Wang Jun pondered for a moment, then let out a heavy sigh.
"The Company's situation lately isn't looking good. Two years ago we spent 1.05 billion to buy seventy percent of Feng Gan's Eastern Sheep Media—whose net assets were under five million—just to keep him around. But these past two years he's lost his touch. Not long ago he was ranting on Social Media Platform that Richest Man Wang was squeezing screen time for 'Pan Jinlian' at Company. That move bled our investment dry. Still, we had a bet with Feng Gan: if the box office tanked, he'd pay us back. It bombed, so he coughed up over a hundred million. Not much, but it felt good."
At the same moment, Wang Lei beside him reached over and gave the soft curve of the woman next to him a hard squeeze.
"Exactly," he chimed in. "Call it 'goodwill' if you want, but it's really just throwing money away. Still, big brother, we have to endure for now—the Company still needs him. We poached those top executives from Company at huge cost so we could transform the business. Now that we've secured the Guangzhou–Shenzhen land parcel, we'll see how things play out…"
Wang Jun's eyes flashed viciously as he dragged on his cigarette, then stabbed it out in the ashtray.
"Relying on film and TV alone is suicide. These days Company has barely any bankable stars; the whole outfit depends on the movies Feng Gan shoots. Once the other ventures take off, we'll find the right moment to deal with him."
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the window as Feng Gan crawled out of bed with dark circles under his eyes.
He had tossed and turned all night, terrified that news of Jiang Cheng slapping him at the cocktail party would leak.
Just as he picked up his phone to check for updates, a crisp ringtone shattered the quiet.
Feng Gan glanced at the caller ID, frowned, but answered at once.
Though he knew exactly who it was, he feigned ignorance. "Hello, who's this?"
The line went silent for a few seconds, then a voice answered, tightly controlled: "After all these years, Director Feng, living the high life, huh? Even preparing to shoot Telephone 2, and you've already forgotten me?"
Feng Gan's brows knitted together.
The project was still in prep, not yet public—how had the other man found out?
Suspicious, he replied, "Oh, Li Yong, it's you. How are you so well-informed?"
"Director Feng, after all this time, don't you have any idea what Telephone 1 did to my family and career?"
"Because of it, my wife cried every day, my daughter was bullied at school, and netizens cursed me into the ground."
"That was over a decade ago. I didn't want to bring it up again. But now you're making Telephone 2—don't you think that's going too far?!"
Feng Gan was already irritable from a sleepless night.
Hearing Li Yong's complaints, his mood soured further.
"Li Yong, I'll shoot whatever film I want; it's none of your business! Besides, the sequel's plot is completely different. You just said it yourself—ten years have passed. Who still cares about that old nonsense?"
Li Yong choked with rage.
"How can you be so shameless? Back then you invited me to dinner at your home so I could tell you the inside details of a TV host's routine."
"I treated you as a friend and shared my real experiences. You used my fame and made me the prototype, turning me into a cheating sleazeball. Public opinion crushed me."
"Career ruined, marriage on the rocks, daughter bullied—and afterwards you told people you didn't even know me. Are you even human?"
Feng Gan's expression didn't flicker under the barrage.
"Stop your endless whining. You're just narrow-minded and can't take a joke. I never said the character was based on you—you were the one desperate to claim it."
"Feng Gan, you're a shameless scoundrel! Everyone knows that growth story inside the TV station is mine. Don't you feel the slightest shame?"
"Please, just leave me alone! Pick someone else to film about. My life has finally stabilized; my daughter's about to graduate. I don't want her hurt."
In truth, Feng Gan had always bullied the soft and feared the hard.
When he ran into Jiang Cheng's unyielding attitude, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear and instinctively backed down.
But faced with Li Yong's humble, pleading attitude, he felt nothing—only an even deeper sneer of contempt curling across his face.
"There's nothing to discuss. Don't call me again. If you feel wronged, do what you used to do—air your grievances in the papers." Before the words had faded, Feng Gan hung up without hesitation.
Feng Gan, now off the phone, clearly had no intention of letting this perfect publicity opportunity slip.
He snatched up his phone again and dialed a staffer, grilling him for every detail.
When he learned that Telephone 2 had been leaked, Feng Gan's brows knitted tight.
A moment later he shrugged; it was only a poster and the news that filming had started—hardly fatal.
After a moment's reflection he decided to ride the wave while it was hot.
He immediately called the film's leading lady and told her to seize the moment: post on Social Media Platform at once and plug the movie.
While Feng Gan looked pleased with himself, Li Yong—left listening to the dial tone—was purple with rage.
A veteran media man, Li Yong knew full well that Feng Gan had never taken him seriously.
Worse, the man was probably hoping he'd lash out online.
That way, the still-untitled "Movie 2" would gain a ready-made controversy.
Once he had been a household-name host, far better known than Feng Gan.
But times had changed; how many people would still side with him now?
The internet was light-years ahead of a decade ago, yet he understood that a public tirade would only stir idle chatter, not touch Feng Gan in any real way.
More than ten years ago Feng Gan had ignored his pleas—why expect anything different today?
As Li Yong brooded without an answer, a crisp doorbell rang.
Moments later the housekeeper appeared, cradling a cardboard box.
"Mr. Li, someone left this at the door; I found it when I opened up."
Li Yong stared at the mysterious parcel, unease and suspicion flickering across his face.
He waved the housekeeper out.
With cautious fingers he lifted the lid.
His eyes widened: inside lay a stack of contracts—celebrities booked for various events.
Scanning the bold signatures, he grew more stunned with every famous name.
He had no idea who had delivered the box,
but he knew its contents were a weapon sharp enough for revenge…
Meanwhile, in Su Wan's apartment, all was quiet.
Su Wan tiptoed from the bathroom as if afraid to wake something.
She padded to the wardrobe and lifted out some clothes.
She was easing toward the door when Jiang Cheng stirred, blinking blearily in her direction.
Seeing her hurriedly dressing, he sat up, puzzled.
The sudden movement made Su Wan flinch; he watched her through half-lidded eyes.
Her gaze dropped and she stammered, "You… sleep a bit longer."
"Where are you going?" Jiang Cheng's voice was lazy, curious.
"I just remembered—something at the office needs me,"
she said, fighting to keep her tone level, but her face betrayed her.
Jiang Cheng caught the flicker of unease and pulled her to him without hesitation.
"Didn't we agree you'd take these days off?"
Caught off balance, Su Wan found herself wrapped tight in his arms.
His warm breath fanned her cheek and her heart lurched.
The question left her speechless.
She tried to wriggle free, but his strength held her fast.
In the cramped room their breathing quickened, the air turning thick and intimate.
"Jiang Cheng, sleep a little more—you worked so hard last night," she whispered.
Instead of answering, he pressed his broad chest to her back, arms circling her from behind.
"I'm not the tired one—you look uncomfortable. Let me check."
"Don't look. Don't pull… I just got dressed."
Su Wan protested, cheeks flushing pink.
"Why can't I look? I need to see if you're hurt."
"No—give me my clothes… put them back on me…"