80: Chapter 80 Wu Fan's Downfall

Chen Mo's personal trainer is named Marcus, a former NFL strength and conditioning coach who worked in the league for eight years before retiring to develop physical conditioning for top-tier Hollywood artists.

His gym is located in a converted industrial building in Culver City. The exterior is painted dark grey, and there is no signage at the entrance—only a faded sticker on the access control system, depicting a clenched fist.

Marcus's training philosophy is simple: Physical fitness is the foundation; everything else is fluff.

Today's appointment is for a fitness test to build up stamina for the intensive performances of the upcoming awards season.

The awards season begins in October, spanning the American Music Awards, the Billboard year-end charts, and the Grammy Awards nominations, all the way until next February. Every stop is a war of attrition on one's stamina, involving red carpets, performances, flights, and jet lag.

When Chen Mo arrived, Marcus was already standing at the door.

He was bald, his neck was thicker than his head, and his forearms were covered in old scars.

He held a clipboard, densely printed with test items.

"Twenty minutes on the treadmill, keep your heart rate under 150, then squats, deadlifts, and bench presses, five sets each, followed by a core endurance test," he said, looking at Chen Mo. "What time did you go to sleep last night?"

"Two o'clock."

Marcus made a note on the clipboard without saying anything.

As the treadmill started, Chen Mo pulled out his earphones from his pocket and put them on.

It was a demo version of his new song. The melodic line for the chorus was set, but the string arrangement in the bridge was still lacking something.

He adjusted the speed to eight and stabilized his cadence. The demo in his earphones transitioned from the verse to the chorus.

In the third bar, the strings came in half a beat later than expected.

He frowned slightly.

Marcus stood next to the treadmill with his arms crossed, asking curiously, "What are you listening to?"

"My own song. It's not mixed yet."

"Are you here at the gym to train your fitness or your songs?"

"Only when my fitness is good can the songs be good."

The corners of Marcus's mouth twitched. He didn't reply, just looked down and made another note on the clipboard.

Twenty minutes later, the heart rate curve was steadily kept under 150, with a maximum of 148 and a minimum of 132.

Marcus glanced at the data, flipped the page on the clipboard, and said, "Squats."

When Chen Mo was on the eighth rep of his third set of squats, his phone on the floor lit up.

A notification popped up on the screen—the EMA nominations had been announced: Artist of the Year, Best Pop/Rock Male Artist, Album of the Year, Song of the Year—four nominations in total.

He glanced at it, turned the screen off, placed it back on the floor, and gripped the barbell again.

"Not going to celebrate?" Marcus stood behind him, his hands hovering to spot the barbell.

"I'll celebrate after finishing this set."

Fourth set, twelfth rep. The barbell was racked back onto the squat rack.

Chen Mo stood up, wiped the sweat off his face with a towel, then picked up his phone and read the notification from top to bottom.

The list of nominees for Artist of the Year also included The Weeknd, Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran, and Ariana Grande.

Foreign names look more pleasing in English.

He sent a screenshot to Scott with the message "Handle it," then put the phone down and walked back to the barbell.

"One more set," Marcus said.

"I know."

After finishing the fifth set, Chen Mo racked the barbell and leaned on his knees to catch his breath.

Marcus made a few notes on the clipboard, looked up, and raised an eyebrow. "Now you can celebrate."

Chen Mo unscrewed his water bottle, took a sip, and panted.

"Celebration's over."

At the same time, in a private club in Beverly Hills, Los Angeles, rented by Luc.

When Kris Wu arrived, Vin Diesel and Donnie Yen were already sitting on the sofa.

Luc stood up and introduced him in English with a French accent: "Kris Wu, our new member. He's playing an agent; his role is very cool."

Kris Wu nodded and sat down by the sofa. He was wearing a black couture shirt today, his hair dyed back to dark brown, and he had adjusted his entire state to the most tense level possible.

Before coming, his manager had repeatedly instructed him: Luc's roots in Hollywood are deeper than you think. Whoever he introduces you to, talk to them properly. Don't put on airs, but don't be too aggressive either. Just be natural.

Luc sat down and poured himself a glass of sparkling water.

"I'm taking you to meet someone today. He's not an actor, nor is he a director, but the top-tier directors and actors in Hollywood all know him."

Vin Diesel leaned lazily against the back of the sofa and asked, "Who?"

"You'll know soon enough. James Mangold, the director of logan and Walk the Line. His last film made hundreds of millions globally. The theme song for the third Thor movie was written by this person."

Luc seemed very eager to share, gesturing as he talked.

"Mangold gave him full authority over the theme song without saying a single extra word. Tom Hiddleston, Marvel's Loki, took the initiative to hand him his private business card, begging him to write the score for the destruction of Asgard. Scarlett—"

Luc paused, his mouth curving upward. Vin Diesel's eyebrows raised slightly.

"That night at the Cartier gala, she approached him. No one knows what happened afterward, but the next morning, someone saw her in the elevator of the Cartier hotel, wearing his suit jacket."

There was a moment of silence in the lounge.

"I know this guy Luc is talking about. Zootopia, the one who bullied the director," Vin Diesel clapped his hands together and clicked his tongue in admiration. "A superstar."

"His name is Chen Mo, twenty years old, from China." Luc put down his sparkling water glass and shook his head, his eyes filled with that kind of sentiment that 'you can't compare yourself to some people'.

"He's not a Hollywood insider, but the very top circle of Hollywood knows him. Huang Bo, that Chinese actor, the Chinese engineer role in logan—Chen Mo said one word, and James gave him the opportunity. They talked about the role, and it was set just like that."

Kris Wu's fingers froze on the armrest of the sofa. A massive wave of shame washed over him.

Chen Mo.

Several voices rang out in his mind simultaneously, but on the surface, he didn't move a muscle.

The expression management classes he took in Korea had not failed him.

The theme song was him, the Billboard consecutive champion was him, the Forbes cover was him, Kobe Bryant sending the jersey was him, the one James Mangold listened to was him, Scarlett walking out of the hotel elevator wearing his jacket was him.

He thought that going to Hollywood to film xxx was getting a head start in the film industry, but it turned out Chen Mo hadn't even entered the race.

He had walked straight to the judge's bench.

"He has that much pull in Hollywood?" Donnie Yen asked, his voice low but solid. "I know he's very popular right now."

"This isn't just about pull. Everyone wants to work with him because he has something others don't." Luc stood up. "Let's go. He doesn't have work today; he's waiting for us at the gym."

When the gym door was pushed open, Chen Mo was in the middle of a core endurance test.

Plank position. Sweat was dripping from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, and onto the yoga mat.

Marcus was squatting beside him, clicking a stopwatch, saying, "One and a half minutes left."

Chen Mo gritted his teeth and held on.

The sound of the door being pushed open came over, followed by the footsteps of several people.

He didn't look up.

Marcus checked for him and asked in confusion, "You invited someone?"

Chen Mo said no.