Chapter 22: (Bonus Chapter)

Jiang Yang's manager was counseling him, worried he might resist auditioning for *Favored*.

"Chen Liqi is definitely out of the running. When one whale falls, everything else feeds on it. If she's going to be a stepping stone anyway, the *Favored* role is a pretty good slice of the pie."

The manager continued, "Don't overthink it. President Ma values you more than Huang Yunwen now—that's why he's letting you be the first to taste the crab."

Jiang Yang didn't resist at all. His face lit up with novelty. "Oh? So I've been promoted from bastard son to legitimate heir?!"

Manager: "..."

Back then, the platform had let its "legitimate son" Huang Yunwen walk all over him, and Jiang Yang held grudges.

Did Ma Tao choosing Jiang Yang this time mean Jiang Yang now outranked Huang Yunwen in the hearts of the platform's higher-ups?

Not necessarily.

It was more like he was the gift being offered to show loyalty.

Whether *Favored* would flop or explode, the platform wasn't actually sure, nor did it care much.

Sending someone over was purely to signal their intentions to President Sang—look, we're giving you our best actors, let's work together in the future!

The manager was stunned for three seconds by Jiang Yang's legitimate-heir theorizing before snapping back. "It doesn't necessarily mean President Ma has anything like that in mind."

Just humor him for now.

Jiang Yang sighed dramatically. "Bro, what if I don't get picked? I'll be mocked on the entertainment forums for three days and three nights, won't I?"

Casting used to depend on backers and connections, on networks and maneuvering. Now it depended on President Sang—purely on whether she was happy and satisfied.

Manager: "Don't panic. Even if you don't get picked..."

"As long as you get to meet President Sang and leave a good impression, that's enough. I'll book you extra sessions at the beauty salon these next few days."

President Sang might not even show up, but just in case, he needed to look his best. What if President Sang was into men?

Jiang Yang: "...Bro, stop acting like a madam pimping me out. I'm one hundred percent straight."

The manager looked exasperated. "If I were even a little better-looking, I'd go myself—forget any heterosexual integrity."

Jiang Yang: "Yikes, that's repressed."

Manager: "Get lost."

Jiang Yang held his nose up.

Who knew how many men and women were trying to throw themselves at President Sang? Miss a golden opportunity like this and he'd regret it forever.

·

Meanwhile, Aurora Entertainment's second production, *Favored*, opened its official account.

Following in the footsteps of its predecessor *The Demolition Office*—or rather, Aurora Entertainment's style / President Sang's style—it immediately started stirring up storms.

[Favored (Remake)_Official]: "Grandma, the show you've been following, *Building a Crew from Scratch*, Season 2 has started updating!

If anyone here watched Season 1 (I don't think anyone did), check out @TheDemolitionOfficeIsSomethingElse.

But this time we're not bald and broke. That's right, you heard me—we're subtweeting.

Huge thanks to President Sang @y_03 for lending the crew props and locations. Saved us an enormous chunk of the budget!

*Favored* really is the favored one, =v=

So the rose manor from the novel, the jewelry auction, the helicopter, the car races—all of it can be brought to life!

Absolutely faithful to the original!

PS: This is the first time this humble editor learned what 'fire' (the optical brilliance of gemstones) is *covers mouth and lets out the cry of the poor*"

[?]

[Holy crap]

[??? They're actually cross-promoting now?]

[Looks like subtweeting, but it's really mutual hype, right? They've figured out the internet]

[The costumes and sets can finally be faithful?! The iconic scenes from the novel can finally be real?! If you dare bait-and-switch me, I swear—]

[The last version of *Favored* didn't even have a decent mansion—they found some self-built rural house to fob us off. I was so mad I nearly called the police]

[Wait, is anyone else stuck on the word "lent"?! She owns ALL of this stuff...? I think I died a little...]

[This has the energy of *One Remake, and I'll Take Back Everything That's Mine*]

[Costumes and sets faithful—what about the rest? No butchered adaptation, right? It's not just some other drama wearing *Favored*'s skin, is it, wuwu?!]

[If you're bored, maybe toss some spare change my way...]

[So what's "fire"?]

[Uh, from what I understand, it's that light real gemstones refract—all those colors, super brilliant]

[Where's your manor? I want to go pry loose a gemstone]

·

Chen Liqi took a deep breath. "..."

These days she could only go online with her alt account—her main was throttled, she couldn't post anything.

She knew she shouldn't search, but she couldn't help it.

Now, Chen Liqi could only watch as the person she'd once trampled underfoot climbed back up by stepping on her...

The tax matter unsettled her even more.

Her studio had deliberately avoided hiring relatives, steering clear of the family-workshop model, using company staff instead—she'd thought that would reduce the risk.

Who knew an employee would report her.

Whose mole was it? Which company? It was all speculation. Chen Liqi couldn't make sense of any of it. She only knew—

Whether she could survive this safely, whether her company could be saved!

If the hammer really came down, not only would she be blacklisted, she'd have to pay breach penalties for every suspended engagement.

Besides endorsements, there were the production crews' losses.

Those she'd have to cover too.

Originally there were no such clauses, but with so many scandals in recent years, the terms had gradually grown harsher—to protect capital.

Chen Liqi had never cared before.

She'd been an A-list actress, carrying so many dramas and investments on her back, such a web of connections—if anything happened, someone would protect her.

But now she was panicking.

Chen Liqi worried that if the cost of fishing her out exceeded the cost of promoting a fresh new star, she'd be discarded—thrown in the trash.

Everything in entertainment came down to one word: profit. Everything was weighed on the scales. No one lasted forever.

She refused to become the "Yu Zhitao" of eight years ago.

·

As for Yu Zhitao, the one being thought of—she had no time at all to dwell on the past.

She felt like everything had accelerated!

First, she'd never signed onto a project this fast.

One moment, the author Shu Mucheng signed the adaptation contract with Aurora for *Favored*; the next, Aurora handed her a contract for the female lead of *Favored*.

One moment, she heard the script was being written; the next, she was taken to casting—to directly act out couple scenes with the auditioning male actors.

To see who had the best chemistry.

Second, she'd never joined a crew this fast.

A month later, the core creative team was set, and the moment the filing and new script were finalized, the first third of the script had already been broken down into storyboards.

The script wasn't drastically changed, but there were adjustments. Reading it in hand—it had that quality where "every scene earns its place."

Shu Mucheng had refined the original novel, kept the core emotional line and the highlights of the characters, and added some new couple moments.

The domestic entertainment industry was sluggish, but people with idol drama experience weren't hard to find.

The crew's assembly line also had a behind-the-scenes team doing "on-set concurrent work," ready immediately.

Ensuring footage could be turned into finished episodes fast.

According to the shooting-and-airing schedule the crew had set, the gap between filming and broadcast was about a month.

When episode eight aired, the crew would be filming episodes fifteen or sixteen. With thirty-two episodes total, the whole show could finish airing in under a month.

...

One month, from nothing to something.

Efficiency beyond imagination.

What Yu Zhitao didn't expect was that on her very first day with the crew, the entire *Favored* production was packed up and flown to France.

There lay

President Sang's rose manor.

The story's opening took place at the "manor."

...

Everyone knew President Sang's manor would be beautiful—but not *this* kind of beautiful.

The car drove nearly two hours from the airport, past field after field of vineyards and sunflowers, then turned onto a tree-lined avenue.

Tall plane-like trees arched overhead on both sides, sunlight leaking through the leaves onto the car windows like scattered gold.

Jiang Yang looked up.

—Because his face could hold up, and his shoulders were broad enough, not some chicken-boy narrow shoulders, he'd been lucky enough to be cast as the male lead of *Favored*.

His competitors had all been eliminated for looking like dried-out strip-shaped frogs.

Jiang Yang and his manager had spent ages marveling about "good genes doing the work."

Now, arriving at the manor with the crew,

Jiang Yang's mouth hung open for ages...

He finally understood why President Sang hadn't given a single thought to the capital behind *Legend of the Golden Realm* back then and had just cursed them out.

With this level of wealth, she could straight-up sell off Hongming TV, couldn't she?!

At the end of the avenue stood an iron gate—black, cast-iron, an old-fashioned manor gate covered in climbing iron roses.

The gate stood open, and on either side stood a row of uniformed staff—butler, valets, maids—the manor's personnel.

Seeing the visitors, they bowed gracefully.

Everyone fell silent.

Shu Mucheng squinted and said, "When I was little I pretended I was a princess and imagined exactly this scene. Dream fulfilled. I'm happy."

Call it spirits lifted by good fortune—ever since the *Favored* remake began, she'd been quite comfortable lately.

Watching her enemy squirm was truly the best tonic; even her complexion had grown rosier.

She admitted it was a bit petty-victory-smug of her, but petty victory felt *great*.

When Shu Mucheng finished, everyone laughed.

The atmosphere in the cars thawed a little. Ever since they'd caught sight of the manor, everyone had been sitting ramrod straight, hardly daring to breathe.

The location scouts had been here, but most of the actors were seeing it for the first time. It was too... "spectacular."

There were lavish constructed sets back home too.

But constructed sets and real locations...

were not the same.

A set could be aged, could be refined, could be grand, could even fake a "sense of time"—but a real place was a whole that needed no explanation.

The name "Rose Manor" had originally been invented by Shu Mucheng for her novel.

When she'd written the manor, it wasn't conjured from thin air—she'd had references, modeled on a famous French château winery.

But even that hadn't matched this level.

The main building was like a castle—not the colorful kind from fairy tales, but white-gray, yet it interpreted "intricate splendor" to the extreme.

Tall, sprawling horizontally, with wings extending off on both left and right.

Roses. Roses everywhere around it.

When the wind blew, petals rustled down and drifted through the air. That soft whispering sound was like hearing the roses breathe.

The director was Mo Jialiu, who had shot several idol dramas—a seasoned assembly-line veteran.

To capture the female lead's shock at first facing such immense wealth, she figured she wouldn't even need inner monologue—

One long take would do it.

The drone rose from the end of the avenue, swept over the iron gate, crossed the gravel plaza, and pushed in toward the central castle's facade.

Then it climbed, taking the whole manor into frame.

The rose gardens spread out in the overhead shot like an enormous velvet carpet embroidered with flowers.

They clustered around the manor like a surging sea of color embracing a single white reef.

Beautiful at a glance—and dangerous.

In the distance, rolling hills, neatly planted green woods upon them, and fields of yellow sunflowers.

When everyone stepped out of the cars, their legs were weak.

"Hi."

Everyone startled and looked up.

Behind the black wrought-iron railing of a second-floor room stood a person.

Sang Yu.

Because of the racing scenes the shoot required, it had piqued Sang Yu's interest in watching races, so she'd come.

"Hello, President Sang..."

The group greeted her in a fluster.

It was Jiang Yang's first time meeting President Sang. His previous impression of her: casual, free-spirited, never playing by the rules.

He hadn't expected her to be so young?!

Chief assistant Cao Siyi stood under the portico in a light gray-and-black professional outfit, nodding to the crew in greeting.

"Everyone, thank you for your hard work. The manor has been arranged according to the crew's requirements."

"The first, second, and third floors of the interior are all open for use. Above the third floor is President Sang's private area—please do not enter."

"You may film anywhere in the surrounding rose gardens, but please don't trample the flowers. Picking is allowed—in moderation."

Actually, there was no need for the warning—they couldn't get up there anyway.

There were bodyguards.

The crew's staff got busy.

Hauling equipment, rigging lights, running cables, dressing sets—everything proceeded in tense silence, yet in perfect order.

Cao Siyi had arranged everything thoughtfully. Part of the castle's ground-floor hall had been cleared, leaving ample space for the crew.

Several rooms had been converted into makeup rooms and lounges, fresh flower arrangements on every windowsill.

Elsewhere.

Jiang Yang's hands trembled, his legs trembled, and he clung to his manager, refusing to let go.

He'd filmed idol-drama openings before—the kind where luxury cars filed in for the entrance shot. Crews he'd been with before would rent fancy cars to look the part.

...But not cars of *this* caliber!

This was beyond the novels, even.

Before them sat a car with sleek lines, an ink-black that balanced cool and luxury, and an all-too-familiar prancing-horse emblem.

Its identity was spelled out: Ferrari.

A terrifying machine that practically lay flat against the ground—if he scraped off even a speck of paint, they could chop Jiang Yang up and sell him by the pound and still not cover it!

And it wasn't just the male lead who didn't dare move—the supporting actors were even more frozen.

Parked beside the Ferrari were cars for male leads two, three, and four—each a different model, each bizarre-looking!

One actor used an AI image search and found prices ranging from fifty to ninety million RMB—and even at those prices, they weren't for sale.

The most expensive was a limited-edition Bugatti.

Actors mingled in the glittering entertainment world and had seen some things, but now every pupil dilated. This was too brutal...

Director Mo Jialiu frowned. She couldn't bear it either, but she pressed, "Get in. Take a lap and try it." Don't waste time.

France also used left-hand drive, so the actors filming didn't need to retake driving tests—just prepare some paperwork.

As director, Mo Jialiu was the boss on set; the actors had to comply.

So the actors looked at each other, then carefully climbed into the cars, still timid in every movement, not daring to touch anything.

As male lead, Jiang Yang got the most expensive one.

The cars were assigned, but nobody moved.

Mo Jialiu: "Start the engines!"

The second male lead had a funeral expression. "Director, I'm scared. I can't do it. At this price, my legs are shaking, my mouth is shaking."

And it wasn't just him—everyone felt the same dread. They didn't dare move!

Just as the set deadlocked, and Mo Jialiu was about to speak,

Sang Yu had somehow come down. She rested a hand on the car door and looked down at Jiang Yang sitting inside.

"Don't dare drive it?"

Jiang Yang swallowed, shook his head like a rattle-drum, then nodded.

Might as well be honest.

Eighty-some million?! Add a bit more and it's a hundred-million target.

He'd been a "about-to-blow-up" actor for years and hadn't even saved that much!

Sang Yu said casually, "Treat it as a prop. The roads around here aren't bumpy either—take a couple of laps and you'll get used to it."

Did rich people treat supercars as collectibles? Why was President Sang so unbothered?

Her tone made it sound like a coin-operated kiddie ride.

Mo Jialiu's eyelid twitched uncontrollably.

She coughed lightly. "Jiang Yang, can you overcome this?"

If he couldn't, wide shots could use a double—but what about close-ups?

She'd worked on plenty of crews and faced plenty of difficulties, but never this *kind* of difficulty.

Nearby, the second male lead confirmed he'd been assigned a Pagani Codalunga—fifty million.

His poor heart couldn't take it.

His back broke out in sweat, his hands and face both trembling. He raised a hand and asked weakly, "President Sang, um, is there a... cheaper car?"

"The novel only mentions something around twenty-odd million..."

Mo Jialiu's mouth twitched.

What a "only." What a "twenty-odd million."

She supposed this could count as the broken-windows effect—just acting on some very strange place...