21. Bloodline Suppression, Rising Step by Step

Chapter Twenty-One

The Tanghai Film Company, which deceived Ning Ze into signing a performance-based agreement, is nothing short of a malignant tumor in the industry, burying countless dreamers along the way. To pay the penalty fee would be tantamount to aiding the enemy. She intended to turn Ning Ze’s agreement into a weapon against them, to uproot this blight once and for all.

Yet, from experience, she knew Tanghai was merely the visible tip of a vast chain of vested interests. To shake this network, she would need to amass far more capital.

Opening her inbox, she found, as expected, not only a slew of hate mail, but also a growing number of job offers. Clearly, her performance in "King of All Music" had not gone unnoticed.

Her fingers tapped lightly over the keyboard, sorting through the emails with meticulous order. Most were from music production companies and invitations to gala events, but there were even some acting offers. One, in particular, caught her attention: an audition for a venomous supporting role in a low-budget web drama, with a fee of fifty thousand and scripts for the first three episodes attached.

After reading the script, her expression remained unmoved as she politely declined the offer, closing a document she could hardly bear to look at. Those who haven’t read such scripts might pay dearly for their innocence. To still harbor hope for the domestic entertainment scene—this was her original sin.

Suddenly, an inconspicuous email with a unique content caught her eye: “Invitation to Join Traditional Horror Game Music Production,” from Li Ming.

She raised her brows slightly. A traditional horror game? Such themes were rare in the national market, and the novelty piqued her curiosity.

She clicked open the email, which laid out in detail the game’s setting, tone, and the challenges they faced—chiefly, the problem of the soundtrack. The tone was sincere, stirring something within her. Even though traditional aesthetics were waning in popularity, there were still young people willing to break new ground in such a barren field.

She replied immediately, expressing her interest in collaboration.

To her, horror games were not at all inferior. In China, homegrown horror had long since surpassed its Western counterparts. From films to games, and later the rise of murder mysteries and escape rooms among young people, the market was abundant.

The reply arrived swiftly, so quick that she hadn’t even finished reading her next email. The two soon added each other as contacts on the Q-Chat app.

She clicked on the avatar.

Well, well—an old acquaintance. Although Li Ming’s name had seemed familiar, it was rather common, and she hadn’t thought much of it. She hadn’t expected this to be the same Li Ming who had recently landed her in trending topics.

“Human-excrement coffee?”

She asked.

On the other end, Li Ming barely had time to feel excited before a bucket of cold water was dumped over his head. He groaned in regret, worried that his previous attacks on her would make her refuse to work with their studio.

He hurried to apologize. “I’m sorry. Back then I spoke without knowing your abilities. That was my fault.”

“It’s all right. At least you keep your word.”

Li Ming let out a long sigh of relief. It seemed she wasn’t going to hold it against him.

“I suppose… It’s about the same as civet coffee…”

“The game launches in ten days. The timeline is tight, so even a rough draft will do. If it’s too much, we can delay the release.”

Li Ming was still a little anxious—after all, she was in the middle of a competition, and this might be pushing her too hard.

In the gaming industry, delays are common enough. “Don’t worry. Leave it to me. No delay needed.” Ji Fanxing’s calm tone was a balm to Li Ming’s nerves.

...

“Brother Hao, you worked hard today. Have some water.” Song Qing cozied up to Chu Hao, eager to please.

Others might not know Chu Hao’s background, but Song Qing, who had been at Ji Shengxue’s side for so long, was well aware. His family had a distinguished military heritage, with ancestors who had earned notable ranks. More importantly, his father had gone into business, establishing Shengshi Group after years of effort—a conglomerate leading industries from daily goods to clothing and food.

His mother’s background was shrouded in mystery, rumored to be linked to the underworld and currently the head of Jiangshan Entertainment, one of the top four entertainment companies.

She didn’t know why Chu Hao was hiding his identity to compete, but that didn’t stop Song Qing from seizing the opportunity. After Li Sheng was arrested, she’d been on tenterhooks, knowing the show hadn’t come after her only because she’d ended up in Chu Hao’s group.

“No way would ‘King of All Music’ let the young master sing solo in the third round.” As long as she clung to his coattails, she’d have protection—who would dare pursue her for spreading rumors?

Her calculations were precise, but Chu Hao had been lukewarm toward her from start to finish.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, didn’t spare her a glance, and strode past her without a word.

Song Qing stood awkwardly, clutching the water cup for a moment before stamping her foot in frustration. “So what if he’s got the background? He’s just a nobody in rap—what’s he so arrogant for?”

She recalled how Chu Hao had agonized over the song selection today. It was obvious: there were precious few rap songs that fit the “Flower” theme, leaving him little choice. She drained her cup and calmed herself.

She’d seen plenty of people in the industry who were all flash and no substance. The fact that Ji Fanxing had produced “Rivers and Mountains” proved Chu Hao wasn’t a songwriter.

“In the end, he’ll have to ask me.” Songwriting was the one thing Song Qing prided herself on.

If only she examined herself more carefully, she might realize that arrogance was her true talent.

When the MC announced the theme for this round, Chu Hao already had an idea. Having worked with Ji Fanxing before, he’d become more patient with teammates. But after just one day, he understood: Song Qing couldn’t rap, had no ideas of her own, and spent all her time flattering him.

He felt like he was wasting his time.

The Chu Family’s ancestral home.

A long scroll of ink-brush landscape was nearly complete. Old Master Chu scrutinized the painting as he added the finishing touches, asking his son at his side, “Did you call Hao like I asked?”

Even after years in business, Chu Fei was nervous in his father’s presence. “He said he’ll be back next month.”

“And?”

“That’s all.”

“Hmph!” The old man slammed his brush down and snorted.

Chu Fei flinched by reflex. The old man, who’d survived battlefields, cast him a sidelong glance, unwilling to look at his disappointing son.

“With a blockhead like you, it’s a wonder you ever did business! Out, out!”

“Yes, yes! Understood!” Chu Fei, in his fifties, scurried out.

Once outside, Chu Fei straightened his sleeves, resuming the composure of a corporate leader, but sighed inwardly.

His father had never forgiven him for leaving the military for business. When Chu Fei stubbornly insisted on going to the coast, his father broke his leg, but he had still crawled onto that train.

Their relationship nearly broke apart, only mending after his son Chu Hao was born. Yet Chu Hao grew up to follow his example—refusing business school, running off abroad to chase his rap dreams, singing music his father couldn’t even understand! Now he was out there embarrassing himself in showbiz. Just the thought of that rebellious son gave Chu Fei a headache.

Old Master Chu, however, doted on his grandson. Blood ties have their own hierarchy.

Perhaps he’d answered wrong again and incurred his father’s ire. After a moment’s thought, Chu Fei made a call. The line was picked up instantly.

“Find a high-value product and buy an ad spot for ‘King of All Music.’ Make sure the top two contestants are brand ambassadors,” Chu Fei said, standing by the study door, making sure his voice carried inside.

“Yes, boss.”

At last, he’d made the right move. The old man, pleased, called him back in and even gifted him the newly finished scroll of rivers and mountains.

Shengshi moved quickly. Noting “King of All Music” had no title sponsor, they dropped 150 million to take on the role.

The production team was overjoyed. As a new, niche music show, the program had struggled to attract investment. If not for the backing of its owner, it might never have aired at all. To save money, every cent had been stretched to its limit; the only real assets were its music resources and the Robin Island location.

Now, with abundant funding, many original ideas could finally come to life.

The sponsored brand, Yiniu, was Shengshi’s largest dairy line. Originally the state-owned dairy of the country, it had an excellent reputation. After being acquired by Shengshi, the product line expanded, dedicated ranches were established to ensure top-quality milk, and the brand became a household name.

An endorsement for Yiniu was a coveted opportunity in the industry. Even if it was only a short-term deal, to these not-yet-debuted contestants, it was manna from heaven. If things went well, and they impressed the brand’s executives, a long-term contract might be possible.

Unfortunately, only the top two would be chosen.

In the practice room, Ji Fanxing and Hailan rehearsed their song until they were in perfect sync. Ji Fanxing then offered a suggestion.

“Hailan, would you consider dancing on stage?”

“Huh? Dancing?” Hailan was caught off guard. Apart from singing, she had little confidence. “Can I really do it?”

“You can! It’s just a short dance during the interlude. I’ll teach you,” Ji Fanxing assured her.

She rose and demonstrated, her movements graceful and fluid, leaving Hailan transfixed.

Ji Fanxing took Hailan’s hand. “Want to try?”

Not only could she dance, but her teaching skills were top-notch. Hailan, half in a daze, was led through the steps.

After getting the hang of it, she repeated the moves again.

“One-two, da-da, two-two, da-da, raise your hand, bend—just like that, perfect!”

Under Ji Fanxing’s guidance, someone who’d never danced before performed the steps with remarkable poise.

Hailan was stunned. “How… how did I do that?!”

“If you want to, you can do anything,” Ji Fanxing encouraged her.

Looking at Hailan now, Ji Fanxing seemed to see her younger self.

Hailan had great vocal talent, but to survive in showbiz, singing alone wasn’t enough. This competition was just a stepping stone.

Ji Fanxing hoped that, before stepping through the door of the entertainment world, Hailan could gain more experience to face the challenges ahead.