After Transmigrated as a Black-Hearted Entertainment Boss [Transmigration] - Chapter 13

Watching Yao Qiang’s car disappear into the distance, Tao Zui waited a few more minutes for his designated driver to arrive. After giving the address, he slumped into the back seat to think, his eyes showing no trace of intoxication.

In his previous life, he had a decent tolerance for alcohol, but since transmigrating, it felt as if it had been enhanced. Over the past half month, he had been at social dinners almost every day, yet he hadn’t once ended up drunk. Considering the original owner’s background, however, it wasn’t that surprising.

Focus. Tao Zui lowered his gaze to his phone.

He had been busy for two weeks and found plenty of projects, including several big-budget productions. But the deeper he delved into this circle, the more he understood how exclusionary these people truly were.

For any somewhat famous TV project, the competition was cutthroat. Between the platforms, the production companies, the investors, and even the leads’ agencies, the major roles were usually snatched up before they ever went public. Famous directors’ films were even worse—they never held open auditions, relying instead on internal recommendations. If the staff had the slightest bias, even a portfolio photo wouldn’t reach the director’s desk.

Faced with this, he had to pivot his strategy and target projects that weren’t as “hot.” But such projects were a mixed bag; finding a reliable one was incredibly difficult.

Fortunately, hard work paid off. He eventually secured two decent film resources.

The first was a legal drama called “Criminal Litigation,” adapted from a true story. The screenwriter excelled at realist TV dramas, but this was her first attempt at a film script. The collaborating director didn’t have many works and wasn’t famous. However, because the subject matter required very little funding, it had successfully been greenlit through the screenwriter’s connections and was now in the casting phase.

The second was a fantasy film called “The Afterlife.” Not only was the genre risky, but the director was a complete unknown whose only work was a CG short uploaded to Bilibili. That two-minute video had ten million views, blending cyberpunk with traditional Chinese culture in a way that felt like electronic ghosts clubbing in broad daylight—grotesque and fascinating.

The quality of the short was top-tier, but the film’s genre was fantasy—a genre that failed far more often than it succeeded—and the director had co-written the script. It had been two years since it was greenlit, yet production hadn’t started… With these three “buffs” combined, Tao Zui felt the word “FLOP” was already stamped on this movie’s forehead.

Logically, Tao Zui should have tossed this project into the wastebasket, but looking at the synopsis, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The plot summary was only one sentence:

In 2148, a physics experiment accidentally breaks the boundary between life and death; bizarre incidents occur one after another as a mysterious drug begins to circulate… One question faces everyone: Choose a blissful afterlife, or face the heavy reality?

…It was just so damn cool.

Recalling the director’s “clubbing ghosts” short, he ultimately added this film to his shortlist.

Combined with tonight’s unexpected gain, Tao Zui now had three projects before him.

The Standard Legal Film: Small investment, low pressure. With a good release window, it basically wouldn’t lose money. However, due to its niche subject matter, it likely wouldn’t be a hit. It was the kind of movie that might win an award if lucky; otherwise, it just padded the resume.

The Unknown Fantasy Film: Both the floor and the ceiling were high. It had a limited audience and unknown prospects. Choosing this would be a massive gamble—win, and you’re world-famous; lose, and you add a “trash film” to your record, with incalculable consequences.

“The Case Files of Dali Temple”: The web drama destined to be a hit in the original novel, launching the careers of the leads, the second lead, and the third lead.

So, which one to choose?

The Cullinan stopped in the residential complex’s underground parking lot. The designated driver had departed, but Tao Zui remained in the car, lost in thought.

The two films were already greenlit. “Criminal Litigation” could start as soon as actors were cast, while “The Afterlife” was full of uncertainty. If lucky, they could take both; if unlucky, the schedules would clash.

As for “Dali Temple,” based on the original plot, it had to start filming within the next three months to make it for next year’s summer slot.

No matter how he calculated it, he had to split the drama and the movies, or the schedules would overlap. Fortunately, he had two actors available.

But this created a new problem: Who takes the movie? Who takes the drama?

Tao Zui let out a long sigh, looking up at the car roof.

It seemed arrogant to consider this when nothing was set in stone, but he was dealing with protagonists. Not only did they have the “Golden Finger” talent given by the author, but they were all “struggle-holics.” Purely based on looks and acting ability, any director who didn’t pick them would be blind.

If other factors were at play, that was beyond his control—like the role of “Bone” being snatched. Because of that, giving the “guaranteed-hit” second lead of “Dali Temple” to Gu Nan seemed only right.

The problem was, there was also Su Jiqiu.

In the original story, the career paths for Gu Nan, Su Jiqiu, and the three younger boys were very clear: the film world, the TV world, and the music/variety world, respectively. These distinct paths meant they never competed with each other, and their friendship lasted until the end of all four novels. They even had “group fans” who would pop up whenever solo fans started fighting.

If he gave the “guaranteed-hit” second lead to Gu Nan out of a desire to compensate him, then to ensure fairness and prevent resources from being wasted, he would naturally have to send Su Jiqiu to audition for the movie. By doing so, both of their fates would completely deviate from the original plot, sliding toward a future no one could predict.

But if Tao Zui tried to arrange things strictly according to the original plot, he couldn’t do it—because he had already knocked Su Jiqiu’s fate off track.

In the original novel, at this time, Su Jiqiu and the three younger boys were all “snowbound.” Only Gu Nan was accidentally chosen by Jiang Qisheng for the role of “Bone.” The original owner, thinking it was free money, signed the contract and took 90% of Gu Nan’s salary.

After the film, Gu Nan’s career didn’t take off; instead, he was snowbound along with the others. During this time, the original owner stole Zeng Yinuo and Chen Xing’s songs.

Later, when the movie was released, Gu Nan gained a bit of fame. Fearing he would expose the song theft and the mistreatment, the original owner pushed all work offers meant for him to other artists.

Then, the Flamingo platform launched a music show and needed a “cannon fodder” group. Pentacle was forced onto the stage. With no rehearsals or stage design—and the fact that Su Jiqiu wasn’t good at singing and dancing to begin with—the performance was a disaster that went viral for all the wrong reasons. Every time an anti-fan wanted to attack them, they would trend that performance.

Worst of all, because of the performance, Su Jiqiu had to wear contact lenses. In the backstage area, he ran into a high-level platform executive who took a liking to him instantly.

To trade for resources, the agent tricked Su Jiqiu into a hotel and drugged his drink, intending to deliver him to the executive’s bed.

Su Jiqiu tried to escape using the bathroom as an excuse but was blocked at the elevator by the agent and his thugs. During the struggle, he bumped into the Protagonist Gong (the ML).

At that time, Su Jiqiu was incoherent from the drugs and mistook the ML for one of the agent’s men, hitting and cursing him. If the ML hadn’t been an upright person, Su Jiqiu would have been ruined right then and there.

Now, because Tao Zui had transmigrated, Su Jiqiu’s fate had changed. He wouldn’t be sent to that music show to become a laughingstock, so he wouldn’t be targeted by the executive. But without that hotel encounter, he wouldn’t meet the ML either…

“I’m not a butterfly flapping its wings; I’m a damn flapping moth…” Tao Zui covered his face, leaning sideways on the back seat.

It wasn’t impossible to fix. When Flamingo launched the variety show, he could just send Su Jiqiu and the three younger boys.

The problem was that things had already gone wrong with Gu Nan. Who could guarantee everything would follow the original plot? If something went wrong in the middle…

“No! No, no, no!” Tao Zui suddenly bounced up, shaking his head to dismiss the thought.

It was better not to let uncontrollable things happen. As for the romance between Su Jiqiu and the ML… he’d find a way for them to “accidentally” meet later!

As for those three projects, he would hold a meeting with Gu Nan and Su Jiqiu, lay everything out, and let them choose for themselves. They weren’t paper characters; they were flesh-and-blood humans who could cry and laugh. Their fates shouldn’t be decided by a plot, but held in their own hands. All he could do was provide the choices and help with all his might.

Decided, Tao Zui got out of the car and headed for the elevator.

Back at the dorm, Tao Zui opened the door quietly and entered the walk-in closet (formerly the living room). To avoid waking Gu Nan and Su Jiqiu, he didn’t close the closet door or turn on the light. In the moonlight, he took off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt.

Suddenly, the slight sound of a door opening reached his ears. He looked toward the source and saw a dark silhouette standing at the entrance of the closet.

“Holy crap! Who… Gu Nan? You scared the life out of me!” Tao Zui clutched his chest, nearly fainting. Fortunately, the floor-to-ceiling window allowed enough light in for him to recognize the person, or he would have had a heart attack.

Gu Nan said nothing, quietly watching Tao Zui, his mind a total blank.

He hadn’t intended to scare him. He had just heard movement in the living room and, realizing Tao Zui was back, couldn’t sit still. He let impulse take over and opened his door.

He didn’t expect Tao Zui to have the lights off, much less the door open, and he definitely didn’t expect him to be… disheveled.

The young man’s shirt was mostly unbuttoned, revealing a pale, smooth chest. His frame, though not heavily muscled, had graceful, flowing lines under the moonlight. Gu Nan could even see the two faint pink points…

Gu Nan jerked his gaze away as if pricked by a needle. His heart plummeted, then bounced back like a rubber ball, pounding wildly in his narrow chest.

“Why are you out here in the middle of the night? Don’t you know you could scare someone to death?” Tao Zui grumbled as he pulled off his shirt, tossed it into the laundry basket, and slipped on a silk pajama top. “But since you’re awake, let me tell you something. Tomorrow at noon, you and Su Jiqiu… Gu Nan? Gu Nan, are you listening?”

Receiving no response for a long time, Tao Zui finally realized something was wrong. He walked over to Gu Nan and reached out to flick on the light. “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you speaking?”

Under the sudden light, Gu Nan blinked and reflexively looked at Tao Zui—only to be met with that pale, smooth skin right before his eyes…

He hadn’t buttoned up!

Gu Nan turned his head away as if burned. Without a second thought, he reached out and flicked the light back off, dropping a stiff sentence: “Don’t disturb others. I’m going to the bathroom,” before turning and walking quickly toward the bathroom in the dining area.

Tao Zui looked at the slammed bathroom door, then at the light switch, and finally let out a yawn as he continued changing.

If he’s afraid of disturbing people, why didn’t he go to the bathroom between our rooms? Why go to the one by the dining room? And he scared me half to death… I wasn’t even finished talking… Forget it, I’ll tell him tomorrow… so sleepy…

Tao Zui stumbled into the other bathroom, took a quick shower, and collapsed onto his bed, falling into a deep sleep instantly.

Only then did Gu Nan emerge from the bathroom. Reaching the living room, he couldn’t help but look inside—as if searching for something, or perhaps just a casual glance.

Finally, his gaze landed on the laundry basket. He watched the white shirt reflecting the moonlight, standing out in the darkness, leaving a branded image of pale, smooth skin deep in his mind.

The next morning, Tao Zui brushed his teeth while looking thoughtfully at himself in the mirror.

Gu Nan’s reaction last night… was that something I made up in my dreams, or… was it really that weird?