Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm Chapter 698 - 690: The Incubus Shows Mercy to "Beauty"

The drama begins.

Consider it Oscar's eighty-sothing anniversary celebration.

At this year's awards, naturally there had to be so commorative and retrospective segnts.

Nearly every major award announcent was preceded by short video montages featuring past winners, and sprinkled in between were clips of many iconic performances—especially that picture-perfect couple ~ Ugh, textbook cliché.

For so reason, Hollywood always insists on glorifying pure and devoted love. Maybe it's precisely because they lack it.

This year, in the race for the major Oscars, everyone seed unusually calm.

Basically, everyone knew in their hearts that the Best Picture race was going to co down to a battle between two equally powerful and bloody films—There will be blood and No Country for Old n. Everything else was just tagging along for the ride.

Aside from Best Picture, these two films also dominated the nominations for Best Director, Best Cinematography, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Sound Editing, and Best Film Editing—a head-to-head clash between two giants.

And interestingly, these two rivals had a lot in common: Both were adapted from noir novels, both set in Texas, both featured iconic desert landscapes, and both relied heavily on visual storytelling and editing rather than dialogue. More obviously, they were both filled with evil, bloodshed, conspiracy, and money—typical films exposing the darker side of society.

yers Studios' Juno also received four nominations, but Martin knew there was no chance they'd take ho any major awards.

It wasn't that he didn't want to help Juno snag a few key wins—like getting Lindsay Lohan nominated for Best Actress.

It just wasn't necessary.

Doing so would only push the little girl into the lilight, making her an imdiate target for public scrutiny. Even if Martin could make a few calls to the mainstream dia, he couldn't control what happened online.

A undeserved crown is a crown that crushes.And that's never a good thing.

No rush. Lindsay journey is just beginning—there will be opportunities.

"The winner for Best Supporting Actress is..."

"The award for Best Original Screenplay goes to..."

"The Best Actor award goes to..."

As each guest presenter took the stage, little golden statuettes were handed out one by one.

yers Studios' Trial King won Best Animated Feature; The Bourne Supremacy snagged Best Editing, Best Sound Mixing, and Best Sound Editing; Juno also picked up Best Original Screenplay.

That was the entirety of yers Studios' haul at this year's Oscars.

No Country for Old n erged the biggest winner. The Coen brothers' Western took ho four major awards: Best Picture, Best Director, Best Supporting Actor, and Best Adapted Screenplay.

Its biggest rival, There will be blood, managed to take ho only two: Best Actor and Best Cinematography.

Finally, with host Jon Stewart's satirical closing remarks about the Oscars being "the fairest, most transparent, most just awards in cinema," the ceremony wrapped up.

"Why do I feel like Jon Stewart was being sarcastic at the end there?" Lindsay Lohan cursed as they were heading back.

Martin chuckled. "You're not wrong. The guy was absolutely mocking the whole thing. Fair and just Oscars? That's a joke. One that opens and ends the show. Jon Stewart nailed it."

Alexandra Daddario, seated beside Martin, looked a little surprised. As a rookie in the entertainnt industry, she still held so reverence and awe for the Oscars.

Seeing her expression, Martin smiled and explained, "Behind the tidy façade of the Oscars is a swamp of dirty dealings—power, money, and connections all co into play. Those so-called 'artistic rits' and 'performance quality' are just basic chips on the table."

"Oh my God, is it really like that? That's so different from what I imagined," Alexandra said, her chest heaving with excitent.

"How did you imagine it?" Lindsay Lohan asked with interest.

"In my imagination," Alexandra said earnestly, "Oscar voters should be locked in so private screening room, watching each nominated film one after another... During this ti, they'd be completely cut off from the outside world—no phones, no internet... Then they'd cast their votes anonymously..." (HAHAHAHAHA)

Martin burst into laughter.

"Sweetheart, you're far too naive. Do you know how I once saw an Academy mber vote? He wrote the nas of the nominated films on slips of paper and had his five-year-old granddaughter draw one at random. Whichever she picked, that's how he voted..."

Alexandra's blue eyes widened—utterly adorable.

"You shouldn't treat the Oscars like a serious award ceremony," Martin said. "It's a party. A grand, pretentious party that tries to mix humanity, art, comrce, and a whole bunch of 'favor-trading' into one big pie-sharing festival. Predictions and rivalries? Just party gas. If you love cinema, then go watch movies. If you're after sothing truly noble, you'd be better off paying attention to the Sundance or Cannes—at least they have so actual principles."

"Don't let the glitzy, blinding façade brainwash you."

"The Academy's stance is weird. They want high viewership, yet try to distance themselves from comrcialism. They want to promote art, but don't dare push boundaries, so they stay vague and ambiguous. The so-called Academy? Who knows what that really ans. All I know is they're just as vulgar—just in a more 'respectable' way. Otherwise, they wouldn't have handed a major award to Titanic. If they really had the guts to do that, I might actually respect those old farts."

Martin's candid rant tore apart the myth of the Oscars, shattering the dream in Alexandra's heart.

"Hey, Daddy, aren't you also an Academy voter? Aren't you just insulting yourself?" Lindsay Lohan said with a smirk.

"Daddy?" Alexandra thought to herself. "That's an interesting nickna!"

Martin laughed heartily. "I never said I was so noble soul. In fact, whenever I can, I vote for whatever benefits most—like Ratatouille and Juno. I guarantee both will see a sales bump in the next week."

They returned to the luxury estate in Beverly Hills.

The three of them enjoyed a so-called "pleasurable" bath together.

Just as Martin carried the girls back to the bedroom, ready for round two, his phone rang.

"Who the hell is calling now?"

Martin answered, his tone impatient.

Naturally—interrupted at such a mont—who wouldn't be annoyed?

A trembling female voice ca from the line. "Is... is this Mr. yers?"

"Speaking. Who's this?"

The voice sounded familiar, and Martin tried to recall which girl he'd given his number to. The answer soon revealed itself.

"It's —gan, gan Fox. Do you rember ?"

Recognition dawned. "Ah, it's you! Of course I rember. What's up?"

His tone noticeably softened.

This was the Incubus showing her special brand of rcy—for the sake of beauty.