Taking Liu Yifei back to Northeast China for the Chinese New Year has sent the entire internet into

Fang Yu remained calm, took a bite of the remaining half of the fried dough stick, chewed a few times, swallowed it, and looked up to ask:

"Sister Wang, do I look like the kind of person who can't think straight?"

Sister Wang stared at him for two seconds.

This kid has bright, clear eyes, and his face practically screams "I'm very reliable."

Sister Wang felt much more relieved.

"That's true. You usually seem carefree and irresponsible, but you're reliable when it really matters."

Fang Yu nodded immediately, his expression incredibly sincere:

You can rest assured.

"When I'm out in the world, my main principle is to be steady."

Sister Wang stood up and picked up the report from the coffee table.

"Okay, I won't nag you anymore."

"I have a meeting this afternoon, so I'll be going now."

After saying that, he turned and left the lounge.

The high heels clicked crisply in the corridor, one after another, gradually fading into the distance.

The door clicked shut.

Fang Yu's face held an expression of utter composure—

It lasted less than three seconds.

The fourth second.

He sprang to his feet from the sofa.

He quickly pulled out his phone, opened Weibo, and furiously tapped the search bar with his thumb.

Fang Yu only sells, he doesn't drink.

search.

No relevant results were found.

My heartbeat calmed down a notch.

Fang Yu advises fans not to drink cola.

search.

No relevant results were found.

It leveled off again.

Coca-Cola spokesperson only drinks soy milk

search.

still none.

Fang Yu slumped onto the sofa and let out a long sigh of relief.

Okay.

These fans should at least have some sense of martial ethics.

……

Knock knock.

There was a knock on the door of the lounge.

Fang Yu immediately switched back to a proper sitting posture, and his face regained its composed demeanor.

"Enter."

The door opened, and Mr. Zhang walked in, carrying his ever-present thermos and a stack of documents.

His face was radiant, his steps were much lighter than usual, and his eyes and brows were filled with joy.

It's obvious they've been craving the data from the Red vs. Blue game these past few days.

"Fang Yu, you've worked hard."

Mr. Zhang began by laying the groundwork with a few words.

Phrases like "You are the pillar of the company" or "The whole industry is watching you" are used to describe you.

Fang Yu let it go in one ear and out the other, maintaining a polite smile on his face, while already thinking about what to eat for lunch.

After the pleasantries were over, Mr. Zhang placed the thermos on the coffee table, making a soft clinking sound as it hit the bottom.

There's something I'd like to hear your opinion on.

Fang Yu looked up: "What is it?"

"The company is preparing to send trainees to participate in a talent show."

Fang Yu raised an eyebrow: "Which level?"

"Idol New Generation"

Fang Yu took out his phone and searched, and the page quickly popped up.

Produced jointly by Tencent Video and three major TV stations, featuring 100 trainees on stage.

The mentor lineup includes veteran singers and top-tier dancers.

The competition format is clearly written—initial stage evaluation, theme song assessment, public performance elimination, and the final night broadcast live across the entire network.

Fang Yu swiped the screen: "This show has quite a scope."

Mr. Zhang nodded in agreement: "Our company has secured two slots for Tencent Video's key projects this year."

Fang Yu looked up at him: "Compete?"

Mr. Zhang unscrewed the thermos and took a sip.

"It cost money and also involved a lot of favors."

Fang Yu remained silent.

He knew what was going on.

In terms of scale, Star Entertainment cannot compare with those big brands.

Before he became famous, the company couldn't even get decent variety show resources.

Fang Yu still doesn't quite know how Boss Zhang managed to get that spot in "Going Home for the New Year".

Now that I've become famous, the company's fortunes have soared.

But a solid foundation can't be built up overnight.

Especially for the trainee program—the training cycle is short, and resources are invested little. When they are sent out to compete head-to-head with the top brands, their performance on paper is really not good.

Mr. Zhang opened the document and pushed it to the center of the coffee table.

"All the big companies have gotten involved in this talent show."

"From what I've heard, Galaxy Media, Aurora Youth, and Tiancheng Entertainment have all fallen from grace."

"They have a mature pool of boy groups, overseas training backgrounds, and long-standing relationships with the platform."

He paused for a moment, then pressed his palm on the document.

In the end, we didn't beat around the bush.

"Our Xingyao... has a weak foundation."

The moment those three words were uttered, the lounge fell silent.

Fang Yu didn't talk nonsense.

He sank back into the sofa, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and looked at the cover of the document.

"So? What's missing?"

Mr. Zhang looked up and stared directly at him: "We're missing a song that can put the tone down."

Fang Yuquan understood.

The first round of a talent show is all about the initial stage performance.

With hundreds of trainees standing on the stage, there are plenty of good-looking ones, and those who can dance are not scarce either.

But what truly makes an audience pick you out from the crowd is your singing.

A song that can electrify the audience can transform a trainee from the background into the center of attention.

A mediocre song can also bury a promising talent back into the mud, preventing them from even making a splash.

Why are large companies willing to spend millions to buy songs by overseas producers?

The goal is to make a powerful impact in those few minutes of the initial stage performance.

General Manager Zhang pushed the documents towards Fang Yu again.

"Follow the market rate for top-tier producers."

"Lyrics, composition, arrangement, production, demo, all in one."

"The company will settle accounts with you separately, not through the artist's contract."

After saying this, he stared into Fang Yu's eyes.

"Fang Yu, no one in the industry dares to quote a price for your songs anymore."

"But if the company wants to promote new talent, it has to have something strong to back it up."

Fang Yu picked up the document casually and flipped through two pages.

Two names were circled in red on the list of participants.

Cai Kun.

Zhou Yue.

Fang Yu's gaze lingered on the first name for two extra seconds.

He grinned and burst out laughing.

Chicken Bro.

Observing his reaction, General Manager Zhang added:

"If you're busy with your schedule and can't make it, you can just decline."

"I'll find another producer; I won't make things difficult for you."

Fang Yu tossed the documents onto the coffee table.

"Why would you need an outsider?"

Mr. Zhang's eyes lit up, but he didn't rush to express his opinion, waiting for him to continue.

Fang Yu stretched.

He didn't spout any grand principles like "one should not forget one's roots."

He just remembered that when he was still a nobody, Mr. Zhang had staked his spot on him for the "Going Home for the New Year" program.

At that time, nobody in the company was optimistic about this.

But Mr. Zhang made the bet.

"Write."

A single word popped out, crisp and clean.

Mr. Zhang's thermos was still halfway up when he heard this accurate statement, and the thermos paused for a moment.

"However—" Fang Yu held up one finger.

Mr. Zhang immediately became alert: "What are the conditions?"

Who do you think has the best chance?

Mr. Zhang was taken aback; he hadn't expected him to ask that.

After pondering for two seconds, he spoke: "Cai Kun."

Fang Yu nodded in satisfaction: "We're on the same page."

"Brother Chicken's conditions are good enough to fight."

Mr. Zhang, who had maintained a composed expression for so long, finally broke down, slammed his thermos on the coffee table, stood up, and patted Fang Yu's shoulder hard.

"I knew I'd come to the right person! I'll get the production department to cooperate first—"

"Alright, alright." Fang Yu waved his hand. "I can do it myself. You go about your business."

Mr. Zhang smiled and nodded repeatedly, then picked up his glass and turned to leave.

He reached the doorway, then stopped and turned back.

"Fang Yu, thanks."

Fang Yu leaned back on the sofa and waved at him:

"Don't mention it, Mr. Zhang, please go quickly. Your excited expression is putting a lot of pressure on me."

Mr. Zhang laughed and scolded, "You brat," before opening the door and walking out.

The door closed.

Fang Yu withdrew the smile from his face and glanced down at Cai Kun's name on the document again.

Chicken Bro, oh Chicken Bro.

Wait until my brother brings out this song—

You'd better hold onto this incredible wealth.