Cao Cheng chuckled: "Old Pao, don’t say I’m bullying an old-timer like you. If you lose, just cut the nonsense. From now on, at the end of all your films and TV shows, you’ll have to display in big bold letters: 'Young Master Cao is invincible and the handsomest man alive.'"
"..."
"..."
This felt like a childish bet.
It was downright ridiculous.
So embarrassing.
For a moment, Old Pao was at a loss for words.
Cao Cheng added, "What? Is that too much to ask? If you can’t surpass me in six years, is admitting defeat really that insulting? Besides, using my name might actually bring you some luck—consider it free publicity. Surely you can see that, right?"
"Old Pao, I’m giving you face here. Whether you take it or not is up to you."
"Fine, I accept," Old Pao finally made up his mind.
He refused to believe that out of all the films he’d release year after year, not a single one could outperform Bullet.
Impossible!
Click.
Once Old Pao agreed, Cao Cheng didn’t bother with pleasantries and simply hung up.
Truth be told, Cao Cheng wasn’t out to crush him completely.
First, there was no need—they had no real beef.
Second, deep down, Cao Cheng actually had some respect for this generation of directors.
They might seem mediocre now, but once capital flooded the entertainment industry, these directors would prove they had real talent.
No comparison, no harm, right?
At least they put effort into their films. Even if their works were overly complex or not entirely commercial, they weren’t just cheap, slapdash productions.
As someone who’d seen the future, Cao Cheng knew exactly how capital would reshape the entertainment industry.
The so-called "fan economy" was just a case of bad money driving out good.
In simpler terms: things would only get worse.
All you’d need was a cast of pretty-faced idols or A-list stars, plus a massive marketing push, and the money would roll in. Who’d bother telling a decent story then?
What’s worse, in the coming years, many films would spend more on promotion than on actual production.
A movie with a budget of 100 million? Fifty would go to the stars, thirty to marketing, and the remaining twenty might make it to production—assuming the producers had any conscience left.
In the future, films where marketing ate up 30% of the budget would be everywhere.
So would movies where the stars’ paychecks exceeded half the production costs.
Honestly, Cao Cheng was part of that capital machine too. He’d market his films—that was just business. But when marketing costs ballooned, it was a sure sign the movie itself was lacking. That inverse relationship was inevitable.
This kind of capital-driven model was nothing short of sabotaging the domestic film industry.
Compared to that, Cao Cheng "preferred" these old-school directors who still cared about storytelling.
Of course,
the main reason was that these veteran directors were famous, influential, and—most importantly—provided him with a steady stream of emotional energy when provoked.
...
After hanging up, Cao Cheng immediately fired off a public post.
"@OldPao... Since you’ve shown such sincerity, I’ll let it slide this time. You’re getting on in years, after all. But don’t expect this kind of mercy again. Remember your promise—if you lose next time, no amount of backdoor pleading will save you. Got it?"
"..."
"Damn, Old Pao folded in private?"
"Obviously. With Bullet projected to break a billion, how’s he supposed to compete?"
"Old Pao knows when to fold ’em. Smart move to bow out early."
"LMAO... Young Master Cao is ruthless. Airs their private chat just like that."
"Hahaha... Classic Cao Cheng move."
"@OldPao, Director Pao, care to share your thoughts right now?"
"What thoughts? He went private to keep it low-key. Bet he’s cursing up a storm at home."
The internet was loving it.
And they weren’t far off—Old Pao was cursing, though not at home. He was right beside Director Wang, fuming.
Negative emotions skyrocketed.
Director Wang had a headache. Seeing Old Pao like this reminded him of his own past rage-fueled clashes with Cao Cheng.
Ah, the good old days.
At least now he’d learned not to take the bait.
"Relax, count yourself lucky he didn’t make you publicly apologize. Just ignore the online chatter—it’ll blow over in a few days. Focus on your next project instead. That’s how you’ll save face."
"..."
Old Pao’s face burned with anger.
But after a moment, he realized Director Wang was right. No response, no engagement—people would forget soon enough.
Time to plan his comeback film.
...
...
[Ding~]
[Treasure chest openings have reached 30,000. System upgrading...]
[Please wait!]
[Countdown: Seven days!]
"Seriously?"
Cao Cheng bolted upright.
Ever since his emotional energy network went global, he’d stopped even thinking about system upgrades.
He thought it was over.
Thought he’d maxed out!
But now—
Out of nowhere?
He’d just been lounging around, waiting for dinner, idly opening low-tier chests (bronze and silver) for herbal ingredients.
Over the past year, he’d rarely touched divine chests unless they appeared naturally. Mostly stuck to diamonds, with the occasional gold—mostly iron and bronze.
And somehow,
he’d triggered an upgrade condition.
30,000 chests?
Had he really opened that many?
Now that he thought about it... yeah.
Iron, bronze, and silver chests were practically worthless.
For the past year, chasing X-Elixir formulas meant grinding low-tier chests nonstop.
A rough estimate? Easily over 30,000.
But...
"Where does the upgrade expand to this time?"
"The solar system? That’d be pointless."
"Come on, System, don’t pull an Apple on me. No lazy incremental upgrades."
"Even if there’s life elsewhere in the solar system, what good does that do me?"
"At least give me a smart mode. Let you talk or something."
"Can’t you just tell me the next upgrade condition?"
Cao Cheng couldn’t even muster the energy to complain properly.
The system was as dumb as ever.
Still,
an upgrade was an upgrade.
Better chests meant better loot—and eventually, a shot at immortality.
No downside.
It wasn’t like upgrades cost extra emotional energy anyway.
Just seven days. A blink of an eye. A few cups of tea, and it’d be over.
...
One cup—
Two cups—
Seven cups!
Seven days passed in a flash.
New Year’s came and went.
And the system upgrade completed.
[Upgrade successful!]
Hearing the chime, Cao Cheng didn’t rush to check like before. His expectations were low.
Past upgrades had taken longer—the bigger the change, the more time needed.
This one? Just seven days. What could possibly be worth it?
But then—
When the system interface materialized, Cao Cheng rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"No way."
"This much change?"
"Holy shit!"
"This is a jackpot."
Wang Defa~~
The system has undergone a major… major overhaul.
The entire interface has changed.
Previously, it was a simple loot box layout with an additional fusion chest section.
After selecting, it would play an opening animation.
But now…
It’s different.
Everything’s changed.
It’s more like an online shopping mall.
Though it’s still loot boxes, there are way more options now.
And categories too.
For example: daily essentials, herbs, elixirs, technology, entertainment, software systems, artificial intelligence, medical equipment, and more!
The choices aren’t endless—no spaceships or anything like that—but it’s still a massive improvement over the random drops before.
Now you can pick a category before opening a chest, though the price per box has skyrocketed.
It costs 500 emotional points per open now!
...
"Fair!"
"Totally fair!"
Even though the price has jumped from 100 to 500 emotional points, meaning what used to buy five divine chests now only gets you one, the increase seems steep at first glance.
But…
On second thought, it’s not that simple.
Because now you can choose the category.
That saves Cao Cheng a ton of hassle.
No more useless junk clogging up his storage space, forcing him to toss or destroy it.
For example, if he picks the herb category now, every chest will contain herbs—maybe just low-tier iron-grade herbs, mid-tier bronze-grade, or high-tier silver-grade.
But at the end of the day, they’re all herbs, right?
No more shortages of raw materials for cosmetics.
So,
the price hike makes perfect sense.
Spending a bit more emotional points to guarantee exactly what he wants?
Totally worth it.
...
Cao Cheng glanced at his hundreds of thousands of emotional points.
Then he closed his eyes and started opening chests.
Time for a test run.
[Ding~]
[Congratulations, host! You’ve selected the ‘Herbs’ category and opened an Iron Chest, obtaining a bundle of Heavenly Spirit Grass (500 lbs per bundle).]
[Congratulations, host! You’ve selected the ‘Herbs’ category and opened an Iron Chest, obtaining a bundle of Dewdrop Grass (500 lbs per bundle).]
[Congratulations, host! You’ve selected the ‘Herbs’ category and opened an Iron Chest, obtaining a bundle of Ghost Orchid Grass (500 lbs per bundle).]
[Congratulations, host! You’ve selected the ‘Herbs’ category and opened a Bronze Chest, obtaining a bundle of Celestial Blue Flowers (500 lbs per bundle).]
[Congratulations, host! You’ve selected the ‘Herbs’ category and opened a Bronze Chest, obtaining a bundle of Frostheart Blossoms (500 lbs per bundle).]
[Congratulations, host! You’ve selected the ‘Herbs’ category and opened a Silver Chest, obtaining a Sky Origin Fruit…]
[Congratulations, host! You’ve selected the ‘Herbs’ category and opened a Silver Chest, obtaining a Nine-Scented Wood…]
[Congratulations…]
"Nice, nice~~"
For the first time in a while, Cao Cheng felt genuine excitement.
After getting jaded from opening divine chests, he hadn’t felt this thrill in ages.
But now,
with the system upgrade, that sense of novelty and anticipation was back in full force.
So many herbs—not just in quantity, but variety too.
No more shortages for the cosmetics business.
Especially the ‘fruitwood.’
That’s the key ingredient for Scent-Locking Pearls.
It used to be ridiculously rare.
So rare that Cao Cheng couldn’t even sell them—output was too low, reserved only as a luxury gift-box freebie.
The whole "rarity equals value" strategy.
But with the system upgrade? That’s all changing. Now he can sell them freely.
And this haul? Just a few hundred emotional points for all these goodies. A total steal.
Plus, beyond herbs, there are categories like elixirs, technology, and even AI!
Cao Cheng couldn’t help but think: this is the real deal now.
The old system? Just a beta test.
u serious?" Chen Feng watched helplessly as his painstakingly trained disciple, fresh off a championship victory, publicly abandoned him. "You had your chance, but you didn’t appreciate it. Now, face the consequences of your choice!" Chen Feng possessed the "Master System," a treasure trove of supreme martial arts techniques, capable of molding ordinary individuals into peerless prodigies. "Legs like yours? A shame not to train in the Crippling Kick." "Ever heard of a palm strike that descends from the heavens?" "Auntie! I see extraordinary bone structure in you—a martial arts prodigy, one in ten thousand." The once-defiant senior disciple, now watching her juniors rise to fame one after another, dominating the internet, was consumed by endless regret.
lan, the Luo family, tracked him down - along with the babies in their arms. Mo Xuan stared pensively at the paternity test results from over a dozen top institutions, both domestic and international, showing a 99.99% match between himself and the two baby girls. At 23, Mo Xuan, a doctoral student, had become the father of two three-year-old children. The kicker? The mothers weren't even the same person! He gradually realized he was being lured step by step into an elaborate trap designed by these two yandere sisters. "Be good, little Xuan. Sister's life belongs to you entirely." "Brother, if you try to run away, I'll have no choice but to tie you up." Mo Xuan: "Do whatever you want, ladies. I give up."
u Chenyuan transmigrated into a female-oriented novel about a real and fake heiress, becoming the CEO elder brother of both. Unfortunately, the entire Lu family—including himself, the CEO—were mere cannon fodder in the story. Determined to save himself, Lu Chenyuan took action. The spoiled, attention-seeking fake heiress? Thrown into the harsh realities of the working class to learn humility. The love-struck real heiress? Pushed toward academic excellence, so lofty goals would blind her to trivial romances. As for the betrayed, vengeful arranged marriage wife… the plot hadn’t even begun yet. There was still time—if he couldn’t handle her, he could at least avoid her. "CEO Lu, are you avoiding me?" Mo Qingli fixed her gaze on Lu Chenyuan. For the first time, the shrewd and calculating Lu Chenyuan felt a flicker of unease.
d intelligence to keep the plot moving, and sometimes even the protagonists are forced into absurdly dumb decisions. Why does the A-list celebrity heroine in urban romance novels ditch the top-tier movie star and become a lovestruck fool for a pockmarked male lead? Why do the leads in historical tragedy novels keep dancing between love and death, only for the blind healer to end up suffering the most? And Gu Wei never expected that after finally landing a villain role to stir up trouble, she’d pick the wrong gender! No choice now—she’ll just have to crush the protagonists as a girl!
