How insidious is this Cao guy Just how insidious can he be

There was only a little over a year left before the bet's deadline.

Over the past few years, Pao'er had worked tirelessly, but none of his films had managed to surpass the box office success of Let the Bullets Fly.

This latest one was his only remaining hope.

If even this one failed to surpass it, Pao'er would be in deep trouble—his chances would be practically zero.

So, it all came down to this.

After much deliberation, Pao'er finally spoke up: "The box office numbers for Let the Bullets Fly are right there. Surpassing it… won’t be easy."

"But Cao Cheng said that as long as either Goodbye Mr. Loser or the new December film outperforms any of my movies, I win. That gives me a much better shot."

"After all, the box office results aren’t out yet, and the films haven’t been released. Anything could happen."

Pao'er had a point.

But Old Xu could tell—Pao'er was chickening out.

Old Xu knew that Let the Bullets Fly had become Pao'er's obsession over the years. Before shooting any new film, Pao'er would always vow to surpass it. Yet, after release, while the reviews might be decent and awards might come, the box office always fell far short.

Years of this had turned Pao'er into a man possessed, locked in a futile battle with Let the Bullets Fly.

Now, at this moment, he was backing down. Instead of competing with Let the Bullets Fly, he was choosing to pit himself against two unreleased films—especially Goodbye Mr. Loser.

A no-name production.

Low-budget, adapted from a stage play.

Starring a bunch of newcomers.

Pao'er felt supremely confident.

As for the December film, details were scarce, but it hardly mattered. Beating this no-name flick would be enough.

This was how Old Xu realized Pao'er had lost his nerve.

Here was a once-revered top-tier director, gleefully challenging some amateur film—not even embarrassed, but actually thrilled about it.

This…

Old Xu was speechless.

And it made him realize just how cunning Cao Cheng was.

How devious can one man be?

Old Xu had to warn him: "Don’t you think this is humiliating? Even if you win against Goodbye Mr. Loser and the bet, what do you think fans and audiences will say? That you’re some kind of hero?"

"..."

Pao'er’s lips twitched.

Of course he knew.

But what choice did he have?

Jiang’s Let the Bullets Fly was a genuine masterpiece, the kind that only grew more revered with time.

That was the difference in quality.

Some films only became legendary as years passed.

Let the Bullets Fly was one of them.

Surpassing it? Nearly impossible.

Sure, in a few years, inflation might push box office numbers into the billions effortlessly—but time wasn’t on his side.

Pao'er thought Mr. Six had a chance, but not a great one.

Now that he had an escape route, he took it.

Self-preservation was human nature.

Even if it meant losing face, winning the bet was all that mattered.

Pao'er muttered, "I can’t afford to lose."

Old Xu sighed. "I get it. I know you’re trying to save face. But have you considered—what if you do lose? To some no-name film you dismissed? They’d be stepping over decades of your hard-earned reputation to climb up."

"Impossible. Absolutely impossible!" Pao'er shot to his feet.

Old Xu shook his head. "I’d like to think so too. But Cao Cheng isn’t some amateur. Would he make a bet he wasn’t sure of? What if Goodbye Mr. Loser becomes a dark horse?"

Pao'er’s expression darkened. "There’s still the December film. I can’t lose twice, can I?"

"..."

Old Xu had nothing left to say.

Logically, that made sense. But sometimes, logic wasn’t enough.

Eighty against sixty—does that really mean the odds are in your favor?

...

After a long silence, Pao'er finally responded.

"Fine. Since Boss Cao is giving this old man a break, I’ll take the bet. Let’s settle this early—it’s not like there’s much time left anyway."

Pao'er was still sharp.

His words implied: You’re going easy on me, so I’ll drop the act. Let’s call it even.

The hostility was gone.

Win or lose, both sides now had a way to save face.

Fans didn’t catch the subtext, but Cao Cheng saw right through it.

Not that he cared to expose the old fox.

As long as the drama kept the engagement high.

Cao Cheng replied: "Then remember—from now on, every one of your films must end with the words: Cao Gongzi is invincible, the handsomest man alive."

Fans were stunned.

What kind of bet is this?

This was the first time the terms had been made public.

The fanbase erupted.

Word spread like wildfire.

Pao'er hurriedly fired back: "What’s the rush? It’s not over yet. How can you be so sure you’ll win?"

Cao Cheng responded: "Justice always prevails!"

"..."

Pao'er stewed before finally retorting: "We’ll see when the films come out."

That Justice always prevails line had hit hard. Now, losing wasn’t just about the bet—it’d mean the winner got to claim moral high ground too.

Pao'er had lived half a century, but he’d never met a billionaire as shameless as this.

What’s the point? You’re the richest man in the country, yet you’ve spent years bickering with a director online… What do you even get out of this?

If they ever reconciled, Pao'er would have to serve tea to Cao Gongzi like some junior.

Not just because Cao Cheng controlled theaters and funding, but also because rumors said he had powerful connections.

But no—

Instead of meeting in person, Cao Gongzi preferred picking fights with Pao'er online.

Where’s the logic in that?

Who’d ever heard of a "down-to-earth" billionaire like this?

Look at the other tycoons, ranked second to tenth—none of them wasted time bickering online.

Is this how a respectable person behaves?

...

Pao'er’s thoughts were lost on Cao Cheng. Not that he’d care even if he knew.

You think this is something? Just wait.

Next year—no, the year after—you’ll see a certain orange-haired world leader governing by tweet. Policies announced online, tantrums in all caps.

Compared to that, Cao Gongzi’s antics were nothing.

As for Justice always prevails—

Fans couldn’t help but laugh.

The back-and-forth between Cao Cheng and Pao'er brought back memories of the good old days, when the internet was wilder, messier, and far more entertaining.

Back then, the news cycle never slept.

Now? It’d been ages since anyone had a proper online feud.

Meanwhile, the producers and celebrity agencies behind Third Time’s a Charm had also responded to Cao Cheng, their tone sharp.

But Cao Cheng ignored them entirely.

As he’d said: Don’t leech off my clout. Know your place.

Only a heavyweight like Pao'er deserved the attention.

The rest? Not worth his time.

The snub infuriated Third Time’s a Charm’s backers and their fans.

Protests erupted, both domestically and in South Korea.

People protested that Cao Cheng was arrogant and dismissive.

But Cao Cheng still didn’t respond.

He just kept harvesting the emotional reactions from this crowd.

Pure bliss!

...

The promotional campaign was progressing smoothly.

Various apps partnered with theaters to roll out presale promotions and discounts—free popcorn, ticket markdowns, and the like.

None of this had much to do with Cao Cheng.

Right now, his top priority was rest—well, more accurately, cultivation.

Occasionally, he’d kill time by opening loot boxes or spinning prize wheels.

As for the promotional efforts, they didn’t take up much time anyway, since the hype needed time to build.

Even without Cao Cheng stirring up online drama, Miracle Media had its own well-oiled promotional machine, and they stuck to the plan.

No matter what, this time, the final box office numbers for Goodbye Mr. Loser would far surpass those from the dream.

In that dream, the film had been a true underdog—no budget, no stars, no hype—yet it clawed its way to success purely through word-of-mouth, battling against heavyweights like Chronicles of the Ghostly Tribe, Lost in Hong Kong, The Third Way of Love, and Mr. Wu.

Now, let’s be real—Cao Cheng might trash-talk these films relentlessly, but they had everything: big investments, devoted fanbases, and A-list casts.

Take The Third Way of Love, which Cao Cheng dismissed—it still starred the ethereal "Fairy Sister." Who could underestimate that?

And Chronicles of the Ghostly Tribe? Every actor in it had a solid fan following and name recognition.

Lost in Hong Kong? Don’t even get started.

Despite being torn apart by critics, it still raked in 1.5 to 1.6 billion at the box office.

That’s how massive its fanbase was.

Yet, in the dream, Goodbye Mr. Loser emerged as the dark horse of the decade, surpassing them all.

It cemented Shen Teng’s path to becoming the top leading man, with box office numbers leaving competitors in the dust.

Now, with Cao Cheng’s investment, packaging, and promotion, the film was poised to be an even bigger dark horse, dominating its release window.

As for Mr. Wu, Cao Cheng did invest—but just a token amount, really, a courtesy gesture.

When the team approached him, he knew the film wouldn’t be profitable, though it might win awards. He threw in a small sum and slid one of his people into a minor role.

That was the extent of his involvement.

...

Soon enough,

September arrived.

On the 25th,

Lost in Hong Kong and The Third Way of Love hit theaters as scheduled.

Thanks to the earlier online skirmishes, The Third Way of Love got a bit more exposure.

But it didn’t help.

Cao Cheng had declared September 25th’s releases "trash," and many fans went in curious—some to see just how bad they were, others to test if Cao Cheng was right.

After watching, they flooded back to his Weibo:

"Cao might be a jerk, but he’s not wrong. Saw both Lost in Hong Kong and The Third Way of Love. Absolute garbage."

"Lost in Hong Kong was a letdown. I loved the first two, but this one? Not a single laugh. Just cringe. I sat there the whole time with secondhand embarrassment."

"The bald guy’s no match for Baoqiang. If Baoqiang were in it, this wouldn’t have happened."

"Anyone seen The Third Way of Love? Debating whether to buy a ticket. I mean, it’s Fairy Sister..."

"Don’t. Waste of money. In eight words: Dumb plot. Dumber dialogue."

"It’s cliché yet somehow depressing. Just... gross. Steer clear."

"Okay, yeah, the movie’s trash. But Fairy Sister looked stunning. Maybe worth the ticket for that alone?"

"..."

Despite attempts to control the narrative,

the backlash grew too loud to suppress.

And this was without Cao Cheng even lifting a finger.

If he decided to strike, he could bury both films in an instant—maybe even force them to pull out of theaters.

Nobody understood online warfare better than Cao Cheng.