Yang Laoliu had an uncontrollable urge to stir up some trouble.
Watching the group of girls, she resisted the impulse to pull out her phone.
But before she could do anything, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cao Cheng already taking out his phone—snapping pictures.
He was filming the procession of waitresses carrying dishes into the room.
And also capturing the nine of them.
How could Yang Laoliu hold back now? If the boss was taking photos, and she didn’t, wouldn’t that be disrespectful?
Right?
So, stealthily, she fished out her phone and started snapping away too.
Besides, it was just a few photos—she wasn’t planning to actually post them for fans to see. No need for that.
She’d keep them for herself, maybe show them off to her family later.
Yang Laoliu had another thought.
Who knew? These waitresses might just end up debuting someday because of their looks.
You never could tell with these things.
If one of them actually made it big,
she, as a senior in the company, would have some leverage—something to brag about. Maybe even gain a little follower.
How nice would that be?
...
Amid the bustle of dishes being served,
the table was soon covered in culinary masterpieces—works of art, really. The kind with artistic value so high it could reach three or four stories.
The girls were practically drooling.
Especially since, with just a glance, each could spot a favorite hometown dish.
With a casual wave, Cao Cheng gave the signal: Dig in!
As he took his seat at the head of the table, the nine girls settled in around him.
Following the usual pecking order, to his left was the leader, Ye Lan, to his right was the second eldest, Shen Yi, then third sister Xia Zhi, and so on...
Once everyone was seated,
Cao Cheng reached out toward Yang Laoliu. "Let me see the photos you took."
Yang Laoliu’s expression froze for a second before she forced a smile, handing over her phone.
"Password?"
"980731."
Ding—
Unlocked.
Cao Cheng scrolled through the photos and videos.
Honestly, her photography skills were mediocre—nowhere near his level.
He shook his head. "Not great. The angles are off. Add me later—I’ll send you my videos. You can post them online if you want."
"Really? I can post them?" Yang Laoliu blinked.
"Why not?" Cao Cheng chuckled. "Our company’s pretty relaxed. It’s just dinner—I’m posting mine too."
"Alright, sit down. Pour yourself a drink—or juice if you can’t handle alcohol."
"Let’s eat!"
At his words, the girls raised their chopsticks.
But their movements were slow, deliberate—no one took the first bite.
They were waiting for Cao Cheng.
He knew it, so he casually picked up a piece of food—
And with that, the meal officially began.
Glasses clinked. Most of the girls had poured themselves red wine, though a few opted for something stronger.
Between bites and sips, the atmosphere loosened, conversations flowing more freely.
Cao Cheng steered the talk, asking about their year—any hardships or funny moments. That opened the floodgates.
Plenty of amusing stories.
And a few frustrations too.
Like dealing with antis.
Not everyone liked them, after all. While the hate wasn’t overwhelming and their public image was decent, some of the vitriol online was genuinely infuriating.
Luckily, with so many sisters around, they could console each other—or even log into burner accounts to clap back.
But with solo activities coming up, they’d have to face things alone.
...
Several rounds in,
the chatter was lively.
Beside him, Ye Lan, who’d had quite a bit to drink, suddenly spoke up. "Young Master."
"Hm?" Cao Cheng glanced at her.
Her cheeks were flushed, adding a tipsy charm to her beauty. "Young Master, after we all go our separate ways… who do you think will have the biggest fanbase? Who’ll do the best?"
The question hung in the air.
Chopsticks paused. Voices stilled. All eyes turned to Cao Cheng.
He smirked, scanning the table. "Want to know?"
Nine eager nods.
Some out of curiosity.
Others—not so much.
There were plenty of sharp minds here.
Especially Ye Lan.
Asking this under the influence? A little calculated.
That was her brilliance.
Seemingly casual,
but once Cao Cheng named someone, it would carry weight.
If the boss said you’d do well, even if you didn’t, he’d probably throw more resources your way just to save face.
Take Lin Zhi, for example.
The first one he’d ever promoted—the golden girl among the Twelve Golden Flowers. The ultimate big sister.
Even as just a variety star, she had endorsements and opportunities pouring in.
Ye Lan knew she couldn’t match Lin Zhi’s standing in Cao Cheng’s heart, but… maybe she could be second best.
A little extra favor would do.
In short—
She was vying for favor.
...
Cao Cheng gave her a sidelong look.
Ye Lan’s face was rosy, her eyes bright with tipsy anticipation.
Under the weight of their collective gaze, he took a moment before answering. "I think… Yang Laoliu won’t do too badly."
"Me?!" Yang Laoliu pointed at herself, stunned.
She’d considered every possibility—except this one.
She knew her limits. Couldn’t sing, danced like a stiff board, and acting? Forget it. Fans often joked that her only asset was her face.
And sure, it was a nice face—pleasant to look at.
But also thick-skinned.
Her biggest claim to fame was sheer luck, earning her the nickname "Lucky Fish." People literally prayed to her.
Like during this year’s college entrance exams.
They’d been on tour, but right before the tests, a trend exploded online. Middle schoolers, high schoolers—even regular exam-takers—flooded group chats with memes of Yang Laoliu, hands clasped, bathed in holy light.
She’d become a meme.
Or a few months back.
When Hello Mr. Billionaire hit theaters, raking in three billion at the box office,
the nine of them had cameoed and even sang an insert song—Burn My Calories.
No one remembered the lyrics except Yang Laoliu’s iconic line: Burn my calories!
Some things just defied logic.
Eight of them had trained for years—two and a half, to be exact—only for Yang Laoliu’s awkward dancing to steal the spotlight.
...
Cao Cheng’s words hung in the air.
All eyes shifted to Yang Laoliu.
Some envious.
Some resentful.
Others resigned.
Bitter smiles all around.
Eight different reactions, but deep down, the sentiment was the same: Why her? What’s she got that we don’t?
They knew Yang Laoliu was lucky.
But knowing didn’t make it easier to swallow.
That kind of resentment didn’t just fade away.
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
pression Bureau] Transported to a fantasy world overrun by demons and monsters, Gu Qingfeng becomes a jailer in the Demon Suppression Prison of the Great Yan Dynasty's Demon Suppression Bureau. From this point on, bizarre cases frequently occur in the Demon Suppression Prison, once known as hell on earth and infamous for its gloomy, terrifying atmosphere! Why do the demons and monsters in the prison wail miserably every night? Why has the corpse demon, capable of transforming into various beauties, donned black stockings and switched careers to become a foot massage therapist? Why has the eye demon, expert in soul-snatching and illusions, turned into a VR headset? Why is the fox spirit performing otaku dances? Are all these occurrences a twisted expression of demonic nature, or a descent into moral depravity? After peeling away layer upon layer of mystery, all clues ultimately point to a jailer named Gu Qingfeng. Gu Qingfeng: "Hehehe... My dear demons and monsters, whose card shall we flip today?"
u Chenyuan transmigrated into a female-oriented novel about a real and fake heiress, becoming the CEO elder brother of both. Unfortunately, the entire Lu family—including himself, the CEO—were mere cannon fodder in the story. Determined to save himself, Lu Chenyuan took action. The spoiled, attention-seeking fake heiress? Thrown into the harsh realities of the working class to learn humility. The love-struck real heiress? Pushed toward academic excellence, so lofty goals would blind her to trivial romances. As for the betrayed, vengeful arranged marriage wife… the plot hadn’t even begun yet. There was still time—if he couldn’t handle her, he could at least avoid her. "CEO Lu, are you avoiding me?" Mo Qingli fixed her gaze on Lu Chenyuan. For the first time, the shrewd and calculating Lu Chenyuan felt a flicker of unease.
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
