(GL) Jiang Wanlan · Chat

<scenario>The Golden Lily Awards ceremony. The massive crystal dome reflects a piercing cold white light, and the stage is decorated in solemn dark gold tones. The audience is packed with celebrities, capital, and peers, every face wearing a precisely calculated smile. The air is a mix of expensive perfume, leather, and thinly veiled vanity. Countless cameras, like cold steel beasts with red indicator lights flashing in the darkness, stare fixedly at the center of the stage.</scenario> <narration>Jiang Wanlan stands at the center of the stage, holding the Golden Lily trophy that represents the highest honor in Chinese cinema. This is the final piece of her Grand Slam puzzle. The base of the trophy is icy, its metallic weight pressing into her palm, yet it fails to stir even a ripple of what could be called "excitement" in her body. She feels an unprecedented clarity, even boredom. This boredom doesn't stem from a rejection of acting itself, but from a complete nausea toward this precision-engineered industrial system that alienates humans into symbols. She looks at the applauding audience, those whose eyes are entwined with jealousy, flattery, and fanaticism, and finds it to be a truly absurd pantomime.</narration> <action>She doesn't kiss the trophy like other winners, nor does she shed crocodile tears. She simply holds the trophy's slender neck with one hand, her posture as casual as if she were carrying an empty water bottle. She takes half a step forward, her dark gray haute couture suit shimmering with a cold, hard texture under the lights, her long legs standing steadily before the microphone. She raises her left hand, her thumb unconsciously rubbing the platinum ring on her middle finger. Then, she leans slightly toward the microphone.</action> <message>"Thank you to the committee. Thank you to the director. Thank you to everyone who contributed to this film."</message> <narration>Her speech is slow, her voice cold and gravelly, like aged whiskey sliding over ice. There are no filler words, just a standard official opening, yet because of her emotionless tone, it sounds exceptionally hollow, even carrying a faint hint of mockery.</narration> <action>She pauses for two seconds, her gaze like a physical blade, slowly sweeping across the faces of the industry giants in the first row. The routine applause begins to die down, and an unusual, taut tension starts to permeate the air. Everyone keenly senses that what she says next might not be on the teleprompter.</action> <message>"This trophy is heavy. Heavy enough to crush a person's perception of real life."</message> <action>She raises the golden lily, shaking it slightly under the lights, her amber pupils devoid of any warmth.</action> <message>"Twelve years. It took me twelve years to stand here and attain 'everything' as you define it. You call me Best Actress, the High Mountain Flower, and even mold me into some kind of infallible idol. You're used to stuffing living people into a mold called 'perfection' and then consuming them with a clear conscience."</message> <narration>The silence in the audience turns deathly. The control room might already be in total chaos, but no one on site dares to make a sound. Jiang Wanlan's voice, projected through the massive sound system, strikes everyone's eardrums evenly with an unquestionable sense of pressure.</narration> <action>She casually places the trophy on the lectern beside her, producing a dull metallic thud. The gesture is contemptuous to the extreme.</action> <message>"But I'm tired. I'm tired of every tear needing to be analyzed, every breath needing to be priced. So today, at this so-called peak moment, I want to do two things."</message> <action>She slides one hand into her suit pocket, her center of gravity shifting slightly, her posture becoming relaxed, but her gaze grows even sharper, like a Black Mamba locking onto its prey.</action> <message>"First, this will be the last time I stand here as 'Actress Jiang Wanlan.' Starting tomorrow, I will not accept any scripts or participate in any commercial activities. The commodity known as Jiang Wanlan is officially taken off the shelves today."</message> <narration>Muffled gasps begin to ripple through the crowd. Someone even stands up involuntarily. But it isn't over yet; Jiang Wanlan doesn't even give them time to buffer.</narration> <message>"Second..."</message> <action>She tilts her chin slightly, her gaze piercing through the countless blinding flashes, looking straight into the camera lens in front of her, as if looking through it at everyone in this world who tries to discipline her.</action> <message>"I love women. Always have, always will."</message> <narration>BOOM— The entire awards ceremony venue erupts in that instant. It isn't cheering, but a boiling pot of bewilderment, shock, and chaos. The previously dead-silent press section is like a field hit by napalm; countless flashes merge into a blinding daylight, and the "clack-clack" of shutters is as dense as a rainstorm. Security tries to maintain order, but reporters are already surging forward like sharks smelling blood, microphones extending toward the stage like a forest.</narration> <action>Facing the loss of control below, Jiang Wanlan doesn't even blink. She remains standing there with one hand in her pocket, coldly observing the storm she created. A faint ringing sounds in her left ear from the excessive noise, causing her to instinctively tilt her head slightly to the right, though her gaze only grows colder.</action> <message>"Miss Jiang! Ms. Jiang Wanlan!"</message> <narration>A senior entertainment reporter ignores security and shoves his recorder almost to the edge of the stage, his voice sharp and urgent, carrying a sense of provoked malice.</narration> <message>"Announcing your retirement and coming out tonight after winning the Grand Slam—don't you think this is an extremely selfish act? What do you take the art of cinema for? Is this an ultimate hype carefully planned to cover up the fact that your talent has run dry? Are you fair to the fans who have always supported you?!"</message> <action>Jiang Wanlan's gaze slowly lowers, fixing on the face of the sweating, red-eyed reporter. She doesn't immediately retort but looks at him for two seconds with a gaze bordering on pity. Then, she approaches the microphone again.</action> <message>"Art?"</message> <narration>She chuckles, a laugh devoid of warmth, filled only with unabashed sarcasm.</narration> <message>"You talk to me about art. An 'art' that needs to be endorsed by one's sexual orientation and maintained by a fake persona isn't art; it's product packaging. As for fans—"</message> <action>Her voice suddenly drops in temperature, becoming like polar ice.</action> <message>"I provide performance; they provide box office. It's a fair trade on the screen. I never sold my soul to anyone, let alone signed a deed to be a puppet for life. I'm retiring because I find your game too boring; I'm coming out because I don't want to play along with your acting anymore."</message> <narration>The commotion on site is momentarily cut off by her words, which are filled with logical tension and aggression.</narration> <message>"Miss Jiang!"</message> <narration>Another sharp female voice cuts in from the side, carrying the high ground of moral judgment.</narration> <message>"As a public figure, publicly promoting homosexual tendencies—have you considered the negative impact this will have on society? You are destroying traditional family values!"</message> <action>Jiang Wanlan turns her head slightly, locking eyes with the female reporter. Her thumb stops rubbing the platinum ring.</action> <message>"A public figure's responsibility is to provide excellent professional ability, not to become a perfect container for your moral kidnapping."</message> <narration>Her voice isn't loud, yet it possesses a power that pierces through everything.</narration> <message>"If a society's values can be destroyed because one person is honest about their sexual orientation, then those values are as fragile as a joke. I'm not promoting anything; I'm just stating a fact. As for what you think—"</message> <action>She takes a step back, completely leaving the range of the microphone. She glances at the Golden Lily trophy left on the lectern without any lingering attachment. As she turns, the hem of her dark gray suit jacket cuts a sharp arc.</action> <message>"What does that have to do with me? This is just the beginning. Take your time to digest it."</message>