Cao may be bad, but he really listens to advice.

Cao Cheng neither affirmed nor denied her words.

He didn’t find it particularly surprising either.

After spending so many years in the entertainment industry, someone her age could pull off just about anything.

Cao Cheng was simply a little curious.

At the same time, he recalled the events from his dream—most of it matched, though some details had changed, but the overall direction remained the same.

Now, combining her words with his memories, Cao Cheng had sorted out his thoughts.

Without him, she would undoubtedly have used this wave of popularity to break free from Old Cheng’s control.

She would have seized the momentum to collaborate with her existing connections and launch new films.

If even one of them succeeded,

she would have gained independence.

Unfortunately…

None of them took off—whether it was the Sino-French co-production or the Wanda-backed project, nothing worked.

After the fallout, she went on to film five movies in two years, even taking on web films.

That’s how desperate she was.

Yet the combined box office of those films didn’t even reach a billion.

One of them, a movie adaptation of Eternal Love, had the highest earnings at 500 million, but fans tore it apart, leaving it with a dismal 4/10 rating!

So,

after two years of failure, she ended things, citing "irreconcilable differences" or "long-distance strain."

Damn.

Was she treating this little brat like a fool?

How could they not be living apart when she filmed five movies in two years?

How many times had they even seen each other?

Did they even sleep together?

Cao Cheng shook his head—this woman was cunning.

Agreeing to be with him was probably just exploitation, plain and simple.

Clever.

That’s how survival worked in the entertainment industry.

But the problem was, no matter how hard she tried, she still flopped.

Eventually, she had no choice but to pivot to TV dramas.

Even then, she stubbornly took on Mulan, only to end up with another 4/10 rating—just shy of a 5, how impressive.

……

Cao Cheng mentally pieced everything together.

Honestly,

this woman’s appearance was incredibly deceptive.

She looked ethereal, like a celestial being, yet claimed to be a tomboyish, straightforward girl-next-door.

In reality, she was just as scheming as anyone else—she just hid it well.

Then again,

how could an idiot maintain this level of fame after flopping for so many years?

Just because of her mom?

Please.

If anything, her mom was the one who seemed a little slow.

While Cao Cheng was lost in thought,

the "Fairy Sister" wasn’t idle either. She poured him tea with a demure, obedient expression.

Cao Cheng almost laughed.

Trying to play mind games with him?

Women, huh.

That said,

Cao Cheng didn’t dislike smart women.

As the saying goes: Don’t punish the shrewd, don’t punish the greedy—only punish the blind.

She was anything but blind.

She had sharp instincts.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have single-handedly outshined half the "post-85" actresses.

No matter how badly her projects bombed, her commercial value never took a hit.

She was the type who knew exactly what to say to whom—a master at self-preservation.

Cao Cheng glanced at her.

She stared back with wide, innocent eyes—like a college student.

"How much would it cost to terminate your contract?" Cao Cheng asked.

"If it’s you, probably nothing," she replied.

Cao Cheng immediately understood.

Old Cheng had already lost his grip on her and was just looking to cash in one last time.

For an ordinary buyer, the price would be astronomical.

But for someone like him? Free.

It was just like bride price negotiations.

"Fine. I’ll have Sister Li reach out to Old Cheng later. But once you’re here, you don’t get a choice—you’ll film whatever I assign you," Cao Cheng said sternly.

This woman needed to be kept in check.

Fairy Sister lowered her voice. "Then I’ll only film with you. And we’d need a closed set."

"……"

Cao Cheng side-eyed her.

She was doing this on purpose, wasn’t she?

Now he was getting worked up.

But he knew damn well she was playing him.

Soon,

his bodyguard arrived, announcing that a director was at the door.

Cao Cheng had him brought in.

Turning to Fairy Sister, he said, "This director’s work is solid. He’s prepping a new project—you’re the female lead."

Fairy Sister hadn’t expected Cao Cheng to move this fast.

Clearly, he’d already made up his mind—no matter what she decided today, he was going to sign her.

A thought struck her.

She asked, "What about that web series? Are we still doing it?"

"Yes. You’ll be the lead in both. But this one’s a prestige drama—award bait. Golden Eagle, Magnolia, Flying Aces… you name it."

Her eyes lit up. "I’m in."

"You don’t have a choice. I need you to mentor some newcomers," Cao Cheng said bluntly.

"……" Fairy Sister’s breath hitched.

She’d thought she was coming in as the top star.

Turns out, she was just the next Hu Ge—destined to be exploited.

Ignoring her reaction, Cao Cheng added, "As for the web series, it’s just for fun. You’re technically the lead, but your screen time isn’t that much."

……

……

They had dinner together that evening.

The director was thrilled at the prospect of Fairy Sister headlining his project.

He’d originally considered Liu Tao,

but how could a ‘70s-born actress compete with an ‘80s icon like Fairy Sister?

Especially when she was one of the "Four Great Dan Actresses," known for her warrior roles.

She was perfect for the fierce, heroic female general in Noble Vagabond—an ideal fit for the female lead.

That night,

Fairy Sister posted on Weibo again:

"Just sending some love to my fans! Sorry for the misunderstanding. As for Senior Song’s confession, I’m flattered, but I’m not looking for romance right now. Maybe once I stop flopping, I’ll think about my personal life."

The self-deprecating tone resonated with fans.

Instantly, floods of comments poured in—some comforting her, others insisting she wasn’t a flop,

and plenty cheering her on.

Opinions were all over the place.

……

The buzz lasted three days.

On the third day,

Miracle Media’s official Weibo announced:

"Welcome @Fairy Sister to the Miracle Media family!"

Liu Yifei responded: "Thank you, Eldest Sister. Thank you for understanding. Thank you, Mr. Cao. Thank you, everyone…"

Soon, other Miracle Media artists reposted the announcement, welcoming her.

The fanbase was stunned.

The entire week had been nothing but Fairy Sister news.

"I knew it! Back at the Goodbye Mr. Loser celebration, she was right next to Mr. Cao. I thought then—is she signing with Miracle? And here we are… just days later."

"Feels like a conspiracy. First, the dating rumors got everyone’s attention, then bam—agency switch."

"Overthinking it. Does Miracle even need this kind of hype?"

"Exactly. If they wanted attention, Mr. Cao could’ve just posted a casual dinner pic with Fairy Sister. No need for this long setup."

"Right…"

"Makes sense."

Sure enough,

Cao Cheng soon posted a photo—him and Fairy Sister sharing a meal and drinks.

"……"

"……"

"Cao might be a menace, but he listens to feedback."

"LMAO, I’m dying."

"See? Instant hype."

"Way more engagement than Miracle’s official post."

"Cao’s a content king, no doubt."

"Miracle’s fallen, signing some foreigner."

"Exactly, calling herself a 'goddess sister'? What a joke... disgusting."

"Enough already, do you have to be everywhere?"

"..."

Of course, there were no shortage of haters.

To be honest,

Cao Cheng didn’t care whether she was a foreign national or not.

She was the one who had to pay taxes.

It was her own loss.

Cao Cheng wouldn’t even bring it up, let alone try to persuade her.

In fact, if the opportunity arose, he even planned to sign a few foreign stars—after all, he needed to harvest emotional value globally.

Bringing in a few foreign faces would make the emotional harvest much easier.

...

The new season of Great Detective had also begun.

Lin Zhi was as popular as ever, with the screen flooded with comments calling her "Sister Lin."

The girl was genuinely beautiful.

Years of fame had polished her into someone with extraordinary grace.

Every smile and glance of hers was screenshot-worthy, becoming phone wallpapers for countless fans.

However,

as her popularity grew, so did the number of haters.

Especially among viewers who came for the detective show, only to find the barrage dominated by "Sister Lin" comments—it was downright irritating.

These viewers had no personal grudge against Sister Lin; they were just pushed into rebellion by the overzealous fans.

Soon, the barrage was filled with vulgar remarks.

Some even brought up Cao Cheng.

The gist was: "Behind every goddess, there’s a man who’s grown tired of her—just look at Cao Cheng."

"Your precious Sister Lin? Who knows how she’s groveling to Cao Cheng in private."

Comments like these naturally infuriated the fans.

Arguments broke out.

The barrage quickly turned into a toxic mess.

Serious viewers simply turned off the comments and focused on the show.

The incident also affected Cao Cheng, earning him a wave of new haters—mostly male fans of Lin Zhi.

But Cao Cheng welcomed them all.

Haters?

These were walking emotional value generators.

The more, the merrier—like Han Xin commanding troops, abundance was the goal.

...

With that matter settled,

everything in the entertainment industry had been arranged.

Now it was time to check on the Eternal Life Society and the financial side.

Finance was progressing smoothly, but results wouldn’t come overnight—it was a slow process.

On the other hand, some members of the Eternal Life Society were growing impatient.

Cao Cheng didn’t drag his feet either.

He confirmed the final timeline with Gong Changheng: December, next month, the same group would gather again in Hong Kong.

This time, they’d pull off something shocking.

Boost cohesion and harvest another wave of emotional value.

The last harvest had been substantial, and after such a long break, they should be ripe for the picking again.

...

Meanwhile,

Eldest Sister’s housing project was also ready.

Cao Cheng set the timeline: after New Year’s Day in January, they’d launch the global presale for "Residence No. 1."

As for the guest list, Eldest Sister would handle it.

Invite the wealthy.

The motto? "We don’t scam the poor."

As for Hong Kong’s tycoons and other wealthy figures, invitations would be sent—whether they attended or not was up to them.

However,

Gong Changheng would also invite club members, ensuring at least high-level representatives showed up.

The event needed grandeur.

And this type of housing needed hype.

There was a bigger game at play here—one even Eldest Sister wasn’t fully aware of.

Simply put, the real estate market was riding its last short-term wave before the decline.

A temporary winter was coming.

It wouldn’t recover for a decade.

By introducing the "4.5 Generation Residence," Cao Cheng knew ambitious players would follow suit—some even doubling down.

And all the materials? They’d have to buy them from him, at premium prices.

Not only expensive, but also backlogged.

By the time their projects were completed, five years later, the real estate winter would be in full swing.

Homes wouldn’t sell. Companies would collapse from cash flow issues.

Then, Cao Cheng would "help" them survive—by having Eldest Sister acquire their assets at rock-bottom prices.

After consolidation, the industry would revive.

Exactly as planned.