After Spectating Gossip, the Entertainment Industry Thinks I’m a Big Shot – CH81

Chapter 81

Zhou Chengyan still felt as though he was floating even after starting his new job.

The fact that President Gu had personally come to pick him up wasn’t just something known around Jingchuan Entertainment—news had spread through every entertainment company in their entire building.

Seeing the look of remorse on his old boss’s face, alongside Liang Xiaowei’s jealousy and shock, finally eased the resentment Zhou had held onto for years.

And once he arrived at LeShi, he experienced a whole new level of amazement.

He’d heard rumors about LeShi’s exceptional conditions and benefits, but he hadn’t quite grasped just how extraordinary they were until he saw it all firsthand.

Basic things like work environment and salary were already top-tier, but the overall atmosphere was the real surprise.

LeShi was wealthy in resources, so there was no need for artists to fight tooth and nail over roles. The philosophy here was that if you had the talent, the opportunity was yours. As a manager, your main responsibility was to position your artists well and select the best-suited resources for them.

While LeShi did have some internal competition, it was all healthy—driven by capability and hard work. If you had the skills, there was no need to worry about stagnating in your career.

As a result, the artists at LeShi were close-knit and supportive.

There was even a story about a new LeShi artist who performed exceptionally well on a variety show, only to be targeted by a veteran guest who was less than thrilled with the competition. Before the shoot was even finished, the newcomer had called in backup, and Cheng Xin from the neighboring studio showed up. The situation only settled once the veteran guest apologized.

This had led to a saying within the industry: Never mess with anyone from LeShi—not even the assistants.

After all, you never knew which “monster” they might call over for support!

Zhou wholeheartedly agreed with this reputation.

After all, as soon as he’d joined LeShi and encountered his first challenge, he’d already “called in” his own hidden trump card: President Gu.

After getting a full tour of the company, Gu assigned someone to take him to the Artist Management Department, where trainees and artists who were currently without managers were housed.

Zhou knew that as a new manager, he wouldn’t have the freedom to choose his artists at first. He would have to start by working with artists assigned by the company.

These artists were often ones other managers had passed over.

This was a common practice at most entertainment agencies, so Zhou wasn’t surprised by Gu’s decision.

After all, he’d been assigned artists like Lu Haoxing in the same way back at Jingchuan. But Zhou figured that, given LeShi’s rigorous selection process, even the least desired artist here couldn’t be worse than someone like Lu Haoxing, right?

Then he walked in on the training session and was left speechless.

The scene that greeted him was like nothing he’d ever seen before.

Wait, these are the leftover artists? Seriously?!

Zhou Chengyan couldn’t believe it. The looks, the vocals, the dance skills—these trainees outshone many established idols from current boy and girl groups!

Finding even one artist this talented would’ve been enough to make him ecstatic, and yet here was a whole room of them, all unassigned.

After years of struggling, it felt like he’d suddenly struck gold. Seeing these exceptional talents go unnoticed tugged at his heart.

If he hadn’t kept a bit of his rationality intact, he might’ve been tempted to hoard them all for himself.

The head of the Artist Management Department listened to Zhou’s enthusiasm and laughed. “LeShi is different from other companies. Here, an artist without a personal manager isn’t left idle, and they aren’t the ‘leftovers’ either.”

“For instance, Lin Xiayu, who’s now our Head of Talent Management, only wanted to manage Qian Wei personally, and President Gu agreed to it. She does handle some tasks for other artists, though.”

Zhou mulled this over. “So, you share managers?”

Shared artist management was common in international markets for big-name artists, where several agents could oversee different aspects of a celebrity’s career—film roles, endorsements, publicity, and so on.

In China, however, the tradition was for a manager to be more or less “tied” to an artist, handling all aspects of both work and life.

The department head added, “We don’t force exclusive arrangements between an artist and a manager. As President Gu says, ‘Forced partnerships lack sweetness.’ We want managers and artists to align in their goals and values, and only collaborate if both sides are genuinely willing.”

Zhou’s eyes glistened a bit with emotion as he listened.

Back at his old company, he’d been handed “problematic” artists like Lu Haoxing without the slightest chance to refuse.

It wasn’t like he enjoyed cleaning up other people’s messes. But with no choice and a strong sense of responsibility, he’d kept going year after year.

The department head explained that if Zhou found an artist he was interested in working with, they could have a discussion. If both parties agreed, they’d have a three-month trial period to test compatibility before signing a formal contract.

This setup was new to Zhou, but he quickly embraced it.

After thoroughly evaluating the roster, he decided to approach a young actor named Yan Jingxi.

Yan Jingxi had a fresh, clean-cut appearance, exuding an approachable “boy-next-door” charm, with a hint of the sporty “senior” type that was trending lately.

Coincidentally, there were two scripts on offer for him.

One was the lead role in a low-budget romance drama, while the other was the fourth male lead in a high-profile xianxia (fantasy martial arts) drama.

After careful consideration, Zhou recommended the lead role in the romance drama.

Just before sharing his decision with Yan Jingxi, though, he suddenly remembered his previous experience with Yao Zidong. Zhou hesitated, recalling how Yao had turned on him after a similar choice involving a high-profile role.

As a manager, Zhou had to weigh future opportunities, character suitability, and career trajectory.

Artists, however, often had only one priority: fame.

He took a deep breath and decided to explain more thoroughly, just in case. “You’re still young, and your type isn’t fully defined yet. A role that matches your own qualities is more likely to leave a strong impression with the audience. That big xianxia drama may seem popular, but that particular character doesn’t really fit your style. The result might not be as impactful.”

After a brief pause, he added, “And while this romance drama might not be as high-profile, the story is solid. If you put in the effort, it could gain you some real popularity.”

Yan Jingxi nodded. “I understand, Brother Zhou.”

Zhou Chengyan was stunned for a moment. “You… you’re really okay with it? If you have any concerns or suggestions, you can always tell me directly.”

Yan Jingxi shook his head earnestly. “Brother Zhou, I have no objections. What you said makes sense, so I’ll follow your lead.”

Having dealt with difficult artists for years, Zhou was unaccustomed to someone this easygoing.

Yan Jingxi even went a step further to comfort him. “Brother Zhou, you’re the manager President Gu personally recruited! You should have more confidence in yourself!”

Zhou Chengyan: “…”

After years in the business, he’d comforted countless artists, but this was the first time an artist had comforted him.

And honestly? It felt pretty great.

Yan Jingxi really was the kind of artist that required minimal management.

Self-disciplined, hardworking, and incredibly trusting of Zhou—if Zhou suggested something, Yan would carry it out without hesitation.

In line with his public image, Zhou secured a few more suitable appearances for him.

Then one day, after an event wrapped up, Zhou received a call from Yan Jingxi.

On the other end, Yan sounded incredibly guilty and nervous. “Brother Zhou, I… I think I was photographed!”

Zhou Chengyan: “!!!”

The inevitable has happened, Zhou thought.

Quickly collecting himself, he asked calmly, “Don’t panic. Just tell me—what did they photograph?”

As he spoke, his mind was already racing through various crisis management plans.

Then he heard Yan Jingxi’s hesitant voice on the line: “…My, uh… my height insoles.”

Zhou’s mind stalled for a moment. “Wait… what?”

Sounding distraught, Yan Jingxi continued, “Now everyone will know I was lying. I’m not really 180 cm! This is so embarrassing…”

Zhou Chengyan: “…”

For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.

This is it?

He couldn’t help but ask, “Jingxi, are you sure that’s all? Nothing more serious?”

Yan Jingxi replied, “Isn’t this serious enough? This is a matter of male actor dignity!”

Zhou Chengyan: “…”

Later that night, he looked at the elaborate crisis management plan he’d prepared.

Using a sledgehammer to kill a fly, he thought wryly.

So this is what life at LeShi is like? It’s lonely at the top…

Out of habit, Zhou glanced at the trending topics on Weibo, only to spot a familiar name.

#JiangManmanHomewrecker#

#JiangManmanMiscarriage#

[Lmao, so she has a ‘habitual miscarriage’? No wonder it’s called an ‘old injury flare-up!’]

[Normally, I’d sympathize with a female celeb who got tricked by a scumbag, but not Jiang Manman. She knew the guy was a jerk and still clung to him. The ‘National First Love’ image is completely shattered.]

[I’ve been a fan of Jiang Manman for so many years, and I’m just exhausted. She always says she wants to work hard, but her acting is consistently terrible. Claims to be this strong, independent woman, but privately she’s throwing herself at scumbags, total love-addict mentality. Thinking about it now, I wasn’t even a fan of her as a person—all I bought into was her persona!]

[Jiang Manman’s scandals have been leaked before, but it’s only thanks to fast PR that they didn’t go viral.]

[No way, right? Isn’t Jiang Manman’s company pretty useless? Weren’t fans just calling to replace her manager and it went trending?]

[Just went back to look at her old PR statements, and wow—her former manager was a legend! Managing to spin even that kind of scandal?]

[In the end, Jiang Manman’s fans got exactly what they asked for! They got her a new manager, and now she’s tanked her own career.]

*

Zhou Chengyan read the comments in shock.

Before he left, he’d made all the necessary arrangements—how did this get out?

Gu Xingshi was asking his system the same question.

System: [When Zhou left Jingchuan Entertainment, Jiang Manman was assigned to a new manager. Seeing that Jiang was in the hospital, the new manager reassigned her assistant to help with another client.]

[Without anyone watching her, Jiang reconnected with the same scumbag boyfriend. He came to visit her in the hospital, where his wife found them and brought people to confront her in a classic “homewrecker” showdown. She recorded it all, posted it online, and dug up every bit of dirt on Jiang.]

[With the new manager lacking PR skills, the situation just blew up. Jiang Manman’s career has tanked—especially since it’s tied to a scandal, meaning she owes her sponsors a huge amount of compensation.]

Gu Xingshi: […]

System: [Not only Jiang Manman—Lu Haoxing’s also in trouble!]

Gu Xingshi: [Oh, I could use a laugh. Spill it.]

System: [So, after getting a new manager, Lu Haoxing kept up his same reckless behavior and got caught fooling around again. When his new manager tried to confront him, Lu had the nerve to say, “Brother Zhou used to handle things like this no problem. Why can’t you?” His attitude was so obnoxious that his manager lost it and they got into a full-blown fight.]

[The police were called, and they ended up being escorted to the station. Someone snapped a photo, and it went viral as part of a “crackdown on indecent behavior.”]

[Given his past reputation, people completely bought it, and the company’s official statement couldn’t change a thing. His career’s essentially over.]

Gu Xingshi: [I can’t say I’m surprised, honestly.]

Without Zhou Chengyan’s crisis management, these two would’ve been long gone. In hindsight, Zhou’s resilience was truly impressive. Dealing with these kinds of artists for years and not breaking down—his mental strength was admirable.

With this thought, Gu Xingshi sent Zhou a thumbs-up emoji.

Zhou received the message, wearing a pained expression.

“Hey, Old Zhou, how’s the dance practice going?”

While Zhou loved everything about LeShi, there was one thing that drove him crazy—

Why, for an entertainment company’s annual gala, were the managers the ones expected to perform the dances instead of the artists?!