After Spectating Gossip, the Entertainment Industry Thinks I’m a Big Shot – CH59

Chapter 59

After finishing her introductions, Yu Youxia looked carefully at Gu Xingshi. “President Gu, what do you think?”

At her words, the group of socially anxious “quails” also lifted their heads with hopeful, pleading looks, watching him cautiously.

Gu Xingshi: “…”

Originally, he hadn’t planned to take on so many screenwriters at once, but after hearing the system’s gossip, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for them.

If he turned them away, who knew how much they’d continue to be mistreated by others.

With that in mind, Gu Xingshi softened. “All right, let’s sign everyone.”

He was immediately met with a row of wide-eyed stares as each of them gasped in unison: “Whaaa—!”

Gu Xingshi: “…”

What, was this some kind of secret code for socially anxious people?!

Yu Youxia burst into tears. “Thank you, President Gu!!”

The writers behind her followed suit, hugging each other and weeping.

Gu Xingshi had no choice but to transform into a “Tissue Hero,” going down the line, handing each of them a tissue.

Yu Youxia was all the more moved.

She’d been working outside long enough to know just how costly it would be for President Gu to support their entire group. Given their personalities, they wouldn’t be much help with pitching projects or negotiating—only writing.

But President Gu not only signed all of them but also tolerated their quirks without a single complaint, even passing out tissues.

For these young screenwriters, who’d only ever faced scorn and criticism, his kindness was melting their hearts.

Quickly wiping her tears away, Yu Youxia looked at him with renewed determination. “President Gu, we’re ready to get to work right away! Do you have any specific genre or theme in mind? We can even adapt existing IPs, or we could draft a few proposals for you to choose from…”

Gu Xingshi blinked. “Uh?”

Truth be told, he’d only just thought of forming a creative team, and hadn’t given much thought to what kind of script they should start with.

But seeing these writers so eager to prove themselves, he couldn’t bring himself to admit this and risk them losing faith in him or the company.

So he offered tentatively, “How about… just start with what you’re each comfortable with? There’s no rush…”

The writers: “Waaaa—!”

Such good terms, and no restrictive assignments?!

Gu Xingshi: “…”

He was about to say more when the conference room door cracked open, and Cheng Xin poked his head in. “In broad daylight, I thought you were performing some sort of ritual in here!”

Just seeing that mouth of his gave Gu Xingshi a headache. “Aren’t you supposed to have an event today? Why are you back?”

“The event’s over,” Cheng Xin replied, squeezing his way through the small opening and eyeing the row of lowered heads curiously. “My dear boss, where’d you dig up this batch of pitiful souls?”

Gu Xingshi: “…Shut up.”

Moments like these made him miss the old Cheng Xin who could barely be coaxed into saying three words. He should never have encouraged him to speak more—it only made his own job harder.

Cheng Xin made a show of zipping his lips, then gestured an apology to Yu Youxia and the others.

While the two of them spoke, Yu Youxia and the rest were sneaking glances at Cheng Xin.

Being such a popular figure, they naturally knew who Cheng Xin was.

They also knew that along with his fame came his razor-sharp tongue.

So when he walked in, they’d all tensed up a bit.

After all, even together, they probably couldn’t withstand a tenth of Cheng Xin’s verbal onslaught.

But after meeting him, they found he didn’t seem as fearsome as rumors claimed. He even apologized!

Gu Xingshi introduced them. “This is Cheng Xin. He can be a bit blunt, but he’s a good person.”

Cheng Xin: “…”

Seeing his sullen expression, the group couldn’t help but chuckle.

Yu Youxia even mustered the courage to greet him. “Hello, I’m Yu Youxia, one of the company’s screenwriters.”

The moment she spoke, Cheng Xin forgot about his “gag order” and exclaimed, “Screenwriter?! So you’ve finally decided to dump that ‘President Wen’ and start your own production!”

Gu Xingshi: “…”

It seemed he needed to get rid of Cheng Xin’s mouth altogether.

With a glare, he demanded, “What do you want?”

Cheng Xin cleared his throat. “I won a bet with A-Sheng. He’s treating us to a meal today, so I came back to get you. Time to go score a free dinner from the rich guy!” He then turned and enthusiastically invited Yu Youxia and her group. “Come along, everyone! Let’s make it a welcome party for our new colleagues!”

Gu Xingshi originally suspected that Cheng Xin might be hiding something from him—after all, winning a bet against Meng Yuansheng sounded too improbable to be true.

But seeing Cheng Xin eagerly mingling with the screenwriters, he reconsidered; maybe Cheng Xin really had just gotten lucky this time.

The group arrived at a private dining restaurant, tastefully decorated.

As soon as Gu Xingshi stepped into the private room, there were two loud pops, and colorful streamers rained down around him.

“Happy Birthday, President Gu!” shouted Meng Yuansheng and the others.

Gu Xingshi stood there, momentarily stunned, as he took in the room, which had clearly been set up as a birthday celebration.

For a moment, he felt almost dazed.

If they hadn’t mentioned it, he would have completely forgotten that today was his birthday.

In the past, he was often on his own. Moving frequently between jobs and having few close friends meant he seldom celebrated his birthday.

But now, as his gaze swept across the room, he saw not only Meng Yuansheng and his friends but also other company employees.

The system popped up, unwilling to be left out: [Host, don’t forget me too! I’m here as well!]

Gu Xingshi’s face softened into a smile. [Yes, you too.]

Sheng Yueqing pushed a cake toward him, singing “Happy Birthday.”

Surrounded by everyone, Gu Xingshi made a wish and blew out the candles.

That evening felt surreal to him, like a dream.

When it finally ended, he looked around at the room full of people who’d drunk themselves into oblivion, feeling a bit guilty—he’d had such a good time that he’d let loose more than usual.

Only a few people remained sober: Meng Yuansheng and a couple of assistants who couldn’t drink, while Yu Youxia and the others had somehow joined in the revelry and now lay sprawled neatly across the sofas.

Rubbing his forehead, Meng Yuansheng started to arrange for cars to get everyone home.

Unexpectedly, Cheng Xin—drunk and unsteady—refused to let go of Gu Xingshi’s leg, mumbling that he was the ‘real’ “Number One Leg Hugger.”

Qin Wen and Sheng Yueqing, not to be outdone, clung to Gu’s sleeves, refusing to let go either.

In that moment, Gu Xingshi felt like the mother hen in a game of “Fox and Chickens,” but seeing their trusting faces, even in their drunken state, he sighed and said, “Fine, I’ll take these three back myself.”

With that, he led the three of them out of the private room. But halfway down the hall, they ran straight into another group—at the head of which was Wen Yue.

Wen Yue’s eyes immediately found Gu Xingshi.

But tonight, Gu Xingshi looked a little different from usual.

He was dressed casually, in a loose white knit sweater and simple, faded jeans, like a clean, fresh college student.

His hair was slightly disheveled, hanging over his forehead, his cheeks tinged red, and his eyes glistened faintly, with an unusual warmth softening his expression.

Noticing Wen Yue’s group, Gu Xingshi lifted his gaze toward them.

His eyes swept lazily over them, the corners slightly reddened, exuding a drowsy, unguarded charm like the finest sapphire—yet with a warmth and softness no gem could possess.

A faint stir brushed Wen Yue’s heart, as though something were gently scratching at it. Reflexively, he pressed his cufflinks, the coolness grounding him, though that peculiar feeling only seemed to sharpen.

Gu Xingshi recognized him. “President Wen…”

His voice was softer than usual.

Wen Yue restrained himself, hiding his clenched fists behind his back as he nodded slightly. “President Gu.”

With that, he walked past him.

A faint scent of fermented berries mixed with the rich sweetness of cake filled his senses.

Only then did Wen Yue notice the three dazed, drunken men trailing behind Gu Xingshi, with Cheng Xin still mumbling, “Happy birthday, President Gu.”

Wen Yue paused, suddenly recalling something.

Gu Xingshi’s file did mention that today was his birthday.

Just as Gu Xingshi was about to walk away, Wen Yue spoke up, “President Gu.”

Gu Xingshi turned back, a bit puzzled.

Wen Yue hesitated briefly. “Happy birthday.”

Still slightly tipsy, Gu Xingshi had forgotten all about avoiding Wen Yue. Though he hadn’t caught exactly what Wen Yue said, he instinctively smiled and replied, “Thank you.”

It was a genuine smile, one that reached his eyes.

In that moment, Wen Yue felt an unexpected sense of calm wash over him, soothing the weariness and irritation that had been building up from endless social engagements.

But almost immediately, as if scalded, he shifted his gaze and quickly walked away.

Their exchange was fleeting, almost unnoticeable to others. But Tang Ling, Wen Yue’s perceptive assistant, could tell that his boss’s mood had noticeably brightened.

Thoughtfully, he recalled Sun Hongfei’s suggestion. Perhaps their efforts to mediate between President Wen and President Gu would finally bring an end to this cold war.

*

The next morning, Gu Xingshi woke up, still a bit groggy.

He vaguely remembered that after the birthday party, he’d somehow managed to get Cheng Xin and the others home. And in between…

Wen Yue!!

He suddenly sat up straight.

The memory returned to him.

He’d bumped into Wen Yue in the hallway while escorting the three others out, and they’d exchanged a brief greeting.

But Wen Yue’s expression hadn’t been pleasant. He’d left in such a hurry, as if he couldn’t stand to look at him.

Though he vaguely recalled Wen Yue saying something in passing, it didn’t seem important.

What mattered was that Wen Yue had clearly drawn a line between them.

It seemed the rumor was troubling him more than he’d let on.

Frowning, Gu Xingshi sighed inwardly.

While his partnership with Sun Hongfei and the others had been great, Wen Yue’s reaction suggested it was time to disentangle from any future collaborations.

The plan to establish his own creative team needed to be accelerated.

In the days that followed, Gu Xingshi threw himself into work with renewed focus, scouting for talented directors and building a solid production team, while networking vigorously to line up future investors.

Meanwhile, the writers at his company were enjoying a much lighter workload.

Gu Xingshi hadn’t placed any restrictions on their projects or even required them to work in the office, yet they all diligently showed up each day.

Originally, they’d worried that adjusting to an office environment would be difficult, but once they started, they found it was anything but.

Probably due to President Gu’s birthday celebration, the writers quickly became acquainted with everyone in the office.

Though the company wasn’t large, everyone was friendly. During afternoon tea, the admin staff always set aside snacks for the writers, even making an effort to remember each person’s preferences.

This subtle warmth gave the socially anxious group a sense of safety they’d never experienced before.

To everyone’s surprise, the person they grew closest to was Cheng Xin.

The reason for this went back to a brainstorming session they had in the conference room one day.

Their new, comfortable lives had allowed them to completely let go of past worries and lose themselves in the joy of creation.

Then, suddenly, Yu Youxia received a call from Fang Xiao, the lead writer at her previous studio.

Although Fang Xiao had dismissed her request for credit, he hadn’t believed she’d actually leave his studio. He’d assumed, as he’d often reminded her, that given her lack of formal training and previous accomplishments, no reputable company would take her on. And if they did, they’d probably treat her no better than he had, treating her like a low-paid ghostwriter.

But to his shock, Yu Youxia had truly left!

Not only that, she’d deleted his WeChat and blocked his number.

Fang Xiao was furious.

Didn’t she remember who had allowed her into his studio and given her the opportunity to write scripts in the first place?

All because of a little dispute over credit, she’d run off!

If all young writers behaved this way, where would the industry’s rules go?

At first, he’d planned to let her sit and stew for a bit, thinking she’d return after realizing how harsh the world outside could be. But after nearly a week passed with no sign of her unblocking him, Fang Xiao’s anger only grew. He decided that if she came back, he wouldn’t give her a second chance.

Then, another project came in for his studio, and as usual, he split the script work among his team.

But the results were awful.

He tried to write it himself, but after two sleepless nights, he was still staring at a blank page.

The idea of dropping the project pained him—the payout was far too generous to let go.

Again, his thoughts turned to Yu Youxia.

Compared to the “useless idiots” at his studio, she had been cheap and effective.

Swallowing his pride, he called her from a new number.

The buzzing of her phone startled Yu Youxia. Seeing the unknown number, she assumed it was a food delivery.

She muttered to herself in frustration, “Didn’t I say to leave it at the front desk? No calls needed…”

Still, she answered, “Hello…”

But before she could say more, a familiar, furious voice blared through the receiver. “Yu Youxia, how dare you block me?!”

Yu Youxia: “!!!”

She recognized Fang Xiao’s voice instantly.

Even though she’d left the studio, she still had nightmares about it.

Terrified, she reacted on instinct, her hand moving faster than her brain as she quickly hung up.

Her fellow writers, noticing her expression, gathered around with concern. “Xia Xia, what’s wrong?”

Before Yu Youxia could respond, her phone vibrated again.

Startled, she reflexively threw the phone onto the table.

The vibrating noise grew louder, startling the other writers who had been deep in discussion.

“Wh-what’s going on?”

Yu Youxia felt on the verge of tears.

She’d left Fang Xiao’s studio and blocked all his contacts, yet somehow he’d still managed to reach her.

After explaining the situation to her friends, she looked at them with pleading eyes. “Wh-what should I do?”

The group of socially anxious writers exchanged helpless glances.

“Maybe… turn off your phone?”

“If he can’t reach you, he probably won’t come looking for you here…”

“Or… maybe it’s time to change your number?”

“Changing numbers is a hassle… blocking him again might be easier…”

They all stared at the phone vibrating ominously on the table, as if it were a ticking time bomb about to explode.

Just then, Cheng Xin walked in.

Seeing the group of writers cowering like quails, he asked curiously, “What’s going on?”

The moment Yu Youxia saw him, it was as if a lifeline had appeared. She quickly explained the whole situation.

“What! There’s actually someone that shameless in the world?” Cheng Xin slammed his hand down on the table. “Leave it to me!”

He grabbed the phone, accepted the call, and put it to his ear.

Fang Xiao, seething with anger after Yu Youxia had the nerve to hang up on him, had been furiously redialing. The moment he finally got through, he was all set to unleash a tirade—only to hear an unfamiliar male voice on the other end.

“You must be Fang Xiao?”

Fang Xiao frowned. “Who are you? Get Yu Youxia on the phone!”

Cheng Xin scoffed. “Your ‘Aunt Yu’ is busy and doesn’t have time to deal with you. I, her ‘Dad,’ will have a little chat with you instead!”

Fang Xiao: “…?!”

Cheng Xin didn’t hold back. “Look at you, hogging a spot without producing any work. You lured her in, paid her peanuts—not even enough to cover a funeral wreath! And as for credit, you promised her and didn’t deliver. But I won’t say you’re unreliable; with your education level, I doubt you even know what that word means…”

“You—you—” Fang Xiao was so livid his chest was heaving, completely thrown off by the barrage of insults. No one had ever dared to scold him so openly. His mind went blank, leaving him speechless.

But Cheng Xin was just getting started. “And you call yourself a screenwriter? Can’t even handle an insult. No wonder you have to rely on others to write for you, since that grade-school education won’t get you far in the industry! Xia Xia was doing you a favor, yet you boss her around as if she owes you something.”

“You’re the definition of shamelessness! If Shamelessness had a door, you’d be knocking it down! Face swollen yet? Good, that’s the look of true shamelessness!”

Cheng Xin’s scolding was so relentless that Fang Xiao couldn’t take it anymore and hung up in defeat.

Triumphant, Cheng Xin set the phone down with a smirk. “Amateur. He thinks he can go up against me with that pitiful level?”

Yu Youxia and the others stared at him in stunned silence, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Cheng Xin waved his hand dismissively. “Calm down, calm down—no need to idolize your big brother here.”

Meanwhile, on the other end, Fang Xiao was so furious he nearly smashed his phone.

Where on earth did this guy come from? And how could he have such a filthy mouth?!

Angry as he was, he didn’t dare call Yu Youxia again, for fear of being on the receiving end of yet another verbal lashing.

Does she think she’s the only writer in the world?!

Fang Xiao grabbed his phone again and scrolled through his contacts and WeChat.

Finally, he landed on a contact labeled, [Timid, Avoids Arguments, Decent Writer].

He vaguely remembered this was a skinny, quiet guy who’d worked as a set writer for another studio and had supposedly been the target of a cast member’s unwanted advances, followed by an extortion scheme. Someone like him would be easy to control; once he’s hooked, I’ll have him under my thumb.

With that thought, he eagerly dialed the number.

Back in LeShi’s conference room, Wen Boling was laughing at Cheng Xin’s antics when his phone rang. One look at the caller ID, and his face turned pale.

“Help me, Brother Xin!” he pleaded.

Cheng Xin glanced at the number, smirked, and muttered, “Some people have a way of choosing the path to hell even with heaven right in front of them…”

He picked up the call. “Well, well, it’s me again. Surprised?”

Fang Xiao: “!!!”

So shocked he couldn’t hang up fast enough, Fang Xiao received another merciless dressing-down before finally ending the call.

His face flushed with rage, but a sliver of doubt crept in.

Who on earth is this guy? How does he keep showing up?!

Refusing to believe he’d been bested, he scrolled through his contacts once more, finding a writer labeled [Easily Manipulated], and called him over WeChat, only to receive yet another verbal assault from Cheng Xin.

Fang Xiao: “!!!!”

Did I stumble into a nightmare today?!

Meanwhile, in the LeShi conference room, the writers were gazing at Cheng Xin in awe.

At that moment, Cheng Xin was practically glowing—a veritable god in their eyes!

When Gu Xingshi returned to the office, he saw the group of writers gathered around Cheng Xin, chatting away excitedly, and could hardly believe his eyes. He rubbed them to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating before asking the system, [System, what on earth happened while I was out?]

The system responded, [Let’s just say… it might be time to buy insurance on Cheng Xin’s mouth.]

Gu Xingshi: [???]

After hearing the story from the system, Gu Xingshi felt a mix of exasperation and amusement.

As for Fang Xiao, Gu Xingshi hadn’t had the time to deal with him yet, but it seemed the man had delivered himself straight to the chopping block.

With that thought, Gu Xingshi placed a call to the production manager of a project that Fang Xiao’s studio had been working on.

“Producer Meng, I heard you’ve been working with Fang Xiao’s studio on your current project?”

As someone familiar with the industry, Producer Meng was well aware of Gu Xingshi’s influence. Alarmed, he replied, “Ah… yes, but it’s just a trial script. We haven’t confirmed the collaboration yet. May I ask why you’re bringing it up, President Gu?”

“Good,” Gu Xingshi said meaningfully. “Since we’ve worked together before, I thought I’d give you a heads-up. It’s best to avoid working with people like him.”

Producer Meng: “!!!”

But Gu Xingshi had already hung up.

The executive producer, who had overheard Gu’s last comment, turned pale. “Brother Meng, what does that mean? Why would President Gu say that?”

Producer Meng’s face darkened. “What else could it mean? Clearly, there’s something wrong with Fang Xiao! Thank goodness President Gu warned us in time. Have we signed the contract yet? Cancel it right away!”

And so, before Fang Xiao even recovered from his earlier fury, he received a call from the executive producer, informing him that the collaboration was canceled.

“What? Why the sudden change? We’ve worked together so many times before, and it’s always been great!” Fang Xiao protested.

The other side replied icily, “You know exactly why. Don’t think you can bring your trouble into our production!”

Fang Xiao: “…?”

But the call abruptly ended, and when he tried to call back, he was met with a busy signal—he’d been blocked.

And it didn’t end there. Over the next two weeks, nearly all the projects Fang Xiao had lined up were canceled for various reasons, and some furious clients even cursed him out before cutting ties.

Frustrated and bewildered, Fang Xiao wondered what he had done wrong.

Then, he suddenly recalled the calls he’d made to the junior screenwriters recently.

During one of those calls, the mysterious man had said something: “For all the shady things you’ve done, don’t worry—karma’s coming for you soon.”

Fang Xiao’s face went ghostly pale.

Oh no… Have I been cursed?!