How To Deal With Being Transmigrated As The Scumbag Ex-Wife - Chapter 42

42: Jinhua Award Scandal?

This year’s Jinhua Award spotlight was firmly on the Look Up team. While other nominated films were noteworthy, none matched Look Up’s achievements and buzz.

Yu Qingjia smiled at the camera, and the bullet comments exploded:

“Wahhh, the Second Princess is so different now, stunning! This hairstyle is everything!!!”

“Aww, the Second Princess smiled at me! I’m spiraling!”

“She’s got such director vibes now, stealing the show just standing there. Heart eyes!”

“Go Second Princess!!! Sweep the Jinhua Awards!”

Unaware of the online frenzy, Yu Qingjia entered the ceremony with her team. Once all nominees were seated, the host kicked things off.

The awards began. Look Up was nominated for six: Best Director, Best Actress, Best Actor, Best Supporting Actress, Best Screenplay, and Best Feature Film. The first five were individual awards, the last a film award.

As both director and screenwriter, Yu Qingjia was personally nominated twice.

Awards started with film categories, then moved to individual ones. After several film awards, Best Feature Film was up. The screen played clips of the nominees, then the presenter opened the envelope: “The 28th Jinhua Award for Best Feature Film goes to—”

The camera panned to the nominated teams, some smiling, some serious. Yu Qingjia winked at the lens with a slight grin.

“—Look Up!”

The result was expected. Bullet comments flooded with “As expected lol.”

Yu Qingjia rose to accept on behalf of the team. The presenter, last year’s Best Actor Wei Heng, handed her the hefty trophy with a warm smile. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you, Teacher Wei.” Yu Qingjia nodded politely, raising the trophy. “All the nominated films were excellent. I’m thrilled the judges chose Look Up. Thanks to every team member and all your support!”

Back at her seat, the crew eagerly weighed the trophy.

Pan Xing nudged her, maintaining a poised smile, whispering, “Told you, no problem.”

Yu Qingjia glanced at her, shaking her head silently.

Before arriving, she’d checked the Jinhua judges’ lineup, mostly Eurocentric types. She suspected Best Feature Film was a crowd-pleaser, given Look Up’s massive popularity.

Not that she doubted Jinhua’s fairness outright, but domestic bias against commercial films was a known issue, almost a political dogma. A decade ago, when the internet was less prevalent, these elites controlled film discourse, and audiences had no voice. Only with the internet’s rise could viewers speak out.

Though Look Up wasn’t purely commercial, Yu Qingjia was the first director to openly champion commercial films. The establishment would naturally suppress her to maintain their authority. She’d seen this before.

She’d expected Best Director to go to Lin Yi of Forest Beyond the Window. Excluding herself, Lin Yi was the strongest nominee. But Forest Beyond the Window, released during the summer alongside February 19th and Look Up, got little online traction.

If Jinhua gave her Best Director, she’d admit to misjudging their fairness.

Back to the ceremony, after film awards came individual ones, starting with behind-the-scenes roles, then actors and directors.

Awards were split like a pie, with most teams, except February 19th and Forest Beyond the Window, grabbing one.

Yu Qingjia sensed something off but stayed quiet.

Soon, Best Screenplay was announced:

“The 28th Jinhua Award for Best Screenplay goes to—”

The presenter teased, pausing. Bullet comments listed names, “Yu Qingjia” dominating.

“Forest Beyond the Window, Luo Yidan!”

Luo Yidan’s eyes lit up, tears brimming despite her efforts. She hurried to the stage, her voice hoarse as she took the trophy. “I…”

“Suddenly I feel for behind-the-scenes folks. Luo Yidan’s sixth nomination for Best Screenplay.”

“Forest Beyond the Window was poorly timed. A better slot, and it wouldn’t have flopped.”

“Ridiculous. February 19th’s trash outgrossed Forest Beyond the Window. Did Zhou Jin buy tickets?”

Yu Qingjia pursed her lips. Pan Xing noticed her shift, about to ask, but Yu Qingjia masked her emotions, watching the stage calmly. Pan Xing followed suit.

Next were Best Supporting Actor and Actress. Si Lingyou, nominated for Best Supporting Actress, was hopeful but lost to February 19th’s actress Fan Yuan.

Si Lingyou was disappointed but knew her skills paled against veteran Fan Yuan’s masterful acting.

Then came Best Actor. Ke Shi held his breath.

“The 28th Jinhua Award for Best Actor goes to—”

The presenter’s gaze landed on Ke Shi. “Look Up team, Ke Shi!”

“Congrats!”

“Go get it, don’t just sit there!”

“Congrats, hurry up!”

Ke Shi, stunned, grinned and went to accept.

Yu Qingjia whispered to Pan Xing, “Does this count as the trophy I owe him?”

Pan Xing stifled a laugh. “Nope. Who would complain about too many trophies?”

Yu Qingjia feigned exasperation, her eyes sparkling.

Ke Shi, returning, waved his shiny trophy at her. She raised an eyebrow. “You got your trophy. Don’t bug me.”

He laughed. “No way, this isn’t from you.”

After the banter, Best Actress was up. The presenter didn’t tease, announcing directly:

“Look Up team, Pan Xing!”

Surprised but elated, Pan Xing went up confidently, a stark contrast to her clumsy film festival days.

“I remember Pan Xing nearly tripping at the festival. She’s so poised now.”

“Pan Xing’s great, but I’m gutted for Yu Cha. She’s been a runner-up so many times.”

“Congrats, Pan Xing! Yu Cha, keep going, your acting’s amazing!”

Pan Xing’s win was given, both from Yu Qingjia’s trust and the awards mirroring the film festival’s. Ke Shi’s Best Actor win was the one unexpected.

As Pan Xing returned, Yu Qingjia seemed thoughtful. Pan Xing wanted to speak but stayed silent due to cameras.

Next was the highly anticipated Best Director.

“Go Second Princess! Rooting for you!”

“Lol, if the Second Princess doesn’t win, I’ll eat the Jinhua trophy.”

“Lin Yi’s great too. Maybe it’ll be him?”

Most assumed Yu Qingjia would win. Look Up took the festival’s top prize, ineligible for Best Director there due to rules, but foreign media had praised her limitless potential. Surely Jinhua would award her?

The screen played clips of the nominees’ works. The presenter, smiling, opened the envelope to announce the winner.

His smile froze. Though he quickly recovered, the shift was noticeable.

With a serious expression, he declared, “Best Director goes to February 19th, Zhou Jin!”

The room fell silent for a second before applause erupted, unable to mask the absurdity.

Live viewers found it laughable. Angrier ones cursed outright.

Anyone could see Look Up outshone February 19th. Even if not Yu Qingjia, anyone was more deserving than Zhou Jin. This was saying Yu Qingjia was lesser?

Look Up crushed February 19th in reputation and box office. Was her skill inferior?

This was Jinhua’s most ridiculous selection ever!

“I’m done. Is this rigged? Forget Yu Qingjia, Lin Yi’s not better than Zhou Jin? Forest Beyond the Window destroys February 19th!”

“Look Up won three awards. Is the Best Director that big a deal?”

“I don’t get it. Yu Qingjia was nominated for two personal awards and got none. The wins were for Look Up, a team effort. Jinhua doesn’t limit awards per film—Zhao Xian’s Twelve Cities won seven, including Best Director. Even if not Yu, Lin Yi’s better than Zhou Jin!”

Viewers checked Yu Qingjia’s reaction. She seemed unsurprised, her lips curling in a mocking smile, as if she’d expected it.

She’d overestimated Jinhua’s judges. She thought they’d pick Lin Yi, not Zhou Jin to spite her.

Even Pan Xing couldn’t hide her disgust. Knowing Zhou Jin was nominated, she’d thought it was picking the tallest dwarf. Giving him Best Director was beyond unfair!

It felt like swallowing a fly, her trophy now tainted.

Noticing the team’s varied expressions, none clapping for Zhou Jin, Yu Qingjia calmly led the applause, surprising them and drawing looks from nearby teams, who admired her composure.

Si Lingyou, two seats away, nearly cursed. Seeing Yu Qingjia clap, she was livid—weren’t you amazing? The judges slapped you, and you’re clapping for them?

Catching the team’s gazes, Yu Qingjia chuckled. “This is all they can do to mess with me.”

No exaggeration, she was the industry’s hottest young director with strong audience support. Her public push for commercial films threatened their authority, so they withheld Best Director to signal mainstream rejection. That’s all they could do.

Did it really bother her?

No, it only eroded Jinhua’s credibility, turning a prestigious award into a self-congratulatory farce.

The team, initially angry, nodded, their fury easing, though their respect for Jinhua waned.

Zhou Jin glanced at Yu Qingjia after winning, seeing her faint smile. Feeling guilty, he looked away, saying, “Thanks to the judges for recognizing me. I’ve always dreamed of standing here, proving my strength…”

His speech grew confident, turning into a lecture on his ideals.

Savvy viewers analyzed the award’s unspoken rules:

“Look at the judging panel—mostly Ma School, elitist insiders led by Zhao Xian, obsessed with European cinema, dismissing Hollywood blockbusters. Yu Qingjia’s media push for commercial films, backed by netizens, challenged their authority. They gave Look Up three awards, mirroring the festival, to say, ‘Others recognize you, so we do too,’ but Best Director? No way. Giving it to Zhou Jin was to spite her.”

“As one of China’s top three film awards, Jinhua shouldn’t be a tool to exclude outsiders. This only strips its authority and fairness.”

Post-ceremony, netizens raged, with top trending topics being #JinhuaScandal, #YuQingjiaMissesBestDirector, and #JinhuaSuppressesYuQingjia.

Before the Look Up team left, a reporter seized a chance to ask Yu Qingjia, “Director Yu, thoughts on this year’s Best Director winner?”

The team’s expressions shifted despite their restraint.

Yu Qingjia smiled calmly. “No thoughts, but I’m looking forward to the Haitang Award—that’s the audience’s recognition.”

Translation: “Jinhua’s judges are nonsense; audiences rule.”

The reporter’s eyes lit up, pressing, “Online, people question Jinhua’s choice. Your thoughts?”

She replied lightly, “Questioning leads to progress. I wish Jinhua well in regaining audience trust.”

Her calm tone hid no resentment, but her words implied Jinhua’s actions angered viewers, requiring effort to rebuild trust.

The reporter wanted to ask who deserved the award, but Yu Qingjia cut in, “It’s late. Are you hungry? You’re interviewing to make a living. Two questions are enough for your article. Go eat and write. I’m off to eat too.”

Stunned, the reporter realized he was hungry and ended the interview.

Yu Qingjia’s temper was decent, unlike some who sneered at reporters. If not for a living, who’d bother with them?

…

The team planned a celebratory dinner, but the Best Director fiasco left everyone too disgusted to eat.

Yu Qingjia cheerfully had Xiao Shao buy late-night snacks. To avoid awkwardness, no one ate before the ceremony.

During a call from Yu Qingyi, Yu Qingjia was eating with Xiao Shao. Answering casually, “What’s up?”

Yu Qingyi’s voice was furious. “Don’t be mad. These people can only play dirty tricks with their limited skills.”

Yu Qingjia laughed, amused. She wasn’t mad, Yu Qingyi seemed angrier.

“I’m not. You’re the one upset,” she said warmly. “They’ve shot themselves in the foot. If they’d quietly given it to Lin Yi, the backlash wouldn’t be this bad. Giving it to Zhou Jin is just picking a fight with the audience.”

Hearing her light tone, Yu Qingyi nearly got angrier, frustrated at her sister’s mistreatment with no recourse. Calming down, she said, “You’re right. It’s against the audience.”

They chatted more about Jinhua. Assured Yu Qingjia wasn’t upset, Yu Qingyi hung up.

Right after, Ming Yin called.

“You were wronged,” Ming Yin said, her calm tone masking anger. Even Yu Qingjia could tell she was upset.

Smiling, Yu Qingjia said, “Thanks, but I’m not wronged. I knew they wouldn’t give me the award. That trophy’s worth pennies.”

She found it funny. “They take themselves too seriously, thinking everyone craves their award. But they miss one thing: audiences validate them. Without that, the award’s worthless.”

A trophy or certificate meant nothing, you could make one yourself. It was the recognition behind it, driven by audiences. This Best Director fiasco was Jinhua’s first step in ruining its reputation.

Ming Yin paused, her tone growing serious. “You’re right. An unfair award gets no support.”

Yu Qingjia teased, “You watched the live stream?”

As Ming Yin hummed, Yu Qingjia grinned. “Wasn’t I super cool today?”

Ming Yin, caught off guard, smiled warmly. “Very cool.” So cool that bullet comments were fans screaming to marry her.

Thinking of it, Ming Yin pursed her lips. “As long as you don’t mind, I was worried you’d be upset.”

Yu Qingjia paused, smiling. “Nope. I only care about two things: audience feedback and box office.”

The former showed her work’s quality, the latter her commercial prowess.

Her tablet lit up with a news push:

Suppressing Yu Qingjia? Jinhua Judge Zhang Daosheng: No Such Thing

Her dark eyes turned cold, but Ming Yin’s voice stayed gentle. “Good you’re not upset.”

A PR battle?

Mingyue’s PR team feared no one.

Before finishing with Ming Yin, Xiao Shao’s phone rang—Chen Ruo calling.

Xiao Shao glanced at Yu Qingjia, whispering, “Director Yu’s on a call, no time now.”

Though quiet, Ming Yin heard and said, “Since you’re busy, I won’t keep you.”

After hanging up, Yu Qingjia took Chen Ruo’s call. Their intent was the same—worried she was hurt, angrier than her, and comforting her first.

Touched, Yu Qingjia reassured Chen Ruo she wasn’t upset. Chen Ruo cursed the judges.

In half an hour, Yu Qingjia got several calls, all consoling her and slamming the unfair judging. She explained she was fine. Finally grabbing a snack, her phone lit up with another news push:

Suppressing Yu Qingjia? Jinhua Judge Zhang Daosheng: No Such Thing

No surprise, they’d never admit it.

Amused, she sipped her milk tea, opening the article.

It was a phone interview with judge Zhang Daosheng post-ceremony. Asked about the Best Director controversy, he angrily dismissed “scandal” and “suppression” claims, saying the vote was fair and urging audiences to trust the judges, not be swayed by manipulative forces.

His words implied online outrage was Yu Qingjia’s paid trolls, orchestrated by her backers, urging netizens to see through her deception.

The reporter stayed neutral, quoting Zhang directly, but it nearly enraged netizens.

“This guy’s full of it. Does supporting Yu Qingjia make us her trolls? Fine, I’ll be one: Jinhua’s trash! Jinhua’s trash! Jinhua’s trash!”

“Maybe if we hadn’t seen both films, we’d buy it. Look Up had 18 million viewers and won the Sakura Award. Think we’re idiots?”

“The Sour Plum Award gave February 19th Worst Film, and now Zhou Jin gets Jinhua’s Best Director? The judges are too high up to know what audiences want.”

Comments roasted Zhang Daosheng, with some vowing to boycott Jinhua. They pitied long-time runner-up Luo Yidan, whose win was tainted by the award’s ruined reputation.

Few supported the Best Director result, insisting Yu Qingjia’s defenders were Tianyue’s trolls, sparking a comment war.

Yu Qingjia checked her fan group, finding it ablaze with anger over Jinhua’s rigging and blind judges.

Noticing her, fans flooded with messages: “Second Princess, don’t be sad. You’re the true Best Director!”

Though exaggerated, it touched her. She typed:

“Yu Qingjia: Thanks for the comfort. Audience recognition matters most. If they love my films, that’s enough. Awards are a bonus—nice to have, but no loss without them.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d calmed fans. Though expected, her words still saddened them.

Seeing fans pledge support for her next film, she chatted briefly before leaving the group.

…

Forums were flooded with Jinhua’s Best Director upset—not just a surprise, but blatant rigging!

The reporter who interviewed Yu Qingjia published her piece, fanning the flames.

Her response to the scandal—humble, unruffled, never mentioning her unfair treatment—earned netizens’ admiration, unlike Zhang Daosheng’s attack accusing her of buying trolls.

Jinhua used a loser like Zhou Jin to slight her, yet she didn’t care.

As netizens praised her, pro-Jinhua articles and comments surged, urging trust in the judges. Look Up only won a Sakura Award, shouldn’t we have confidence in Jinhua over foreign awards?

Such blatant defense irked netizens, especially when Zhou Jin tweeted about fulfilling his Jinhua dream and promising to work harder. Fans swarmed, accusing him of bribing judges. Within five minutes, he closed his comment section, fueling more anger.

Jinhua’s official Weibo clarified, releasing the Best Director vote tallies. As voted, netizens saw that most for Zhou Jin came from those who’d publicly criticized Yu Qingjia.

This amused netizens. Obvious suppression of a young director, yet they denied it? Shameless.

That night, self-media outlets published:

When Awards Become Tools to Exclude, Their End Is Near

Jinhua’s Fall: Audience Authority or Judges’ Authority?

Revisiting 27 Jinhua Awards: Upset or Suppression Cover-Up?

…

Post-Best Director, Jinhua’s reputation teetered. Overnight, it went from a Chinese film authority to a sham award. Reviewing past “upsets,” netizens realized Yu Qingjia wasn’t the first unfairly treated. Jinhua had lost its founding purpose, becoming a Ma Faction tool to suppress outsiders.

Facing overwhelming backlash, Jinhua’s Weibo refused to apologize for the biased vote, doubling down on fairness and denying suppression.

With no recourse, netizens began boycotting the award.

“What’s Zhou Jin’s trash compared to our Jiajia? Not even a tenth as good! The judges are jealous!” Mrs. Yu fumed, her forehead throbbing.

Yu Qingjia, curled up on the sofa reading, paused, then sighed helplessly. “Let it go, Mom. Why bother with them?”

That circle was full of entitled elites with tangled ties. Many stayed silent after unfair treatment due to their deep backgrounds. Yu Qingjia’s boldness stemmed from Tianyue’s support and its theater chain. Without that, a small-time director like her would’ve made no waves.

Mrs. Yu didn’t know whether to call her big-hearted or carefree. “You’re the one wronged, and you’re so calm?”

“I’m not wronged,” Yu Qingjia said, cupping her face. “What’s to feel bad about? I will just keep doing what I do.”

Mrs. Yu, usually mild, only raged when the family was slighted.

“No, I can’t swallow this!” She grabbed her phone to call someone. Yu Qingjia snatched it. “Mom, you’re too old for this temper. Chill. Let Dad take you on a trip, it would be better than this.”

With her phone taken, Mrs. Yu gave up, sitting sulkily. “You never had this much trouble before. Why so much hate now? Quit this job!”

Yu Qingjia massaged her shoulders. “I love this work. They’re like this because I’m good. Mediocrity doesn’t spark envy. Your daughter’s got haters now.”

Mrs. Yu nearly laughed, sighing. “If something’s up, tell us. You keep things bottled up, how would we know?”

Her words sent Yu Qingjia’s mind drifting.

There was a way to fight back: make another film for the Eurasia Film Festival’s main competition. A win would mock the judges. But it wasn’t realistic—countless great directors competed, and she couldn’t guarantee a win.

Filmmaking wasn’t child’s play. Her focus was Eternal Life’s post-production, leaving no time for
a new project. It was just a thought.

“…And about dating, are you and your sister trying to drive me nuts? I don’t believe you feel nothing for Ming Yin.”

Hearing Ming Yin’s name snapped Yu Qingjia back. “Huh? What?”

Seeing she hadn’t listened, Mrs. Yu, feeling her words wasted, swatted her hand and stormed upstairs.

Confused, Yu Qingjia watched her go, then sank back into the sofa, resuming her book.

…

The controversy raged for a week. After Jinhua’s vague Weibo post, they went silent. Yu Qingjia stayed quiet too, as if unbothered.

Netizens were angry yet helpless, left only with boycotting Jinhua.

Then, a directing graduate student in Xiguo posted a professional review of Look Up, analyzing its story and artistry in five aspects, written like an academic paper.

Curious netizens asked why he posted it. He explained his professor admired Look Up for its high caliber, assigning them to analyze it. Hearing about Jinhua from a friend, he shared his review.

Jinhua supporters mocked it, calling Look Up mediocre and his school a sham.

Amused, the student posted his ID and his professor’s email. Film-savvy netizens lost it.

“Did I read that right??? Gaspard Roland, Eurasia Film Festival jury chair?!”

“Hahaha, Xiguo Film Academy, the cradle of filmmakers, called a sham? Joke of the year, I’ll laugh for a decade! /Grin”

“Damn, he’s Gaspard’s student? That’s insane!”

“Tsk, you trust Eurasia’s judges but not Jinhua’s? Where’s our national pride? /Dogface”

No one expected this twist. Furious netizens, vindicated, shared the post, pushing it to the top trend:

#GaspardAdmiresYuQingjia

Yu Qingjia was surprised. After a year here, she met Gaspard Roland, a titan in global cinema history, Xiguo’s “father of film.” Even Zhao Xian named him his favorite director.

Confident from her past as an acclaimed international director, she trusted her work. After Jinhua’s unfair treatment, she’d considered entering a film in Eurasia to prove herself. Now,

Eurasia’s jury chair praised her film, considering her level of artistry to be exceptionally high.

Wasn’t this just too coincidental?

Even a feel-good novel wouldn’t dare write something like this, yet it actually happened?

For the first time, Yu Qingjia questioned this world. Although it was indeed a novel’s world, her career seemed almost too smooth.

Could it be the protection of Pan Xing’s protagonist halo?

Looking at the buzzing Weibo, Yu Qingjia felt a strong sense of absurdity. The comment section overflowed with joy and excitement. She pressed her forehead, taking deep breaths to suppress the surreal panic.

Could anything be stranger than transmigrating into a book?

The most impossible thing had already happened, so why dwell on these details?

Finally calming her emotions, Yu Qingjia refreshed Weibo and saw Ming Yin retweeting the student’s review, commenting:

“The authority of an award is granted by the audience and can be revoked by them. I hope the Jinhua Award judges realize this soon.”

After all the uproar, this was the first public figure to take a stand. Netizens, seeing the post, grew excited—

Here it comes! President Ming stepped up to back Director Yu!