Seeing the deadlock, Lu Zhiling calmly gathered the remaining documents from the table. Her voice was steady, cutting through the thick tension. “Since these proposals failed to meet your professional standards, they are hereby cancelled. Effective immediately, President Bo will personally spearhead an S+ level [S+ refers to the highest tier of production budget and marketing in Chinese entertainment] TV series. Ninety percent of the company’s liquid capital will be diverted to serve this single project.”
The four managers sat in stunned silence. They weren’t fools; they knew exactly what this meant. Bo Wang was gambling everything—two months of the company’s lifeblood—on a single roll of the dice.
President Chen couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “The market for traditional dramas is abysmal this year. Even Chengyu [A rival entertainment giant] has pivoted to idol survival shows for girl groups. Modern audiences are too restless; they won’t wait for a weekly broadcast.”
General Manager Huang leaned forward, skepticism dripping from his voice. “And what subject matter could possibly justify this? Who is in charge? Most of our top-tier talent is already contracted elsewhere. Breaking those agreements to pull them back would cost a fortune in penalties.”
Lu Zhiling hugged the documents to her chest, her expression unreadable. “The project details are confidential for now. President Bo is simply informing you of the new direction.”
The managers exchanged glances of defeat. They weren’t being consulted; they were being sidelined.
That very day, a massive, blank poster was hoisted to the top of the company’s project board. It was a digital ghost, yet it screamed of ambition.
Title: Unknown
Director: Unknown
Cast: Unknown
Budget: Unlimited
The company descended into an uproar. Within hours, the news hit the internet, trending instantly as a “money-burning” vanity project from the Bo family’s notorious black sheep.
“Young Master Bo is playing house with an entertainment company,” Xia Meiqing laughed, tossing the morning paper onto her velvet sofa. “Unlimited funding for a mystery drama? He and Lu Zhiling are too young. They’re making a grand spectacle just to ensure their eventual embarrassment.”
She knew Bo Zhengrong despised those who talked big without the results to back it up.
Bo Zhen, who had been practicing a complex piano piece, suddenly rushed over. He snatched the paper, his eyes wide and sparking with genuine excitement. “Wow! My big brother is finally making his move! Look at that headline—he looks so handsome!”
Xia Meiqing slapped his hand away. “Why are you so thrilled? You’d think the two of you shared a mother.”
“But he is handsome! Look at that jawline!” Bo Zhen teased, ignoring her glare.
“Are you out of your mind?” she hissed. “Whether he’s Bo Wang or ‘A-Tang,’ he is your rival. He is the obstacle between you and the conglomerate. Do you understand?”
A sudden, chilling maturity settled over Bo Zhen’s youthful face. He looked at his mother with eyes that seemed far older than his years. “You always say that. Tell me, Mother… were you the one who tried to drown Lu Zhiling in the river last time?”
Xia Meiqing froze, her expression hardening. “That’s none of your business. You’re a child.”
“A child?” Bo Zhen stood his ground, the newspaper crumpled in his fist. “I won’t care? You’re my mother. Everything you do now to ‘help’ me will come back to haunt me later. I’m the one who will pay the price for your sins.”
“Nonsense. I’m doing this so you never have to pay a price,” she snapped. She wasn’t foolish enough to confront Bo Wang openly; she would let Yu Yunfei do the dirty work while she waited in the shadows to pick off the winner.
Bo Zhen gave her a look of pure, cold disappointment. “Keep acting up, Mother. Just don’t cry over my dead body when the retribution finally arrives.” He turned and vanished into the hall, leaving Xia Meiqing fuming.
Overseas, Yu Yunfei sat in a luxury suite, a silk face mask draped over her features, conducting a video conference with her loyalist execuitves back at SG.
“That Bo Wang is a barbarian,” Boss Fang complained, slamming his glass against the desk. “He halted every project I had in development! I called him, but that secretary of his answered. She told me to ‘enjoy my business trip’ and not to bother coming back early.”
Yu Yunfei smoothed the edges of her mask. “The secretary… Lu Zhiling?”
“Yes! A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” executive Zhang added, smoothing back his slick hair. “She looks like a porcelain doll, but she fired your lead secretary without blinking.”
Yu Yunfei sneered behind her mask. Lu Zhiling’s real talent wasn’t firing people; it was her ability to put a leash on a wild dog like Bo Wang.
“President Yu, you have to do something!” the group pleaded.
After a long pause, Yu Yunfei peeled off the mask, revealing a saintly, gentle smile. “Zheng Rong wanted Bo Wang to have SG. It is his now. We must trust him.”
“Trust an illiterate?” Boss Fang scoffed.
“Don’t be like that,” Yu Yunfei cooed, her eyes dancing with hidden malice. “He wants to make a drama? Then we should help him. Find him the ‘best’ directors and actors. We should all maintain… good relationships.”
The executives went silent, a slow, realizing smirk spreading across their faces as they understood her meaning. To “help” him with the wrong people was a much surer way to destroy him than to fight him.
The President’s Office.
Lu Zhiling stood behind Bo Wang, her body leaning close. Her slender, pale fingers guided his hand across the paper, teaching him the weight and flow of each stroke. A delicate, orchid-like fragrance clung to her, invading his senses.
Bo Wang didn’t look at the paper. He looked at her profile—the curve of her lips, the focus in her eyes. A dark, thick possessiveness swelled in his chest.
“Regular script [Kai Shu: The standard, legible style of Chinese calligraphy] is about balance and meticulousness,” she murmured, her attention entirely on the ink. “But I think your spirit is better suited for Semi-Cursive [Xing Shu: A more fluid, artistic style]. It’s free, yet orderly. It’s grand.”
Bo Wang’s throat tightened. “Then show me,” he rasped, his voice low and hungry. “Show me the free style.”
“Okay, but I’m not quite a master of it yet…”
Her phone vibrated, breaking the spell. She released his hand—the sudden loss of warmth making his jaw tighten—and read a message. She slid the phone in front of him.
It was a list of every top-tier director in the country. The moment SG announced its project, every single one of them had suddenly become “booked,” flying overseas or signing exclusive deals with rivals. Only the hacks and the untried newcomers remained.
Bo Wang toyed with his prayer beads, his voice dangerously smooth. “They’re too idle. It seems they need another ‘family photo’ [Bo Wang’s slang for a gathering where he uses intimidation or violence to ‘unite’ people].”
“I know you love your photos,” she teased, but her eyes were serious. She laid a resume on the desk.
Gu Na. 30 years old. A powerhouse director and screenwriter working in T-country, known for high-concept hits and international awards.
“The domestic industry is a web of old favors,” Lu Zhiling explained. “Our rivals will block every path. We don’t have time to fight them. We need an outsider. Someone they can’t touch.”
Bo Wang didn’t look at the resume. He kept his eyes on her. “Continue.”
“Gu Na has no plans to return to China,” she said. “But she is classmates with Ji Manshi—the second miss of the Ji family. She’s coming back this weekend for Ji Manshi’s wedding. I need to talk to her there. I need an invitation.”
Bo Wang didn’t hesitate. He dialed Ji Jing.
“Brother Wang! What can I do for you?” Ji Jing’s voice was eager over the speaker.
“Get me an invitation to your sister’s wedding,” Bo Wang commanded, his gaze never leaving Lu Zhiling’s face.
“Holy crap! You’re coming? My sister has a serious princess complex—the whole thing is going to be incredibly sappy and sentimental. Do you want me to change the theme? We could do a rock-and-roll wedding? Nightclub style? With male models?”
Bo Wang hung up on his rambling and tossed the phone.
“You didn’t even check her resume,” Lu Zhiling noted. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll mess this up?”
“I told you,” he said, beckoning her closer with a flick of his finger. “You can do whatever the hell you want. Now… come back here. Continue the lesson.”
The wedding of the Ji and Huo familys was a lavish affair, transforming a tract of land into a literal forest dreamscape. Gu Na, dressed in a sharp, elegant suit that stood out against the sea of lace and tulle, was helping the bride with her necklace.
Ji Jing leaned against the doorframe, complaining. “A thirty-year-old woman still dreaming of being a princess. Embarrassing! Gu Na, help me talk some sense into her.”
Ji Manshi glared at her brother. “Do you want to be buried in this forest?”
“Fine, fine! Just so you know, Bo Wang is coming. Try not to make him go blind with all this pink.”
Ji Manshi’s expression shifted to one of deep respect. “Why didn’t you say so? Have the butler prepare the private lounge. When Bo Wang is unhappy, people bleed.”
“The Bo family’s Bo Wang?” Gu Na asked, her interest piqued. “The ones who are so powerful now?”
“The very same. The Lu family is a ghost of the past now,” Ji Manshi replied, checking her reflection.
Gu Na’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of an unreadable emotion crossing her face before she masked it.
“By the way,” Ji Manshi added, “Gong Zihua begged for an invite so she could apologize to Grandma again for that stunt at the teahouse. Don’t let her cause a scene.”
Crash!
A bottle of expensive perfume shattered at Gu Na’s feet, filling the room with a cloying, heavy scent.
“Sorry,” Gu Na said, her smile not reaching her eyes. “My hand slipped.”
As they moved to another room, Gong Zihua entered, looking frantic and fawning. She stood by the balcony later, trying to catch her breath, when she spotted a figure in the garden below.
Lu Zhiling.
She was wearing an ink-wash style dress [Shuimo: A style of dress featuring patterns that look like traditional Chinese brush-and-ink paintings]. As she moved, the black patterns seemed to ripple like ink dropped into clear water. She looked ethereal, beautiful, and—to Gong Zihua—utterly infuriating.
Gong Zihua’s blood boiled. She remembered Yu Yunfei’s taunts—how Lu Zhiling had crawled into Bo Wang’s bed and was now his “secretary.”
What kind of secretary? The kind who does her ‘filing’ on the President’s desk!
She watched Lu Zhiling clutching an invitation, searching the crowd. Suddenly, it clicked. Bo Wang was looking for a director. Gu Na was a director.
“Sister Gu Na!” Gong Zihua hissed, turning and sprinting back toward the dressing room. She wouldn’t let that “jinx” get what she wanted.