan’s introduction of Xiao He, Ning Jiaqi was silent for a moment and said, “Xiao Liu, I don’t mind giving you another audition opportunity. But so many years have passed, and my standards haven’t changed. Are you sure your artist can meet my conditions now?”

“I’ll speak plainly: No Bait is a work we refined for over a decade. No matter how much time has passed, our requirements for the lead are still very demanding. Even looking across the entire entertainment industry now, there aren’t many actors I’m particularly satisfied with. If you come asking for this opportunity and it turns out to be a waste of my time, don’t bother coming again.”

Ning Jiaqi didn’t mind Liu Rulan coming straight to the point and boldly pursuing resources and chances. After all, many opportunities need to be demanded first—if you wait at home they won’t come to you. He’d seen hundreds of managers like her come through his door.

Ning Jiaqi liked the drive of these young people and didn’t stingily withhold chances.

But sadly, some people recommended themselves heroically—while others did so like someone sticking their head into a toilet. They lacked talent but insisted on pushing forward, and when questioned, they could do nothing; yet their confidence was through the roof. If you didn’t know better, you’d think their artist was already a global sensation. It was absurd.

Ning originally planned to give newcomers some opportunities and spread some of his “care” around. Now everyone who felt like it barged in to grab a shot, and Ning Jiaqi had grown a bit annoyed.

He wanted to warn Liu Rulan in advance so she’d prepare herself.

But his words didn’t make Liu Rulan nervous; on the contrary, her smile brightened. She took out a stack of certificates and proofs of various sizes from her briefcase.

“Our Xiao He may not yet meet every one of your skill requirements for the lead, Director Ning, but I believe that across the whole domestic entertainment industry, the skills he possesses right now are exactly the ones you’re looking for.”

To be honest, Ning Jiaqi was surprised when Liu Rulan actually produced a pile of certificates.

Even Zhuang Hongyi, who had been sitting silently at the side, put down his crossed leg and couldn’t help reaching out to grab a few certificates to examine.

Then his expression shifted as he looked at Liu Rulan. “If I remember correctly, most of these certificates weren’t here the last time you came asking me, were they?”

Ning Jiaqi was surprised. “Xiao Zhuang, you know this kid?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Zhuang Hongyi realized he’d fallen into Liu Rulan’s trap. He had intended not to speak up or recommend Xiao He, but seeing those certificates, he couldn’t resist...

Yet after considering Xiao He’s actual abilities, he gave in and said a few more words for him. “Xiao He is currently participating in a project I’m investing in—although his resume wasn’t this full the last time I looked.”

He said that while giving Liu Rulan a meaningful stare.

That guy couldn’t possibly be blowing his artist’s reputation out of proportion, could he?

Catching Zhuang Hongyi’s doubtful look, Liu Rulan tilted the corner of her mouth and nodded proudly. “Yes, many of these certificates were just taken by Xiao He recently. You can verify them on the respective official websites anytime. It’s just a shame his racing license still needs domestic competition results to upgrade, and his flight license hasn’t accumulated enough basic flight hours—otherwise he might be even closer to Director Ning’s selection requirements.”

Zhuang Hongyi: “……”

Ning Jiaqi: “……”

Damn! What a Versailles-style remark! Is he even human?