Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 70

The signing of <Chronicles of Winter> proceeded without any hitches. Both parties sat down and signed the contract steadily, with everything written in black and white and stamped with a red seal.

Back in the nanny van, Wang Xi turned around, rhythmically tapping the back of the seat in front of Ran Lin and Liu Wanwan as they spoke, reminiscent of a teacher tapping on the blackboard to remind the students to “take notes on the key points”.

Ran Lin and Liu Wanwan paused their conversation and looked up together.

Wang Xi looked at her artist, pride evident in her deliberate words. “From now on, your value has doubled.”

Ran Lin was surprised at the direct impact of a single contract. “Double now?”

Wang Xi noticed her artist’s surprise, not at the doubling but at the timing, and chuckled. “So, when would you like it to double?”

“The sooner, the better.” Ran Lin laughed. “But I thought we have to wait until <Chronicles of Winter> is released.”

Wang Xi grew fonder of her charge by the moment, even their worldly talk of money seemed charmingly vulgar, cheeky, and refreshingly unconventional.

“Everyone in the circle is sharp,” Wang Xi said. “Tomorrow, the news of your signing <Chronicles of Winter> will spread, and with the popularity you’ve gained from <Sword of Fallen Flowers> anyone with a bit of sense will see you’re set to rise next year. Wait until <Chronicles of Winter> is released to come looking for you? By then, even money won’t buy availability, and the opportunity will have gone cold.”

Seeing Ran Lin pensive, Wang Xi continued, “In the future, if you go public with a relationship, especially if your other half is also a female artist, you’ll be inundated with a couple variety show offers. If you’re planning to get married, even before the wedding, you’ll be approached with ads for all sorts of home goods because they’ve already seen your future public image—like the sweet boyfriend or the ideal domestic man. In short, investors and brands are always the quickest to sniff out potential.”

Wang Xi was just using these examples to help Ran Lin understand why signing a contract could immediately increase their worth, even before filming. But when Ran Lin heard “romance” and “marriage”, a flicker of something crossed his heart.

That flicker showed on his face—the most direct and genuine reaction, unguarded. Even though he quickly covered it, Wang Xi noticed something was off.

“What’s wrong?” Wang Xi asked, puzzled.

“Nothing.” Ran Lin forced a smile and half-seriously responded, “Just that love and marriage seem a bit far off.”

“Not far off at all.” Wang Xi, thinking her artist was facing some unknown emotional turmoil, responded with unneeded worry, “Don’t think there’s no rush because you’re young. Once you get busy, you’ll see how fast time flies. Before you know it, you’ll be thirty. Are you going to not date till then?”

Wang Xi’s teasing gaze clearly showed, “Don’t pretend to be an innocent boy with me.”

Ran Lin managed a faint smile, more to himself than agreeing with Wang Xi. “Yeah, dating is still necessary.”

“Date if you must,” Wang Xi leaned forward, earnestly advising, “but you have to let me know, or else if you’re spotted, we’ll be very passive… Ah!”

Suddenly, the driver hit the brakes hard.

Wang Xi, half-turned from the front passenger seat to the back to talk, was jostled around, nearly hitting her head.

It turned out the car in front had rear-ended the one before it, and thankfully the driver braked in time, avoiding a chain collision.

After the brief scare, the driver maneuvered around the accident and soon returned to a smooth drive.

Wang Xi quickly forgot the previous “prevention is better than cure” topic, sitting upright and buckling up, no longer daring to be flippant.

Ran Lin lowered their eyes, exhaling softly.

The next morning, Ran Lin checked the time on his phone upon waking and noticed a WeChat message from Lu Yiyao sent at three in the morning—[Congratulations on signing 👏, but I remember someone said they wouldn’t let me find out about their affairs from others. If it happens again, get ready to lay flat and surrender? 🤔]

Ran Lin typed back with a smirk—[I’m already lying flat like a pancake, warm and ready. When will you come? If you don’t come soon, I’ll cool down 😳]

Almost immediately, he received a reply—[😠]

This emoji was almost exclusively used by Xia Xinran, and suddenly seeing it from Lu Yiyao, Ran Lin couldn’t help but burst into laughter, unable to imagine his expression—[You can’t blame me if you miss out 🤷]

After a while, the other side replied—[I like your current tone. Try to keep it until I finish my shoot and come back 😊】

Ran Lin paused, instinctively asking—[What tone?]

Lu Yiyao—[Flirty.]

Ran Lin’s face nearly burst into flames.

He realized that not only was he improving, but Lu Yiyao was also leveling up. At this rate, he would never have a day to turn things around!

Lu Yiyao—[I’ve arrived at the set, can’t talk much now.]

Ran Lin was surprised and looked at the time; it was only 6:30 a.m.—[You’re starting work this early? You’ve only slept for three hours!]

Lu Yiyao—[The filming schedule is quite tight these days.]

Ran Lin—[I’ll wait for your successful wrap-up.]

Lu Yiyao—[Next time I definitely won’t drink!]

Ran Lin chuckled, feeling a small surge of excited anticipation mixed with a touch of longing.

August ended with the signing of <Chronicles of Winter>.

In September, the weather gradually cooled, and although the midday sun was still fierce, the mornings and evenings became much more pleasant.

Just as Wang Xi said, the signing of <Chronicles of Winter> gave other financiers and brands confidence, directly boosting his worth. The most immediate change was the increase in advertisements and scripts coming his way.

However, most of these eager parties were looking for quick profits, so the quality of brands and scripts varied greatly. Wang Xi spent a long time selecting and finalized an advertisement for a drink and a men’s skincare product. As for scripts, she initially filtered them before passing the decent ones to him.

When Gu Jie called, Ran Lin was looking at a TV drama script titled <Song Dingbo Catching Demons>.

It was actually <Song Dingbo Exorcising Ghosts>, but due to censorship, “ghosts” were changed to “demons”. The script added characters and expanded on the original story, adopting a style of fantasy and light comedy, with eighty episodes planned. Honestly, the screenwriter’s adaptation was quite cute. Despite the name suggesting a cheesy drama, the storyline was smooth and logical. The script could pass with more than a passing grade, and if well executed, it might become a summer hit.

However, from an actor’s perspective, Ran Lin was somewhat apprehensive about this kind of unrestrained fantasy comedy.

The characters and storylines were exaggerated and wild, seeking to entertain with bizarre and spirited antics. If done well, it could dominate the summer and bring laughter to the audience. But more often than not, poorly executed ones ended up as cringe-worthy disasters.

Wang Xi could guess what her artist was thinking just by looking at Ran Lin’s expression while flipping through the script.

She had mixed feelings about the script too, but ultimately, she presented it to Ran Lin. The script wasn’t solicited by her but was sent directly to Dreams Without Limits, initiated by a friend of the boss, effectively a high-level communication. When the discussions were nearly finalized, the boss approached Wang Xi, suggesting she consider the project for Ran Lin, somewhat pushing him into it.

What was so good about it?

Of course, the pay was attractive.

With an eighty-episode length, the planned filming schedule was only a month longer than <Chronicles of Winter> but the pay was several times higher. For the same few months of work, the company naturally preferred such deals.

Of course, commercial blockbusters like <Chronicles of Winter> that elevated an artist’s fame and value were needed too. So, this script didn’t clash with the <Chronicles of Winter> schedule, with the start date set for next April…

“Xi Jie.” Ran Lin closed the script, shaking his head solemnly at his agent. “I can’t do this.”

Wang Xi broke off her thoughts, looking at Ran Lin, not surprised by his response. “I know you don’t really want to do this kind of show, but from the company’s perspective…”

“It’s not just about the show, but the schedule too,” Ran Lin said. “It clashes with the filming of <Dyeing Fire>.”

Since that dinner party, there had been no follow-up on <Dyeing Fire>, and Wang Xi thought the project had fallen through. Surprised to hear Ran Lin mention it again, she asked, “<Dyeing Fire>… isn’t off?”

Ran Lin didn’t understand why his agent would think so. “Didn’t I tell you after I returned that day? Director He was very satisfied with me, but he said we need to wait for the script to be rewritten before signing anything. Otherwise, actors won’t even know what they’re playing, which can lead to problems.”

Last month’s report did indeed say so, but Wang Xi thought these were just polite rejections, common in the industry where many projects fizzle out with a gentle letdown. Usually, the quicker the response to wait, the more likely it’s a stalling tactic. “So it’s not a gentle rejection, but actually waiting for the script?”

Ran Lin couldn’t help but smile. “Really waiting. If you had dinner with Director He, you’d understand. He’s not the kind of person who beats around the bush. He’s very straightforward.”

Wang Xi pondered for a moment and asked, “With <Dyeing Fire> being delayed and rescheduled, can you be sure it will definitely start this April?”

Ran Lin fell silent for a moment, hesitating before saying, “I can’t. Even if it starts in May or June, the schedules still clash.”

“What if it starts in August? Then the schedules wouldn’t overlap,” Wang Xi recalled Director He’s “dark history” and felt it was a possibility.

Ran Lin gave a wry smile. “Xi Jie, you said it’s ‘what if,’ which means there’s a 9,999 out of 10,000 chance that the schedules will clash. I can’t take that risk.”

“Do you really want to act in this movie that much?” Wang Xi asked calmly, not trying to persuade but offering a perspective from her own experience. “Maybe the film will win awards, but it’s not a big-budget production, and its niche style means a limited audience, which won’t help much in expanding your popularity.”

“I’ve thought it through, Xi Jie.” Ran Lin looked at his agent firmly. “If I just wanted to be famous and have tens of millions of fans, this movie could be optional. But if I want to be a good actor. This is a very rare opportunity. If I miss it, there might not be a second chance.”

Wang Xi’s lips moved slightly, but she remained silent, as if she had more to say but was unsure whether to proceed.

Ran Lin, growing impatient, chuckled and teased, “Xi Jie, just say what you’re thinking. You’re not usually one to hold back.”

Wang Xi rolled her eyes at him. “Do you realize how many opportunities you’ll lose if you wait for several months?”

“I have no choice.” Ran Lin shrugged innocently. “I’ve already promised Gu Jie that I’d do it, and that was after he confirmed with me multiple times. I can’t go back on my word.”

Wang Xi sighed. “You’re really committed.”

Ran Lin said truthfully, “Mostly because I’m afraid he’d beat me up. With his build, he’d be a hero in ancient times.”

Wang Xi couldn’t help but laugh at her artist’s unseriousness but was interrupted by Ran Lin’s ringing phone.

Before she could see who was calling, Ran Lin had already picked up the phone from the coffee table. “Hello…”

Wang Xi, seeing that Ran Lin didn’t move away or signal her to leave, leaned back into the sofa and waited patiently. However, as she listened, she realized something was off… Actually, she didn’t even need to listen; just seeing the animated expression on Ran Lin’s face told her this call was unusual.

“Really? That’s great… Don’t worry, no problem… I know… Right, if I go back on my word, we’ll cut ties…”

Wang Xi had just taken a sip of water and almost choked on the last part of his sentence.

Cut ties… Are you in kindergarten?!

After hanging up, Ran Lin, oblivious to his agent’s expression, immediately reported, “That was Gu Jie. The script for <Dyeing Fire> is out, and the start date is set for April 3^rd!”

Wang Xi had guessed as much, but she was more curious. “It’s not Gu Jie’s movie. Even if you stood him up, you’d be standing up the director. Why would he cut ties with you?”

Ran Lin explained, “Because he introduced me to Director He and vouched for me, saying he knows my character well and that I wouldn’t go back on my word.”

“……” Wang Xi, having seen too many instances where verbal promises mean nothing in the face of interests, felt a surge of respect for these two artists, almost wanting to award them a “Righteous Duo” banner.

“When are you signing the contract?”

“They want to sign as soon as possible, probably sending the contract this week.”

“Alright.” Wang Xi picked up the <Song Dingbo Catches Demons> script. “I’ll help you decline this one with the company.”

“Thanks.” Ran Lin nodded vigorously, half joking to help his agent strategize. “Just tell the boss that I might become an award-winning actor after <Dyeing Fire> with a golden future ahead!”

“You just focus on doing well in <Chronicles of Winter> first!”

Unable to bear it anymore, Wang Xi tapped him on the head and got up to leave, no longer lingering.

After sending Wang Xi off, Ran Lin held his phone and grinned stupidly for a while. After his laughter subsided, he immediately sent a message—[Guess who’s in Director He’s new film <Dyeing Fire>? Double male leads. One is Gu Jie, and you’ll never guess who the other is!]

Lu Yiyao, who was eating lunch, looked at the message on his phone and felt like his intelligence was being insulted.

……

At the same time, Wang Xi left Ran Lin’s apartment and went straight back to the company.

In front of Ran Lin, she had appeared “so easy”, but only she knew that the upcoming refusal would be a fierce battle—rejecting one offer and accepting <Dyeing Fire> meant the company would lose nearly ten million.

Other agencies with numerous well-known artists under their wings might not care about this sum and might even arrange for their idols to appear in prestigious films for no fee just to maintain their presence. But for Dream Without Limits, which in recent years had only really promoted one artist, Han Ze, nothing was more concrete than cold, hard cash. Even Han Ze, at the beginning of his rise to fame, had taken on some high-paying but low-quality projects.

The company’s logic was simple: if they made you a star, you needed to reciprocate.

However, artists always seek better development and plans more beneficial to their careers, leading to frequent disputes between them and their agencies, especially those who suddenly rise to fame.

Such disputes can be detrimental to young artists. The newly famous are not yet firmly established; their popularity can wane as quickly as it rose. If the company decides to drag things out, they can effectively quash an artist’s momentum.

Wang Xi didn’t want Ran Lin to fall into this mire. She might not manage Ran Lin forever, but at least for now, she wanted to do everything possible to help him navigate a balance between personal development and company demands.

En route to the company, Wang Xi mulled over her arguments. Once at the office, she dropped off her bag, took a brief rest, and then called her assistant to check if the boss was in.

To her surprise, the assistant said the boss was indeed in and wanted to see her.

Wondering what was going on, Wang Xi headed to the boss’s office and discovered another person there, chatting amiably with the boss. She recognized the person from her time at Pentium Times, where they had worked together for a few years before losing touch.

Wang Xi suspected the boss had a particular fixation on Pentium Times. Otherwise, it made no sense to always recruit from there.

“No need for introductions. You two are old acquaintances,” the boss said warmly, a rare amiability in his tone.

“Long time no see.” Wang Xi extended her hand first.

Deng Minru, five or six years her junior, stood up and courteously responded, “Xi Jie, please guide me in the future.”

The little girl from her memories had become a formidable figure. Even though Deng Minru tried to appear unassuming, Wang Xi could feel the other’s aura—familiar because they were similar.

“The future of Dream Without Limits’ brokerage department is in your hands,” the boss said with earnest hope. “I expect you to lead us to new heights!”

The boss was skilled at weaving personal agendas into seemingly routine encouragement—clearly, Deng Minru was being positioned to have equal standing with her.

Wang Xi hid her thoughts behind a smile, ready to express her loyalty with something like “I will not let the company down,” but the boss skipped the formalities and got straight to the point. “Since you’re both here today, go back to your office and hand over Han Ze’s information and situation to Minru. She’s already visited the set and communicated directly, so there should be no issues.”

Wang Xi was slightly irked by Deng Minru’s quick action but let the feeling pass quickly, replaced by a sense of relief at finally severing ties with Han Ze.

“Minru,” Wang Xi began gently. “Could you wait in my office for a bit? I need to discuss something with the boss…”

Deng Minru, sharp as ever, understood immediately. “No problem. I’m not in a hurry. I’ll head over first.”

After the “new colleague” left and the door closed again, the boss’s demeanor darkened. “Why make her wait in your office? Are you showing dominance?”

Wang Xi felt the trust the company had in her waning due to Han Ze’s recent downturns. As a result, the boss was less cordial and more authoritative with her than in previous years.

In the past, Wang Xi would have bristled at such treatment, but now she knew better than to react. Keeping a low profile and focusing on her goals was more important than temporary satisfaction.

With this in mind, Wang Xi offered a resigned smile. “I actually need to discuss something important with you.”

The boss raised an eyebrow at her. “What’s the matter?”

“You know the script you gave me…” Wang Xi carefully began. “Ran Lin might not be able to take it.”

The boss didn’t explode but asked in a deep voice, “Does he dislike the script?”

“No, no.” Wang Xi immediately shook her head. “The script is appealing, and the payment is very tempting, but he has already promised Director He to shoot his new film.”

The boss frowned slightly. “Which Director He?”

Wang Xi replied, “He Guan.”

The boss tapped his fingertips on the desk, pondered for a moment, then said, “Push it.”

Wang Xi raised her voice slightly, her tone seemingly surprised. “That’s exactly what I thought too! I said the same to him!”

The boss was taken aback, assuming Wang Xi was going to argue on behalf of the artist.

Wang Xi continued, “I explained it thoroughly to him. I told him that Director He’s films have a narrow audience and won’t help much with popularity. Plus, the payment is low, and the shooting often lacks a fixed wrap date. Who likes to shoot Director He’s films? Either newcomers or even amateurs happy to be on the big screen, or big stars who don’t care about fame or money and just want to boost their credentials and improve their acting skills. For someone like him, who’s on the rise but not yet firmly established, it’s critical to strike while the iron is hot and increase visibility as much as possible. It’s foolish to spend half a year or even a year on one film.”

The boss liked what he heard and even thought that Wang Xi’s persuasion was probably better than if he had done it himself. He nodded in agreement. “Exactly. The choice is clear, isn’t it?”

“But…” Wang Xi feigned difficulty. “There’s one thing he mentioned that got me thinking.”

The boss’s curiosity was piqued. “What is it?”

“He said that during dinner, Director He personally revealed to him,” Wang Xi leaned in closer and whispered, “that this film has been in preparation for several years and is guaranteed to sweep domestic film festivals once completed, if not international ones.”

“Everyone boasts over drinks; that’s what drinking is for,” the boss scoffed. “You believe that?”

“If it were someone else, I wouldn’t, but this is He Guan we’re talking about,” Wang Xi argued. “You know his reputation in the country and the quality and acclaim of his films. Even if he can’t compare to his peak, he can easily outdo the current mass-produced films domestically.”

“Imagine if Ran Lin really wins Best Actor for this film, even just domestically. Among his peers, he would be breaking out.” Wang Xi pressed on, “Not only would his fee increase, but the caliber of endorsements would skyrocket. Just from the endorsement fees, the company would make a fortune.”

The boss frowned, pondering the credibility of this bright future.

“Although it’s a bit like undermining our own brand,” Wang Xi pressed further. “I’ve managed Han Ze for years and never really secured an opportunity for him to work with a top director as the lead. This time luck has fallen on Ran Lin’s lap. It’s not just his luck, but our company’s fortune. If he misses this, it’s a small thing to lose an opportunity, but if it damages our momentum, it’s a big loss.”

Many businessmen believe in feng shui and destiny, and the boss was no exception.

While he had been hesitant initially, the mention of potentially damaging the company’s fortune made him unsettled. Logically, he knew Wang Xi was manipulating, but psychologically, doubts crept in.

“How much is Director He offering?” he asked, still concerned about the financial aspect.

Wang Xi hesitated before revealing a number.

The boss’s face darkened, and Wang Xi quickly continued before he could scold her. “Ran Lin also knows this will cause a loss for the company, so he proposed that after shooting Director He’s film, he’d take on a high-paying TV drama. If not high-paying, then one with more episodes, but either way, he is determined to make up for the company’s investment and loss.”

The boss seemed somewhat appeased. “Did he really say that?”

“Why would I make up lies for him? I’m signed with Dream Without Limits, not Ran Lin,” Wang Xi said convincingly, then added, “But to be honest, the kid really is quite considerate.”

The boss nodded, somewhat moved. “It’s rare to find someone who’s grateful these days.”

He leaned back in his chair and asked, “When is the contract with Director He’s film being signed?”

Wang Xi answered, “As soon as this week, at the latest next week.”

“Alright then,” the boss concluded. “Make sure to avoid clashing schedules for this film. Look for a suitable TV drama and sign it as soon as possible to fill the gap for next year’s latter half. Don’t worry about the rest; once <Chronicles of Winter> hits theaters next year, his fee will increase again.”

……

Back in the office, Wang Xi and Deng Minru handled the handover regarding Han Ze. Despite the changes, Wang Xi provided Deng Minru with the most comprehensive information, including her understanding of and plans for Han Ze. Whether or not the new partnership adopted these strategies was now their concern.

By the time Deng Minru left, it was nearly 4 p.m.

Wang Xi stood up, looking out at the skyscrapers, suddenly feeling a bit tired.

After leaving Pentium Times, she joined Dream Without Limits, once believing her career would be tied to the company for the latter half of her life. She had even envisioned turning this modest company into an industry leader.

However, reality proved that she had overestimated both herself and Dream Without Limits.

After drinking half a cup of coffee, Wang Xi called Ran Lin. She skipped the details and just reported the outcome. “We’ve declined <Song Dingbo Catches Demons>, and <Dyeing Fire> can be signed, but afterward, you must sign a TV drama to help the company make money. You can’t be too picky.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, so long that Wang Xi thought Ran Lin was brewing a storm of protest.

Finally, a voice came through. “You’ve worked hard, Xi Jie.”

Wang Xi suspected her slightly heavy and tired tone gave away her feelings, or perhaps her clever artist had anticipated the possible consequences of rejecting the TV drama. Either way, his simple words brought a breeze of relief to her heart, cool and soothing.

“It’s not hard,” Wang Xi found herself saying. “Just do well in your roles and don’t waste any opportunities.”

There was a pause on the other end before Ran Lin assured, “I promise.”

……

By the end of October, <Split Moon> had wrapped up.

This film didn’t require Lu Yiyao to lose weight, but by the end, he had lost several pounds and looked worn and pale, matching the troubled character he portrayed in the film.

Yao Hong, who had returned to Beijing two months earlier, personally went to the capital airport to pick him up. Seeing him in person almost broke her heart. Once they managed to get through the crowd of fans and into the nanny van, Yao Hong shot a few deadly glares at Li Tong.

Yao Hong rarely glared at anyone, but when she did, it was lethal.

Li Tong felt wronged and was about to complain when Lu Yiyao noticed and chuckled. “Hong Jie, Li Tong has been very diligent and responsible. If you want to avenge my lost good looks, go find the director.”

Yao Hong gave him a look and affectionately pinched his face. “No worries, we’ll eat back what was lost.”

Lu Yiyao’s face, typically that of a mature city man, had become more angular and rugged with the weight loss, adding a certain hardness to his worn look. Still, he preferred his former self.

He decided to rest and recuperate for a few days to regain his vitality before reuniting with his lover.

The temperature in Beijing was much lower than in Xiamen. By the end of October, the streets had the early signs of autumn. Lu Yiyao rolled down the car window slightly, letting the crisp air refresh him and blow away months of accumulated stress from his role.

When they reached the underground parking of his apartment, Lu Yiyao felt a real sense of return, not just physically but mentally.

“Get some good sleep,” Yao Hong instructed worriedly.

Lu Yiyao nodded and got out of the car.

Li Tong had already gotten out and was handling the luggage, but Lu Yiyao bypassed him and tapped on the passenger window where Yao Hong was sitting.

Confused, Yao Hong lowered the window. “What’s up?”

Lu Yiyao said, “Come up with me. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Yao Hong’s brows furrowed slightly, sensing something serious. “Something… serious?”

“Mm,” Lu Yiyao admitted a bit resignedly. “It’s very important, and I need to talk to you about it.”

Sensing the urgency and importance of the matter, Yao Hong knew she couldn’t just avoid it. So she got out of the car, told the driver it might be a while, and all three headed up to Lu Yiyao’s place.

Once inside, Li Tong conscientiously took the luggage to the guest room to start unpacking for his boss, while Lu Yiyao led Yao Hong to the living room couch.

Yao Hong, not eager to dive into what seemed to be a heavy conversation, asked, “Don’t you want to change your clothes first?”

Lu Yiyao shook his head, took a deep breath as if making a significant decision, and said, “Hong Jie, I don’t want to take on any new gigs starting now.”

Yao Hong was shocked, but her face remained composed, only her trembling voice revealing her emotions. “Why?”

Lu Yiyao took Yao Hong’s right hand into his, holding it gently as a gesture of both comfort and apology. “I want to change my career.”

Yao Hong looked at him incredulously. “Leave the industry?”

“No,” Lu Yiyao clarified. “Not leaving the industry but changing careers.”

“No longer an artist?”

“Right,” Lu Yiyao affirmed, holding the agent’s hand firmly. “I want to become a boss.”

Yao Hong looked at him.

He looked back at her.

Suddenly, the agent pulled her hand away and pinched his face hard. “You think you’re capable now, huh? Now you want to be a boss, why don’t you just shoot for the moon!”

Lu Yiyao was taken aback and barely managed to dodge her, laughing while trying to calm her down. “Hong Jie, calm down, listen to me—”

Yao Hong couldn’t calm down!

She had been an agent for over twenty years, and the two artists she was most proud of were one who gave up her career for family and one who had given up literature to go into business. Moreover, compared to her predecessor, who retired swiftly after winning Best Actress, Lu Yiyao was even more regrettable. She had hoped to push Lu Yiyao to the pinnacle of success!

Li Tong, hesitating at the door of the guest room, wondered whether to intervene and, if so, whose side to take. Life’s choices are indeed difficult!

Yao Hong didn’t actually intend to beat Lu Yiyao up; she was just feeling frustrated. After letting out her frustration, she managed to breathe easier and then demanded, “Give me a reason.”

Lu Yiyao articulated every word. “I want to be with Ran Lin, truly and for the long term.”

“……” Yao Hong covered her chest, wanting to hit him again.

“It’s not just that,” Lu Yiyao quickly added, seeing her reaction. “I’m also genuinely interested in this field. And if I own an entertainment company, when Ran Lin’s contract is up, he can sign with me…”

Lu Yiyao swallowed the last word as he noticed the agent’s less than pleased expression.

Yao Hong knew it; it was all because of love!

She’d encountered not just one, but two love-struck individuals!

Seeing the agent reluctantly release her grip on the teacup, Lu Yiyao felt especially sorry.

He had wanted to talk to Yao Hong about this for a long time, but due to his filming schedule and her personal matters, the conversation had been delayed until now.

Today, he didn’t want to delay any further and had intentionally called her up for an honest, face-to-face discussion.

“Hong Jie,” Lu Yiyao said softly. “If you don’t mind, when my company is set up, would you continue to help me?”

Yao Hong, devoid of any enthusiasm, looked up at him. “You’re not even an artist anymore. What do you need me for?”

“I might not be an artist, but my company will sign artists… Hong Jie, please stop glaring at me…” Lu Yiyao felt as if his “beauty without ambition” label was definitely cemented in his agent’s mind.

Despairingly, Yao Hong massaged her temples. “I know you’re going to sign him. No need to repeat; just hearing his name gives me a headache.”

She actually had no issue with Ran Lin, but ever since he entered into the relationship, her own artist had been like a soul lost, and now he was even planning a drastic career shift. She was struggling to accept it all at once.

“Hong Jie, it’s not a decision I made on a whim,” Lu Yiyao said earnestly. “In the future, my entertainment company will sign multiple artists and invest in projects. I need someone trustworthy to help me manage it.”

Yao Hong’s voice was muffled, clearly still upset. “I don’t understand projects.”

But Lu Yiyao knew she was relenting. “But you understand artists. You could manage the entire artist department. You’ve brought me this far with little ambition on my part; I’m sure you could lead some promising talents to success.”

Yao Hong looked at him sideways. “You just keep flattering me.”

Lu Yiyao was serious. “I’m speaking the truth.”

The most terrifying flattery is the truth.

Yao Hong sighed, resigning as a pragmatist. “When does his contract expire?”

Lu Yiyao, barely concealing a smile, replied, “There are still two years left, but I haven’t asked about the exact month of expiry next year.”

Yao Hong was surprised. “You’re planning to open a company for him, and he hasn’t even told you when his contract ends?”

Lu Yiyao looked steadily at his agent. “I haven’t talked to him about this yet. Hong Jie, you know before he does.”

Yao Hong: “…So should I be happy about this?”

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