Sisters, Could You Please Have Some Shame

Before long, Young Master Cao found himself submerged in a sea of eager admirers.

Some held his head down.

Others pinned his legs.

A few gripped his arms...

With eight people crowding around, there wasn’t even enough space—one person holding his head, two on either side pressing his shoulders, one for each arm and leg, making seven spots in total.

The eighth person, left with nothing to do, simply grabbed some fruit, peeled a grape, and hand-fed it to Cao Cheng.

Yang Laoliu watched the scene, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.

Sisters, have you no shame?

If I took a photo of this and posted it online, your fans would lose their minds.

The mischievous urge bubbled up inside her, but she held back.

Mostly because she wasn’t that familiar with Young Master Cao.

Had she known him better, she’d have realized he wouldn’t care—he might even encourage her to snap the picture and share it, just to see how many fans it could infuriate.

But she didn’t know his temperament.

What she did know was this:

Her sisters were doing this for their careers.

Now that they were going solo, with new contracts signed, their future opportunities—whether assigned by the company or through other channels—could hinge on Young Master Cao’s word.

The thought crossed Yang Laoliu’s mind to join in the flattery, but she hesitated. There was no room left, and frankly, she still had some dignity.

Despite her usual shamelessness, she knew when to draw the line.

These eight sisters only acted this way because they were close with Young Master Cao. Otherwise, they’d be putting on their usual aloof, untouchable airs.

...

As they massaged him, they chattered away, probing for advice on their next steps.

They hoped the young master would give them some direction.

After indulging in their pampering for a while, Cao Cheng finally spoke.

"Personal schedules, huh? There’s not much to say—just one word: compete."

No sooner had the word left his mouth than another peeled grape was shoved in.

Annoyed, Cao Cheng waved them off. "I’m talking here! Alright, enough—stop pressing me. Go sit down."

The girls scattered, some sitting, some standing, all eyes fixed on him expectantly.

Even Yang Laoliu straightened up, sitting as obediently as a well-trained dog.

Swallowing the grape, Cao Cheng continued.

"Competition is the foundation of the entertainment industry. There are only so many resources, so many spots, but endless rivals."

"For any single opportunity, there are dozens—even hundreds—of artists just as capable as you waiting in line."

"Sure, Miracle Media as a whole isn’t lacking in resources, but the problem is, all of you are too similar."

His gaze swept over them. "I trained you as a group because it was a shortcut. In just a year, you’ve gained unmatched fame and a massive fanbase."

"On the surface, everything looks great."

"But shortcuts have low ceilings."

"You’ve already hit the limit. That Asia-wide concert tour? It skyrocketed your popularity, but it also drained your future potential."

"From now on, it’s all about the work."

"Whether it’s music, variety shows, or acting—you’ll have to dive into one of these fields and fight your way to the top."

"..."

Cao Cheng laid it all out bluntly.

Right now, they were like goldfish.

Living in a carefully curated tank.

Thanks to him and Miracle Media, their tank was bigger, fancier.

But no matter how spacious or beautiful, it was still just a tank.

Within its boundaries, they faced no real predators, no cutthroat competition.

Most of their rivalry had been internal—within the group.

As Cao Cheng said, the nine of them were too alike.

Forget about assigned roles like "main vocalist," "lead dancer," or "variety expert."

Those were just artificial divisions to mask the real competition.

Strip those labels away, and their core struggle was simple: stealing each other’s fans.

Brutally honest.

Most fans weren’t loyal to the group—they followed individual members.

So every concert this past year had been a showcase of individual charm, using the group’s name to attract new fans, only for those fans to be fought over immediately.

Inevitable.

But that was the past.

Now, with solo schedules, Young Master Cao was essentially plucking them from their tank and tossing them into a lake—or even an ocean.

From here on out, their battles would be external.

More ruthless.

More bloody.

Every opportunity would have countless contenders.

The higher the level, the fewer the competitors—but as newcomers, they’d be at the bottom, where the pool of rivals was endless.

Too many people could replace them.

Even with Miracle Media’s backing, not everything could be handed to them. Some opportunities had to be seized on their own.

For example...

A variety show’s director or production company, owing a favor to Miracle Media, might offer a fixed guest spot as part of a deal.

Young Master Cao could send one of them, but if they didn’t perform well? Someone else would snatch that seat in a heartbeat.

But if they performed poorly—or worse, caused any negative impact on the show—even with Young Master Cao's influence, the producers wouldn't hesitate to replace the girl in that position.

At that point, not even Young Master Cao could argue. In fact, he’d have to apologize and offer some resource compensation as amends.

Every circle has its own rules.

Cao Cheng’s status allowed him to overlook some of these rules, but he couldn’t outright break them—otherwise, no one would be left to play the game.

"So..."

After Cao Cheng’s lengthy explanation, the girls listened attentively, finally understanding the stakes they were facing.

"Working as a team has its pros and cons. The downside is that you’ll be competing against each other, but the upside is that if one person makes a mistake, the others can step in to fix it."

Everyone instinctively glanced at Yang Laoliu.

Yang Laoliu forced a dry laugh. "Uh, come on, am I really the only one who’s messed up?"

The other eight nodded vigorously.

Yang Laoliu lowered her head. "Sorry, my bad."

"Ha ha ha..."

A few of them burst out laughing, easing the tension in the room.

Even Cao Cheng cracked a smile—this girl had a certain charm to her.

Once the laughter died down, Cao Cheng continued, "Going solo also has its advantages and disadvantages. The upside is that you’re no longer competing against each other but supporting one another—the exact opposite of a team dynamic."

"But the downside is that you’ll have to rely on your own efforts, your own hustle, your own fight."

"The company can protect you for a while and offer resources to level the playing field."

"But whether you can hold your ground, whether you can secure opportunities—that’s entirely up to you."

"Some production crews are chaotic, filled with people scheming behind the scenes, factions pulling in different directions. You’ll have to navigate all that on your own."

"At best, the company serves as your backbone, ensuring no one dares to use outright dirty tricks."

"Understood?"

"Understood!"

Cao Cheng had broken it down for them, piece by piece. There was no way they couldn’t grasp it now.

Just then, the qipao-clad attendants knocked and entered—the food was ready.

A procession of young women filed in.

The "Eight Golden Flowers" took it in stride, but Yang Laoliu was stunned.

Holy crap.

Every single one of these girls was stunning.

Their aura was impeccable.

Any one of them could’ve debuted as a star.

This...

It dawned on Yang Laoliu that many breathtakingly beautiful women weren’t even in the entertainment industry.

The servers carrying dishes—just in terms of looks and figure—could easily rival any actress.

A wave of insecurity washed over Yang Laoliu.

These sisters had such poise.

What a waste to have them just serving food!

Deep down, her innate urge to snap a photo and show off resurfaced.