At the ratings celebration, Professor Fang’s scandal of catching a cheater stole the spotlight, leaving Zhang Guangzhen completely overlooked.
Poor Old Zhang had wrestled with his nerves before mustering the courage to knock on the door.
He’d assumed only Yuan Fenghui would be there, given the late hour and it being her room. But when the door opened, a crowd of eyes stared at him, and Zhang Guangzhen faltered.
Bloody hell!
If he got rejected now, the embarrassment would be colossal.
He wasn’t some young lad anymore—why couldn’t he be more composed, why couldn’t he wait one night?
Zhang gave an awkward chuckle, “Everyone’s still up? If you’re busy, I won’t disturb—”
Before he could finish, Yuan Fenghui yanked him inside by the sleeve.
“Come off it, we’re old friends. No need for that nonsense. Tianjiao doesn’t need average scriptwriters, but we’re always open to great ones!”
Yuan slammed the door shut, smoothed her clothes, and extended her hand, “Welcome to Tianjiao.”
Zhang’s hand met hers, still processing.
That simple?!
“Teacher Zhang, welcome aboard!”
“Teacher Zhang, we’re family now!”
“Teacher Zhang…”
Wen Ying led the welcome, and the others followed with applause, except for the silent Xie Qian. The room erupted in claps and flattery, showering Zhang with sweet words like they cost nothing. In their mouths, he was the universe’s greatest scriptwriter, destined to propel Tianjiao to the top of Chinese entertainment.
Zhang was so dazed by the barrage of compliments that he nearly signed his life to Tianjiao without discussing pay.
Sure, money was a motivator, but working with people you didn’t like, even for good cash, was exhausting!
Getting Yuan Fenghui’s confirmation that he could join Tianjiao, Zhang felt every pore in his body open up.
So comfortable, so liberating!
When he asked why everyone was gathered so late, Wang Shuang spilled the beans, and Zhang broke into a cold sweat.
At the celebration, he’d been preoccupied with joining Tianjiao, missing the undercurrents in the event’s final moments.
So that’s what happened.
Yu Tianlin was even more ruthless than Zhang had imagined.
Kicking Xu Mei out just like that.
If Zhang hadn’t revised the script to Yu Tianlin’s liking, what would’ve been his fate?
And then there was the coal tycoon Boss Jin, who’d insisted on more script changes.
All cutthroat players!
Boss Jin was brushed off by Xie Qian’s few words, and Yu Tianlin feared Yuan Fenghui. Zhang went from cold sweats to an unprecedented sense of security.
Yu Tianlin and Boss Jin were ruthless, but Xie Qian and Yuan Fenghui were a notch above—absolute beasts!
Joining their pack, what was there to fear? With Yuan Fenghui backing him, Zhang could focus on crafting masterpieces. Imagining those days, he broke into a genuine smile.
“As for the remaining payment, I thought, maybe…”
As long as he could cut ties with Yu Tianlin, Zhang was willing to forgo the rest of his fee.
He could bear the loss, even seeing it as a pledge of loyalty to Tianjiao. Money wasn’t the point—he just wanted to work for them!
But Yuan Fenghui cut him off, her expression deadly serious, “Why give up what’s rightfully yours? If you back down, they’ll think scriptwriters are pushovers. Creative theft happens too often in this industry. If even a top writer like you can’t get paid, what about the small ones? If this continues, who’ll bother creating quality scripts?”
A good script was the foundation of any film or TV project.
Without it, no matter how great the actors or directors, audiences wouldn’t care.
Viewers weren’t Oscar judges, parsing nuanced performances.
Nor were they critics, writing essays on a show’s deeper meaning.
But they could tell a good drama from a bad one and would keep watching the good ones!
They’d be glued to a great film, raving about it afterwards, eager to recommend it to friends.
Good scripts, good music, good lyrics… Yuan Fenghui aimed to create superstars, but superstars needed more than an agent’s manoeuvring—they needed great songs and scripts. Without dedicated creators, how could you launch a star?
Yuan’s words were so compelling that Zhang’s cheeks flushed with excitement, and even Wen Ying was deeply moved.
As a writer, Wen Ying felt respected.
Yu Tianlin might’ve learned Yuan’s tactics, but he’d never match her vision.
A tiger painted poorly becomes a dog—Yu Tianlin could never beat Yuan Fenghui!
“Teacher Zhang, about what I mentioned, think it over. If you want to sue, I can recommend a lawyer,” Wen Ying said, revisiting the idea.
Zhang nodded vigorously.
As their talk turned serious, Yuan Fenghui laughed, “No need for a lawsuit. Old Zhang will get his payment.”
They chatted with Zhang a bit longer, discussed Xu Mei’s misfortune, then Yuan ended the gathering, sending everyone to their rooms.
Xie Qian reached his door but didn’t enter, instead heading downstairs, lost in thought.
Zhang’s payment was assured. Yu Tianlin, busy seizing control of Cao Bo’s drama, wouldn’t pick a fight now. Knowing Zhang joined Tianjiao, Yu would likely push Cao Bo to settle the balance faster.
Wen Ying’s repeated mentions of a lawyer sparked something in Xie Qian.
He went to the hotel lobby, where the desk clerk blushed at the sight of him.
“Sir, we got what you asked for.”
She handed him a magazine.
The October issue of *Aige*, fresh off the press.
That afternoon, Xie Qian had called the hotel to arrange its purchase.
“Thanks.”
He handed over a hundred-yuan note, waving off the change as a tip for the errand.
Flipping through it on his way upstairs, he found the apology statement.
Full-page, unedited—*Aige* hadn’t dodged the court’s ruling.
Now only Han Qin’s apology and compensation were pending.
Xie Qian smiled, and passing Wen Ying’s room, he slid the magazine under her door.
Wen Ying shared a room with Li Mengjiao.
Li Mengjiao’s voice came through, the daft girl thinking someone slipped a flyer, then realising it was a magazine.
“It’s the October *Aige*! Wen Ying, look, they published the apology!”
The door swung open, and Wen Ying peeked out.
The corridor was empty.
Li Mengjiao asked who bought it, but Wen Ying claimed ignorance.
Li Mengjiao smirked slyly, *Hmph, who else but Xie Qian?*
Only Xie Qian always had Wen Ying’s needs in mind, quietly going out of his way, like something out of a rom-com.
If Wen Ying and Xie Qian weren’t secretly dating, she’d eat the magazine whole!
