Chapter 18: Yan Sheng Probably Doesn't Have a Girlfriend Now, Right?

Director Zhang, recalling the recording and having already glimpsed the resolute methods behind the woman's obedient facade, dared not refuse and signed the contract.

Tang Yuan smiled instantly. “From now on, Yan Sheng will be in your care, Director Zhang.”

This TV drama was a major IP this year. Although it was meant to promote someone, several hundred million yuan had been invested.

By this point, the die was cast. Even if Director Zhang felt uneasy, with a lever held over him, he had no desire to complicate matters further.

Tang Yuan got into the car with Fu Yansheng. She was driving her own Porsche, worth about two million yuan.

It had been a gift from her brother, Tang Shangxu, when she got married two years ago.

“Yan Sheng, where are you living now?”

“Lingxi Street.”

She frowned. The area around Lingxi Street had no good residential communities—mostly low, dilapidated houses, once called a slum.

Though close to downtown, it was chaotic and disorderly.

Tang Yuan fell silent, realizing she didn’t know much about her only artist, nor about Chen Meng’s marriage situation.

“I’ll take you back first. Three days from now, you’ll join the crew. I’ll lead you through the early stages, find you scripts and endorsements. Once your career is on track, I’ll have Chen Meng mentor you.”

“Mm.”

The car headed toward Lingxi Street and stopped outside his residence. She looked at the alley, which seemed gloomy even in daylight, and felt an inexplicable discomfort.

Fu Yansheng opened the car door to get out, putting on a mask and hat.

Tang Yuan followed him out calmly. “I want to go in with you.”

He stood still, back straight.

“Yan Sheng, I want to know you better. You’re my only artist right now, and all my energy must be devoted to you. Once I have more artists, we might only meet rarely.”

She was determined to grow the studio.

He lowered his lashes, pulled up the mask, and stepped forward.

Tang Yuan trailed behind him; this place was a world apart from the bustling city center. The road was full of potholes, and hidden corners were littered with trash.

They stopped at his residence. The couplets on the door had faded with time, but this section was relatively clean.

The door still had an old lock. He pulled out a key and opened it.

Inside, the house had a small courtyard with a punching bag, its surface worn with dents—clearly a place where he often vented his energy.

The interior was about sixty square meters, very simple and tidy.

He removed his hat and mask and poured a glass of water.

In the narrow kitchen, he washed the only cup repeatedly, even scalding it with boiling water.

Tang Yuan stood in the living room, noticing his tall, graceful figure, and sighed softly.

The moment he took off his mask, the entire room seemed to brighten.

From such a humble place had blossomed a white plum blossom—sharp, proud, and somewhat cold.

He brought the warm water out and placed it before her, seeing her sitting on the cramped sofa with lowered lashes.

“Drink.”

Tang Yuan smiled wryly, glancing around. “Yan Sheng, you don’t have a girlfriend now, do you?”

“No.”

“Good. If you ever start dating, you have to tell me first. Your face easily attracts fans, but once you have many, restrictions increase.”

Her fingertips were pale, resting on the cup, but she did not drink.

She had come today to have a serious conversation.

“Are you the only one at home?”

“There’s my mother. She’s ill and hospitalized.”

“Chen Meng said you’ve been holding up the studio alone these past two years. You must have earned some money. Why haven’t you moved?”

His lashes trembled slightly, his posture showing a rare stubborn obedience.

“The hospital costs a lot.”

“What about your father?”

Tang Yuan wasn’t being nosy. As a competent manager, these questions were necessary to avoid trouble with the media later.

He had to get used to the fact that everything about an artist was exposed under the spotlight.

His gaze slowly shifted toward the punching bag outside. “I don’t know.”

“What about your education? Any major incidents at school?”

He pursed his lips and fell silent.

Tang Yuan lifted the cup and took a sip. “Once you become famous, the media will dig up all this. I need to plan ahead, so we’re not caught off guard.”

He swallowed and, after a few minutes, spoke hoarsely, “I was originally at Imperial University, but because of some things... it wasn’t my fault, I don’t know exactly...”

“As long as it’s not your fault, I’ll handle it. Rest well today. Three days from now, you join the crew. I need to quickly find you endorsements. If you have any problems in life, call me anytime. Yan Sheng, I want you to be more proactive.”

Tang Yuan stood, grabbing her bag.

A faint scent lingered on her—something not quite perfume—that spread gently through the modest room.

She reached out and patted his shoulder. “We need to trust each other. If there’s anything you’re hiding, you can tell me slowly, but I want it before you become famous.”

“Mm.”

Tang Yuan withdrew her hand, catching a glimpse of a blush on the tip of his ear and frowned. “If you’re feeling unwell, you have to tell me.”

Fu Yansheng didn’t reply, instead standing to see her out.

Tang Yuan drove away, but as the car turned out of the alley, she saw a luxury car pull in.

The license plate looked familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she’d seen it.

She glanced at the rearview mirror; the luxury car stopped outside Fu Yansheng’s home.

A middle-aged man got out of the car. Though distant, his silhouette seemed familiar.

A little like Shen’s father, who was rarely home.

Tang Yuan had been married into the Shen family for two years but had seen him only a few times. Shen’s father often attended charity events and appeared in newspapers.

He was known for sponsoring many students, a very capable businessman who frequently attended national conferences.

Because of him, Shen Zhou was unwilling to stir rumors of marital discord.

However, Shen Zhou was proud by nature—cultured and gentle on the surface, but with a streak of madness underneath. Perhaps he was willing to sacrifice his reputation for a woman. Yet, the woman who could make him divorce and defy his family had not yet returned.