Chapter 133: Repeatedly the Best

This time, the presenters were Hsu Kuan-wen and Ye Tong, who walked down the steps hand in hand. Of course, before presenting the awards, they had to say a few words. Ye Tong glanced at the audience and asked Hsu Kuan-wen, “Director Hsu, quite a few of this year’s nominees are newcomers!”
“Yes, there are so many newcomers these days. As the saying goes, the waves behind push those ahead, while the former die on the shore!” Hsu Kuan-wen wasn’t only funny on screen but also had a rich sense of humor in real life, drawing laughter from the audience.
Ye Tong pretended to remember something suddenly and said, “By the way, Director Hsu, as an excellent screenwriter, who do you think will win this time?”
“That’s hard to say. Otherwise, I might offend someone!” Given Hsu Kuan-wen’s reputation in the film industry, it was others who should be afraid of offending him. His response was undoubtedly amusing. “Let’s take a look at the nominee list first!”
Xiao Ran smiled slightly. It seemed the Golden Horse Awards organizing committee had put a lot of effort into choosing these presenters. Although Hsu Kuan-wen was now his own boss, he was still considered a loyal veteran of Golden Harvest. Perhaps the committee did this to ease tensions.
Clips from several films appeared on the big screen, accompanied by a deep-voiced narrator: “The nominees for Best Screenwriter at the 7th Golden Horse Awards are Wang Jiawei for ‘The Final Victory’; Shen Xicheng for ‘Dragon and Tiger Storm’; Xiao Ran and Nan Yan for ‘Prison Storm’; Xiao Ran and Luo Qirui for ‘A Fairy Tale in Autumn’; and Xiao Ran for ‘God of Gamblers’…”
Wang Jiawei’s ‘The Final Victory’ was written before he joined Shadow, so it was understandable. Xiao Ran didn’t have the energy to worry about this either, as he was now extremely nervous. He exclaimed excitedly in his heart: “Wow, I really got three nominations! This is comparable to Brother Fa’s achievements!”
Of course, in terms of value, a screenwriter’s achievement is far less than that of a leading actor. But for Xiao Ran, what mattered wasn’t commercial value but true artistic value and that irresistible sense of accomplishment. For him, even founding Shadow might not compare to winning Best Director.
At that moment, Brother Fa gave him a deep look, his eyes filled with understanding and a smile. Lin Qingxia quietly took Xiao Ran’s hand, trying to give him more confidence. Of course, Xiao Ran wasn’t lacking confidence. Any one of these three films would surely win an award even twenty years later. But history had changed now, and he didn’t dare rely on it to make decisions.
“Wow, truly amazing,” exclaimed Hsu Kuan-wen. His eyes searched the audience until they found Xiao Ran, and he smiled. “Xiao Ran alone has received three nominations. I think no screenwriter in Hong Kong could achieve such a thing.”
“I don’t know if it’s unprecedented, but I’m sure it’s never happened before!” Ye Tong glanced at Xiao Ran with regret and said smilingly, “Whether Xiao Ran wins an award today or not, no one will dare doubt his title as the best screenwriter. If anyone tries to doubt it, then they should write three scripts that can get nominated first!”

“Stop talking, or else the screenwriters will get impatient!” Xu Guanwen joked amusingly before opening the post, studying it for a moment before handing it to Ye Tong. “You read it instead!”
Xiao Ran’s heart pounded violently. If he could win it today, it would truly be the pinnacle of his career. Lin Qingxia’s touch conveyed warmth and concern, helping Xiao Ran calm down a bit.
Xiao Ran wasn’t sure he could win the award, as film festivals around the world avoided letting anyone win consecutively. The Golden Horse Awards were no exception—except for legends like Stephen Chow, who managed to win repeatedly by chance, no one else had ever won back-to-back.
“The winner of the 7th Hong Kong Film Golden Horse Award for Best Screenwriter is…” Ye Tong’s gaze swept over Wang Jiawei and Shen Xicheng before stopping at Xiao Ran’s seat. “Xiao Ran, ‘The God of Gamblers’!”
Xiao Ran was overjoyed. He quickly gave light hugs to Stephen Chow and Zhong Chuhong beside him, then hugged Lin Qingxia deeply. He walked onto the stage, greeting everyone as he took the award from Xu Guanwen and thanked him and Ye Tong before stepping in front of the microphone.
Glancing at the envy and surprise in the audience, Xiao Ran felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction and achievement. He suddenly realized he liked being looked up to. After thinking for a moment, he said, “I’m very happy today because the award is being given now, which shows that screenwriters are valued more than in the last edition.”
Most people remembered Xiao Ran’s first words after winning last year. Suddenly, they realized Xiao Ran seemed to be the only one in Golden Horse Award history to win consecutively. Although the award had only been around for seven years, achieving back-to-back wins proved this top screenwriter wasn’t just a title.
“Many people call me the best screenwriter, but I want to say that whether it’s screenwriters or other film professionals, if they don’t keep progressing with the times, even if they’re the best now, they’ll eventually be phased out!” At this point, Xiao Ran’s expression grew serious before he smiled and said, “It seems I’m still in step with the times!”
The audience burst into laughter, except for Fang Ruohai, whose face was dark with anger. It was hard to explain his feelings as he watched Xiao Ran achieve success step by step—perhaps regret, perhaps resentment—but from certain perspectives, he couldn’t help but admire Xiao Ran.
He admired Xiao Ran’s talent, his ability to reach this level, and his capacity to create such artistic works while expanding the company rapidly. Fang Ruohai believed he could never do such things—not only lacked he the talent, but even if he did, he couldn’t create such masterpieces.
Yet, he hated Xiao Ran even more—for leaving him with a lifetime of shame during the stock market crash and bringing endless humiliation to his entire family. He muttered maliciously, “Enjoy your success. Anyway, you won’t be able to win any awards anymore!”

Strictly speaking, Xiao Ran wasn’t proud; rather, he was filled with joy and happiness after being overwhelmed by a sense of achievement. “Film is an art form that requires collective effort—every aspect is essential. I’d like to take this opportunity to say to my friends in the industry across Hong Kong: don’t underestimate yourselves. Even if you work in lighting, you can reach the pinnacle as long as you’re willing to strive for it.”

After thanking Xu Guanwen and Ye Tong once again, Xiao Ran stepped off the stage with a relaxed and cheerful stride. Suddenly, he heard Ye Tong on stage say, “With such an outstanding screenwriter, I really hope to have the chance to work with him next time.”

Returning to his seat, Wei Dongling looked extremely jealous. He quickly snatched Xiao Ran’s award statue and said, “Give this to me. I’ll return it to you when I win an award!”

Don’t think just because Wei Dongling is in administrative roles he has no chance of winning an award. Remember, he’s the company’s general manager. If he wants to, he can easily take on the role of producer for any film, and it’s usually the producer who receives the award for Best Film.

In fact, both of the films nominated for Best Film this time—Mirage and another film—had Wei Dongling’s name associated with them. It was highly likely he would win the award. Xiao Ran smiled gently and released his grip. Fa Ge also looked at him excitedly and said, “Ah Ran, now you’re the only person in history to win an award twice in a row!”

“You’ll be the second one in a moment!” Xiao Ran’s excitement gradually subsided as he joked with Fa Ge, “You’ve never before been nominated in four categories. If you don’t win an award this time, I’m afraid your fans will take knives to slice up the judges!”

Fa Ge chuckled. He was quite confident this time—even a blind person could tell that if he failed to win again, it would be truly outrageous. Just kidding—if you can’t win an award with four nominations, then everyone should stop making good movies and just make trash instead.

After chatting with those around him, Zeng Zhiwei and Zheng Yuling on stage both said in an emotional tone, “We really didn’t expect this. But it was no surprise that Xiao Ran would win this award. I must work with him next time too!”

So far, only five awards had been given, and Mirage had won all five. Based on the current situation, it seemed almost certain that Mirage would sweep the 7th Golden Statue Awards. At the thought of this, everyone was shocked. Mirage had only been established for a year, yet it had achieved such success—it was truly a miracle. No wonder Xiao Ran was called the “Hand of God.”

The award for Best Action Director went to Cheng’s Team, as expected. Xiao Ran wasn’t surprised by this result at all, knowing that Cheng’s Team had won the most awards in the history of both the Golden Statue Awards and the Golden Horse Awards.

Next was Best Editing. In this category, only Zhang Yaozong from The God of Gamblers was nominated. However, the winner was Jiang Guoquan from The Final Victory. For Best Cinematography, both Autumn Fairy Tale and The God of Gamblers were nominated, but in the end, Huang Yongheng from The God of Gamblers won!

Among the best supporting actress categories, Shadow was a complete loser, as she didn’t even receive a nomination. This made Xiao Ran wary. He had heard before that it takes ten years to develop a male movie star, while only five years for a female one. Because female stars take less time to develop, their careers change very quickly, and they don’t last as long as those of male stars.

In the best supporting actor category, Shadow received two nominations for her roles in Prison Storm, played by He Jiaju and Zhang Yaoyang, with Zhang Yaoyang winning the award. The most tense moment arrived—only the remaining four major awards could truly determine who won and who lost.

The best actress award went to Xiao Fangfang without any doubt. Truly, she was a seasoned actress who had started her career as a child star. Finally, it was time for Stephen Chow’s most anticipated best actor award. This year, the competition was fierce, with abnormally six nominations for several major awards, and even seven for best actor. Of course, four of those were for Stephen Chow.

After listening to the guests talking nonsense for a while, the host finally said, “The winner is truly amazing. I think if we don’t give him the award, he probably won’t be able to leave this stage. The winner of the 7th Golden Horse Award for Best Actor is… Chow Yun-Fat, for The God of Gamblers!”

It was indeed The God of Gamblers. Upon hearing this, Xiao Ran confirmed his judgment. He knew that Stephen Chow would most likely win the award for this film. Although his performances in other works were equally classic, his acting in The God of Gamblers was clearly superior. Just that half-foolish, half-conscious gambling scene was enough to earn him an Oscar.

Overjoyed, Stephen Chow stood up—sure enough, he had won the award. Shadow’s team congratulated him with smiles, but when he went on stage to accept the award and deliver a speech, he said something that stunned Xiao Ran: “I’m very excited to win this award, but this time, I only want to thank one person—Xiao Ran, the miracle and genius of our Hong Kong film industry!”

The entire audience was shocked. Xiao Ran shook his head in amazement. Stephen Chow was really something special—usually, when someone won an award, they would thank various people to avoid offending anyone. But Stephen Chow only thanked him, which was extremely strange.

“I want to thank him for casting me in these films and for giving me so much guidance on acting, helping me break through my previous limitations and allowing me to stand here,” Stephen Chow said sincerely, his eyes fixed on Xiao Ran with an unprecedented seriousness. “Most importantly, he taught me how to choose roles—not just to make money, but to perform well. I truly owe him so much!”

Stephen Chow’s words triggered thunderous applause from the audience. Thinking about the awards The God of Gamblers had won this time, many filmmakers were tempted. If they could collaborate with Xiao Ran, they could easily win awards too.

After Stephen Chow returned to his seat, Xiao Ran sighed, “Stephen Chow, why say such things? If you weren’t that kind of person, telling you wouldn’t be of any use!”

“No!” Fa Ge looked at Xiao Ran sincerely. “A Ran, I’m telling the truth. Acting skills aside, without you, I wouldn’t have achieved what I have today—I’d still be that mediocre actor I used to be!”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore!” Xiao Ran sighed in embarrassment, waving his hand. “Fa Ge, please don’t bring this up again if you really consider me a good friend!”
“You’re not my good friend!” Xiao Ran was shocked by Fa Ge’s denial, but then saw Fa Ge smiling and saying, “You’re my good brother!” Xiao Ran’s heart warmed instantly. Having such a relationship with Fa Ge was both accidental and inevitable.
Now, only the last two awards remained: Best Director and Best Film. Many people often confused these two awards, thinking that the director who won Best Film must also be the Best Director, assuming they were inherently linked.
But in reality, there was a significant difference between them. In Xiao Ran’s understanding, Best Film referred to the movie with the highest overall quality, while Best Director honored the director whose techniques shone brightest in a particular film. This “brightest” could mean cleverness, strength, or uniqueness.
A typical example was “PTU,” a film that fully reflected the director’s style. Of course, it was still eligible for Best Film. But everyone knew that Du Zifeng’s directing skills in this film far surpassed everything else, so he won Best Director instead of Best Film.
The presenters were Chu Yuan and Fang Yuping. Chu Yuan was a veteran director from the Cantonese film era. Interestingly, despite his age, his directing skills kept up with those of the newer directors of the New Wave, such as the extremely funny film “Diary of a Man” directed by Fa Ge, as remembered by Xiao Ran.
Fang Yuping was also an outstanding director. He had won both Best Film and Best Director in previous editions with “Half a Person” and was politically aligned with the mainland government. One being a veteran and the other a newcomer, the two directors started by saying, “Uncle Chu, it’s really an era of many new talents. Look, most of the nominees this time are just starting out!”
“For me, they’re still newcomers. For you, they’re not even newcomers anymore!” Chu Yuan laughed. “Let’s take a look at the nomination list first…”
“The nominees for Best Director at the 7th Hong Kong Golden Statue Awards are: Xiao Ran, ‘God of Gambling’; Lin Lingdong, ‘Prison Storm’; Lin Lingdong, ‘Dragon and Tiger Storm’; Zhang Wanding, ‘A Fairy Tale in Autumn’; Xu Anhua, ‘Romance of the Sword and the Book’; Tan Jiaming, ‘The Final Victory’…”
“This edition is indeed competitive. Look, Lin Lingdong has two nominations, and Xiao Ran has one—both are very talented directors.” Chu Yuan always spoke in a humorous way, similar to the characters he often played on screen. “Let’s see who will win…”

Xiao Ran glanced at Zhang Wanding and Lin Lingdong, who were sitting not far in front of him; they both looked nervous. Xiao Ran became even more anxious. After all, the Best Director award wasn’t something that could be easily ignored. At least in his opinion, its importance far exceeded that of Best Screenwriter — certainly because he himself aspired to be a director.
However, this time, Shadow really shone brightly. Out of the six director nominations, Shadow took four, while the remaining two were split between DeBao and Xu Ke’s film studios. Jiahe didn’t even qualify. Yet, as these six people were all extremely nervous…
*****
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