Everyone in the Entertainment Industry Thinks I’m a Flirty Diva [Entertainment Circle] - Chapter 12

The show “Brave Heart” was already halfway through. Chu Xi, who was initially expected to be the show’s black sheep, had instead surprised everyone with her performance—hardworking, uncomplaining, and most importantly, her meme had gone viral, attracting a wave of new viewers and setting another record for the live stream’s audience numbers.

Unfortunately, everyone was in for disappointment.

Starting today, Chu Xi was taking three days off to attend the annual Golden Feather Awards, one of the top three film awards.

The three-day leave was something Fu Bai had negotiated with the crew of Brave Heart before signing the contract. Chu Xi would take three days off during filming to attend the Golden Feather Awards ceremony. The production team was well aware of how highly regarded this award was in the industry. For a grueling show like this, landing a female star of Chu Xi’s caliber and popularity was already quite a feat—three days off was a small price to pay.

Chu Xi had nearly forgotten about it until she saw Fu Bai dragging a suitcase into the camp to pick her up.

“Can I… not go?” Chu Xi hesitated when she heard she had to attend the awards ceremony.

Fu Bai: “You’ve been nominated—how can you not go? I’ve already bought the tickets.”

The mention of her nomination made Chu Xi cringe.

Thanks to last year’s big-budget flop The Emperor’s Woman, which bombed at the box office and was panned by critics, she had somehow landed a Best Actress nomination at the Golden Feather Awards, one of the top three film awards in the country. When the nominees were announced earlier this year, the backlash was immediate. Everyone was asking how Chu Xi could possibly deserve the nomination—was having a sugar daddy really that powerful? It was an insult to the entire film industry.

This nomination had been orchestrated behind the scenes by Gu Mingjing’s financial influence. Though they had since broken up, the nomination had already been announced and couldn’t be revoked.

Seeing her reluctance, Fu Bai added, “I’m not expecting you to win. As long as you don’t take home the award, the backlash over a mere nomination won’t last long. The ceremony and the afterparty will be packed with directors, producers, and investors. You still don’t have your next project lined up—go and see if you can get lucky.”

Fu Bai’s talent agency was still in its early stages, and this opportunity to accompany Chu Xi to the awards was invaluable. He pressed on, reasoning with her, “You’re not the same Chu Xi who used to sit at home waiting for top-tier projects to fall into your lap. Countless actresses would kill just to walk the red carpet, but you—you have an actual nomination and the highest-tier invitation. You can’t afford to be wishy-washy now. Remember, the old Chu Xi is dead. You are now Niohuru Chu Xi.”

Niohuru Chu Xi lowered her head, dejected. “You don’t have to plan so far ahead for me. As long as I have work lined up for the next six months, that’s enough.”

Fu Bai didn’t understand why she kept fixating on this six-month timeline. “You can’t just keep doing variety shows for half a year. At the very least, you need to film one project. The tickets are already booked—it’d be a waste to cancel. Who knows? Maybe some big-shot director will take a liking to you and cast you as the lead in their next film. Let’s go.”

After some thought, Chu Xi conceded that Fu Bai had a point. She went to bid farewell to Squad Leader Liu and the male guests, explaining that she was taking a few days off to attend the film awards. Meanwhile, the new viewers who had eagerly tuned into the live stream were greeted with the unexpected sight of Chu Xi saying goodbye to her comrades.

After being reminded, everyone suddenly remembered that Chu Xi had received a nomination for Best Actress at the Golden Feather Awards for her role in a notoriously bad film and was now rushing off to attend the awards ceremony.

On camera, Squad Leader Liu, upon hearing that Chu Xi had been nominated for Best Actress and was going to the awards ceremony, made a point of saying, “Hope you win!” as they said their goodbyes.

Chu Xi could guarantee that Squad Leader Liu had never watched any of her performances. She let out an awkward laugh and said, “Thank you, Squad Leader.”

Leaving aside how useful Chu Xi’s reaction memes were, and the fact that new viewers had no idea about her past performances, the mere mention of the awards ceremony was enough to spark public outrage.

[Damn, she actually dares to show up at the awards ceremony? Is she planning to take home the Best Actress trophy too?]

[Does she even know how she got that nomination?]

[Guess when you have no shame, nothing can stop you.]

[I walked out of the theater after 20 minutes of watching The Emperor’s Woman. Worst movie I’ve ever seen in my life.]

Faced with these harsh comments, the newly formed “Brick” fan group—Chu Xi’s fans—started to voice their indignation. But their numbers were too small, and their influence too weak to even manage basic comment control.

Unable to control the narrative, the Bricks could only angrily report the most abusive comments.

Halfway through, it suddenly dawned on them: with so many negative comments surfacing, where were those expensive-looking PR teams Chu Xi used to have?

——

At the studio, Chu Xi stepped out of the fitting room in her gown and turned to look at herself in the mirror.

Fu Bai had picked her up from the camp, and the first order of business was to return to the studio for a dress fitting. They would leave for Haishi in the afternoon, walk the red carpet the next day, and attend the awards ceremony that evening.

“You look great,” Fu Bai complimented.

Chu Xi examined her reflection—a white knee-length gown that revealed nothing more than her arms and legs, consistent with her usual red-carpet style: pure and ethereal.

Yet the dress looked oddly familiar. She racked her brain and suddenly realized it was identical to one from C-brand’s haute couture runway show earlier that year. She had attended C-brand’s fashion week show abroad, arranged by Gu Mingjing’s management team, which was why the dress seemed so familiar.

C-brand was a renowned luxury label where even a basic T-shirt cost tens of thousands, let alone haute couture gowns, which were exorbitantly priced. Fu Bai’s studio was notoriously strapped for cash—how could they afford such an expensive dress?

Female celebrities attend numerous events each year, and it’s impractical to buy a new gown for each occasion. Most borrow outfits from brands, with the prestige of the borrowed gowns reflecting the star’s status. However, Chu Xi had rarely borrowed dresses in the past—most were purchased outright. Gu Mingjing’s team would buy haute couture pieces worth hundreds of thousands without batting an eye, sometimes even securing pieces that money alone couldn’t buy through various connections.

As a result, Chu Xi had always worn the latest collections from top luxury brands at events, sparking envy. Fashion bloggers had even compiled lists of her outfits, summarizing them with one word: “obscenely extravagant.”

She had worn C-brand many times before. Chu Xi ran her fingers over the fabric of her current dress and noticed the material didn’t quite match C-brand’s usual quality.

“Did you borrow this dress?” she asked.

Fu Bai replied, “The stylist made it.”

When Chu Xi heard it was made by a costume designer, she immediately understood.

In the industry, some newcomers or lesser-known figures whose management teams aren’t strong enough to borrow outfits from brands would turn to costume designers. The dress Chu Xi was wearing now was undoubtedly a knockoff version modeled after this year’s C-brand runway piece.

Wearing unbranded outfits made by designers wasn’t a big deal, but wearing knockoffs made Chu Xi extremely uncomfortable—she couldn’t accept it.

“I don’t want to wear this…” Chu Xi glanced at Fu Bai and pouted.

Fu Bai was puzzled, giving Chu Xi a once-over. “It looks great. Why not?”

Chu Xi pulled up a photo on her phone of the original piece she’d taken at the C-brand show earlier that year and showed it to Fu Bai. Compared to the authentic version, the details on her dress were noticeably rougher.

Fu Bai stared at the image: “………………Damn.”

Furious, he planted his hands on his hips. “I had it custom-made by a designer. The sample looked good—I had no idea it was a knockoff. This is infuriating.”

Wearing knockoffs wasn’t just tacky—if it got exposed, she wouldn’t just face ridicule from both inside and outside the industry. In the highbrow, image-conscious fashion world, it could very well ruin her future opportunities.

Chu Xi slumped on the sofa, arms limp. “What do we do? The red carpet’s tomorrow.”

Fu Bai scratched his head. “Let me think, think, think—don’t panic yet. Wait, do you have any old outfits that could work?”

“Probably not.” Chu Xi shook her head. Most of her clothes were still in her Nanjing District apartment. When she left, she’d only taken some casual pieces—nothing red-carpet-worthy.

“Alright.” Fu Bai sighed.

Chu Xi stood up and wandered into the studio’s walk-in closet. The studio had signed several models, so the racks were filled with clothes.

She casually browsed through them, then suddenly pulled one out and held it up to herself. “What about this one?”

Fu Bai froze when he saw the dress she was holding.

——

The next afternoon, Haishi.

The Golden Feather Awards red carpet glittered with stars. Photographers were already snapping away with their long lenses, fans’ screams rising and falling in waves. Keeping up with the times, the organizers even livestreamed the entire red carpet on Weibo.

The red carpet had always been a battleground for actresses to outshine each other. The Golden Feather Awards even had a Best Dressed prize each year, awarded to the best-groomed male and female stars on the carpet. For this, celebrities pulled out all the stops, hoping to top the style rankings. Today, several fashion bloggers had even started simultaneous livestreams, analyzing the stars’ outfits in real time.

Chu Xi’s appearance was scheduled towards the middle and later part of the event. Several female stars had already walked the red carpet before her, with quite a few stunning outfits that caught everyone’s attention. Among them was the rising star Le Shan, nominated for Best Supporting Actress, who dazzled in a white V-brand haute couture gown—ethereal and sweet—instantly trending the moment she appeared. Fashion bloggers had already declared today’s red carpet the most fiercely contested “Best Dressed” battle in recent memory.

As the black sedan pulled in, the host announced the next arrival: Chu Xi, nominated for Best Actress for her role in The Emperor’s Woman.

The moment Chu Xi’s name was mentioned, the previously harmonious barrage of comments took a sharp turn.

[Holy shit, she actually came?!]

[Of course she did—she even took time off from that variety show for this.]

[Shameless people are truly invincible.]

[Watch her win Best Actress tonight, lol.]

Chu Xi’s small but dedicated fanbase, self-dubbed “Bricks,” immediately began spamming [Chu Xi, fly fearlessly, Bricks will always follow!]

Everyone else: [………………]

What kind of cursed fandom name is that?

Meanwhile, fashion bloggers covering the red carpet in real-time started their commentary. Blogger A remarked, “Given Chu Xi’s past red carpet style, she’ll probably go for another light-colored, sweet and innocent gown today.”

Blogger B added, “Le Shan’s look today is outstanding, but if Chu Xi shows up in a similar ethereal sweet-style dress as predicted, it’ll be a direct clash. Chu Xi’s red carpet game has always been strong—this’ll be interesting to watch.”

Blogger A joked, “Who’ll come out on top? Hard to say. But let’s guess how many digits her gown costs tonight—I’m sure she won’t disappoint.”

Comments erupted:

[Chu Xi, get lost!]

[How dare a fraud nominee compare herself to Le Shan? Pathetic.]

[Le Shan is stunning. No amount of expensive dresses can save a talentless hack like Chu Xi.]

[Her sugar daddy must really spoil her—she must be amazing in bed.]

Only the Bricks persisted, tirelessly flooding the screen with [Chu Xi, fly fearlessly, Bricks will always follow!]—small in number but unbreakably resilient.

The black sedan came to a stop at the edge of the red carpet. A attendant opened the door, and a sleek black stiletto sandal stepped firmly onto the crimson runway.

The camera panned upward.

The crowd froze.

Chu Xi faced the sea of lenses, bit her lip briefly, then flashed a confident smile as she strode forward.

Everyone was stunned.

…Is this Chu Xi?

Yes, it was indeed Chu Xi.

A black slip dress, knee-length, hugged her figure flawlessly—slender waist, curvaceous hips, and long, porcelain legs on full display. But it was the upper half that truly stole attention.

The black fabric made her skin glow like snow. The delicate V-neck straps framed her toned arms, elegant neck, delicate collarbones, perfect shoulders, and… the alluring swell of her décolletage.

Her short hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, her lips painted a bold crimson. Clutching a small purse, she straightened her posture, chest forward, meeting the cameras with unwavering poise.

She was wearing such a revealing dress in front of the camera for the first time. She thought she would feel shy, but unexpectedly, she remained remarkably composed. It was just a simple style of dress—cool and breezy, yet not overly exposed or vulgar in a way that sought cheap attention.

Even the live-streaming fashion bloggers were left speechless.

Chu Xi’s red carpet looks had always been pure, sweet, and conservative. If not for her signature face—that of a delicate, fox-like beauty—one might have even suspected the host had announced the wrong guest name.

Comparison images were immediately made: on the left, Le Shan in her sweet, ethereal gown, and on the right, Chu Xi in a sleek black spaghetti-strap dress.

It wasn’t that Le Shan’s look wasn’t beautiful or that her dress wasn’t fairy-like. But when the two images were placed side by side, people’s eyes couldn’t help but drift to the right.

Cuteness stood no chance against sensuality.