`Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Shi Yin rested her chin in her hands, staring at the mission panel for a moment.

She opened a drawer, which was stuffed with thick stacks of business cards, all collected while wandering outside—scouts and MCN influencer companies from all over Tan City. Some cards had marks on them, some were new. Shi Yin flipped through them, picking one out.

“Xingyao Entertainment Kuang Wensen”

She found the contact in her phone and, expression blank, typed out a string of overly enthusiastic words without any soul:

“Wen~Sen~Bro~^_^”

~

Stellar Building.

“Our company mainly operates on the second and third floors. The entire third floor is live-streaming, including group streams and individual streams, plus accounts, data, and business backend departments,” Kuang Wensen led Shi Yin through the access control, walking and introducing. “The second floor is the traditional film and TV department. These past two years we’ve shot short dramas, done some variety shows, and the results have been pretty good. How did I add you?”

“Last week you connected with a new streamer. I sent my photo to apply,” Shi Yin’s eyes curved into crescent moons, her voice awkwardly squeaking as she pinched her throat, “Wen Sen Bro~ you forgot~ you even told me to DM you.”

“Oh right! I remember now, yes!”

Kuang Wensen actually didn’t remember at all. He was in charge of recruiting streamers, adding handsome guys and beautiful girls every day—if not a hundred, at least eighty. He’d pull them all online to sign contracts. He was surprised when Shi Yin messaged him, and it was the first time someone wanted to visit offline.

Shi Yin scratched her cheek and sweetly asked, “Wen Sen Bro~ I heard Xingyao is under Stellar Culture, is that true?”

Kuang Wensen nodded: “Correct.”

“Wow, Wen Sen Bro, you’re amazing!” Shi Yin clapped her hands, then turned away, frowning slightly at her own cheesiness.

“Just average, just average,” Kuang Wensen, feeling good from the little girl’s compliments, couldn’t help opening up, “Have you seen last year’s hit variety shows Mystery Song King and Nonstop Dance Tonight? Both produced by Stellar, exclusively aired on Seagull TV.”

“Although Xingyao is a subsidiary of Stellar, we share the office building. Look,” Kuang Wensen pointed outside. A modern, fully silver skyscraper stood opposite. “Opposite is Seagull TV. The location is perfect.”

Seagull TV was the official television station of Yue Province, headquartered in the center of Tan City, a local landmark.

Shi Yin eagerly flattered: “Of course! Mystery Song King is super popular. Our whole family watched it. I heard the peak night ratings were 5.6?”

Kuang Wensen raised a finger, correcting strictly: “5.673.”

Talking as they walked down to the second floor, through bright floor-to-ceiling windows, a group of youthful, beautiful girls practiced dance in front of mirrors. With intense drum beats and music, they twisted their waists, swayed hips, flicked hair, expressions coquettish and cute, movements perfectly synchronized.

The pretty girls drew Shi Yin’s attention; she couldn’t help glancing twice: “Are these all streamers too?”

Kuang Wensen proudly said, “They’re newly signed trainees. In the second half of the year, they’ll compete in the variety show Go! Idol. Xingyao has three guaranteed debut spots. As long as they form a group, fame comes overnight.”

“What happens after they get famous?” Shi Yin asked.

After fame, they could start making money off their popularity, Kuang Wensen thought.

He cleared his throat and said seriously: “The company provides music and dance stages every year, multiple group variety shows, and will send them to act in online dramas. If they perform well, in three to five years they can transition to acting.”

Sure enough, the entertainment world always ended at acting. These agencies all painted the same big picture. Shi Yin found it funny but asked innocently: “Then why not become actors directly?”

Kuang Wensen laughed silently—too young, too naive. If acting were that easy, everyone would be doing it.

“If you’re interested, I can recommend you. I know a few top agents.”

“Really, Wen Sen Bro~” Shi Yin pushed further, shamelessly asking, “Can I also sign with a top agent?”

“Well…” Kuang Wensen hesitated. He was just bragging, how did she take it seriously?

“Don’t worry. Xingyao is a big company. Once you sign, whether you want to be a streamer or actor, we’ll tailor a development plan for you.” Kuang Wensen spoke grandly, but in his heart he thought: this little girl is so naive. A top agent? Signing her completes my KPI; who cares if she even has an agent?

His phone dinged. Kuang Wensen looked down and immediately answered: “Ah, Director Wu, I’m here, I’m coming right now!”

Shi Yin subtly waved at him: “Wen Sen Bro, you go ahead, I’ll head back.”

“Okay, take the elevator down, we’ll talk later.” Kuang Wensen had something urgent, gave a perfunctory reply, and hurried off.

Once he left, Shi Yin put away her deliberately cute smile, hands in pockets, turning to walk back.

She wandered boldly through the office area, acting as if it were her own company. For a while, no one noticed she was an outsider. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on her side—after a round, she didn’t find the person she was looking for.

At the end of the hallway was an employee door. A girl was fetching water nearby. Shi Yin glanced at the name above her head and spoke familiarly: “Rui Lin, can you swipe my card? I need to make a call.”

The young woman paused, surprised that Shi Yin knew her name, and replied kindly: “Oh, sure.”

After Shi Yin passed by, the girl fetching water still looked puzzled: “New colleague? I don’t think I’ve seen her before…”

Shi Yin’s feet moved like the wind; she slipped away quickly. She had just asked someone and learned that the second-floor corridor led to an open-air garden, quiet with a good view. Occasionally, Stellar employees came here to take a break. Fortune smiled on her. Among lush greenery, Shi Yin spotted her target.

A woman in her thirties, tall and slender, wearing a silk blouse with flowing ribbons and champagne-colored suit pants, leaned relaxedly against the railing. A burning cigarette rested between her fingers as she looked down at her phone.

The woman had a thin face, high cheekbones, and narrow eyes, giving a first impression of being overly assertive.

“Ms. Wen, hello,” Shi Yin stepped forward to greet her.

Wen Jinhe, senior agent at Stellar, former manager of actor Guan Xi. Guan Xi was a dual Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers Best Actor winner, just one step away from the three major mainland awards. Unlike other top agents, Wen Jinhe managed only Guan Xi, effectively his exclusive agent. When they first partnered, both were penniless. Wen Jinhe elevated Guan Xi from an unknown basement actor to Best Actor, and Guan Xi was rare in the industry with a good reputation and zero scandals.

Last month, Guan Xi’s contract expired. Rumors spread that he planned to join top Beijing agent Li Mu Bei’s agency, and it turned out to be true.

Officially, Guan Xi didn’t renew with Stellar; essentially, he didn’t renew with Wen Jinhe. Rumor had it that they fell out. Guan Xi reportedly couldn’t tolerate his agent’s overbearing behavior—losing control over script choices and having his private life manipulated. He had repeatedly expressed exhaustion in interviews, needing rest.

Wen Jinhe, assuming Shi Yin was one of the company’s artists, casually nodded.

Shi Yin felt nervous, exhaled slowly, then said the shocking words: “I want to hire you as my agent.”

Wen Jinhe paused, lifting her eyelids to glance at her: “Excuse me, who are you?”

“My name is Shi Yin. I’m an actress now…”

“Stop,” Wen Jinhe interrupted, “You misunderstand. I didn’t ask you to introduce yourself, and I have no interest in wasting time. Leave me alone, okay?”

Shi Yin wasn’t intimidated. She adjusted her mindset quickly and went straight to the point: “You’re a top agent. Even if you don’t manage anyone now, that won’t last long. So I want to recommend myself. Instead of signing someone else, why not choose me? I won’t let you down.”

Wen Jinhe’s gaze sharpened immediately: “You investigated me? I really dislike that.”

“No investigation…” Shi Yin watched Wen Jinhe’s favorability drop from 0 to -2, quickly denying: “I only found out by chance.”

She added silently in her mind: By chance.

Wen Jinhe remained unmoved. She had indeed been scouting recently, but none were suitable. Wen Jinhe’s goal was clear: to surpass Guan Xi’s achievements, she needed the best talent—top-tier skill, excellent emotional intelligence, and a resilient mindset. All three were indispensable.

“Anyone can say pretty words. Why should I choose you?” Wen Jinhe crossed her arms, scrutinizing Shi Yin from head to toe with a picky eye. “Face… fine, but it feels too plain, likely to develop a single style. You’re from Tan City, right? You look soft and pliable, gentle but lacking presence.”

Shi Yin: “……”

Stereotype. Absolutely a stereotype! What’s wrong with being from Tan City? Ate your rice? Regional discrimination, seriously!

“Tan City people can be diverse too,” Shi Yin kept smiling. “I can prove it to you.”

“Do it.” Wen Jinhe gestured politely, glancing at her watch. “I can give you… five minutes.”

Not exaggerating, Wen Jinhe’s toughness was Thanos-level. Under such psychological pressure, few could remain composed. Shi Yin felt a subtle nervousness, as if returning to her worthless childhood, that clumsy self exposed under the camera, finally hanging her head in shame…

—Time to show real skill.

Shi Yin took a deep breath, stepped forward, and asked: “May I borrow a cigarette?”

Wen Jinhe raised the cigarette pack a few inches. Shi Yin picked a slender lady’s cigarette, lowered her head, lightly bit it, and lit it from Wen Jinhe’s tip. The gesture was flirtatious and teasing, her fair fingertips brushing Wen Jinhe’s hand back unintentionally.

“!!” Wen Jinhe furrowed her brows, her face darkening. She didn’t like this one bit!

Before she could scold, Shi Yin leaned against the railing, lifted her chin, her eyes half-intoxicated, brows slightly furrowed then relaxing, radiating charm: “I heard men have two great hobbies: reforming courtesans or forcing the good into vice. Officer, which one are you?”

Shi Yin drew a drag and exhaled toward the other, her delicate face shrouded in white smoke: “Oops, did that choke you? Don’t be angry. I’m self-respecting, self-respecting—don’t you like that? But you’d better get used to it; on this Qinhuai River, there’s only romance, no warfare.”

She spoke softly in the Wu dialect, teasing with glances, then suddenly leaned forward, her fair cheek nearly brushing the officer’s chest: “Don’t dodge. I’m counting your heartbeat…”

Shi Yin held the cigarette in her right hand. In a hidden corner, her left hand tapped a rhythm—sometimes long, sometimes short, deliberately timed.

Morse code!

“Guess… am I tapping ‘Strike Tonight’ or ‘I Really Like You’?”

Wen Jinhe’s expression shifted noticeably. This was the movie that won Guan Xi the Hundred Flowers Best Actor—spy film Gunshots in Zhan Garden. The female second lead was a courtesan spy. She remembered the casting had seemed unsuitable, but the actress’s talent compensated. In the novel adaptation, the screenwriter still portrayed the spy as young and beautiful, every smile captivating.

“You learned Morse code?” Wen Jinhe suddenly asked.

“After watching Gunshots in Zhan Garden, I found it interesting and learned it. I remember things quickly,” Shi Yin interjected proudly. “This movie was a turning point in Guan Xi’s career. The person choosing the script had great vision.”

Wen Jinhe shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.

Because of this film, she had a huge fight with Guan Xi, and in the end, she had forced him to accept the role by holding his head down.

“Uh…” Shi Yin whispered a reminder, “I think I still have two minutes.”

Wen Jinhe snapped back to attention, nodding: “One minute forty-five seconds.”

Shi Yin extended the cigarette over the railing, letting it burn slowly, and re-gathered her emotions. After a moment, she lifted her head, smiling purely and innocently, without a trace of shadow: “Hello, uncle. I’m building a castle.”

“Mm, I like playing alone,” Shi Yin nodded, patting the walls of her “castle.”

Suddenly, her movement stopped. Her eyes, clear and pure, calmly looked forward. The sunlight illuminated her face, making her look like a little angel.

“Uncle, do you like playing ‘One, Two, Three, Wooden Man’?”

Shi Yin’s tone was cheerful, as if sharing a fun game: “It’s the game where when one person turns around, no one else is allowed to move. If someone moves, they lose.”

She patted the “sand” in her hands, tilted her head back, still smiling innocently, but in her eyes, something settled, deep and bottomless.

Shi Yin rose onto her tiptoes, leaning as if close to someone’s ear, speaking clearly and slowly:

“Uncle…”

She paused.

“…I saw it.”

“I didn’t tell the police uncle!”

Shi Yin raised her hands in delight, her mouth stretched into a big grin, and hopped off toward the “slide.”

—Perfect Witness.

Wen Jinhe thought to herself.

This was also a Guan Xi film, but this one helped him win the Golden Rooster Best Actor. In it, the villainous child witnessed all the male lead’s crimes yet chose not to expose him. When the child said this line, the male lead froze, his eyes filled with ultimate fear and disbelief, and a despair deeper than being arrested by the police. He realized that silence was not salvation, but the beginning of a longer, more personal, and unpredictable judgment.

The film ended abruptly, leaving room for dark imagination: would the male lead turn himself in? Would the villainous child, having crossed moral boundaries, grow into the next killer?

The villainous child in the film was only ten years old, a boy. Shi Yin’s age and gender didn’t match, yet she portrayed the innocent cruelty perfectly, without breaking Wen Jinhe’s immersion.

Shi Yin’s approach was highly purposeful, selecting scenes related to Guan Xi. Wen Jinhe could naturally judge her performance.

“All right,” she said without evaluation, simply asking, “Are you with Xingyao or Stellar?”

“Mm…” Shi Yin thought for a moment, then answered honestly, “Neither. I have a bit of a contract dispute; I’m currently in the process of breaking a contract.”

Wen Jinhe didn’t comment. She opened her WeChat QR code: “Handle your issues within a month. I’ll give you one chance to sign with me again. Miss the deadline, and that’s it.”

“Got it,” Shi Yin said happily, scanning the code.

She didn’t expect Wen Jinhe to be completely enamored upon first meeting her. She wasn’t that narcissistic. People first need to meet, then develop, and then see what’s next. This time, she would leave a good impression, creating possibilities for later. Trying multiple paths to achieve a goal wasn’t a bad thing.

After sending the friend request, Shi Yin watched Wen Jinhe’s back expectantly.

The scale above Wen Jinhe’s head wobbled, finally stopping at +1.

Shi Yin: “?”

No way—Ms. Wen, your favorability is this hard to raise?

Shi Yin froze, lifelessly taking the cigarette to her lips.

“Cough cough—!!”

She actually didn’t know how to smoke. She had only been pretending. This drag was too strong, making her cough repeatedly.

Coughing, Shi Yin bent over slowly, silently laughing.

Two years gone, but at least she hadn’t hit rock bottom. At least she had a chance to start anew. Quite good, quite good.

Author’s note: