Wen Ying knew Xie Qian planned to buy a plot of land near Hongqiao Airport.
At first, she didn’t think much of it. In Modu, it was hard to lose money on land purchases given the booming market—how unlucky would you have to be to pick a bad plot? It was just a matter of earning more or less.
This mindset lasted until she asked Xie Qian how big the plot was.
Xie Qian thought about the weed-choked, bankrupt building materials factory.
If developed, the land itself would be profitable.
If waiting for demolition, every brick on the factory site would have value, making it hard to describe the exact size to Wen Ying.
Xie Qian opted for a description Wen Ying could grasp intuitively, “It’s about the size of my mom spending all her savings and still needing to borrow a hundred million from the bank.”
“…!”
Wen Ying knew wealth gaps existed, but a hundred million was staggering.
A plot that large near Hongqiao Airport—Wen Ying swallowed hard and urged Xie Qian to buy it quickly.
She couldn’t say it too explicitly.
But she was genuinely excited!
Xie Qian had made his decision and was waiting to finalize the purchase. Now, he was more interested in Wen Ying’s script progress.
Wen Ying took a deep breath, “I’ve finished the first draft of the script and plan to show it to Producer Yuan and Uncle Li.”
While Xie Qian focused on the land deal, Wen Ying had been busy too.
First, her novel *Teen Idol*, serialized in *Aige* magazine, had officially begun publication. The first issue gave *Teen Idol* 20,000 words of space. For a serialized novel, it’s hard to judge success based on just the opening 20,000 words. It usually takes four or five issues to build a loyal readership.
Xiao Ni put it tactfully, but the subtext was clear: whether Wen Ying’s novel would take off would become apparent after a few issues.
Wen Ying wasn’t anxious. New authors had to be patient. Obsessing over quick success and getting impatient wouldn’t produce good work.
Secondly, the solo albums of the talent show’s top three—Li Mengjiao, Xu Mei, and Zhang Yangning—had officially launched. All three were now in intense promotional activities. Album sales would be tallied in a week, so it wasn’t yet clear who was leading.
Amid promotions, Yuan Fenghui had hired a performance coach for Li Mengjiao to teach her acting skills.
Li Mengjiao was skeptical—why take acting classes for just a cameo?
Yuan Fenghui shut her down with one line, “I put so much effort into your album. Are you going to half-ass my favor?”
Fair enough, she couldn’t.
Even for a cameo, she had to act well. Li Mengjiao squeezed acting lessons into her packed schedule.
Xu Mei was also taking acting classes. General Manager Guan had promised her a significant role in a Hunan TV drama, and Xu Mei had now connected with Young Master Cao. She wasn’t about to let this chance slip.
When Xu Mei learned Li Mengjiao was taking acting classes, her guard went up, fearing Li Mengjiao was competing with her again.
Young Master Cao told Xu Mei that if she agreed to be his girlfriend, he’d ensure she secured the opportunity.
“No one can steal resources from my girlfriend.”
Cao’s words carried weight, not entirely empty promises.
The unattainable always stirs desire. Xu Mei was the goddess Cao had chased for a long time without fully winning over. She kept her distance, only dining with him and barely letting him touch her hand.
The more she held back, the more Cao respected her.
Xu Mei, new to the industry, was still untainted. Being his girlfriend wouldn’t embarrass him.
As Yuan Fenghui suspected, Cao couldn’t fork out millions to boost Xu Mei’s career.
But securing resources at Hunan TV? That he could manage. While Li Zhentao spent real money to back Li Mengjiao, Cao could leverage connections to get resources for Xu Mei.
When Cao finally broke the unspoken barrier and made his request, Xu Mei hesitated. She hadn’t let go of her feelings for Qin Yi. Though she knew this day would come when she accepted Cao’s advances, she wasn’t as decisive as others might expect.
If she got together with Cao, any chance of reconciling with Qin Yi would be gone.
Xu Mei liked Qin Yi, not Cao.
Fu Jing urged her to be realistic. Newcomers in the entertainment industry struggled without backing. Without Cao’s protection, Xu Mei risked being taken advantage of by unsavory industry figures.
If she needed a backer eventually, why not Cao?
At least Cao was young, unmarried, and genuinely wanted to be with her.
Unlike some who, already married with families, preyed on new actresses in blatant sugar-daddy arrangements!
Xu Mei was torn and asked Cao for time to think.
“After the New Year, by the end of the first month, I’ll give you an answer.”
Like a rabbit stepping into a hunter’s trap, Cao was confident and didn’t care when he’d catch her.
Cao agreed readily.
Certain Xu Mei would say yes, he began introducing her to Hunan TV executives during her album promotions, with General Manager Guan present at several dinners.
Guan’s wife held a high position at Hunan TV, but a major station had complex networks, and she didn’t call all the shots. Cao’s connections helped facilitate her work.
Xu Mei had Professor Fang’s network on one hand and Cao’s influence on the other.
With benefits in hand, Guan was less committed to signing Li Mengjiao, as Yuan Fenghui had feared—he was likely to renege on his promise of a key role for her.
No matter. Yuan Fenghui was prepared.
She didn’t need to confront Guan. She had already secured a script from her old friend, Screenwriter Zhang.
Just from the story outline, Yuan Fenghui knew Zhang’s script was solid. Now, with the details filled in, she was very satisfied.
Zhang had set the drama at 15 episodes.
For a serious mainland drama, this was too short, but for an idol drama, it was perfect. Idol dramas weren’t long-winded family sagas; dragging them out risked losing the audience. Actor fees and production costs were tied to episode count, so this kept expenses reasonable. Li Mengjiao could shoot quickly without delaying her studies.
It suited newcomers like Li Mengjiao and a fledgling company like Tianjiao Film.
With Zhang’s script as a trump card, Yuan Fenghui could hold off on confronting Guan without pressing him to honor his promise.
Guan’s drama might not even be as good as Zhang’s script.
Yuan Fenghui pushed Li Mengjiao to take acting classes to start shooting after the New Year, aiming to film a few sample episodes before school resumed.
Zhang had delivered his script, but Wen Ying was silent. Yuan Fenghui assumed the young girl had overpromised and couldn’t deliver, quietly conceding defeat without hounding her, sparing Wen Ying’s pride.
But Li Zhentao hadn’t immediately approved Zhang’s script. He was still waiting for Wen Ying.
Preparing for production took time, and every day Li waited was a day wasted.
Yuan Fenghui tried to persuade Li Zhentao, but his negotiation experience matched hers, and he deflected her effortlessly.
As for Tianjiao Film’s other two shareholders, they only invested money and stayed out of operations—lucky, or Yuan Fenghui would’ve faced another setback.
Wang Jun and Qin Xianming fully backed Wen Ying.
If Wen Ying’s script was poor, fine, but she hadn’t finished yet. They wanted to give the young girl a chance to prove herself.
What was so special about Zhang writing fast? He was a seasoned screenwriter; Wen Ying was a newcomer.
It was normal for newcomers to write slowly!
With Tianjiao Film’s boss and shareholders so indulgent, Yuan Fenghui and Zhang could only wait for Wen Ying’s script.
Finally, after days of working in seclusion, Wen Ying said she’d come to the company today. Yuan Fenghui, accompanying Li Mengjiao for album promotions in Rongcheng, instructed an assistant to watch Li Mengjiao and went to Tianjiao Film to meet Wen Ying.
“How’s her script?” Yuan Fenghui asked Zhang.
Zhang wasn’t sure, “She called me a few times to ask about handling plot conflicts, but I haven’t seen the final product.”
Zhang only knew Wen Ying wrote a script about the entertainment industry, incorporating elements of the Japanese and Korean trainee systems. She asked about plot conflicts and some insider gossip about Taiwan’s entertainment scene.
Zhang shared what he could but withheld sensitive details.
It wasn’t that Zhang outright dismissed Wen Ying’s script—it was quite novel—but as an outsider, Wen Ying’s knowledge of the industry likely came from gossip magazines. How could she craft a compelling script with such limited insight?
Claiming his script didn’t suit Li Mengjiao or mainland values—Zhang was eager to see how Wen Ying would infuse values into an entertainment industry story!
Wang Shuang was the first to read Wen Ying’s script. After finishing, she followed Wen Ying to the company. Seeing Li Zhentao, Wang Shuang couldn’t hold back, “Uncle Li, Mengjiao has to do Wen Ying’s script—it’s perfect for her!”
What taste does a kid like you have?
Zhang, ever composed, refrained from snapping.
Li Zhentao smiled, inviting Yuan Fenghui and Zhang to sit, “Wang Shuang’s exaggerating, don’t mind her. Let’s carefully review whether this script suits Mengjiao.”
Calming Yuan Fenghui and Zhang, Li Zhentao gestured for Wen Ying and Wang Shuang to join them and wait while they read the script.
Though it was said to be a group review, Yuan Fenghui and Zhang did the reading. Professionals handled professional matters. Li Zhentao brewed a cup of tea and waited patiently.
Zhang initially didn’t take Wen Ying’s script seriously, ready to nitpick. Having been paid 500,000, he felt obliged to “guide” her.
But gradually, Zhang dropped his dismissive attitude.
The script didn’t follow Taiwan’s idol drama formula. It lacked a clear romance arc from start to finish, with only a hint of one at the end.
Yet, despite breaking idol drama conventions, it was brimming with idol allure—this drama might just be a hit!
