On the evening of the first day of the Lunar New Year, the brief scene at the roadside convenience store quickly sank into the ocean of memory like other inadvertent details of life, without even stirring a single wave.

Zhou Zhi didn't hesitate for long. The temptation was great, but so was the resistance. She needed to focus, as hesitation would reduce her productivity. So, she spent three hours every day watching the dramas starring the big celebrity. Within three days, she made a decision that made Jiang Shang wish she could chop off Zhou Zhi's head.

Of course, it was a rejection.

The reasons were ample—a combination of her viewing insights and "Online Professional Reviews."

Zhou Zhi specifically created a PowerPoint presentation, compiling the Douban Scores for each of the big celebrity's dramas. Only one scored above 7 points, while the others were as low as 4 points, with an average score of less than 5. Her viewing analysis was both reasonable and tactful. To avoid being accused of subjectivity by Jiang Shang, Zhou Zhi also included several excerpts from online blog posts criticizing the big celebrity's acting skills. She carefully selected them, filtering out comments from obvious Haters—those who criticized just for the sake of it were too low-level.

Upon receiving this email, Jiang Shang was internally devastated, but at the same time, she couldn't help but wonder about Zhou Zhi's original profession. The PowerPoint was clear in logic, well-structured, and exquisitely made—far more polished than the collaboration proposals on their website.

Polished as it was, the outcome was not what she had hoped for.

Jiang Shang cursed Zhou Zhi for not knowing what was good for her for a full forty-five minutes, even considering forwarding the email directly to Fang Jiang Studio. When her supervisor noticed how furious she was and asked out of curiosity, Jiang Shang projected the PowerPoint, making the entire team burst into laughter. Even Fang Jiang's die-hard fans couldn't find a single flaw in it. In the end, all they could do was stare at the slides and say, "Ahhh, Fang Jiang is so beautiful."

Damn idiots.

The acquisition of the copyright for Zhou Zhi's novel had been handled personally by Fang Jiang's agent, Meng Shizhen. It was Meng Shizhen who received Jiang Shang's reply. If it weren't for the unexpected rejection in the email, she would have almost forgotten about the matter.

Given Fang Jiang's current status and reputation, it was natural that some would refuse—just like the director Kikujiro, whom they had been in contact with recently, who hadn't shown much enthusiasm. He was a renowned director, and his lack of enthusiasm had its own considerations. But Meng Shizhen had never imagined that a copyright deal under the name of Fang Jiang Studio would fail to secure a novel.

And not just any novel—a Baihe Novel.

Before Fang Jiang asked her to handle this matter, Meng Shizhen hadn't even known what a Baihe Novel was.

After finding out, she couldn't help but suspect the se.xual orientation of her boss. A Deep Closet hiding in plain sight?

The boss, however, was quite frank: no past, no present, but no guarantees for the future.

The heart that had been hanging in suspense for days finally settled.

Since Fang Jiang entered the industry, there had been no shortage of handsome senior actors, sunny juniors, and wealthy bosses throwing themselves and their money at her. The entertainment industry might lack many things, but it never lacked capital and beauty. Meng Shizhen had always worried that the young woman, fresh out of school, would dive headfirst into this glamorous world and marry early. Whenever she encountered widely recognized handsome male stars or suitors with talent and charm, she would intentionally or unintentionally ask Fang Jiang for her thoughts.

In Fang Jiang's eyes, this one was a misshapen melon, that one a rotten date; this one had a bad temper, that one had a twisted mind. If someone was completely normal in every aspect, she would say their head was too round.

Meng Shizhen set one worry aside only to pick up another, repeatedly urging Fang Jiang to watch her words.

Fang Jiang looked at her as if she were an idiot: "Don't worry, Sister Shizhen, I focus on work and talk less. The world belongs to the doers."

Back then, Meng Shizhen had sensed that this beautiful girl was extraordinary—she would either achieve meteoric fame or fade into obscurity instantly, with no middle ground.

However, with a mother who was an established actress owning a film company and resources, it was difficult for Fang Jiang to remain obscure. Blessed with a face reminiscent of 1990s Hong Kong stars that outshone everyone, passable acting skills that were better than some but not the best, exceptional emotional intelligence in public, and her parents' capital, she had sailed smoothly to this day.

In recent years, whether it was because her boss had grown increasingly detached or because Meng Shizhen had long seen through her as a narcissistic and unfeeling person who loved only herself and no one else, she could no longer imagine her boss falling in love with anyone.

People in the entertainment industry often have eccentricities—those who are too normal mostly struggle to survive in this circle. But Fang Jiang...

Aside from being somewhat two-faced—acting one way in public and another in private—she had almost no flaws: she was always polite and courteous to everyone, from leaders and renowned directors to ordinary crew members, extras, and fans. She didn't smoke, do drugs, and only drank occasionally. She always wore her seatbelt whether sitting in the front or back of a car, never jaywalked, and made sure to sleep before midnight on days without work commitments. Forget other actors or celebrities—even among fan groups, it was rare to find someone so seemingly desire-free and disciplined about not staying up late.

What could be done when a beautiful, wealthy, and utterly uninteresting boss with no eccentricities wanted to splurge recklessly?

She could only let her spend.

If the boss wanted to make a film, fine. There were risks, but the boss had star power, so box office returns were guaranteed.

If the boss wanted to write, direct, and star in it, fine. As long as the boss was happy, losing a little money to gain some acclaim wasn't bad.

But if the boss went crazy and decided to film a lesbian-themed project... For reasons both emotional and logical, and from every angle, Meng Shizhen was against it. The policy risks were high, the subject matter was too niche, and it could damage the actress's image. China wasn't Europe. Even in the U.S., which actress wouldn't weigh the pros and cons carefully before taking on a same-se.x romance role? Who did she think she was? Julianne Moore? Cate Blanchett?

If it were a major director, a big production, aimed at winning awards, it would be understandable. But Fang Jiang wanted to direct and star in it herself, and as a web series at that.

Good heavens, a web series.

It wasn't that web series were inherently bad, but according to Meng Shizhen's plans for Fang Jiang, at this stage, they should be aiming for the big screen, pursuing an international route and awards—not narrowing their path.

If it were any ordinary artist, Meng Shizhen would have the final say. As a top-tier agent, she held considerable authority in the industry.

But this was Fang Jiang—Fang Jiang, who had popularity, money, and influence. Most importantly, ever since the year she was discovered by a talent scout, when Meng Shizhen promised her mother to guide her, and from the day she glimpsed this girl's peculiar and neurotic side yet stayed despite her disdain, Meng Shizhen had been inextricably bound to her.

Agents were permanent, artists came and went.

When Fang Jiang expressed a desire to try something new, Meng Shizhen consoled herself with this thought: the money Fang Jiang had earned for her over the years far exceeded what others could make in a lifetime. Even if Fang Jiang fulfilled her contract now, retired, and walked away, Meng Shizhen had already made a fortune.

Contentment brings happiness.

These three words hung prominently in the center of Meng Shizhen's office. While other companies displayed statues of Guan Yu or Guanyin, Meng Shizhen's office featured a statue of the Laughing Buddha.

Being rejected by an unknown, insignificant author displeased Meng Shizhen. In her view, this author was either clueless or greedy, thinking that since they had taken a liking to her work, she was indispensable, putting on airs to drive up the price.

Meng Shizhen sneered. "I don't give a damn about you. Good riddance—it's exactly what I wanted."

If Fang Jiang hadn't asked about it, Meng Shizhen wouldn't have planned to tell her. She was afraid this sly little author might pique Fang Jiang's competitive spirit.

Thinking of Fang Jiang, Meng Shizhen sighed. Lately, Fang Jiang had been listless, uninterested in anything. According to Song Yuan's report, this star had tried to seek thrills during the New Year by shoplifting at a convenience store. Fortunately, an absurd intervention from a passerby foiled her theft plan. Meng Shizhen almost felt like sending that passerby a commendation banner.

The entertainment industry may seem glamorous, but behind the glitter lies a desolate landscape, much like the dark side of the moon. Though top domestic celebrities command high prices, their work hours and intensity far exceed the norm. Many popular stars rush nonstop between film sets, while others are frequent flyers, jetting off to events. Having work to do at least indicates an artist's popularity and value—those with no projects face an entirely different reality.

The world of glitz and glamour is ruthlessly pragmatic, and the entertainment industry is especially cruel to actresses. Male actors can play the male lead's love interest at twenty and still do so at sixty. But actresses? By thirty-five, they're relegated to roles like the evil mother-in-law, the wife cheated on by a mistress, the unreasonable ex-wife, or the greedy, domineering mother-in-law. Abroad, shows like The Good Wife, Desperate Housewives, and Grey's Anatomy showcase the charm of mature women. In China? Many actresses worry about losing roles long before thirty-five, and by thirty-five or forty, they're often completely out of work. Good scripts and investments are scarce.

Not long ago, Fang Jiang had lamented to Meng Shizhen, expressing relief that she had chosen the right path back in the day. Making as much money as possible while still popular was the sensible thing to do—whether it was good or not would be for posterity to judge. Though she was at the peak of her fame, she already felt the bleak truth that no flower stays in bloom forever.

But was it just relief? No. As a thirty-five-year-old woman, Fang Jiang's feelings ran deeper and more complex.

When Fang Jiang received the list of senior psychological counselors from Meng Shizhen, she was lying at home in a state of utter lethargy—a proper "Ge You slouch," embodying a massive slump. The Harman Kardon speakers vibrated with Beethoven's Symphony No. 5, but it did nothing to reignite her passion for life.

"Psychological counselors? What nonsense. Not going."

"NOT GOING!!!" The three exclamation marks emphasized her point.

During the New Year, Fang Jiang hadn't gone anywhere, staying quietly by herself. Her parents had invited her home for the holidays, but which home should she go to? Whichever she chose, she'd feel like an outsider. So, she lied and said she was vacationing out of town.

These days, lying requires a full set of props. She momentarily forgot that couriers don't operate during the New Year, leaving her no way to buy local specialties on Taobao.

What to do? In the end, she ordered a box of 7D dried mangoes from Amazon to pass off as souvenirs from the Philippines.

Don't assume that people over thirty have no family troubles or conflicts with their parents. One may never resolve issues with their parents, even into old age or until death. Stripped of the celebrity halo, who isn't just a child, just a person?

Recently, a program invited celebrities and their parents to talk about each other, and the production team had considered inviting Fang Jiang. She decisively refused. Even though her parents wouldn't go on the show to slander their daughter like some parents do, publicly pressure her to get married, or engage in cringey scenes of affection like "Mommy loves you, baby, sweetie-pie," what if they did?

It would be utterly foolish and ridiculous.

As a star, one should have the awareness to present only the best and most beautiful side to the public, rather than tearing off the mask and letting the masses see the blurred flesh and blo.od beneath. She wasn't a method actress, bold enough to deliberately appear ugly and force people to confront the harsh truths of life.

The public only loves the stars of their imagination, few genuinely want to understand the real person. And Fang Jiang had no intention of letting anyone understand her.

Love everything you see, love everything she presents—mutual satisfaction was more than enough.

Most of the staff at Fang Jiang Studio returned to work on the sixteenth day of the lunar new year. On that day, Fang Jiang and Meng Shizhen would go to the company to distribute Lucky Red Envelopes, ensuring everyone who came received one.

Just as Meng Shizhen finished handing out the envelopes and was about to leave, Fang Jiang pulled her back and asked, "Did we secure the rights to that person's work?"

Meng Shizhen pretended not to understand. "Who?"

"You know, that person... Xiao Yuan, what's her name again?"

Song Yuan, whose name was mentioned, inwardly groaned. If Meng Shizhen found out that Fang Jiang's interest was sparked because of her, she'd be in deep trouble.

But the situation didn't allow her to pretend she hadn't heard. Looking up, she met Meng Shizhen's sharp gaze and had no choice but to answer honestly, "It's... it's Shang Que..."

This whole incident was purely coincidental. That day, Song Yuan was waiting for Fang Jiang in the dressing room. With nothing else to do, she read a novel on her phone and happened to come across the scene where the two female leads had a falling-out.

It was indescribably satisfying. Gnashing her teeth and repeatedly exclaiming how thrilling it was, she caught Fang Jiang's attention, who then casually recommended her favorite author.

Fang Jiang said offhandedly, "Well, let's just buy the rights to her novel and adapt it then."

Song Yuan thought Fang Jiang was joking, but who would have guessed she'd immediately task Meng Shizhen with making it happen?

"Oh, that little author."

Meng Shizhen's "oh" was loaded with meaning, and Fang Jiang understood it immediately. "She wouldn't refuse, would she? Is it because the offer is too low? Or does she not know who I am?"

Meng Shizhen replied, "I suspect it's about the money. Young people these days are short-sighted. The moment they see a sucker, they put on airs to squeeze out a better deal. Who knows if they'll get another chance like this?"

"No, Shang Que isn't that kind of person." Song Yuan, who was usually cautious and never spoke out of turn, mustered extraordinary courage for the author she adored. "She must have her own considerations and concerns. It definitely isn't about the money."

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