Reborn in the Chinese Entertainment Industry: You're a Director, But You're a Casanova?

It's already past 10 p.m., and the doors to the outsourced photography studio of Ruili Magazine are already closed.

Sixteen-year-old Yang Mi was standing on the side of the road, a little stiff from the cold.

By the light, Niu Yuehua could see clearly that the little girl was clutching half a piece of bread and hadn't even had a sip of hot water; she was forcing herself to swallow it.

He swallowed too quickly and choked so badly that his eyes rolled back. He had to pound his chest a couple of times to force it down.

To an outsider, this scene would definitely evoke a strong protective instinct.

But in Niu Yuehua's eyes, there was not a trace of pity or tenderness. He saw no resigned numbness in her eyes, nor any feigned weakness.

Even as she munched on dry bread, the girl's eyes still revealed hunger and ambition.

Niu Yuehua didn't rush over to offer the hot milk tea like a sycophant; that wouldn't fit his persona. He rummaged in his pocket for a while, then went back into the restaurant, grabbed a piece of paper, wrote down his phone number, and strolled over.

Yang Mi was startled when he suddenly sensed someone approaching.

She turned around abruptly and saw a tall boy, about her age but wearing a tattered jacket, looking down at her.

"Looking at your face, you're born to be a big star," Niu Yuehua said calmly.

Yang Mi didn't speak, but continued to stare at him warily, her eyes full of defensiveness.

Niu Yuehua didn't care and casually handed over the piece of paper with the phone number written on it.

"Here you go. If you want to do something successful, call this number and contact me."

Niu Yuehua threw down the note, didn't even ask her name, and turned to leave.

As I walked, I leisurely pondered in my mind that this girl was too ambitious and probably didn't take me seriously.

Under the streetlight, 16-year-old Yang Mi stood a step back in a defensive posture, staring at the tattered note for a few seconds before rolling her eyes in exasperation.

As a native of Beijing, what kind of people haven't I seen since I was a child?

Plus, she was beautiful and had been a model for magazines since a young age, so she was more arrogant than anyone else. She dreamed of breaking into the entertainment industry and becoming a real star.

"Are you sick? Coming here in the middle of the night to act all high and mighty." Yang Mi curled her lips in disgust.

Wearing a tattered jacket, without even a proper business card, he comes here with a shabby restaurant bill and tries to act like a big shot.

Does he think he's Wang Shuo or Feng Xiaogang? He's probably just some hoodlum who happened to be passing by in an alley, saw she was pretty, and wanted to hit on her. His tactics are so outdated.

Yang Mi didn't even bother to read what was written on the note. He disgustedly pinched the note with his fingernails and crumpled it into a ball.

With a whoosh, she threw the crumpled paper into the green belt behind her.

"The way these men flirt these days is getting more and more pathetic," Yang Mi muttered, clapping her hands as she prepared to continue munching on her dry bread.

However, before she could even swallow her dry bread, a taxi pulled up at the bottom of the restaurant steps.

A well-dressed young man stepped down. This young man was none other than Feng Gong's son, Feng Chengcheng.

He greeted Niu Yuehua, then went up to him and helped Feng Gong, who was walking out of the restaurant.

Niu Yuehua, who had just strolled across the road, also stepped forward and supported his master's other arm.

The two smaller ones, one on the left and one on the right, worked together very well.

"Master, please slow down, there's ice on these steps." Niu Yuehua put away his previous nonchalant attitude and spoke with the utmost respect of a junior.

Feng Gong was indeed drunk. As an older generation of traditional folk artists, he had a habit when drunk: when he was excited, he would easily take on the performance he was supposed to do on stage and leave it behind the stage.

He was being helped by two children towards the car when he suddenly froze, stood on the steps, and, beaming, shouted at the person opposite him:

"My dear viewers, I've missed you all so much!"

That iconic shout carried far into the quiet night.

"Alright, alright, Dad, there's no audience here, you should get in the car now." Feng Chengcheng smiled helplessly and exchanged a glance with Niu Yuehua.

The two men, suppressing their laughter, half-pulled and half-dragged the titan of the performing arts world into the back seat of the Santana.

As the car door closed, 16-year-old Yang Mi, standing a dozen meters across the street, was instantly petrified, as if struck by lightning.

The half-eaten dry bread in his hand fell to the ground with a thud, covered in dust, without him noticing.

Her eyes were wide open, staring intently at the Santana.

As someone who is eager to enter the world of fame and fortune, how could she not recognize that shout?

How could I not recognize that old face that had appeared on the Spring Festival Gala for over a decade, a face that people all over the country could recognize with their eyes closed?

That's Feng Gong! A true legend in the world of traditional Chinese performing arts! A god-like figure in the world of traditional Chinese performing arts and even the entertainment industry, possessing terrifying connections and immense influence.

And that boy in the tattered jacket, whom he had mistaken for a street thug, actually called Feng Gong "Master."

Moreover, he was able to help this master along with Feng Gong's son. The level of familiarity between them was definitely not that of some peripheral errand boy. They were truly insiders, core members of the inner circle, and treated like his own son.

Yang Mi felt as if countless bees were stinging her at the same time.

She finally understood why that boy dared to speak to her in such a condescending tone, and why he didn't even have a business card, but just grabbed a piece of scrap paper and dared to say he could arrange things for her.

Because they don't need to pretend at all.

In the eyes of people from that social class, isn't she just a girl squatting on the roadside eating bread for a modeling opportunity?

What the boy handed him wasn't some scrap of paper meant to strike up a conversation.

That was a VIP ticket that would allow her to skip 10 years of hard work and directly gain entry into the core of the entertainment industry.

"The note, where's the note?"

After the initial shock came regret.

Yang Mi suddenly turned around and, like a madman, rushed into the green belt where he had just thrown the paper ball.

"Wait a minute, where's my note?"

She knelt on the cement ground, her little hands digging through the dust, withered branches and rotten leaves in the mud.

Her heart was bleeding. The pain of watching helplessly as the lottery ticket, which could have changed her life, was thrown into the trash by her own hands made her tremble uncontrollably.

"Please, God, find it, you must find it."

Yang Mi finally couldn't hold back her tears.

That crumpled piece of paper has long since been blown away by the wind.

She slumped onto the curb, overwhelmed by feelings of loss and frustration.

……

On the other side, the Santana started moving and drove off.

Just as the car drove past the photography studio, a surge of pure emotion welled up in Niu Yuehua's body.

It contained despair, regret, resentment, and shame.

His newly perfected Body Refinement stage realm was completely solidified under the nourishment of this demonic energy.

Niu Yuehua turned his head and glanced at the figure sitting on the ground, burying his face in his hands and crying.

"Sigh, young people these days haven't been toughened up enough by society. They really don't respect the village chief as an official."