Chapter 64: The Top Scriptwriter

“Xiao Ran!”
At that moment, Xiao Ran couldn’t believe his ears and almost jumped three feet in the air. He looked around, hoping Wei Jiahui and the others would tell him he must have heard wrong. But the joy on Wei Jiahui and Wei Dongling’s faces showed they were extremely happy for him—Xiao Ran knew he hadn’t heard wrong!
How could that be? It was *Underground Love* that won the award—how could it be him? His mind was in chaos now; everything had changed, and it was hard for him to rely on his past experiences anymore.
As he stood there at a loss, Wei Dongling couldn’t help but push him hard. “Haven’t you gone up to accept the award yet? Are you really that happy you’ve gone stupid?”
Meekly, he stood up and accepted hugs and handshakes from his friends. Huang Zhan patted Xiao Ran’s back vigorously. “Great job, kid! Winning an award at such a young age—your future is bright!”
It wasn’t until he reached the aisle that Xiao Ran’s chaotic mind calmed down, and a carefree thought arose: “Whatever changes there may be, at least I’m here now. Without the constraints of history, I can still do it!”
The confusion faded, replaced by a charming smile on his dark skin. He went on stage and shook hands with Huang Bingyao, who kept congratulating him, before finally facing Lin Qingxia. Looking at her bright smile, Xiao Ran didn’t know whether to hug her or let this moment pass.
As he hesitated, Lin Qingxia smiled and gave him a deep hug, sparking waves of jealousy among the men and women in the audience. The men were jealous that Xiao Ran deserved a hug from the most beautiful woman in China, while the women realized now that Xiao Ran in person had much more masculinity than in his photos, and they couldn’t help but feel a little jealous too.
“Congrats! But you have to take me out for dinner tonight!” Lin Qingxia whispered those words out of sight, leaving Xiao Ran flustered and feeling an incredibly strange sensation. It made him realize he liked it.
After releasing her, Xiao Ran glanced at Lin Qingxia before smoothly taking the award trophy she handed him. He suddenly found it absurd—he had seen many award ceremonies, and many recipients panicked due to a lack of coordination with the hosts. But taking the trophy from Lin Qingxia felt as if they had rehearsed it a hundred times before.
Standing in front of the microphone, holding the trophy, Xiao Ran realized it felt great in his hands, fitting perfectly. He knew that the Golden Horse Award trophies were modeled after an actress named Zheng Wenya, with every detail crafted according to her proportions.
Standing on stage, looking at the packed audience, Xiao Ran finally felt joy—though it was largely borrowed from Wu Yusen. Yet the feeling of looking down on everyone was unparalleled. He enjoyed everything right now; if possible, he would close his eyes and savor it fully.

Of course, all of this happened in less than two seconds. Since Xiao Ran knew that it wasn’t *True Heroes* that had won this award in history, he hadn’t prepared any speech at all and had to improvise on the spot. After a brief hesitation, he looked at the quiet audience and smiled—a very bright, very masculine smile. “The second award at the Golden Horse Awards is for the best screenwriter, and I think this shows just how important screenwriters are!”

The audience burst into laughter. Wei Dongling glanced at Lin Qingxia, who was standing beside Xiao Ran on stage, and couldn’t help but smile mysteriously. “The two of them look absolutely perfect together! Don’t you think?”

“The two of them?” Wei Jiahui followed Wei Dongling’s gaze and saw Xiao Ran and Lin Qingxia standing side by side—truly a perfect match. He smiled and said meaningfully, “Exactly, a match made in heaven.”

“That’s right. Screenwriters are indeed easily overlooked, but I want to say to all screenwriters in Hong Kong: don’t underestimate yourselves. This profession is far more important than we think!” Xiao Ran smiled. He intended to take this opportunity to instill the importance of screenplays in the minds of filmmakers.

“To be here is truly an honor and a blessing for me!” Xiao Ran leaned closer to the microphone and smiled. “Although only millions of viewers will know how lucky I am today, I hope that in ten years, a hundred million people will know about my luck.”

The audience laughed kindly again. They understood that Xiao Ran was wishing for the Golden Horse Awards to grow even more influential. Of course, they also didn’t realize that Xiao Ran was actually wishing for Hong Kong movies to gain greater influence.

“Thank you to Xu Ke, Huang Baiming, and Brother Cheng Long for their support, as well as to every friend who has helped me!” At this point, Xiao Ran joked, “Of course, I can’t forget to thank the jury for their favor. Otherwise, they’ll say I’m forgetful later! Hehe!”

Under everyone’s gaze, Xiao Ran nodded at Lin Qingxia and Huang Bingyao before stepping down from the stage and returning to his seat. Wei Dongling took the award from Xiao Ran and couldn’t help but exclaim in satisfaction, “It really does give one a sense of achievement. Well, I want to get one next time too!”

Xiao Ran couldn’t help but sigh lightly. Now he finally understood why Wu Yusen hadn’t won this award back then. It wasn’t because the script wasn’t good enough, but because Wu Yusen was not only a screenwriter but also a director. With the same choices, the jury chose someone else. Now that Wu Yusen was no longer a screenwriter, and it was he, a well-known screenwriter, who was taking the award, it wasn’t difficult at all.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Lin Qingxia finally arrived. Huang Bingyao didn’t return to his original seat either but came over with her. Wei Jiahui guessed that this senior wanted to talk to Xiao Ran, so he quickly gave up his seat and sat down in another empty seat.

“Aran, we all said you like it when people call you that—don’t be offended!” Huang Bingyao was never someone with complicated thoughts. He spoke affectionately and straightforwardly in a low voice, “Congratulations again! Hong Kong’s number one screenwriter!”

“I wouldn’t dare; there are many screenwriters even better than me!” Xiao Ran smiled calmly. The guilt he felt about plagiarizing future works was fading. Perhaps people just tend to get used to everything that shouldn’t happen. Judging from Huang Bingyao’s expression, it seemed he wanted to laugh out loud, but remembering they were in a meeting, he held back his voice. “What’s there to dare or not dare? If I say you are, then you are. In the field of screenwriting, who else deserves this title but you?”
“A Ran, that’s not right. Is the title of ‘Number One Screenwriter’ an insult? It’s a compliment—something you truly deserve,” Huang Zhan interjected after overhearing their conversation, scolding Xiao Ran. “Which screenwriter can achieve such glory as you? If you refuse again, that would be hypocritical!”
Xiao Ran was frustrated. Huang Zhan was originally a carefree and unrestrained genius with a sense of superiority, and he certainly had the ability to back it up. But he was different—he wasn’t the kind to show off like that. Besides, the title of “Number One” couldn’t be decided just by one person; it had to be recognized by everyone.
After chatting quietly for a while, Huang Zhan suddenly became enthusiastic. “Kid, do you want to learn score composition and lyric writing? I can take you as my disciple. This is an opportunity many people envy, so don’t refuse—it would shame me!”
“I think you just want to ride on A Ran’s coattails!” Huang Bingyao teased, prompting Uncle Zhan to mutter, “Thinking I, one of the Four Great Geniuses, need to rely on him? Well, since he’s so smart, if he learns from me, he might become a great disciple in the future!”
Xiao Ran just laughed. He had no interest in being a disciple. In filmmaking, even if he were the best in the world—someone who could make a movie grossing 10 billion dollars—he still wouldn’t be able to do it all by himself. It was a collective art form, which was why Xiao Ran chose to run a film company rather than just be a director or screenwriter.
In fact, even if he learned those skills, he probably wouldn’t be able to use them effectively. It would be better if others learned them, producing great composers and lyricists—those were the kinds of talents Xiao Ran wanted. In filmmaking, no one could take all the credit for themselves. Just think about how Du Qifeng and Wei Jiahui parted ways later.
“How about this, Uncle Zhan? I’ll recommend my best students to you in the future!” Xiao Ran laughed. Who would know about his schemes? “If you think it’s okay, teach them. Consider it nurturing talent for Hong Kong cinema!”
Huang Zhan was stunned by Xiao Ran’s reasoning, then lowered his voice and laughed nonstop. “Good kid, aiming high for me? Fine, as long as you’re willing to learn from me, I’ll agree to your conditions!”
Du Kefeng, signed by Shadow Company, also won Best Cinematography, along with Cheng Xiaodong, who won Best Action Director. Other film companies realized what kind of talents Shadow Company had gathered, leaving them filled with regret.

Qin Pei won Best Supporting Actor for “The Madman’s Story,” while Jin Yanling won Best Supporting Actress. Fang Yuping, also part of the New Wave movement alongside Xu Ke, won Best Director for “American Heart.” Zhang Aijia won Best Actress for her self-written, self-directed, and self-starring film “My Dearest Love,” which made Xiao Ran admire this talented woman who combined beauty with intelligence. It wasn’t until the Best Actor award that Xiao Ran began to worry and get nervous, fearing another twist of fate.
“Best Actor — Zhou Runfa!” With this announcement, the lump in Xiao Ran’s throat finally settled back into place. Seeing Brother Fa excitedly walk onto the stage, accept the award, and look his way, Xiao Ran smiled and nodded in congratulations.
The final award was for Best Film. Three of the nominated films were from Dehua, which made Xiao Ran a bit jealous. After all, Dehua followed a fresh and artistic style, making it easy for their films to get nominated.
Xiao Ran thought that Dehua resembled the future UFO filmmakers in that both pursued a mid-tier approach, though UFO went even further in that direction, while Dehua still focused mainly on female action themes.
As expected, “True Heroes” won Best Film. It was a well-deserved result—even a blind person could tell who would win tonight. However, for Xiao Ran, what was noteworthy was that Lu Guanting, later recognized as one of Hong Kong’s top three film composers, was also nominated for “My Dearest Love” in the Best Film Song category.