Chapter 4: Taking a Role

The next day, Jiang Zhizhou arrived at Star Source Entertainment right on time.

Star Source Entertainment was a company founded by the Zhou Family less than a decade ago. Its core businesses were artist management along with the investment, production, and distribution of films and TV dramas. The chairman was Zhou Caimao.

The company had developed steadily but unspectacularly in its early years. Over the past two, however, with the dominance of traffic stars, the executives had leveraged their sharp business instincts to capitalize on hot IPs and viral idols. This propelled rapid growth, allowing them to firmly establish themselves in the industry. Word was they were gearing up for an IPO.

Jiang Zhizhou strode through the main entrance and made a beeline for the Artist Management Department to find Chen Lin.

Chen Lin was still tied up in a meeting, so Jiang Zhizhou waited in her office.

In her previous life, Jiang Zhizhou had minimal dealings with Star Source, encountering their management only at the occasional gala, so her knowledge had been superficial. But over the two months since her rebirth, she had gathered plenty of intel.

Her agent was Chen Lin, who handled several artists under her wing.

Thanks to the original host Shen Xinghe’s striking looks, Chen Lin had initially poured her efforts into promoting her, only signing Jiang Qingmeng two years ago.

The original host Shen Xinghe had no interest in chasing traffic fame. She turned down script after script and variety show invites, rejecting all bundled promotions and hype tactics. This sparked multiple clashes with Chen Lin.

The diary had mentioned it: the original host dreamed of serious dramas and movies, but that clashed head-on with the idol trajectory Star Source had mapped out for her. The company just wanted to turn her into a quick-cash traffic star.

Before the original host’s family fortunes crumbled, the company treaded carefully around her background, griping behind closed doors while flattering Miss Shen to her face about her artistic ideals.

Once the family fell from grace, though, all pretenses vanished. The breaking point came when the original host bluntly shot down a costume idol drama. Chen Lin exploded, jabbing a finger in her face. “You aren’t even a big name yet and you’re already being picky? Dream of serious dramas, movies, arthouse flicks? Enroll at Central Academy of Drama or Beijing Film Academy! Why sign with us? You think we’re running a charity here? If you don’t want fame, say so now—plenty of girls are dying for it!”

From then on, Chen Lin iced out the original host and shifted her focus to Jiang Qingmeng.

Jiang Qingmeng proved a shrewd bet, blessed with star quality. In just two short years, she skyrocketed from an obscure 18th-tier supporting actress to a top domestic traffic flower. Chen Lin rode that wave to become director of the Star Source Artist Management Department.

Meanwhile, the original host Shen Xinghe languished as an 18th-tier nobody, her fate firmly in the company’s grip. Without resources, breakout success was a pipe dream.

Jiang Zhizhou waited a full hour in Chen Lin’s office, but she never showed.

Chen Lin’s assistant popped in with a cup of coffee. “Sister Chen Lin’s meeting is still dragging on. Hang tight a bit longer.”

Jiang Zhizhou knew it was deliberate—Chen Lin making her cool her heels. She stayed unruffled, sipping the coffee and waiting another hour and a half. She even streamed a movie on her phone to pass the time.

When it ended, she rose and stretched lazily. Her eyes drifted to a cluster of magnetic mini-whiteboards beside Chen Lin’s desk.

Each board featured photos and profiles of Jiang Zhizhou and a few other artists, complete with analytical charts.

Jiang Zhizhou stepped closer to examine the original host Shen Xinghe’s five-dimensional radar chart.

It rated five metrics—personality, acting skills, cooperativeness, image, and potential—with colorful round magnets marking the score ranges.

She scanned them one by one:

Personality: 50

Acting skills: 30

Cooperativeness: 20

Image: 80

Potential: 40

After studying it, she plucked off the five magnets, toyed with them in her palm, pondered briefly, and repositioned them in fresh spots.

Personality: Her mental fortitude was solid—magnet to the 90 line.

Acting skills: Past life, she’d swept the Chinese Three Gold Grand Slam and snagged a Berlin Best Actress on her deathbed—straight to 90.

Cooperativeness: She’d played ball with the team just fine back then—or more accurately, they’d bent over backward for her—90 it was.

Image: Great bone structure, and her tweaks would elevate it further—90 line.

Potential: As if 40 could cut it—bumped to a perfect 100.

The revamped chart now read:

Personality: 90

Acting skills: 90

Cooperativeness: 90

Image: 90

Potential: 100

Excellent.

Just then, the office door swung open. Chen Lin entered, coffee in hand. “Xinghe, sorry to keep you—meeting ran over two hours—” She froze upon spotting Jiang Zhizhou by the whiteboard, puzzlement flashing in her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Jiang Zhizhou turned to face a woman in her early thirties.

The woman wore a sharp black business suit, her hair neatly coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck, her makeup impeccable. She looked both shrewd and efficient.

—Her agent, Chen Lin.

Chen Lin had visited her twice during her hospital stay.

“Sister Chen Lin, I’ve been waiting for you.” Jiang Zhizhou kept her expression neutral as she pointed to the analysis chart on the small whiteboard. “I also wanted to mention that this is my development goal going forward.”

Chen Lin squinted at the chart, then let out a sudden laugh and shook her head. She set down her coffee, walked over, and looped her arm through Jiang Zhizhou’s. “It’s rare to see you so motivated. That’s great, but don’t aim too high—take it one steady step at a time. Come on, sit. How are you feeling now?”

With Chen Lin’s arm around her, Jiang Zhizhou let herself be guided back to the sofa. She stiffened but fought back the impulse to shove her away, forcing a smile as she replied, “I’m pretty much fully recovered. Thanks for checking on me, Sister Chen Lin.”

Hadn’t they fallen out? How could she be so casually touchy-feely? What kind of decorum was that?

Chen Lin asked affectionately, “When did you switch up your look? The center part suits you much better—it really elevates your whole vibe. Mm.”

Jiang Zhizhou replied, “I went a couple of days ago. After the car accident, I figured a new style would mark a fresh start, like being reborn.” The original host’s sense of style hadn’t matched her own taste. The day she’d returned to the villa and gotten her hands on the money, she’d gotten a new haircut, new clothes, and new shoes, bringing her appearance closer to the one she’d had in her previous life.

Chen Lin nodded, then let out a soft sigh laced with regret. “Ever since that fight we had a year ago, you haven’t sat down for a proper chat like this. These past two years, I’ve poured most of my energy into Qingmeng and left you on the back burner. I get why you’re upset, and I understand.”

The original host had indeed harbored resentment toward Chen Lin—the diary had mentioned it. But Jiang Zhizhou now could only listen attentively, her eyes fixed politely on Chen Lin.

“No matter what, Xinghe, you’re the artist I’ve managed for three years—my very first one. You hold a special place for me. If you blow up, I’ll be over the moon; if you don’t, I’ll worry and ache over it.”

“I know you’re not into chasing viral trends, but you have to face facts: our company thrives on youth idols. We can’t touch the blockbuster resources from the big agencies. Remember when I fought tooth and nail for that second female lead role for you? I haunted the production crew daily, begging the director and producers, fetching water, handing out gifts—hell, I was this close to getting on my knees. I finally landed you an audition, and you shot it down without a second thought. How could I not lose it?”

Seeing no real response, Chen Lin picked up her coffee for a sip to clear her throat. Inwardly, she grumbled: Yuhe was spot on—after the accident, Xinghe really does seem like a whole new person. Today confirms it; she’s even better at keeping up appearances than I am.

She pressed on in a gentle tone. “You’re a good ten years younger than me. I’ve always treated you like a little sister, guiding you and cutting you slack. But now that you’re at this stage in your career, it’s time to start planning seriously. You can’t rely on me shoving you forward forever. Look at your junior sister Qingmeng—she knows how to handle things and doesn’t give me half the headaches.”

“Junior sister?” At the mention of Jiang Qingmeng’s name, Jiang Zhizhou arched an eyebrow, finally showing a spark of reaction. After all, the woman was her creditor now.

In her previous life, Jiang Zhizhou had been scouted by Director Li Ze and earned the nickname one of the Ze Girls. Anyone worthy of being called her junior sister had at least led one of his films—or at the very least, come up through Central Academy of Drama.

Chen Lin explained, “You debuted a year ahead of her, so of course she calls you senior sister.”

Jiang Zhizhou nodded with a soft hum.

These days, she and Jiang Qingmeng were both under the same company and agent, so they could loosely be considered fellow apprentices—not exactly her riding anyone’s coattails.

People often likened the agent-artist dynamic to a product manager and their packaged product, with the agent hustling it onto the market. Others saw it as battle buddies fighting shoulder-to-shoulder on the cutthroat battlefield of showbiz.

The first was standard; the second, a unicorn.

For the moment, Jiang Zhizhou viewed Chen Lin strictly as the product manager type.

After a few exchanges about her recovery, Chen Lin ventured, “Qingmeng’s career has finally gained some traction this year, but you—you’re what keeps me up at night. You’ve spent the last two years accusing me of playing favorites, but to be honest, you’re both my kids. The palm and the back of my hand are all flesh to me—I’d never play one against the other.”

Jiang Zhizhou listened in silence, nodding here and there, her face a mask.

Folks in this line of work were pros at tugging heartstrings; their gift of gab was how they scrapped over gigs and paychecks.

Jiang Zhizhou had enough years in the industry herself—not like the original host, a greenhorn who could be swayed by sweet talk.

She’d listen. She’d watch.

Chen Lin continued, “Now that our company has developed, I’ve also accumulated quite a few connections on hand. It’s nothing like a few years ago when we had to beg everyone under the sun just to snag a single resource. Take the second half of this year, for instance—our company has a collaboration project with Huamei Media. It’s a pretty big production, scheduled to start filming in December, and several TV stations are in talks, though it’s not decided yet which one it’ll land with. Right now, both our companies can slot some people in. The female lead is tentatively our Qingmeng, the male lead is tentatively Huamei’s Xu Sheng, and for the rest of the supporting roles, our two companies have priority in casting.”

Jiang Zhizhou could tell there was more to Chen Lin’s words. She smiled faintly and picked up the thread: “Sister Chen Lin, I was immature before. You’ve worked hard these past two years.”

“You’ve grown up a bit after going through this,” Chen Lin said as she patted her shoulder, clearly pleased with her softened attitude. “Try to snag the third female lead. If that doesn’t work out, I can pull some strings to get you the fourth female lead, no problem.”

Jiang Zhizhou could see that after sidelining Shen Xinghe for two years, Chen Lin was finally planning to use the resources and connections from promoting Jiang Qingmeng to boost Shen Xinghe.

It had a bit of that “get rich first and then pull others up” vibe.

She asked Chen Lin, “Has the script come out yet? What’s the genre?”

Chen Lin replied, “It’s an IP script we bought a couple of years ago—an immortal hero drama called Nine Songs. You can read the original novel. The script is still being revised by the writers; they’ve only finished half. Once the first draft is out, Qingmeng will get it, and I’ll have her show it to you so you can prepare in advance.”

In her previous life, Jiang Zhizhou had only done movies, never TV dramas, let alone so-called immortal hero IP dramas, so she felt a twinge of disdain deep down.

But given her current status and position, she had no right to be picky.

Jiang Zhizhou was a practical person, so she agreed right away: “Sure, I’ll prepare properly.”

Seeing how unusually cooperative she was today made Chen Lin even more satisfied. “Oh, right—one more thing. Little Ai, Qingmeng’s personal assistant, had to take three months off because her father is ill. Qingmeng gave her the time, but I’m worried she’ll need someone to take care of her during filming, so I’ve arranged for Xia Yuhe to step in temporarily. Yuhe was afraid you’d be upset, so she asked me to tell you.”

Ever since Chen Lin had started sidelining the original host to promote Jiang Qingmeng, the original host and Jiang Qingmeng hadn’t gotten along.

Xia Yuhe was nominally the original host’s assistant but was actually one of the few real friends she had.

The original host had a reclusive personality and only truly let her guard down around Xia Yuhe.

At this point, Jiang Zhizhou wasn’t very close to Xia Yuhe, so she didn’t feel betrayed. In fact, she thought it was better for the little assistant to leave her side.

She was the one who knew the original host best. She wouldn’t slip up in the short term, but long-term daily interactions would be harder to maintain without giving herself away.

Jiang Zhizhou said generously, “No problem. The film set is full of people and prying eyes; it’s more reassuring to use someone familiar.”

For confidentiality reasons, celebrities’ assistants were usually introduced by industry insiders, so it really wasn’t convenient to bring in a temporary one.

Chen Lin knew full well that Shen Xinghe had never been fond of Jiang Qingmeng. Seeing that she wasn’t flipping out now, she smiled with relief and added, “A couple of months ago, I took a script for you—it’s in a genre you like, and the production crew is already shooting in Hengdian. I didn’t get a chance to tell you last month because of your car accident and hospitalization. If your body’s recovered enough now, you should think about joining the crew. They called me last night to urge me about it. Qingmeng is also shooting in Hengdian right now. When she heard about your accident last time, she specially took three days off to visit you. While you’re in Hengdian next, drop by her set if you have time.” With that, she picked up a script from her desk and handed it to Jiang Zhizhou.

Jiang Zhizhou took the script and glanced at the title—Injustice Cleared.

It was an ancient suspense mystery drama.

She flipped through the script, somewhat surprised: “The story looks pretty good.”

Chen Lin leaned back in her office chair and said, “You play a friend of the female lead; there are quite a few scenes where you appear on screen. Just work on getting familiar with the netizens for now—the real promotion push comes next year.”

Jiang Zhizhou keenly picked up on two key words: “Netizens?”

“Yeah, netizens.” Chen Lin swiveled her chair. “It’s a web drama, aimed at young audiences.”

Star Source Entertainment’s weakness was in movies, but their strengths were in promotion resources and TV/network resources. Last year, a web drama they co-produced with a streaming platform had made several of their young male idols famous and pioneered paid self-produced dramas.

Chen Lin wanted Jiang Zhizhou to do a web drama first to gain some visibility; the main promotion would come after the TV drama Nine Songs aired.

Jiang Zhizhou carried the script for Injustice Cleared back to her apartment.

In her previous life, she had never worked with a web drama production team, so she first Baidu’d the producer and director to get a feel for the director’s style.

The producer was named He Bi, the producer for Apple Video Website’s self-produced dramas.

The director was Zhe Teng, a contracted director for Apple Video Website. He had helmed several web dramas:

“Cold Consort and Playful Prince”

“River Maple Fishing Fires”

“Devil Girl Falls for Me”

“Morning Bell Evening Drum”

“White-Clad Campus Heartthrob and His Bodyguard”

“Cold Consort and Playful Prince” had been his first web drama. With its anti-cliché mix of hilarious melodrama, it carved out a path amid the crowded field, generating massive buzz through marketing. It launched the two leads to stardom and raked in a fortune. He then poured that money into his second project, “River Maple Fishing Fires,” only to lose every penny. His third, “Devil Girl Falls for Me,” clawed back some losses, but he squandered it all again on “Morning Bell Evening Drum.” Last year, “White-Clad Campus Heartthrob and His Bodyguard” brought in a windfall. This year, he convinced Apple Video Website’s higher-ups to greenlight “Injustice Cleared.”

Jiang Zhizhou read it all and sucked in a sharp breath. So Director Zhe Teng profited on one drama, lost on the next, and kept cycling through the pattern.

A quick mental calculation confirmed it: “Injustice Cleared” was primed to be the flop.

She flipped through the script again, remembering the 200,000-yuan penalty fee Chen Lin had mentioned. Swallowing the impulse to bail on the contract, she packed her bags, booked a flight to Yiwu, and prepared to join the crew the next day.