With the explosive success of Twenty Years, Jian Ran and Song Yunjing started receiving more work offers. While there were plenty of opportunities, most were supporting roles.

Yu Yan, lacking experience in selecting resources for artists, sought advice from several top-tier managers at the company.

The top priority was to choose film projects with strong teams—supporting roles were acceptable as long as the production quality was high. Second came TV series, where unique and standout characters had a higher chance of gaining traction. However, the team and reputation of the production had to be considered. If any issues arose with the crew, it could lead to a broadcast ban, and worse, all the publicity would go to waste.

Jian Ran’s new role had been arranged by Yu Yan in advance, but Song Yunjing’s situation was more complicated. Most of the roles offered to her had little screen time, required a long filming schedule, and lacked appealing character design.

After careful consideration, Yu Yan selected a historical romance web drama, Xingyuan, adapted from a transmigration novel.

While the original IP wasn’t a massive hit, he recalled that the drama itself had gained moderate success. More importantly, the role they were offering was the female lead, which was far better than the supporting roles she’d been offered.

After discussing it with Song Yunjing, who had no objections, Yu Yan immediately contacted the director of Xingyuan to request part of the script for her to review and confirm an audition date.

The director’s response was instant—he skipped the audition altogether and asked when they could sign the contract.

The speed surprised Yu Yan, and he quickly inquired about the time and location for signing.

To his surprise, the meeting location wasn’t at a local café or restaurant but at an outdoor filming base in the suburbs. The reason? They could start filming right after signing to save time.

Initially, Yu Yan didn’t think much of it. But when he arrived with Song Yunjing at the Xingyuan set, the situation became crystal clear.

Compared to other productions, the filming location for Xingyuan could only be described as desolate—it looked as though it had just been looted. Most of the props were broken and required repairs, and the director was rummaging through the ground for scraps.

Yu Yan casually picked up a banner lying on the ground. It read: Wrap-Up Ceremony for Another Production.

“You actually came,” Director Yang Chao’s eyes widened as he hurriedly wiped his hands on his clothes before extending one for a handshake. “I thought you wouldn’t show up. Nice to meet you, I’m Director Yang Chao.”

“Yu Yan,” he responded politely, shaking Yang Chao’s hand while glancing around the set. “This is…?”

Yang Chao quickly explained, “We couldn’t secure any investments. The previous production wrapped up early, and there’s still half a month left on their lease for the site. The director is a friend of mine, so he lent it to me.”

Yu Yan had expected the production to be strapped for cash, but not to this extent. Even the filming location was borrowed, and from what he’d seen, Yang Chao had been scavenging leftover props from other productions.

Still, producing a moderately successful drama in such an environment was a testament to Yang Chao’s skills.

“The production’s broke, so when it comes to actor fees…” Yang Chao scratched his head with an embarrassed smile.

Song Yunjing hadn’t expected Twenty Years to elevate her career significantly, so she wasn’t particularly concerned about her pay. However, she remained silent, looking to Yu Yan instead.

“The script?” Yu Yan asked.

Yang Chao immediately pulled a rolled-up script from a tattered black canvas bag, smoothed it out, and handed it over. “Here it is.”

Yu Yan didn’t bother reading the script. He passed it directly to Song Yunjing and then asked, “How much investment do you still need?”

Yang Chao’s eyelid twitched as he calculated the absolute minimum amount required for filming, post-production, and promotion. Adding a bit extra to leave room for negotiation, he replied, “Roughly… 20 million yuan.”

“I’ll give you 30 million. Make it look decent.”

The night before, Yu Yan had consulted with Li and learned that small-budget web dramas typically required investments between 12 to 15 million yuan, though it was rare for such projects to turn a profit. In fact, it might take seven or eight years for one to become a hit.

Yang Chao’s eyelid twitched again. “R-Really?”

“Yes. Additional funds for promotion can be added later.”

Li’s proposed investment was less than 30 million yuan, as the company deemed it unwise to invest so much in a web drama. Investing in a satellite TV drama seemed more worthwhile.

However, Yu Yan believed the script had potential. With better filming conditions and strong promotional efforts, it could achieve even greater success. As for the additional funds, he was willing to cover the difference himself.

Song Yunjing’s pay wasn’t high, but since she had no objections and it met the company’s standards, Yu Yan left it unchanged.

Yu Yan personally transferred 25 million yuan to Yang Chao’s bank account. As for the remaining 5 million from the company, it would go through standard approval procedures. In addition, Xinghai planned to send several newly signed artists to join the production.

Yang Chao welcomed the arrangement, as Xinghai’s artists were trained and, even if their acting wasn’t stellar, they wouldn’t make glaring mistakes. “President Yu, are you interested in a cameo role? With your looks, you’d look stunning in period costumes.”

Yu Yan couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Not interested. Choose your cast carefully—don’t pick anyone prone to scandals.”

Missing the chance for a stellar promotional stunt, Yang Chao nodded in regret. “Of course, of course.”

The hotel arranged for the production wasn’t great, but Yu Yan had already prepared a nanny van for Song Yunjing in advance, along with bodyguards and a personal assistant—professionals hired by the company.

This arrangement wasn’t exclusive to Song Yunjing; Jian Ran and He Zhiyu had similar setups.

Only Cao Yuanye was excluded. The company reasoned that, as a former stunt double, he didn’t require bodyguards, and his current scenes in the production were minimal.

With the explosive success of Twenty Years, Jian Ran and Song Yunjing began receiving more work offers. However, most of the opportunities were for supporting roles.

Lacking experience in selecting projects for artists, Yu Yan sought guidance from several top-tier managers at the company.

The primary focus was on choosing film projects with strong production teams—even supporting roles were acceptable as long as the quality was high. TV series came second, with the priority on unique and memorable characters that could stand out. However, the reputation of the production team was also crucial, as issues with the crew could lead to a broadcast ban, rendering all promotional efforts pointless.

Jian Ran’s new role had already been arranged by Yu Yan, but Song Yunjing’s situation was trickier. Most of the roles offered to her had limited screen time, required long filming schedules, and lacked compelling character designs.

After careful consideration, Yu Yan chose a historical romance web drama, Xingyuan, adapted from a transmigration novel.

Although the original novel wasn’t a major hit, Yu Yan remembered that the drama had achieved moderate success. More importantly, the role offered to Song Yunjing was the female lead—far better than the supporting roles she’d been considering.

After consulting with Song Yunjing, who raised no objections, Yu Yan immediately reached out to the director of Xingyuan to request part of the script and confirm an audition date.

To his surprise, the director responded instantly—there was no need for an audition. Instead, he asked when they could sign the contract.

This quick response caught Yu Yan off guard. He inquired about the time and place for signing, only to learn that the meeting would take place at an outdoor filming base in the suburbs. The reason? They could begin filming immediately after signing to save time.

Initially, Yu Yan didn’t think much of it. But upon arriving at the Xingyuan set with Song Yunjing, the situation became clear.

The filming site was in a desolate state, resembling the aftermath of a looting. Most of the props were damaged and in need of repairs, and the director was scavenging scraps from the ground.

Yu Yan casually picked up a banner lying on the ground that read: Wrap-Up Ceremony for Another Production.

“You actually came,” Director Yang Chao exclaimed, visibly surprised. He quickly wiped his hands on his clothes and extended one for a handshake. “I thought you wouldn’t show up. Nice to meet you, I’m Director Yang Chao.”

“Yu Yan,” he replied, shaking Yang Chao’s hand while surveying the chaotic set. “This is…?”

Yang Chao quickly explained, “We couldn’t secure any investments. The previous production wrapped early, and their lease on the site still has half a month left. The director’s a friend of mine, so he lent it to me.”

Yu Yan had anticipated that the production might be short on funds, but he hadn’t expected it to be this dire. Even the filming location was borrowed, and Yang Chao was scavenging leftover props from other productions.

Still, the fact that Yang Chao had managed to produce moderately successful dramas in such conditions spoke volumes about his abilities.

“The production’s broke, so when it comes to actor fees…” Yang Chao hesitated, scratching his head with an embarrassed smile.

Song Yunjing wasn’t expecting a dramatic boost to her career from Twenty Years, so she wasn’t overly concerned about her pay. She remained silent, looking to Yu Yan for direction.

“The script?” Yu Yan asked.

Yang Chao immediately pulled out a rolled-up script from a worn black canvas bag, smoothed it out, and handed it over. “Here it is.”

Yu Yan didn’t bother reading the script and passed it directly to Song Yunjing. Then, he asked, “How much investment do you still need?”

Yang Chao’s eyelid twitched as he calculated the minimum budget for filming, post-production, and promotion. Adding some leeway, he said, “Roughly… 20 million yuan.”

“I’ll give you 30 million. Make it look decent.”

The night before, Yu Yan had consulted with Li, who mentioned that small-budget web dramas typically required investments of 12 to 15 million yuan. However, profitability was rare, and it could take years for such a project to gain traction.

Yang Chao’s eyelid twitched again. “R-Really?”

“Yes. Additional funds for promotion can be added later.”

Li’s proposed investment was under 30 million yuan, as the company didn’t consider web dramas a worthwhile investment compared to satellite TV productions.

However, Yu Yan believed the script had potential. With better filming conditions and a strong promotional campaign, the drama could achieve greater success. As for the additional funds, Yu Yan was willing to cover the difference personally.

Song Yunjing’s pay met the company’s standards and hadn’t been negotiated higher, as she didn’t object.

Yu Yan personally transferred 25 million yuan to Yang Chao’s bank account, while the remaining 5 million would go through the company’s standard approval process. Xinghai also planned to send several newly signed artists to join the production.

Yang Chao welcomed the arrangement. Xinghai’s artists were well-trained, and even if their acting wasn’t exceptional, they wouldn’t make glaring mistakes. “President Yu, are you interested in a cameo? With your looks, you’d look stunning in period costumes.”

Yu Yan chuckled. “Not interested. Pick your cast carefully—avoid anyone with potential scandal risks.”

Though disappointed at missing a promotional opportunity, Yang Chao nodded in agreement. “Of course, of course.”

The hotel arranged for the production wasn’t luxurious, but Yu Yan had already prepared a nanny van, bodyguards, and a personal assistant for Song Yunjing—professionals hired by the company.

This arrangement wasn’t exclusive to Song Yunjing; Jian Ran and He Zhiyu had similar setups.

The only one excluded was Cao Yuanye. The company reasoned that, as a former stunt double, he didn’t need bodyguards, especially since his scenes in the current production were minimal.

Yu Yan’s personal investment of 25 million yuan was transferred to Yang Chao’s bank account. As for the 5 million from the company’s approval process, it would take time. Additionally, Xinghai planned to send over a few newly signed artists.

Yang Chao was pleased with the arrangement. At least the artists Xinghai signed had undergone training. Even if their acting wasn’t great, they wouldn’t make major mistakes. “President Yu, would you be interested in making a cameo? With your looks, wearing traditional costumes would definitely leave everyone in awe.”

Yu Yan couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Not interested. Make sure to carefully pick the cast—don’t hire anyone prone to scandals.”

Missing out on such a great publicity opportunity, Yang Chao nodded regretfully. “Of course, of course.”

The hotel arranged for the production team wasn’t great, but Yu Yan had already prepared a nanny van for Song Yunjing in advance. Besides this, there were also bodyguards and a personal assistant, all hired by the company.

Not only Song Yunjing but He Zhiyu and Jian Ran were provided with the same arrangements.

However, Cao Yuanye’s request was denied. The company’s reasoning was that as a stunt double by origin, he didn’t need a bodyguard, especially since he didn’t have many scenes in the current production.

In simple terms, Cao Yuanye wasn’t making enough money for the company, so they weren’t willing to invest in him.

Yu Yan initially wanted to personally cover the cost for Cao Yuanye, but he declined. His reasoning was that his role in Legend of Immortality was minimal, so there was no need to attract attention. Yu Yan didn’t press further.

Yu Yan spent a day on the set and took the opportunity to visit another production team at the filming base.

Coincidentally, he ran into Wen Xia, who had just finished shooting. He greeted her, but Wen Xia simply stared at him for a few seconds without saying anything and then turned to get back into her nanny van.

Considering this was on set with many people around, Yu Yan figured Wen Xia didn’t want to cause misunderstandings, so he didn’t overthink it.

It wasn’t until evening that he joined Song Yunjing in her nanny van for dinner.

Song Yunjing was curious. “Did you see Wen Xia when you visited the other production team?”

“I did. Has she finished filming her scenes for Legend of Immortality?”

“Legend of Immortality is a male-centered drama. As the second female lead, she doesn’t have many scenes.” Song Yunjing suddenly lowered her voice. “I heard she used some questionable means to steal resources from another artist in the same company. That artist plans to expose her scandals, but for now, she’s found someone to suppress it. The company is mediating, but it’s uncertain whether they can contain the situation.”

No wonder Wen Xia didn’t respond when he greeted her earlier—she must have been in a bad mood.

In the entertainment industry, scandals that could ruin someone’s reputation usually boiled down to two things: tax evasion or inappropriate relationships.

Yu Yan didn’t bother speculating which category Wen Xia’s situation fell under. It had nothing to do with him—it was just personal choices, after all.

At around 9 PM, some unexpected hashtags started trending on social media.

#ChaoxingYuYan#
#YuYanRongchengOrphanage#
#ThereAreNoInnocentsInTheEntertainmentIndustry#

The hashtags climbed to the top of the trending list almost instantly without any warning.

This time of the evening was when people were most idle before bed, so netizens were diving in with great enthusiasm.

Previously, Yu Yan had trended because of rumors linking him to Song Yunjing, with people questioning if he was entering the entertainment industry. That issue was ultimately resolved by Yu Chen, and Yu Yan didn’t dig into the details. However, this new wave of rumors was even more ferocious.

Various influential accounts and marketing blogs jumped in, digging into every detail of the original Yu Yan’s past.

Both Yu Yan and the original Yu Yan were orphans raised in the same orphanage. Their life experiences were similar, but if there was any difference, it was that Yu Yan had experienced more and worked a wider variety of jobs.

Uninformed netizens argued fiercely online.

“The ‘young master’ grew up in an orphanage? Is this some kind of real-life wealthy family drama?”

“A fake young master? Did they isolate him? Why is all this dirt coming out suddenly?”

“Growing up in an orphanage is dirt? Shouldn’t we blame his parents for that? Their real child was starving and digging through trash to eat while they raised someone else’s kid like royalty? I heard that impostor even inherited the company!”

“Wait, kids from orphanages digging through trash? Where did the donations go? I donate 500 yuan every month! Shouldn’t the director clarify where the money went?”

“If it weren’t for the car accident, he’d still be scavenging trash.”

“The Yu family knew for ages their child wasn’t their biological one but didn’t bother finding their real child. Why wait so long?”

Most netizens focused on Yu Yan’s childhood in the orphanage. Influential accounts even posted photos of him as a child.

But the photos were old and blurry, and Yu Yan didn’t remember any of it, so he couldn’t confirm their authenticity.

Within minutes, these same accounts posted new photos of Yu Yan’s current life.

These pictures were crystal clear—most showed him dressed head-to-toe in designer brands, showing off luxury cars, mansions, and high-end watches.

The captions accompanying these posts were highly suggestive, implying Yu Yan bullied veteran employees at Chaoxing, forced struggling artists to work for him at Xinghai, and even stole opportunities meant for other artists to promote his own.

The comment sections were filled with fake accounts steering the narrative.

“Anyone who felt bad for this ‘poor young master,’ come get roasted! Wearing watches worth tens of thousands—yeah, I’d love to be this ‘poor.’”

“Employees themselves are coming out to expose him, and people are still defending him? He’s clearly morally bankrupt. Get this guy out of the entertainment industry!”

“So shameless, pairing his artists with A-list actors to create fake romances. No wonder his artist got into The Twentieth Year, such a big production.”

“Honestly, wasn’t The Twentieth Year already cursed before it aired? Half the cast was caught in scandals, and production was halted multiple times. Didn’t industry insiders avoid the project because of its bad luck?”

…

The online chaos was overwhelming, but Yu Yan barely glanced at it.

The reason? Jiang Mo had seen the photos of the orphanage children scavenging for food and was now crying uncontrollably.

Yu Lin, sitting beside her, sighed deeply and wiped his face.

Feeling distressed, Yu Yan sighed as well and repeated what he’d said countless times that evening.

“Dad—Mom—”

“I swear I never dug through trash to eat!”