What a clever trick to reap rewards without lifting a finger.

The day’s filming had come to an end.

After washing up, Star Ji nestled on the sofa, waiting for news from Ning Ze.

In her previous life, at this very moment, she had just endured the hellish ordeal of her debut stage. Her spirits were at their lowest, leaving her no energy to pay attention to anything happening outside. It was only later that she learned of the things Jian’an Li had posted online. On this same evening, Ning Ze, who had finished filming deep in the mountains, spent the night fiercely debating with netizens under Li’s post.

But it was all in vain. Due to a doctored, slanderous video, Ning Ze had already been accused alongside her of “conspiring to harm” Snow Ji Sheng. In the eyes of the public, the two of them were a pair of wicked “scoundrels.”

No matter how Ning Ze tried to explain, no one believed him. Instead, his association with her only fueled harsher criticism. That night’s “battle” became a permanent stain on Ning Ze’s reputation—his already scant fanbase dwindled further, and his fan club disbanded on the spot...

Her phone vibrated. She opened a video call.

The screen’s background was dim, and the image lagged due to an unstable signal. She could just make out Ning Ze’s handsome features, but at least the audio was clear.

“Star!” Ning Ze’s eyes betrayed exhaustion, yet his voice was lively. “What’s so urgent? Why did you reach out?”

As expected, the seasoned internet surfer hadn’t opened his social media yet; he contacted her as soon as he saw her message.

Star Ji smiled gently.

“Ning, can’t I check on you even if nothing’s wrong?”

She and Ning Ze had been classmates from elementary school through university. Their interests aligned, and over time they became close friends who could talk about anything.

Having weathered storms on Earth, then reborn, seeing this friend again felt as though she’d crossed countless mountains and rivers.

She couldn’t help but sigh, “It’s been so long, Ning Ze.”

“Huh?! Didn’t we just see each other last week?” Ning Ze was confused, then scratched his head sheepishly. “You missed me that much…”

Something else occurred to him, and indignation flashed across his face.

“You told me not to pay attention to online news. Did something happen again? Hmph! I’ll go tear them apart!”

Ning Ze’s appearance was at odds with his personality.

He had a long face and refined features, giving the impression of intelligence and shrewdness, not easily fooled. Only Star Ji, who had grown up with him, knew he was actually straightforward, easily swayed by emotions, and prone to impulsive actions.

Star Ji didn’t want Ning Ze to repeat past mistakes and quickly stopped him.

“The online drama doesn’t matter. One day, I’ll show everyone just how ridiculous their current behavior is.”

“People believe I hurt Snow Ji Sheng because, in their minds, I’m far inferior to her. Given that premise, it’s logical to assume I would harm my elder sister out of jealousy.”

“But if I prove myself more talented and powerful, that logic collapses—and the rumors will crumble on their own.”

As she spoke, confidence and determination shone in Star Ji’s eyes, as if she could illuminate the darkness of night.

“Star…”

Ning Ze saw a new side of her, as if she had finally found her missing piece and transformed into a dazzling star, impossible to resist.

“Fine! From now on, I’ll ignore all that nonsense online. Let them amuse themselves!”

Star Ji knew Ning Ze would keep his word.

She then asked, more seriously, “Did you sign a bet agreement?”

“…How did you know…?” Ning Ze hadn’t expected her to ask. He felt guilty, then grew more confident. “Once I win the bet, I’ll get twenty percent of the company’s shares. I’ll have the capital! I’ll have all the resources I want, and no one will dare steal your roles.”

Star Ji hadn’t realized Ning Ze signed the agreement for her sake. She was moved.

Everyone else said she wasn’t worthy and urged her to step aside.

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Some even mocked and questioned her without reason.

Only Ning Ze, no matter what happened, always stood by her and defended her.

Sadly, in her previous life, Ning Ze was tricked into signing an impossible bet agreement. Unable to pay the astronomical penalty, he lost his dream of becoming an actor.

At the time, Star Ji—already exiled abroad—worried most about the friend she had dragged into her troubles.

“If you’re doing this for me, I can’t just sit back. Let’s tackle the bet together!”

This time, she was determined not to repeat past mistakes. Star Ji vowed to help him escape his predicament.

“But this…” Ning Ze hesitated.

He’d signed the contract in a moment of excitement, then joined the film crew. The isolation made him realize he’d fallen into a trap…

He didn’t want Star Ji to follow him into the pit.

“No ‘but’!” Star Ji said firmly, her gaze resolute and sharp.

“Trust me! I’ll make sure those who tricked you taste their own medicine.”

The mountain nights were cold and penetrating, but Star Ji’s words filled Ning Ze with warmth. His phoenix-shaped eyes curved into crescent moons.

“Alright, we’re in this together.”

Across the screen, they smiled and made a virtual pinky promise.

No matter how loud the internet grew, or how thick the plots, they were nothing compared to their friendship.

As for the agreement, Star Ji already had several strategies in mind, though implementation would require careful planning.

A bet agreement is a contract in which Party B promises to achieve a certain result by a set date and demands a certain amount as reward from Party A. If the result isn’t achieved, Party B must pay a penalty.

But Ning Ze’s agreement was highly unfavorable.

He had to earn one hundred million in profit for Tenghai Films within three years. If he failed, he’d owe triple the penalty.

Tenghai would provide him with resources—judging by his current shoot in the mountains, those resources were next to worthless. Yet Ning Ze couldn’t refuse and was forced to work hard.

A perfect scheme to profit without risk.

Tenghai’s calculations could be heard all the way to Planet W.

Many newcomers to the entertainment industry are ignorant of the rules, making them easy prey for unscrupulous companies. They target promising newcomers, lure them with grand promises, and make them work tirelessly for the company—only to end up in debt.

Those cheated either labor in obscurity to repay, or get mired in lawsuits, bidding farewell to the industry.

Earn one hundred million, or pay three hundred million in penalties…

Star Ji spent the night poring over the contract, searching for loopholes.

Good and evil will always be repaid; it’s just a matter of time.

Against such a company, the best tactic is to fight fire with fire!

As dawn broke, it was the next morning. Star Ji, having slept only two hours, opened her eyes.

Almost all the contestants had gone to the classroom to study.

Only Star Ji hadn’t followed the crowd.

She entered the recording studio to prepare for the next episode.

The first episode’s theme was “love songs.” Most contestants would choose popular classics from this world, but Star Ji had a better option.

Earth’s entertainment industry was far more advanced than Planet W’s, and its classics were “classics among classics.”

She had been trapped in the twenty-first-century loop for a hundred cycles by the system, making her intimately familiar with those songs.

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Those hundred cycles gave her a deeper sense of belonging and mission to Earth.

She felt an urge to share Earth’s—especially Chinese—entertainment with her original world.

As if, by doing so, her soul could finally take root here, instead of drifting aimlessly as it did when she returned to her original world.

Besides, Star Ji’s goal was to make money. Her family was unreliable; she could only depend on herself.

[Where’s Star Ji? Why haven’t I seen her?]

[What’s going on??]

[I knew it—she must be too ashamed to face anyone.]

[Perhaps her singing is so good she doesn’t need these lessons.]

[So arrogant? Everyone here is a skilled singer; how come she’s the only one who doesn’t need it? She’s just conceited!]

[Yeah, what’s there to be proud of? Her debut was just a fluke.]

[Our Snow keeps learning despite her injury. She attends every class, rehearses every performance—that’s a true positive idol!]

[Someone please take down Star Ji! Arrogant people like her don’t deserve to be King!]

No matter how noisy the netizens got, Star Ji remained steady as a mountain. She spent several days in the recording studio, marked “Do Not Disturb,” producing the songs from her memory one by one.

On Robin Island, filming continued. Ren Feichang was teaching class; all contestants except Star Ji were present.

“Creation is a long and fascinating process. In today’s environment, composing a song that people love is extremely difficult…”

Eighty-seven contestants sat in a circle on the ground, listening to his speech.

“For example, when I wrote ‘You In My Heart,’ I was in the midst of bitter unrequited love…”

‘You In My Heart’ was written and composed by Ren Feichang himself, one of his signature songs. He prided himself on being a songwriter thanks to it.

The song stayed in the top five of the charts for half a year, with download numbers in the millions.

In a society where entertainment was of little interest, it was an impressive achievement.

But aside from this song, none of Ren Feichang’s other creations made any impact. Still, that didn’t stop him from mentioning ‘You In My Heart’ everywhere he went.

Animatedly recounting his creative journey, he basked in the admiration of these rookie singers, then continued:

“Though winning the public’s affection is difficult, we still encourage everyone to create their own songs. The future of the music industry depends on innovation from all of you.”

“Here, I want to especially mention Sunny Song’s ‘Confession Envelope’ from the debut stage. It was excellent.”

Sunny, caught off guard, realized the camera was about to focus on her. She suppressed her smile, trying to appear composed and modest.

Snow Ji Sheng gave Sunny a thumbs-up, her poised demeanor winning even more viewers’ hearts.

[I don’t care! Sunny and Snow are true sisters!]

[Even though Snow was overshadowed by Star Ji at the debut, it’s only temporary. Star Ji’s lack of effort means she can’t keep winning.]

Ren Feichang scanned the group, noticed that Star Ji—champion and King of the debut stage—was still absent, and cleared his throat, pointedly remarking:

“Some people may have singing talent, but talent alone isn’t enough to go far in music. I’ve seen too many cases of people isolating themselves and neglecting learning, only to be abandoned by the times. Talent and effort are both essential!”

[Well said!! Some people aren’t fit to be King!]

[Star Ji! Step down!]

[Wait, he’s talked for an hour without saying anything useful. I wanted some insider tips for free.]

[Yeah, he spent over half an hour on his motivational stories—my ears are numb! I really miss Xie Huai—so much substance, no wasted words.]

[Does the production team even know what they’re doing? Watching Star Ji is more interesting than his class! I’m out!!]

The live broadcast’s popularity dropped, and the producer was helpless.

Ren Feichang was a celebrity mentor they couldn’t afford to offend. Meanwhile, Star Ji wouldn’t appear, and to avoid leaks, they weren’t allowed to film the creation of unreleased songs.

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