Li Mengjiao had met Young Master Cao before. Although the newspaper photo was blurry, she could tell from his build it was him.
Young Master Cao wasn’t as tall or handsome as Qin Yi. When Li Mengjiao was at Hunan TV for a show recording, she’d heard people describe Cao as a playboy.
It wasn’t that Cao treated his girlfriends poorly—he was incredibly generous during the pursuit. But once the relationship started, he quickly lost interest.
When Cao launched his charm offensive on Xu Mei, the TV station staff gossiped, betting she wouldn’t hold out long before falling for him. Sure enough, the chatterboxes were right.
Li Mengjiao couldn’t understand Xu Mei’s choice. Comparing Cao to Qin Yi, Qin Yi outshone him in every way, yet Xu Mei picked Cao!
“Has she got mud in her eyes?” Li Mengjiao fumed.
Wen Ying laughed at her indignation. “Come on, that’s enough. Qin Yi and Xu Mei broke up months ago. Are you saying she’s not allowed to have a new boyfriend? Love isn’t about comparing pros and cons. Who Xu Mei dates is her business, not ours.”
Qin Yi was thriving with his franchise business. Yang Xi, who spent a month in Shanghai on business, had followed the entire process of Qin Yi’s new “Shrimp King” store, studying Shanghai’s tastes and returning with a detailed report.
Wen Ying didn’t expect Yang Xi’s report to be profound, but she was pleased Yang Xi took the initiative.
Whether Qin Yi had fully moved on from Xu Mei, Wen Ying didn’t know. Through Yang Xi, she could tell Qin Yi’s life was so busy he likely had no time for personal matters. After a breakup, they didn’t need to stay friends or become enemies. Xu Mei was carving her path in entertainment, Qin Yi had his career and studies, and both were better off living well without interference.
Wen Ying wasn’t focused on Xu Mei’s new romance but on her drama wrapping up.
Taiwan idol dramas have short production cycles. Xu Mei’s two-month shoot was considered long; some shorter dramas could be filmed in half a month, saving significant costs, which kept Taiwan idol dramas budget-friendly.
Now, a problem arose.
Xu Mei’s drama had finished, but Li Mengjiao’s was still shooting.
Their dramas started almost simultaneously, but Xu Mei took a leave from school to film full-time, while Tianjiao had to work around Li Mengjiao’s schedule.
When was Li Mengjiao free? Weekends!
The crew shot other actors’ scenes during the week, saving Li Mengjiao’s for Saturdays and Sundays, with maybe a few extra scenes if she got out of school early on Fridays.
A full-time shoot versus a part-time one naturally lagged behind.
Fortunately, the male lead, Yun Chen, wasn’t famous yet and could stay in Rongcheng to accommodate Li Mengjiao’s schedule. Yuan Fenghui and Li Zhentao weren’t stingy, covering Yun Chen’s living expenses in Rongcheng when he wasn’t filming, and he could study with Li Mengjiao’s acting coach.
When not filming, Yun Chen roamed Rongcheng’s streets with a camera, snapping photos and trying all sorts of local foods. Life was so comfortable that when Wen Ying visited the set a few days ago, she noticed Yun Chen had gained weight.
That wouldn’t do!
Wen Ying quietly tipped off Yuan Fenghui, who reviewed Yun Chen’s earlier footage and compared it to his current state. She ordered him to stop indulging in food. Yun Chen wasn’t a middle-aged veteran who could rely on talent over looks—he was a newcomer, a heartthrob, the drama’s eye-candy for female viewers. How could he let himself go?
Yuan Fenghui didn’t want a promising, good-looking newcomer to leave her set and return to Taiwan as a greasy model. Youthful charm was delicate; at 25, Yun Chen hadn’t been jaded by the entertainment industry, and his boyish appeal was a gift from the heavens. But gaining weight could quickly erase that gift.
Under Yuan Fenghui’s strict intervention, Yun Chen had to halt his culinary tour of Rongcheng and sweat it out in the hotel gym when not filming. Wen Ying, the instigator, stayed out of the spotlight.
At the current pace, Tianjiao’s first drama would take at least another month to wrap.
It was April now, so filming would finish in May, leaving a month for post-production. Tianjiao’s drama could still make the summer broadcast window.
Summer and winter breaks were golden periods for TV shows, especially youth idol dramas. During the school year, students had less control over the TV, with parents often holding the remote. Only during breaks could kids seize it.
Though Xu Mei’s drama wrapped a month earlier, it likely wouldn’t air sooner—probably also targeting the summer slot.
The summer window spanned two months. Even airing one episode daily, an idol drama could finish in a month, allowing several shows to share the slot.
Wen Ying asked Li Mengjiao, “Has Teacher Yuan mentioned which channel she wants to sell the premiere rights to?”
“Of course, Hunan TV,” Li Mengjiao muttered. “But I’m not sure if they’ll buy it. I’m worried Mr. Guan will cause trouble.”
Hunan TV was now a media giant in China, second only to CCTV. Compared to CCTV’s serious grandeur, Hunan TV was younger and more vibrant, appealing to a different audience. Premiering on Hunan TV would be ideal for Li Mengjiao.
As for Mr. Guan… Before Wen Ying could respond, Xie Qian, who’d been listening quietly, chimed in, “What’s Mr. Guan got to do with it? Hunan TV’s success isn’t thanks to him and his wife. The company might be his, but the station isn’t. He can pull your album, but he can’t block your drama.”
Mr. Guan’s wife had significant influence at Hunan TV, or she wouldn’t have been assigned to oversee the talent show.
As talent shows grew increasingly popular, her clout at the station would only rise.
But so what?
The station’s power was decentralized. Unless she became director, she couldn’t control the acquisitions department.
Working at the same station, connections were inevitable, and all contestants had to sign with Mr. Guan’s company, suggesting not just connections but profit-sharing. Mr. Guan was only the company’s public face.
Seeing Li Mengjiao’s confused look, Xie Qian paused, trying to explain in terms she’d understand, “Have you read *Dream of the Red Chamber*?”
Li Mengjiao nodded vigorously.
“Mr. Guan and his wife are like Yuanyang, the head maid by Matriarch Jia’s side. Yuanyang can manage the matriarch’s daily life and hold the keys to the treasure chests, but she doesn’t decide when to open them—Matriarch Jia does.”
Li Mengjiao sort of got it, but not entirely.
“…And then?”
Xie Qian gave up explaining.
What “and then”?
Hunan TV wouldn’t pass on a good drama. Yuan Fenghui just needed to bypass the Guans to make it happen.
During the summer, every channel competed for ratings. If Hunan TV didn’t buy Tianjiao’s drama and another station did, outrating Hunan TV, the acquisitions team would face scrutiny for their judgment!
The prerequisite was a high-quality drama with blockbuster potential, and the acquisitions team had to see its value.
Li Mengjiao mulled it over all afternoon before grasping the point. She stormed over, fuming, “I get what you mean now. Mr. Guan and his wife are just head maids who don’t call the shots. If Mr. Guan pulled my album, hurting the company’s interests, would his backers agree? It’s not just him trying to blacklist me—it’s Young Master Cao too, isn’t it? Just wait, Xu Mei and I are officially at war!”
