The Astonishing Impact of Immortality

Late November.

"Charlotte" and "Lost in Hong Kong" had both finished their theatrical runs.

After about sixty days in cinemas,

"Lost in Hong Kong" grossed over 1.5 billion yuan, roughly the same as in its previous incarnation.

Meanwhile, "Charlotte" raked in 2.3 billion.

Second highest-grossing film in history.

Just one billion shy of "Furious 7" from the other timeline.

A shame.

Many fans felt the same way.

But then again, this was a low-budget film, whereas "Furious 7" had a production budget as high as $200 million.

There was no comparison.

Regardless of whether it surpassed expectations or not, the cast and crew of "Charlotte" had skyrocketed to fame, with script offers flooding into Mahua like confetti.

None of them could sleep—every time they stepped outside, fans recognized them.

This feeling…

Pure bliss!

Especially for Cao Cheng. Though he’d won the bet, he still doubled their salaries.

Not just that—he handed out hefty red envelopes to everyone.

To someone like Young Master Cao, this money was nothing. What he wanted was loyalty and morale.

Besides, Cao Cheng had profited far more from this film than met the eye—thanks to his ownership of theater chains.

Nearly half the box office revenue went straight into Cao Cheng’s pockets after theater cuts.

Most of the marketing budget also ended up in his coffers.

And the remaining box office share? Still mostly his.

Early December.

In Zhonghai.

Cao Cheng invited several representatives from the fifth, sixth, and seventh generations of directors.

The seventh generation’s standouts were Bald Xu and Wu Jing, whose "Wolf Warrior 1" had pulled in 500 million at the box office this year—written, directed, and starring himself.

As for the fifth generation, they were all big names: Little Cannon, Zhang Eo, Chen Kaige…

The purpose of the gathering? Recruitment for the Eternal Life Society.

Nearly everyone Cao Cheng invited showed up.

Over a dozen directors—some lesser-known, others famous but lacking box office success…

To Cao Cheng, it didn’t matter.

These people needed to be brought into his camp.

Not solely to control the narrative.

But because they came with their own networks.

Their own circles.

Bring them together into one big circle, and future endeavors would become much smoother.

And this was something only Cao Cheng could pull off.

Anyone else trying would risk unnecessary complications.

The gathering was brief—just a chance to get acquainted. Then, they were invited to another event in Hong Kong, a club of sorts.

Details were kept vague for now. They’d find out when they got there.

This gave them time to think it over.

If anyone wasn’t interested in exploring something new, no pressure.

But refusal meant the door would close forever.

After Cao Cheng’s pitch, no one committed outright—neither accepting nor declining.

They’d ask around privately first.

These were all shrewd operators.

Some knew Cao Cheng’s background.

Others didn’t.

Those in the dark kept their mouths shut—always the safest move.

After a day in Zhonghai, everyone went their separate ways.

But behind the scenes, they were digging for intel—especially from Little Cannon.

Everyone knew he and Cao Cheng were closest.

"Bullshit," Little Cannon snapped. "We’re not close at all. We’ve been at each other’s throats for years—you think that’s friendship?"

"Weren’t those public spats just for publicity? Not real?" another director asked.

"Of course they were real!" Little Cannon rolled his eyes. "You think we’d fake that kind of hostility? That said… I’m a big-hearted guy. Grudges are pointless. I’ve forgiven him, so we’re on decent terms. But not close."

The others saw right through him.

The old man was just posturing.

You forgave him?

Directors who knew Cao Cheng’s true status smirked.

Eventually, Little Cannon dropped a few hints.

He didn’t know what the club was about, but he’d heard there were… perks. Like performance enhancers.

Cao Cheng had mentioned them before.

Supposedly no side effects—even medicinal benefits.

Made sense.

If they could cure cancer, wasn’t it logical for Miracle Pharmaceuticals to have other… specialized products?

Like their cosmetics line.

Anti-aging, health-boosting stuff.

At this,

Several pairs of eyes gleamed.

What was the point of all their hustle? Money, status, and… well, the other thing.

Women, obviously.

They’d partied hard in their younger days, and even now, age hadn’t stopped them. But the body had limits.

If these drugs really had minimal side effects… their second spring might be around the corner.

Even without that, aligning with Cao Cheng had its perks.

The man had money, influence, and theater chains.

Which of them could afford to cross him?

No one here was dumb enough to treat him as just another entertainment CEO. Different league entirely.

The fact that he’d personally invited them was honor enough.

Soon,

An unspoken consensus formed. No one backed out.

A few days later.

They regrouped in Hong Kong.

Arriving in staggered intervals, Gong Changheng had booked them into a hotel.

They weren’t the only ones. Tycoons from around the world—including many domestic figures—had gathered.

Though not all.

If the global top 100 wealthy had 120 people (because rankings overlap), only about 50-60 showed up.

Plenty had ignored the invite.

Families from Singapore, billionaires with mere tens of billions…

So,

The majority—60%—were repeat attendees from last time.

The remaining 40% were newcomers.

Cao Cheng was there too.

Many nodded at him in acknowledgment.

Just like before,

VR headsets transported everyone to the Eternal Life Society’s headquarters.

Gong Changheng occupied the eighth-tier seat.

The rest were ninth-tier or unranked.

Most returning members had reached ninth-tier.

Meaning they’d contributed enough to qualify.

Translation: They’d bought their way in with donations.

Even Cao Cheng had no rank yet.

This time, experiencing it firsthand, he was impressed.

If he hadn’t been familiar with the tech, the setup might’ve awed him.

And this was just the beginning.

As Little Zhi explained, new offerings had been added—things absent last time.

Cao Cheng had drawn too many prizes lately.

Black-tech galore.

Any one of them could monopolize an industry.

But the required points were astronomical.

Including longevity drugs.

After R&D, each variant could now purify cells, potentially extending life by three years.

One pill cost 1,000 points.

Points were hard to come by. Gong Changheng had just over 1,000—enough for a single dose.

Others were in the same boat, since 1,000 points was the entry threshold.

A $100 million donation equaled 1,000 points.

In other words,

One point = $100,000.

Or put bluntly: Three extra years for $100 million.

But,

Donations had caps. You couldn’t just keep buying points—contributions to the Society were required.

Take Gong Changheng: Recruiting new members earned him 1,000 points.

Organizing events added more.

Usually, there are tasks to complete, and you can earn points for them.

...

After the briefing for the newcomers was over,

the higher-level members began exchanging their points for items.

Most people opted for life-extending elixirs.

Those with a few extra points chose vitality-boosting tonics—restoring men's vigor.

These weren’t too expensive; a bottle cost just 100 points and could be used over ten times, with no side effects.

The buyers were mostly older members.

They trusted the descriptions and made their purchases without hesitation.

Finally, Little Zhi announced, "Exiting the headquarters system. Initiating exchange delivery. Please prepare to receive your items, members."

With that, the headquarters visit came to an end.

The newcomers stood there, stunned.

Utterly amazed.

Once everyone had exited the VR system,

Gong Changheng took out a disc—a thin, lightweight crystal of unknown material that could be unfolded.

Three folds later,

the disc expanded instantly.

Gong Changheng pressed a button on it, and it was ready.

Even he was seeing this for the first time, and he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anticipation.

Soon,

under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the crystal disc began to glow.

They had just heard Little Zhi mention "exchange delivery"...

They assumed it was just a figure of speech, that someone would still hand-deliver the items.

But to their shock, it was actual teleportation?

Space-age technology?

What the hell...

Everyone’s minds reeled.

Was this even possible?

Was this technology supposed to exist on Earth?

Their perception of the Immortality Club skyrocketed to unimaginable heights.

Whoosh—

In an instant,

as if by magic, all the exchanged items appeared on the disc.

Gasps—

The crowd erupted.

They felt like they were witnessing history.

Even the veteran members were awestruck, let alone the newcomers.

Gong Changheng suppressed his excitement and stepped forward to distribute the items.

The new members could only watch enviously.

Once done, Gong Changheng folded the disc back up.

Immediately, the crowd swarmed around him.

Gong Changheng raised a hand, waiting for silence before speaking. "This device was temporarily lent to me by the Third Chairman. He said that by the fifth level, you can exchange for teleportation tech. It’ll make future purchases incredibly convenient—and even serve special purposes, like emergency escapes."

"Additionally, at the ninth level, you’ll receive an internal VR headset. With it, you can access the headquarters from anywhere in the world, receive tasks from Little Zhi, and even interact with other members."

That would make things much easier.

No more mandatory trips to Hong Kong for gatherings.

It would truly become a metaverse.

...

In the blink of an eye,

three days had passed since the Immortality Club gathering.

Many had already left Hong Kong, especially the ninth-level members, who departed happily with their VR headsets and exchanged elixirs.

But quite a few stayed behind, eagerly requesting meetings with Gong Changheng to learn more about the club—and how to donate their way in.

The place buzzed with activity.

These directors had gotten a taste of cutting-edge technology, and their ambitions had shifted.

Now, they didn’t just want to be stronger and last longer—they wanted to live forever.

And honestly, who could blame them?