Chapter 29: Allow Me to Make a Recommendation

Dragged out of bed early in the morning, Chu Luoxi was steeped in resentment. It dawned on her how quickly her leisurely student days had vanished, never to return. The butterfly effect of her rebirth was far more profound than she’d imagined.

After enduring Ji Yanjin’s “ferocious” acting all morning, Chu Luoxi finally finished her scenes and felt liberated, exhaling deeply in relief. In her previous life, she’d always been baffled by how peculiar her relationship with Ji Yanjin was.

Ji Yanjin’s fan club was called “Spicy Chicken Shreds,” while Chu Luoxi’s was named “Rice Porridge.” They often joked that together, they made a hearty breakfast, a perfect match. Yet, their camaraderie remained purely platonic. Despite being of opposite genders, there was no spark between them. Stranger still, though they collaborated frequently, neither was ever embroiled in any rumors. Their reputations were so pristine that even their peers found it unbelievable, murmuring, “Do entertainment reporters suffer from selective blindness?”

She preferred not to dwell on such mysteries—after all, no gossip was a blessing. Just look at how comfortable Chu Luoxi felt around Ji Yanjin now! Once filming wrapped up, she greeted everyone and slipped away, leaving the director teary-eyed and full of complaints. Without her, Ji Yanjin’s shooting schedule would surely slow, but she had other matters to attend to.

Poor child—he needs trials to grow! He can’t rely on her forever.

Her expectations were modest; as long as Ji Yanjin reached the heights she’d witnessed in her previous life, she would be satisfied. Truly, she asked for little.

At this moment, Chu Luoxi feared she might lose control and resort to violence—it offended her professional sensibilities. She hurried to the set of “Dragon Roars Across the Land” and arrived just as lunch boxes were being handed out. She couldn’t help but marvel at the difference between meals funded by sponsors and those paid out-of-pocket.

“Ha, this is great. There’s one for me too? Cold Da Ji, thank you for saving mine,” Chu Luoxi exclaimed, surprised—she’d thought she’d be skipped for lunch today.

Looking around, she saw only Xiao Jingxuan and no outsiders. Cold Lu smiled and asked in a low voice, “Finished filming over there?”

“Mhm!” Chu Luoxi nodded, eyes half-closed in enjoyment, uncertain whether she was replying to Cold Lu or savoring the delicious food.

“Hey, Chu Junior, you haven’t signed with a company yet, right? No agent either, right?” Cold Lu couldn’t help but ask, earning a subtle eye roll from Xiao Jingxuan.

Lunch boxes, generally speaking, weren’t as bad as rumors claimed—many people relied on them for sustenance!

“Isn’t that obvious?” Chu Luoxi laughed at Cold Lu’s nervousness—he had the makings of a talent scout. Was he hoping to become her agent? That seemed unlikely; in her previous life, he’d always stuck to one path. “I’m still a student, haven’t officially debuted. How could I possibly manage all that?”

Not just now—even in her previous life, it was only after graduation, squatting in the film city for years and signing with an entertainment company, that she gradually acquired these “resources.”

“So, do you want to sign? I can introduce you!” Cold Lu finally got to his point, prompting Xiao Jingxuan, who was quietly eating, to perk up and listen.

Sign with a company? Chu Luoxi fell silent, thoughtful. Honestly, after her rebirth, she hadn’t seriously considered this, but subconsciously, she was reluctant.

Previously, without any connections, she needed hands-on experience to hone her craft. Only by signing with a company could she get more opportunities and roles, though many weren’t to her liking.

So, this time around, she didn’t want to exhaust herself. Her acting was already refined; even without connections or background, that alone gave her enough capital. She didn’t seek fame or fortune—only the freedom to play the roles she wanted, unrestrained.

Being a relatively free artist was her ideal.

“You want to introduce me?” Chu Luoxi glanced teasingly at Xiao Jingxuan. “You’re not planning to recommend Scenic Entertainment, are you?”

Scenic Entertainment was synonymous with Xiao Jingxuan’s rise; many suspected the company was founded for his sake. The policies and direction seemed tailored entirely to him, paving the way for his career. With Xiao Jingxuan as their star, this newcomer company quickly became an industry leader, attracting droves of old and new talent and carving out a significant share of the market.

Both new and established entertainment companies were keen to produce stars—success meant instant ascent. Yet, after all these years, only Scenic Entertainment managed it, and only with the legendary Xiao Jingxuan.

“Ha, isn’t it good? Scenic Entertainment might be small and obscure now, but I believe it’ll soon rival any established company. You should really consider it!” Cold Lu spoke with obvious confidence, though his last words were tinged with salesmanship and a hint of persuasion.

Chu Luoxi couldn’t help but laugh, nodding firmly. She believed it—she’d seen it firsthand in her previous life. “Anyone who didn’t know better would think you were the owner, given how hard you’re recruiting.”

“I’m not the owner, just have some shares,” Cold Lu admitted without a hint of hesitation.

Chu Luoxi paused, surprised—Cold Lu was a shareholder in Scenic Entertainment? Why had no one revealed this in her previous life? It was certainly newsworthy!

Suddenly another possibility occurred to her. She eyed Xiao Jingxuan curiously: if Cold Lu was a shareholder, could Scenic Entertainment actually belong to the great Xiao himself? Both names shared the character “Jing,” and the company’s relationship with Xiao Jingxuan was unusually close. Which entertainment company would treat its artists with such transparency, always prioritizing their wishes?

Such obvious clues—how had no one noticed in her previous life? Or was it suppressed, with no one daring to report?

Chu Luoxi quietly clicked her tongue, understanding at last. The reason other companies failed to produce a Xiao Jingxuan was not only the artist’s talent, but also the crucial difference in alignment—company and artist never truly worked as one.

But Xiao Jingxuan and Scenic Entertainment were different; the company catered unconditionally to him. Combined with his vision and talent, it was no surprise he reached such heights.

“Ha, as for the company, I think I’ll pass. I like being on my own—no burdens, no obligations, just the joy of freedom.”

Even if Scenic Entertainment belonged to Xiao Jingxuan, it couldn’t unconditionally satisfy her. The gap between company and artist would remain, albeit smaller, but never absent. Rather than risk discord in the future, it was better to avoid it from the start. She wasn’t willing to gamble.