After Transmigrated as a Black-Hearted Entertainment Boss [Transmigration] - Chapter 43

“Hahahaha! I felt we’d hit it off the moment I saw you! And sure enough! Come, come, come, sit down and have some tea!” Qi Hongxuan laughed heartily, pointing to the sofa across from the tea table.

After Tao Zui and Gu Nan sat down, he said while pouring the tea, “Old Wu and I were college classmates—best buddies in the same dorm. Besides me, there are six others—brothers from the same dorm. The seven of us went our separate ways after graduation; only Old Wu stayed true to his original intent.

“Now that we’ve all got some money, we can’t let our brother suffer. Besides, supporting him is supporting the dreams we once had ourselves—we aren’t losing anything! How wonderful is it to have someone shoot the themes you want to see just by tossing out some cash!”

Tao Zui was left dumbfounded: “Seven rich people in one dorm… was your dorm built on a dragon vein or something?”

Qi Hongxuan and Wu Zheng were taken aback for a second before bursting into laughter. Wu Zheng immediately made the decision: “Sign! Sign the contract now! I can’t let someone so compatible run off!”

“……Maybe we should audition first? After all, even if we are compatible, I’m not the one doing the acting!” Tao Zui reminded him tactfully.

A word of truth awakened the dreamer. Wu Zheng finally realized that the person in the portfolio photo, who might possibly be the one, wasn’t this guy, but the young man sitting beside him!

When they first entered, he had grumbled to himself that this guy looked a bit too old, but after two sentences, he forgot all about it. He just felt this guy looked good and matched his temper—age wasn’t a problem at all; he could just rewrite the script… he’d been mistaken about who the actor was from start to finish!

Wu Zheng coughed awkwardly twice and scanned Gu Nan from head to toe. The more he looked, the more satisfied he became, but his suspicion also grew. He wasn’t the type to bottle things up, so he asked directly: “Your company is full of such high-looking people from top to bottom; why hasn’t it blown up yet?”

Tao Zui gave a wry smile: “Director Wu, you ask that, but for actors online nowadays, if you aren’t formally trained and don’t have someone backing you, you need an opportunity just to get a performance out there!”

Wu Zheng understood Tao Zui’s meaning instantly and nodded: “True. The closure of this circle hasn’t been a one-day affair. You encountering Old Jiang can be considered luck; that old kid is someone who promotes talent without being bound by convention.”

Indeed. In the original novel, he bumped into a food delivery guy halfway, thought he looked pleasant, and pulled him in to act—that was certainly unconventional. But putting it plainly, the primary motive behind that behavior was a lack of money, and industry insiders didn’t look favorably upon the new work of a director who had previously flopped.

There was no need to voice these thoughts aloud; everyone knew them implicitly. Therefore, Tao Zui just smiled in agreement and steered the conversation to the main point: “Which segment shall we audition?”

Wu Zheng stroked his chin: “Since we’re auditioning, let’s try the hardest one! The final segment, where the two male leads shake hands to part ways!”

They might hit it off, but an audition had to be a real, no-nonsense trial. His decision to sign the contract just now wasn’t because he had faith in the actor, but because he had faith in his own means of training actors. If he could turn a complete amateur into a Best Actor nominee, was he worried he couldn’t teach a good actor?

“You play opposite him; just reach out your hand,” Wu Zheng said, tilting his chin at Tao Zui.

Tao Zui didn’t put on airs. He stood up directly and walked into the open space with Gu Nan. Just as he was about to reach out his hand, he turned back to look at Wu Zheng: “Just reach out my hand? Do I need to say goodbye?” He remembered that the coach had only two lines in that segment: “Goodbye” and “I wish you success,” which seemed to convey volumes of hidden meaning.

Wu Zheng nodded: “That works too.”

Tao Zui stood facing Gu Nan, asking with his eyes if he was prepared. After receiving an affirmative nod, he smiled and reached out: “Goodbye.”

The emotional subtext in the script was certainly not this, and he wouldn’t have said it so jokingly. After all, Tao Zui wasn’t a professional actor; he was just a ruthless “feeding machine” for lines and a scene partner.

Wu Zheng chose Tao Zui to play opposite him partly to increase the difficulty. An actor’s sense of conviction shouldn’t be disturbed by the external environment; being able to act with deep affection even when facing a tree was the most basic requirement for an actor. If Gu Nan couldn’t enter the scene—or even burst out laughing—due to Tao Zui’s playful attitude, his standing in Wu Zheng’s estimation would inevitably plummet.

Fortunately, Gu Nan didn’t pay any mind to Tao Zui’s attitude. His gaze landed on Tao Zui’s face, tracing from his picturesque brows and eyes, moving downward, inch by inch. Upon seeing those thin, reddish lips, he shifted his gaze aside as if stung by a needle. After a long moment, he reached out his hand haphazardly, grabbing Tao Zui’s palm in a panicked manner.

“Goodbye…” Gu Nan said those two words with extreme stickiness. The two words blended together inseparably, tumbling out of his throat in a jumbled mess, blocked by tightly clenched teeth, and rolled over and over within his mouth, filled with reluctance to part.

He gripped Tao Zui’s hand and shook it haphazardly, wanting to let go, but then he suddenly froze. He shot a flustered look at Tao Zui, and in the next second, his eyes rimmed with red.

Tao Zui felt the hair on his arms stand up, goosebumps rising layer upon layer. He knew that in the script, the coach should be clutching the lead’s hand and refusing to let go, but he felt his whole body go limp and powerless. He could only let Gu Nan take the initiative to grip his palm.

Just as the expression of impending tears appeared on Gu Nan’s face, his eyes suddenly turned resolute. Just as his expression grew urgent and he wanted to say something, his expression fractured instantly.

In the next second, he released his hand, gritted his teeth, and turned to walk away. Every step he took was forceful, yet his back was slightly hunched, as if weighed down by something, looking dejected and sorrowful.

Tao Zui stared blankly at his retreating back, his mind thinking in a daze: The coach seemed to have another line just now…

“Good! Good! Brilliant! Old Wu, if you don’t bring back a trophy this time, the problem definitely lies with you, not the actor!” Qi Hongxuan slapped his thigh and cheered, the corners of his eyes even glistening.

Compared to Qi Hongxuan’s excitement, Wu Zheng appeared very calm. His gaze darted between Tao Zui and Gu Nan, his expression pensive.

A moment later, he stood up and said: “Sign the contract!”

On the way back, Tao Zui finally regained his composure, unleashing a barrage of unrestrained praise: “Incredible! Absolutely incredible! How did you do it? You acted so well even when facing me! I finally understand why people say actors are affectionate even when looking at a telephone pole; that’s just too amazing… Do you know? In that final segment, I was nearly brought into the scene by you! How are you so amazing! Brother Qi was right—if Water Village doesn’t win an award, it’s absolutely not the actor’s fault!”

Gu Nan’s cheeks and ears flushed red from the praise, and he finally couldn’t take it anymore: “Alright, alright, stop! Enough! You’ve praised me enough!”

“What? Shy? You’re so amazing, and you won’t let people praise you…” Before Tao Zui could finish his sentence, a shadow swayed beside him, and a large hand covered his mouth, loosely pressing against his lips.

“Shut up!”

Gu Nan’s voice sounded low, carrying a hint of gritted teeth, which sent Tao Zui’s heart thumping wildly—he couldn’t tell if it was because the move was too risky, or because of the faintly perceivable body heat.

“Alright, alright! I’ll shut up, okay? I’m driving! Be careful!” In his panic, Tao Zui stretched his neck to avoid Gu Nan’s hand. His cheeks became stained with a rare, faint red, which made Gu Nan’s heart skip a beat. He hurriedly sat up straight, readjusted his position, and moved away from the dangerous driver’s seat.

The car fell silent for a while. Once his heartbeat finally settled, Tao Zui started chatting about Water Village again as if nothing had happened.

“What do you think about Director Wu’s requirement for swimming training?”

Gu Nan remained silent for a while before answering: “Training is definitely necessary. The male lead is a swimmer, so my form at least needs to be standard. It’s just that I don’t know where to train, and I don’t know how to swim.”

“You don’t know how to swim?” Tao Zui was somewhat surprised.

Gu Nan shook his head: “No, and I never had the chance to learn.”

Tao Zui thought about it and realized it was true. To learn to swim, you’d have to get in the water, right? What gym or sports center was free to enter nowadays? Not every school had a swimming pool, and even if they did, opening hours were limited, and they wouldn’t force students into the water. Given Gu Nan’s situation back then, he probably didn’t even have the money to buy swimming trunks…

With that thought, Tao Zui turned the steering wheel: “In that case, let’s go buy swimming trunks and other gear first, then find a gym near the dorm. They usually have retired swim team members who act as coaches for kids. Since we’re going to learn, let’s do it right and have a professional teach you.”

Naturally, Gu Nan didn’t object, merely emphasizing: “I’ll pay for the gear and the coach myself.”

Tao Zui chuckled: “Fine, you pay for it yourself. Seriously, your wallet is burning just because it’s your first time getting a salary?”

The salary for The Afterlife had been converted into a box-office share; the salary for Water Village was the first real money Gu Nan had actually received. Generally, acting salaries weren’t paid in full at once; they were typically divided into three parts: progress payment, completion payment, and final settlement.

Su Jiqiu’s salary was paid this way—a total of one hundred and fifty thousand, with one hundred thousand already paid, and the remaining fifty thousand due after the wrap-up. According to the supplemental contract Tao Zui signed with him, that money would be split fifty-fifty. After deducting the forty-two percent individual income tax, Su Jiqiu would pocket forty-three thousand five hundred yuan.

But Gu Nan’s situation was special this time: firstly, his salary was extremely low—only eighty thousand for the male lead; secondly, the director wasn’t short on cash and wanted to bind him to the ship as quickly as possible, so he paid the entire salary the moment the contract was signed.

That money was transferred directly to the company account and would be turned over to Gu Nan after the company’s finance department finished their accounting—though it would only take a day or two.

After a few more bits of banter, Tao Zui took Gu Nan to the mall to buy swimming goggles and trunks, then headed straight to the sports center, quickly finding a suitable coach.

After some communication, Tao Zui directly booked a one-month intensive training program—one-on-one coaching for fifteen thousand yuan.

“Sigh,” Tao Zui sighed repeatedly while starting the car, “Busy for a day, earned twenty-three thousand, and spent fifteen thousand in an instant. You tell me, what’s the difference between you paying and me paying? You’re the artist, I’m the boss—am I supposed to take the loss or what?”

Gu Nan ignored his muttering, propping his chin up as he stared at the scenery outside the window, feeling wonderful inside.

He finally earned money for Tao Zui! Even though it was only forty thousand, this was just the beginning! One day, he would make Tao Zui buy back all the houses he’d sold, and even bigger and better ones!