Lao Si: What do you mean Are you going to quit the competition

In the blink of an eye, August passed, and September arrived.

September flew by just as quickly.

Various TV dramas, variety shows, music events, and award ceremonies—including Produce 101—continued smoothly without a hitch.

As for matters like company operations, investments, and gaming, Cao Cheng didn’t even need to keep a close eye on them.

All he had to do was calculate the daily emotional value earnings.

Another blink later,

it was early October.

National Day holiday.

Even Produce 101 took a break. Though only about 20%—now down to 10%—of the trainees were foreign, they followed local customs and enjoyed the holiday too.

The show organized a special event where the girls went out shopping and participated in small competitions.

In the evening, there was a bonfire banquet.

Everything was captured on camera, to be edited and released later, satisfying fans' curiosity about their favorite trainees and giving a deeper look into their personalities outside of training.

Who loved eating, who loved playing—it was all laid bare.

...

Though many had been eliminated,

the remaining half were still the most popular.

They were the strongest in skill and luckiest of all.

But the finale was drawing closer—November would be the final month.

Many company CEOs came in person.

For the finale month, bosses from various countries were invited, along with the eliminated trainees. After all, they had spent at least three or four months together, and the bonds between the girls ran deep.

Especially for those who had been eliminated.

With no more conflicts of interest, it was all about camaraderie now.

Reunited, they felt an even stronger closeness.

...

Meanwhile,

just as Cao Cheng had predicted, some came knocking, hoping to manipulate things behind the scenes.

And that was to be expected.

This was the entertainment industry, after all.

Reality shows.

Talent competitions.

If there weren’t any backdoor dealings, could it even be called showbiz?

But these bosses were cunning as foxes. While they secretly wanted their own artists to rank lower and avoid debuting, they’d never say it outright.

So,

in their words, they first lavished praise on the domestic trainees, saying China’s trainee system might be newer, but the talent pool was deep—proof of a great nation’s foundation.

They then complimented the "Eight Golden Flowers," praising their figures, talents, and natural beauty—no plastic surgery, just pure genetics.

They were top-tier no matter where you looked.

Truly, a large population with high quality.

They piled on the flattery.

Only then did they get to the point: they admitted defeat, expressed admiration, and promised resources for the new group after debut. They couldn’t guarantee much elsewhere, but in their own markets, they’d provide better stages, even help manage the group’s fanbase…

On the surface, it sounded like surrender, with constant mentions of the "Eight Golden Flowers" likely debuting together.

Had Cao Cheng not warned him earlier, The Fourth might’ve thought they were just buttering them up before admitting defeat.

But what puzzled The Fourth was—

how did that little brat predict they’d act this way?

What if some actually played fair, sticking to the contract? Wouldn’t Cao Cheng’s plan fall apart?

Or what if some bosses didn’t care about short-term losses and just wanted their artists to debut?

In truth, The Fourth didn’t understand the behind-the-scenes maneuvering.

First, there was the question of whether foreign trainees could even compete with the Eight Golden Flowers.

In terms of overall skill, it was nearly impossible.

The Eight Golden Flowers were practically flawless!

Though harder to cultivate than those born with innate star power, they were first-class in every aspect—looks, talent, you name it.

There were no obvious weaknesses.

So,

if these bosses wanted their artists to win cleanly, it’d be tough.

Better to settle for second best.

But the real clincher was the second step.

Cao Cheng had Paul step in to negotiate endorsements with these bosses.

Paul was now the undisputed king of Western cosmetics.

To many, only Paul could go toe-to-toe with Miracle Cosmetics.

Paul represented the white elite.

In places like Korea and Japan, he carried an almost paternal authority.

So when Paul’s people approached, offering endorsements to Produce 101 contestants, how could these bosses refuse?

But Paul had one condition: solo endorsements only—no girl groups, no collaborations.

Otherwise, they’d pick someone else.

How could these bosses pass up a chance to work with L’Oréal?

So,

factoring everything in—since debuting was uncertain anyway—why waste money on votes when stepping back could land them a top-tier endorsement?

That was the foundation of cooperation.

After all, L’Oréal wasn’t just about cosmetics.

They owned plenty of luxury sub-brands too.

If this collaboration went well, they could latch onto L’Oréal’s coattails.

That was the biggest reason.

Some were even willing to sacrifice resources and profits to pull their artists back.

But they couldn’t just withdraw outright.

First, the contract penalties for quitting were… astronomical.

Second, offending a billionaire over an endorsement wasn’t worth it.

So,

It’s better to play both sides and stay ambiguous.

For the little Japs and little Koreans, this is nothing unusual—they’ve always lived in a state of wavering between two sides.

It’s practically their ancestral tradition.

...

The Fourth looked at the group of bosses seated before her.

They had probably coordinated their visit in advance.

Her expression remained cold as she asked, “What’s the meaning of this? Are you here to withdraw from the competition?”

“No, no, not at all!”

After the translator finished interpreting, the bosses quickly waved their hands in denial.

Withdrawing was out of the question.

The exposure was too massive.

And the compensation for pulling out… just thinking about it made their hearts ache.

The bosses took turns explaining their stance, and it turned out their intentions aligned closely with Cao Cheng’s—they wanted to secure spots for the "Eight Golden Flowers" to debut while ensuring their own artists landed somewhere in the top ten.

Not too low, of course.

That would be humiliating.

They expected Ren Yuege to be pleased, but instead, her expression darkened. “You’re putting me in an impossible position. Whether our Eight Golden Flowers debut or not depends solely on their skills—no backroom deals.”

“Besides,” she continued, “we’ll naturally reserve some spots for your artists. If all the debut slots go to our own people, even if it’s purely merit-based, your fans will assume it was rigged.”

“So,” she added, “our dear—ahem, our CEO Cao Cheng has made it clear: even if our artists dominate, we’ll leave half the spots open for everyone else.”

“We can’t let you all come here for nothing.”

“...”

“...”

The bosses were stunned.

“No!”

“Director Ren, that’s not what we meant!”

“Director Ren, we know your country values courtesy and reciprocity, but—”

“Director Ren!”

They were practically panicking now.

“Enough,” Ren Yuege cut in.

“Rules are rules. Tweaking some data slightly is one thing, but we can’t cross the line.”

“Especially since I’ve been keeping an eye on your artists—they’re talented and capable.”

“They all have a real shot at the final nine debut spots. There’s still over a month left, after all.”

“The fan voting phase hasn’t even peaked yet.”

“So everyone still has a chance.”

“Forcing their rankings down artificially would be unfair to them.”

“And like I said, if the final lineup is all Chinese, even if it’s clean, people will assume it’s rigged.”

“I hope you can understand our position.”

“That’s all for now, everyone. I have another meeting to attend.”

With that, The Fourth signaled her assistant to escort them out and strode away, leaving the bosses exchanging helpless looks.

They knew she was right.

But they couldn’t afford to have their artists debut.

Not with global endorsements at stake.

And it wasn’t just about the endorsements—if their artists ranked lower, they’d return to their companies afterward, with most of the profits still flowing back to the agencies.

The financial upside was enormous.

But if they actually debuted? The losses… tsk tsk.

...

Of course, there was another option.

Pray.

Pray that their artists fell just short during the final voting.

But here was the problem: Ren Yuege had just said that even if the Eight Golden Flowers dominated, her side would still hand over a few spots as a gesture of goodwill.

A matter of courtesy.

These bosses had supported the show, sent their best trainees, and helped Miracle Media gain prestige and profits.

Miracle Media wouldn’t hog all the rewards.

It was about principle…

Under normal circumstances, they’d appreciate Miracle Media’s fairness, seeing it as proof that Cao Cheng’s company kept its word.

But now? It was a disaster.

They didn’t need such courtesy.

Public sentiment between their countries was already rocky, with citizens trading insults daily.

Politeness was pointless here.

So really, Director Ren—

No need to be polite.

Just hit us.

Humiliate us.

Come on!!

One of the Japanese bosses, a balding man, suddenly spoke up. “There’s another way.”

Everyone turned to him, eyes briefly lingering on the few strands of hair clinging to his scalp.

Seriously?

You’re that broke?

Can’t afford a hair transplant?

Or at least a decent wig?

Walking around like that… are you trying to ruin the city’s image?

Baldy cleared his throat. “Director Ren’s concern is the backlash, right? If all nine debut spots go to China, it’ll spark rumors.”

“So we should preemptively silence the doubts—take the pressure off her and Cao Cheng.”

...

Makes sense.

Another Japanese boss asked, “How do we do that? Issue a statement?”

“Idiot!” Baldy snapped. “A statement would only make people more suspicious! They’d assume it’s proof of rigging!”

“Baka!”

“Baka yarou!”

The two started hurling insults.

The translator didn’t bother interpreting, but everyone else understood.

They were cursing each other’s mothers.

Finally, after a long pause, Baldy revealed his plan.

Everyone felt that this plan was... well, hard to say whether it would work or not.

"Mr. Yamaguchi, are you sure this method will be effective?"

"Won’t we know once we try, President Park?"

"Alright... then let’s give it a shot?"

"Let’s try it!"

"If it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out."

Soon enough, the group reached an agreement.

This time, they were allies.

Because L'Oréal was preparing to counterattack the Eastern District, nearly every country needed one or several popular celebrities to endorse their products.

They also had to thank the hype around "Produce 101."

It had practically taken all of Asia by storm.

Otherwise, L'Oréal would never have considered a trainee who hadn’t even officially debuted yet.

This was their chance.

They had to seize it!