After Transmigrated as a Black-Hearted Entertainment Boss [Transmigration] - Chapter 8

“An entertainment company?” A woman with a cool demeanor and a pair of sharp phoenix eyes that commanded authority even without anger frowned as she looked at the youth before her.

“Haohao, when did you register a company? And why keep it from the family? If your sister hadn’t found out, how much longer did you plan to hide it from us?” A beautiful middle-aged woman, whose features—especially those identical phoenix eyes—mirrored the younger woman’s, also knit her brows.

Lu Junhao lowered his head to hide the panic in his eyes, answering in a well-behaved tone, “Just six months ago. Remember when I was hospitalized with that fever? I was bored, and Brother Zhou happened to visit. His family runs a theater chain, doesn’t it? He mentioned something during our chat, and I thought it sounded interesting, so I decided to invest some money and start a company for fun…”

As soon as Lu Junhao mentioned being hospitalized six months ago, the middle-aged woman’s tone softened instantly, and her focus shifted entirely. “But why an entertainment company? The industry is a mess. Don’t you like fashion? I can give you that fashion house under the Group! You can play with it however you like. Why wade into the muddy waters of the entertainment circle?”

Hearing her mother mention the fashion house, the sharp-eyed woman’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

She had founded that company herself, personally overseeing everything from design to production. It was the new business sector she had carved out for the Group and her leverage for rising into the ranks of senior management.

Today, that fashion house owned three brands, covering everything from light luxury and streetwear to fast fashion, spanning almost all age groups and genders. Currently, they were collaborating with several local designers to build their own high-end luxury brand.

A company so important and meaningful to her, and her mother wanted to give it to her brother with a single sentence?

Lu Junhao shot a subtle glance at the woman, then hugged the older woman’s arm, acting spoiled. “Mom, even though I like fashion, I like movies more! If it weren’t for my health… Now that I have an entertainment company, I can invest in whatever movie I want and cast whoever I want. Isn’t that more fun?”

Thinking about how her brother’s immunity had been poor since his surgery, leading to frequent fevers and illnesses, Lu Junxi’s heart ached. The slight discomfort she felt over her mother’s favoritism vanished. “True. If it makes you happy, go for it. Sister supports you. If you run out of money, just say the word.”

“Thanks, Sis!” Lu Junhao gave her a sweet smile; his round face and eyes made him look very endearing.

Lu’s mother, Xi Ying, wanted to say more, but Lu Chang’an, who had been silent, spoke up: “If the boy likes it, let him be. Besides, with Universal behind him, who would dare touch him?”

Seeing her husband and daughter supporting her son’s career, Xi Ying fell silent. When she was pregnant with Lu Junhao, Universal International was facing a critical transformation phase. Overwhelmed by worry, her body became frail, leading to a difficult birth and subsequent hemorrhaging. She had practically hovered at death’s door.

This resulted in Lu Junhao being placed in an incubator immediately after birth. Not only did he never taste breast milk, but he wasn’t held by his mother until after Xi Ying had recovered.

That tiny, fragile bundle had melted Xi Ying’s heart, leading to over a decade of nearly unconditional indulgence. Moreover, Lu Junhao had been diagnosed with acute leukemia a year ago; if it hadn’t been for a successful bone marrow transplant, she feared she would have lost him.

Thinking of this, Xi Ying smoothed Lu Junhao’s hair and instructed softly, “Fine, Mom won’t stop you, but your body is weak—don’t push yourself too hard. By the way, Chang’an, should we send someone to help Haohao?”

Lu Chang’an nodded. “I’ll look into it later.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Lu Junhao didn’t refuse. On his pale face, only his eyes appeared deep and unfathomable.

When the audition notice for the crew of Day and Night arrived, Tao Zui was having lunch with Gu Nan.

The student trio had full-day classes and couldn’t commute back, so they usually settled for the school cafeteria. Previously, Gu Nan had paid for their meals, but now the company provided the funds. Su Jiqiu’s schedule varied; sometimes he ate at the office, sometimes at school. As for Gu Nan, he basically had classes at the company all day and relied on takeout.

Tao Zui didn’t care if others ate takeout, but Gu Nan was about to join a film crew. Takeout is oily and salty—not healthy for an actor—and can easily cause bloating or weight gain. Therefore, Tao Zui took on the extra burden of cooking more at night to pack into lunchboxes. After being kept fresh in the fridge overnight, they were brought to the office and heated in the microwave at noon.

As for why they ate together even with bento boxes, the “Lazy Salted Fish” Tao Zui claimed it was to wash as few lunchboxes as possible, even if he wasn’t the one doing the dishes.

However, Gu Nan had noticed over the last two days that Tao Zui seemed preoccupied. Usually, during lunch, Tao Zui would have him play the film analysis assignments given by the teacher and would occasionally discuss them. Lately, he had become increasingly silent, and Gu Nan sometimes caught him stealing glances with a worried, guilty expression.

The cards are on the table, the secret is out—is the fox finally showing its tail? Gu Nan lowered his head calmly, masking the complex emotions in his eyes.

That gaze held both a fated desolation and the sting of betrayal.

Just then, Tao Zui’s phone rang.

Tao Zui picked it up from the table. The moment he saw the number, his eyes lit up, but that hope quickly turned into anxiety. He glanced at Gu Nan, quickly retracted his gaze before being noticed, took a deep breath, and pressed the answer button:

“Hello… Yes, it’s me… Okay, good… We will arrive on time. Thank you.”

The call wasn’t long—it was so short it ended just as Gu Nan’s internal alarm bells were beginning to ring.

Tao Zui put down his phone, picked up his rice bowl, and casually picked up some food with his chopsticks. “What’s your email address?”

Completely blindsided by this being the first sentence, Gu Nan froze for two seconds before answering, “…Same as my WeChat ID.”

Tao Zui nodded, swallowed a mouthful of rice, and continued, “I’ll forward an email to you in a bit. It’s the audition script for Day and Night. Afternoon classes are canceled; prepare well. Don’t show the script to anyone except me and you. The audition is tomorrow at 10 AM. All lines must be memorized before then, understand?”

Audition? An audition! Gu Nan was completely stunned.

He remembered Tao Zui mentioning a movie in preparation and wanting him to audition; he knew the profile photos were for this… but he thought… he felt…

Gu Nan didn’t snap out of it for a long time. Tao Zui, pretending to be nonchalant, felt a massive weight lift off his chest.

Since sending the materials to the crew two days ago, he had been in a state of panic. He worried that by interfering and preventing Gu Nan from having a chance encounter with the director while delivering food, things would change. He worried Taoli Entertainment’s current bad reputation would affect his artists’ image. Most of all, he worried that the butterfly effect would knock the protagonists’ lives off track.

Previously, he could face the five of them with the playful attitude of someone beating a video game. But after nearly a month of living together, he realized they weren’t paper characters in a novel. Even if he knew their future fates, he couldn’t deny that every step they took and every achievement they earned came from their own hard work and accumulation.

The three younger ones had full schedules yet squeezed in time to practice dance and study. After finishing homework, they’d conscientiously review their tutoring notes; in their free time, they could be seen in the living room dissecting other people’s performances. Su Jiqiu had run away from home for his dream; despite being a young master raised in luxury, he worked hourly jobs to save for tuition. Gu Nan was even more remarkable—at only nineteen, he had become a father figure to three kids while taking acting classes to fight for a future. Such perseverance was far beyond that of an average person.

The more time they spent together, the more Tao Zui felt that the novelist hadn’t so much “written” their stories as acted as a witness, recounting their lives from a parallel dimension.

However, the more he felt this, the more terrified he became of becoming a stumbling block.

Fortunately, things had taken a turn and returned to the right path. This made Tao Zui feel much lighter.

After a few more bites, Tao Zui suddenly felt something was missing. He looked around and frowned. “Why aren’t we watching a movie today? Did the teacher not leave an assignment?”

“They did…” Gu Nan’s voice was still a bit dazed, but Tao Zui clearly didn’t notice, pointing and criticizing with a look of mock-distaste.

“Then why isn’t it playing? You’re starting late, so you have to work hard. Every second counts, understand? Hurry up and play it, I’m almost finished eating.”

Gu Nan: “…” Don’t think I don’t know you just want something to watch while you eat!

Picking up the tablet, Gu Nan pulled up the movie assigned by the teacher and placed it between them. Seeing Tao Zui focus his gaze on the screen almost immediately, Gu Nan couldn’t help but pull out his phone to search for information on Day and Night.

Since they had just started recruiting actors, the information Gu Nan could find was scarce—mostly just the casting call and some background on the main creators.

Day and Night was written and directed by Jiang Qisheng. It was said the script took three years to polish and was his labor of love. Before this, he hadn’t directed a film for three years. The reason was his massive box-office bomb three years prior: the xianxia epic Untempered Longevity.

At the time, that film was touted as the “Number One Xianxia Epic”—famous director, superstars, huge production. It burned through 400 million in costs but only made 200 million at the box office. The lead actors’ film careers were cut short, forcing them back into television, and director Jiang Qisheng’s reputation was so damaged he was left in a hiatus for three full years.

Now, he was making a comeback with an original script, but he no longer had the glory or attention of the past. The two leads weren’t “traffic superstars” either, but “golden supporting actors” familiar to the public. Though they were veterans with high status, their salaries were actually quite cheap.

Of course, Gu Nan didn’t know these insider details. He only knew to read the casting call over and over, memorizing the character descriptions that might be relevant to him.

Just as Gu Nan was memorizing the third male role, Tao Zui reached out and took his phone. “Why are you looking at this? Use that energy to look at the script later. Eat!”

“Oh.” Gu Nan obediently picked up his bowl. After eating for a bit, he stole a glance at Tao Zui.

Maybe… I can trust him a little more?