Chen Ru had no chance to return the book.
Wen Ying’s door suddenly opened, and she walked out, rubbing her eyes: “Mum, have you seen my book?”
“What book? If you don’t keep your things tidy, don’t come asking me!” Chen Ru slipped the book under the table to Wen Dongrong.
She hadn’t taken it!
If anyone found out, it was Wen Dongrong’s doing!
Wen Dongrong casually pressed the book under his briefcase, asking Wen Ying: “Which book did you lose?”
“Nothing, if you haven’t seen it, I’ll look again.” Wen Ying yawned and shuffled back to her room.
What a performance!
Wen Dongrong, who had been eighty percent sure, was now certain.
The living room was left with just the couple. Wen Dongrong pulled out the book: “Read it carefully when you have time. Wen Ying let you find this book on purpose.”
For the sake of their Fukang car, Wen Dongrong didn’t add fuel to the fire, calmly pointing out that Chen Ru had been tricked.
This girl was getting harder to manage. At work, Wen Dongrong had to deal with his colleague Old Li, and at home, he had to spar with his daughter. Life was tough.
Recalling the day’s events, Chen Ru suspected Wen Ying was deliberately diverting attention.
“She seems too invested in this scriptwriting thing…” Chen Ru recounted the day to Wen Dongrong, complaining that he shouldn’t have let Wen Ying buy a car. Wen Dongrong had explained a hundred times already and had no energy to argue now.
He genuinely didn’t know Wen Ying would buy a car!
Deng Shangwei helped her buy it—Chen Ru should be interrogating him!
“She’s about to start school and won’t stay at the film company for long. Handle it as you see fit—you’re her mum, she listens to you. But don’t overdo it; too much nagging, and she’ll rebel. I’m going to read in the room. Think it over.” Wen Dongrong used reading as an excuse to escape, only to find a neatly wrapped gift on the bedside table when he got there.
Even if Chen Ru bought him something, it wouldn’t be packaged like this. Only Wen Ying loved these flashy gestures.
Wen Dongrong couldn’t guess what it was—it felt heavy.
Tearing open the wrapping, his blood surged: “Postgraduate English” in bold letters, nearly as lethal as the “banned for minors” label!
Wen Dongrong chuckled—classic Wen Ying.
Seeing an identical “gift” on the other bedside table, Wen Dongrong gave a wry father-daughter smile and returned to the living room: “I’ve thought it over—this is serious. You can’t let it slide, or where’s our place in this house? She’s cunning, deliberately letting you find the book, maybe hinting at something…”
Chen Ru thought the same.
But Wen Dongrong’s words felt odd—like he was stirring trouble!
Chen Ru eyed him suspiciously: “I don’t need you to tell me—I know what I’m doing!”
Was Wen Ying hinting at something, testing her stance on early romance?
Early romance was absolutely not allowed!
Even spending some energy on writing as a hobby was far better than dating.
Writing could win awards, lower exam scores, earn fees.
Dating would only distract from studies.
Chen Ru recalled seeing Xie Qian at Tianjiao Film today but hadn’t mentioned the “banned book.” She wanted to see what Wen Ying was up to.
But neither she nor Wen Ying brought it up. Chen Ru wanted to catch Wen Ying out, yet the next day, Wen Ying stayed home, dutifully reviewing her textbooks.
Chen Ru visited Tianjiao Film again, this time not seeing Xie Qian or even Wang Shuang. She heard Xie Qian’s mother had come to Tianjiao, offering to invest in a drama, and Li Zhentao had reduced the loan amount by three million.
“Manager Chen, this is on you!”
“Mr. Li, you’re too kind. Tianjiao’s paperwork is in order—I’m just doing my job.” They exchanged pleasantries, and Li Zhentao personally saw Chen Ru out.
When Li Zhentao returned, Yuan Fenghui said curiously: “Wen Ying’s parents seem quite open-minded. Wen Ying invested all her scriptwriting earnings, and Manager Chen didn’t seem fazed.”
Fifty thousand was a lot for an average Rongcheng family—enough to buy a flat in a mid-to-high-end complex.
But Yuan Fenghui, accustomed to the entertainment industry’s extravagance, knew many young stars in Taiwan’s scene debuted in their teens, earning money to support their families. Yet earning didn’t mean spending freely—young artists often handed their earnings to family, living off allowances. If they could spend freely, they wouldn’t enter the industry so young.
By comparison, Wen Ying earning fifty thousand from scriptwriting and reinvesting it into a drama seemed remarkably open-minded of her parents to Yuan Fenghui.
After all, Wen Ying’s family wasn’t like Xie Qian’s.
Xie Qian’s mother casually invested three million—fifty thousand was pocket change to the Xie family, but not to the Wen family.
Yuan Fenghui sighed, but Li Zhentao just smiled.
Manager Chen didn’t react because she didn’t know.
When Wen Ying offered to invest, Li Zhentao asked if she had her parents’ consent. Wen Ying said that as long as her earnings weren’t spent on luxury, she could decide how to use them!
Her parents likely didn’t even know how much she earned from scriptwriting… Wen Ying had pocketed the money securely, only to reinvest it. If the drama flopped, Li Zhentao would feel he’d let the girl down.
In 2005, money went far. With Xie Qian and Wen Ying’s funds, Tianjiao Film could boldly prepare for production.
Yuan Fenghui released a news piece: Li Mengjiao’s first drama, with a Taiwan production team, starring as the female lead!
But the news didn’t make much splash.
Li Mengjiao, failing as a singer, had turned to acting.
The male lead was an unknown Taiwan model.
The production company, Tianjiao Film… oh, a small, unheard-of outfit.
The only semi-recognizable name in the crew was the writer, Zhang Guangzhen.
But in this industry, writers don’t call the shots.
Idol drama scripts are all similar—writers can’t single-handedly turn the tide!
…
Hunan Province.
Cao Shao saw the news and smiled at Xu Mei: “Happy about this?”
Xu Mei didn’t respond immediately.
Even if the crew was a ragtag group with no threat, Li Mengjiao was still the female lead.
Xu Mei was about to head to Taiwan to film, but just before leaving, she learned Manager Guan’s tricks had been exposed—her role wasn’t co-lead, just supporting!
But Xu Mei had signed the contract and couldn’t back out. To film in Taiwan, she had to take a leave from school.
Once in the industry, balancing studies was impossible. Xu Mei’s initial plans fell apart, and between career and education, she chose career.
Seeing Li Mengjiao’s news, Xu Mei rallied. Though she was a supporting actress, her production was with a reputable team—far better than Li Mengjiao’s amateur crew!
Cao Shao asked if she was happy, but Xu Mei wasn’t sure.
She’d gotten what she wanted—why did she still feel lost?
