After clearly seeing the woman’s face, the long-haired man sighed and sat back down.

“What’s wrong, not suitable?” the other man asked.

The long-haired man shook his head. It wasn’t that it wasn’t suitable—it was too suitable. “You didn’t recognize her? That’s Cheng Youran. She retired from the industry a few years ago.”

The man lamented and took a sip of his drink. “What a shame.”

If Cheng Youran hadn’t retired, taking on this role would have made her name a permanent fixture in Chinese film history, because the director of the film was Meng Lang.

—Meng Lang, hailed as China’s greatest filmmaker.

Cheng Youran, however, knew nothing of this. She walked toward the car, holding a thick stack of barbecue boxes. The car door was slightly ajar, and she sidestepped to climb inside.

“Here!”

Cheng Youran raised the bag with a little oil dripping from it, ready to hand it over to Lu Zixiao.

Lu Zixiao merely lifted his eyelids, showing no intention of taking it.

“Lu Zixiao, you—”

That’s too much.

Before Cheng Youran could finish her sentence, Lu Zixiao shot her a cold glare, and she instinctively swallowed her words.

Lu Zixiao frowned. In the past, people either called him “Sir” or “Zixiao,” but less than a day into knowing him, she dared to call him by his full name?

“What did you just call me?” His voice, accustomed to authority, made the simple words sound imposing.

Cheng Youran immediately corrected herself. “I’m sorry, Zixiao!”

Only then did Lu Zixiao, seemingly satisfied, withdraw his gaze and return to his work.

Cheng Youran could only sigh as she sat by the window, holding the bag. Why the window? Because Lu Zixiao had complained about her smelling of barbecue. Really, was this even something you would say to a person?

The barbecue restaurant wasn’t far from the Lu family estate—just a half-hour drive away.

As the heir of the prestigious Lu family, Lu Zixiao didn’t have a permanent residence as he owns properties around the world.

This villa in Donghai City could even be considered the least conspicuous one. After all, in the first ring of Donghai City, a 1,000-square-meter villa wasn’t something money alone can buy.

Cheng Youran watched as the car slowly drove through the open iron gates. Upon entering, a vast lawn unfolded before her eyes with layers of white birch trees giving way to a slate-gray villa in the distance.

Once inside the villa, Cheng Youran placed the barbecue boxes on the dining table and massaged her sore wrists.

She flopped onto the sofa, finally allowing herself to check her phone!

She opened Weibo and was startled to see her inbox flooded with messages. She clicked on a few, only to find they were all personal attacks on her. It didn’t quite make sense.

【Social Rabbit Ye】Threatening newcomers just because her husband is Lu Zixiao? Who doesn’t know how shameless she was when she married into the Lu family while pregnant? She deserved to miscarry.

The private messages left her confused. She decided to turn off the inbox notifications and checked the trending topics. Sure enough, a topic about her was trending at number three.

— Cheng Youran suspected of threatening newcomers.

【Su Ruan】Mrs. Lu, I know I made a small mistake during the important comeback interview you cared about, but I really love working at the TV station. Please forgive me, I beg you. @Cheng Youran

The comments below were filled with righteous anger, with users almost ready to tie her up and send her to Su Ruan to beg for forgiveness.

【Curry Chicken】I wonder how she secretly threatens newcomers. She clings to even the smallest mistake—just thinking about it makes me sick.

【Lemon】I know Su Ruan. She’s a down-to-earth and hardworking anchor who’s only been in Donghai City for a short time. She takes the subway to work and has no powerful backers. Looks like Mrs. Lu is bullying her without restraint.

【Angry Social Brother】The cancer of the entertainment industry, Cheng Youran, needs to leave immediately. Ok? @Cheng Youran

Cheng Youran’s good mood immediately vanished. If she truly intended to threaten Su Ruan, would Su Ruan still have the chance to post on Weibo?

【Your wife’s mood has decreased to 50%!】

Lu Zixiao sat at the dining table, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and glanced at Cheng Youran. “What’s wrong?”

Cheng Youran hesitated, unsure whether to speak.

“Is this about the woman from today?”

Cheng Youran stared at him in shock. “How did you know?”

Lu Zixiao raised an eyebrow, easily guessing from her expression. He had seen many people like her in the business world, and because of his experience, he couldn’t be bothered to deal with them.

— As long as they didn’t touch his people.

Although he didn’t like Cheng Youran, she was still officially his wife. A small-time anchor wasn’t worth his attention.

“She posted on Weibo, asking me to be magnanimous and forgive her.” Cheng Youran sighed, a hint of unintentional grievance in her voice. “Now the internet is flooded with people calling me out for bullying newcomers and telling me to leave the entertainment industry.”

“What do you plan to do about it?”

He could easily solve the problem with one call, but doing so would turn Cheng Youran into nothing more than a caged canary—one he kept locked away, not the shining actress she could be.

Lu Zixiao poured himself a glass of whiskey, holding the goblet as he walked over to Cheng Youran. He glanced at her, her red dress outlining her breathtaking figure as she lay on the sofa. He pressed his lips together, subtly shifting his gaze away before leaning against the edge of the sofa.

Cheng Youran thought for a moment. “I’ll post a statement on Weibo clarifying that this is a misunderstanding, then hire some paid commenters to flood the platform with reposts.”

— It was a common PR strategy in the entertainment industry.

She straightened up and glanced at Lu Zixiao, while the latter raised an eyebrow, his face showing indifference. She couldn’t help but ask. “If it were you, what would you do?”

Lu Zixiao had studied abroad, and after taking over the Lu Group, he was unfamiliar with the domestic entertainment industry—well, he was probably more knowledgeable about the stock prices of entertainment companies.

He smiled faintly. “Cheng Youran, are you trying to use me?”

Yes, exactly!

Cheng Youran quickly shook her head.

He shook the ice cubes in his glass, the sound of them clinking was pleasant to hear. “If I were you, I’d immediately investigate her relationship with that General Manager Liu. Men of his age are likely already married.”

A light bulb went off in Cheng Youran’s head. “I’ll contact a private detective.”

“Just let Gao Qiao know,” he replied.

Lu Zixiao placed his glass on the coffee table and, arms crossed as he walked upstairs.

Cheng Youran watched him go up, then gathered her thoughts before dialing Gao Qiao’s number. She spoke politely. “Secretary Gao, could you help me investigate someone…?”

“Madam, please give me one night,” came Gao Qiao’s serious voice on the other end of the line, somehow reassuring her.

“Thank you, Secretary Gao.”

Cheng Youran said, hanging up the phone.

Gao Qiao hailed from the Gao family, known for its long line of secretaries. He had undergone rigorous training from a young age and his excellent work abilities had earned him the position of Lu Zixiao’s secretary at a young age.

In the original story, he had willingly taken the fall for Lu Zixiao, serving twenty years in prison.

What a pity.

Cheng Youran sighed quietly.

She walked upstairs, planning to rest. But when she opened the door to her room, she froze in place. Her face flushed, and she asked in a hurried tone. “What are you doing here?”

Lu Zixiao had just finished showering, dressed loosely in a silver-gray silk robe. He was reclining on the bed, reading a book. Drops of water slid from his black hair, tracing down his throat and onto his well-toned, sun-kissed chest with the outlines of his abdominal muscles just visible.

“Why can’t I be here?”

He set aside The History of the Southern Ming and glanced up, narrowing his sharp eyes. “What’s the logic behind me not being able to sleep in my own room?”

It didn’t seem like he was wrong.

Cheng Youran nodded and immediately turned to head for the guest room.

“Come back.”

The vein on Lu Zixiao’s temple twitched. “Now that I’m asking you to share a room with me, is it so unbearable?”

Cheng Youran stopped in her tracks, her survival instincts kicking in. She glanced back at Lu Zixiao, cautiously.

Lu Zixiao closed the book with a cold smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in you.”

Then why did you want me to come back?

Cheng Youran silently grumbled to herself as she slowly turned around and entered the room. After washing up, she changed into a cotton sleepwear and lay on the farthest side of the bed, keeping a distance from Lu Zixiao while she began playing a game.

The game she was playing was called Immortal Cultivation for All. Despite its outdated interface, poor graphics, and being a typical domestic reskin, there was something oddly addictive about it that kept her hooked.

In no time, Cheng Youran had already spent nearly 100,000 on the game, leveling up from a newbie at level 0 to an 80-level pro. She rose quickly in the Wind (Paying) Cloud (Money) Ranking, receiving dozens of friend requests, all of which she accepted one by one.

When she clicked on the last request, she smiled because the player’s nickname was Yan Junze.

— The same name as the movie king.

She guessed it was probably a fan of Yan Junze. He had debuted at 14, won the Cannes Best Actor award in the same year, shocking the world. Not only was his acting outstanding, but his looks were also extraordinary. Ask any girl on the street, eight out of ten were his fans.

…

Later that evening, at Ark Studio.

A young man with round glasses and messy hair solemnly gathered everyone in the meeting room. “The mobile game market has become highly competitive. Immortal Cultivation for All has passed its peak, and its daily active users are less than 3,000.”

“Two months ago, I brought the planner to a game expo, and the investors I spoke with politely suggested I abandon this game. I refused. This is the studio’s first game, and I vowed to keep managing it.”

He gave a bitter smile as he continued. “But for the past month, the cash flow has been negative. We owe the bank over 30,000. It’s time to say goodbye.”

The people sitting around the table wore expressions of frustration and heaviness. The game had already built a solid reputation within a small circle, and as long as they could secure some funding, even just 50,000, they believed they could keep developing it.

The man said nothing more, quietly sitting down but everyone in the room knew he was the most upset. At the very beginning, the studio had been just him. He had designed the concepts bit by bit and coded the game all on his own.

— The game was his labor of love.

Just then, a short-haired girl burst into the meeting room, breathlessly announcing. “Cousin, a player has made a recharge!”

Xiong Chen looked up. “Is there a problem with the recharge system?”

“N-No, no problem.”

The girl stammered.

Xiong Chen gave her an amused, helpless smile thinking his cousin was always so scatterbrained. “As long as it’s processed.”

He suddenly remembered something and hurriedly added. “We need to post the maintenance notice tonight. You should refund the player.”

To maintain game balance in Immortal Cultivation for All, leveling up by one required 100 yuan, five levels cost 1,000 yuan, and leveling up by ten was an eye-watering 10,000 yuan.

He had never intended to make money through microtransactions, but the thresholds for in-game purchases kept increasing. It turned out that most regular players would only spend a little over a hundred yuan, just enough to buy some low-level materials and equipment.

But even a hundred yuan was still money, and he didn’t want to make money unethically.

“Don’t shut down the game.”

The girl said, shaking her head excitedly.

“I don’t want to shut it down either.” Xiong Chen said, standing up and walking over to pat his cousin on the shoulder. “But unless an investor is willing to put in some money, we don’t even have enough to pay for the server rent.”

“But that player recharged nearly 100,000!”

The girl’s heart was still racing. When she first saw the number, she thought there was a problem with the recharge system and even called to inquire.

“One hundred…”

Xiong Chen was about to smile, but then suddenly realized, his lips dry and trembling. “What did you say? One hundred or one hundred thousand?”

It wasn’t just Xiong Chen who was excited. The others in the room stood up as well, holding their breath as they waited for her answer making the room so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

“One hundred thousand.”

The short-haired girl repeated. “I called the player, and they asked if the highest level was only 99. I said yes, and they expressed their regret.”

Xiong Chen: …

Others might recharge a hundred thousand because that was all they could afford, but this player recharged a hundred thousand because that was all they could spend!

Xiong Chen suppressed his excitement and wiped away a tear as he turned around. He then raised his voice to the group. “We don’t need to shut down the game! Keep working!”

The studio, which had been holding its breath for so long, erupted into cheers.

No one knew that this small, struggling studio, on the verge of shutting down due to its poverty, would eventually rise to become one of the largest game developers in Huaguo.

=^_^=