Chapter 10: Hard to Refuse

Long, the dragon, was feeling wronged. Recently, he had been sneezing here and there, causing the occasional rain shower. But he swore he didn’t send a small black cloud to follow some old woman. If it were a young, pretty girl, maybe he’d have some fun, teasing her in a lighthearted, romantic way.

Controlling a little cloud takes spiritual energy, and there’s a spell involved too. 

Long didn’t have time to waste playing tricks on some old woman—it wasn’t his style at all.

So, if it wasn’t Long, who was it?

The Monster Management Bureau decided to investigate thoroughly. No one should be allowed to use magic recklessly in front of humans—it could scare them. A random little black cloud following a person? Completely illogical. Rain falling on a tiny patch of ground? Equally absurd.

The Bureau issued a serious notice: No one is allowed to use magic in front of humans without permission. Violators will be summoned to the bureau for questioning.

They hoped that whoever was responsible would come forward voluntarily, but no creature was foolish enough to do that. Even if they were guilty, they wouldn’t admit it before the Bureau figured things out. And besides, none of them had wasted spiritual energy on such a trivial matter.

When magical beings wanted to prank humans, they had plenty of ways to do it. They could make humans have terrifying nightmares on a quiet, dark night or just dump a bucket of cold water on them. There was no need to waste energy on conjuring a little cloud.

Conjuring a cloud took precious spiritual energy, and magical beings would rather play with clouds themselves than waste one on some prank.

Meanwhile, Tong Yue had no idea about the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs’ concerns. The ordinary people who saw that strange event would eventually forget it, and even if a video were taken, it wouldn’t be posted online. Tong Yue wasn’t about to let anything supernatural go viral. She had to maintain her image as someone who believed in science, after all.

A new day started, and Tong Yue received a call from her agent. The reality show New Actor’s Stage had invited her to participate.

Of course, given Tong Yue’s age, she wasn’t old enough to be a mentor. Even though she had won a prestigious international Best Actress award, in the eyes of many, she was still young. Some might see her as a serious actress, but more would view her as part of the “celebrity” crowd.

While celebrity actors were incredibly popular, they carried a stigma.

Many believed that the pursuit of popularity in the entertainment industry had caused actors’ skills to deteriorate, leading to a drop in the quality of TV shows and movies.

New Actor’s Stage was all about pitting young actors against each other in acting challenges.

“Your fame is huge,” said Wu Yingnan, her capable agent. He had come to see her in person after a few days of rest. “But I wouldn’t recommend doing this. These types of reality shows are all about stirring drama. They’ll use you to boost the show’s visibility. Even though you have strong acting skills, the mentors will likely criticize you.”

This was a tactic to generate buzz for the show. No matter how well you performed, they’d find something to nitpick.

Plus, with the way these shows were edited, they could cut out your good moments and highlight the bad ones.

Although Tong Yue had the backing of the Meng Group, that didn’t mean the TV station wouldn’t dare pull such tricks. They might release a teaser clip that portrays her negatively, only to reverse the narrative in the full episode.

During that time, though, negative comments about Tong Yue would spread. Her fans might react, and haters would jump at the chance to smear her reputation.

While the show’s popularity would rise, any slip-up could leave its participants with a bad image.

“The director is someone you know. You’ve worked with him before,” Wu Yingnan said. If it weren’t for this connection, he wouldn’t even be bringing it up. If it had been another person, he would’ve turned down the offer straight away.

These days, some older, well-known directors were getting into producing reality shows.

Everyone had to make a living. Even if they were aging, they couldn’t just retire without doing anything. They had to stay active to sustain their livelihood.

“Forget it,” Tong Yue refused. “If I keep saying yes to everything, I’ll owe too many favors. One day, people will start asking why I did so many lousy projects. Should I tell them I did it all because of favors I couldn’t refuse?”

That didn’t seem right. If you really wanted to say no, you could say no.

If you agreed to one project, it would get harder to turn down the next. People would start saying, “You did it for them, but not for me—what, am I not good enough?”

So, it was crucial to know how to say no from the start. You needed to choose carefully. And if you chose a bad project, well, then you’d have to live with it.

“Reality shows aren’t like films or TV dramas,” Wu Yingnan coughed. “That’s what makes them tricky to decline.”

Reality shows might give you a bad reputation, but they could also skyrocket your fame. That’s why even though celebrities knew they might get smeared, they still signed up for these shows.

Everyone accepted that reality shows were about drama and controversy. Unless the show crossed a major line, participants usually just rolled with it. In fact, the drama only made the show more popular, and the production team certainly didn’t mind the extra buzz.

“Let’s just say no,” Tong Yue insisted.

“Guest appearances are fine, though,” Tong Yue added after a moment, her eyes twinkling. “But it’d be better if it were all men.”

Men didn’t tend to cause trouble for women as often, but women could be tough on each other. In the workplace, both men and women might make things difficult for women, but women were less likely to target men. If she were a female guest and all the contestants were men, there’d be less conflict.

This way, Tong Yue figured there would be fewer problems. If the production team insisted on stirring up rumors that she was chasing after some male star, well, that was out of her control.

Let them spread their gossip. She’d set the record straight when the time came.

At that moment, Meng Yuqi happened to walk by, holding a cup of water. Well, he wasn’t exactly walking by; he had deliberately passed through. He overheard his beloved’s words: “All men would be best.” What was she planning?

“You mean seven- or eight-year-old boys?” Meng Yuqi asked.

“…” Tong Yue looked up at him, shocked. What? Seven or eight-year-olds? Was she supposed to babysit?

“You know, child actors are pretty popular nowadays,” Meng Yuqi continued. “A special show featuring them could work.”

So he hadn’t just overheard part of the conversation? Tong Yue’s mouth twitched slightly. Why was this guy eavesdropping on their talk?

Meng Yuqi thought to himself that it wasn’t eavesdropping at all. They weren’t hiding; they were talking right in the living room. Why shouldn’t he listen in?

“They’re so cute—maybe after seeing them, you’ll want to have one yourself?” Meng Yuqi added, already imagining the tabloid headlines. “Shocking! The Best Actress fixated on a man, but it’s not what you think… The Best Actress cheating? Has the Billionaire CEO been cuckolded?”

Tong Yue had to admit, this man was sharp. If he ever stopped being a CEO, he could easily become a tabloid editor. Look at how eye-catching those headlines were!

Wu Yingnan had seen Meng Yuqi before and had even spoken to him on the phone. The Meng Group heir was indeed impressive, offering abundant resources. Without the Meng Group, Tong Yue wouldn’t have risen to fame so quickly.

“The final headline might be: Best Actress desperately wanted to have a child in order to keep her billionaire husband,” Meng Yuqi continued. “Maybe you should take a pilgrimage to a temple.”

Tong Yue: I don’t even have a shrine for myself yet!

“The Goddess of Children? Various deities?” Meng Yuqi said with complete seriousness. “Even standing by the roadside and offering prayers would get you snapped by paparazzi.”

“That’s true,” Tong Yue said, her expression slightly awkward. The paparazzi were exactly like that.

“So let’s go with the seven- or eight-year-olds,” Meng Yuqi suggested. “Or, if necessary, eleven- or twelve-year-olds could work. That way, no one can push some inappropriate older-younger romance narrative—it’d be illegal. The broadcasting authorities won’t allow such exploitation.”

Tong Yue: Wow… you really are impressive.

“Alright, I’ll get in touch with the showrunners,” Wu Yingnan said, seeing no need to add more. He knew exactly how to handle the situation.

Meng Yuqi was clearly jealous—that much was obvious.

As for whether Meng Yuqi and Tong Yue’s marriage was a contract arrangement, that didn’t matter. After all, no one else knew the truth.

Wu Yingnan did know about this matter, because they needed to be prepared. Celebrity divorces weren’t a small matter, after all.

Meanwhile, Lin Qian was preparing to participate in New Actor’s Stage. She was at the right age for the show.

This particular reality show had been a major hit in her past life, drawing in many young actors. While not every young actor who participated became a huge star, the show significantly boosted their visibility.

Some of the participants came from web series, others had grown up as child stars—this show attracted them all. But New Actor’s Stage didn’t accept just anyone.

Lin Qian, having landed a role in the renowned Director Qin’s movie Moonlight, was now considered a “Qin Girl,” which gave her the credentials to be invited.

“Are you really trying to go head-to-head with Tong Yue?” Fox Spirit, Lin Qian’s companion, wasn’t too keen on this plan. She thought it would be better to avoid direct competition, or at least not appear on the same episode.

Constantly trying to outshine someone else wasn’t the smartest strategy. Didn’t Lin Qian fear karma catching up with her?

Fox Spirit didn’t like stealing someone else’s spotlight all the time—spreading out your opportunities seemed like a wiser choice.

“It’s fine. It’s actually best if we’re on the same episode,” Lin Qian calculated. Sharing the spotlight with Tong Yue would generate even more buzz.

In her past life, Tong Yue had appeared on the show as a guest, not a contestant, and had watched performances by young male actors. Lin Qian thought that while this had generated some buzz, the show hadn’t fully capitalized on it. The producers should have had Tong Yue act alongside one of her rivals—if not her, then another young actress.

Now, Lin Qian believed she was the perfect choice for the show. Both she and Tong Yue were linked to the movie Moonlight. There had even been rumors earlier that Tong Yue was supposed to star in Moonlight, making them both former and current leads.

If they appeared on the show together, it would surely spark drama. The movie would gain more attention, and so would New Actor’s Stage.

A win-win scenario.

“She won’t be able to refuse,” Lin Qian said, her eyes narrowing. A successful actress like Tong Yue had no reason to be afraid of a lesser-known actress like her.

All it would take was a few words from the producers, and Tong Yue would be roped in. If Tong Yue tried to refuse, they could even spin it as her being afraid to lose, which would create even more drama.