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After what happened yesterday, the relationship between the two of them took another big step forward.

Gu Yueze’s family status also leapt up—no longer confined to the guest room next door, he now shared the master bedroom and bed with Shi Fei.

Unfortunately, the unfinished business from that day hadn’t yet been continued. In the past few days, Gu Yueze hadn’t found a chance to pick it back up. The reason was that afterward, Shi Fei became very busy—so busy that even compared to Gu Yueze, this multinational CEO, he was no less occupied.

Every day he was basically hugging his laptop, typing away like crazy, almost to the point where Gu Yueze started to wonder: could it be that now that he had gotten Shi Fei, he wasn’t as appealing anymore?

Wasn’t there that saying—before you got someone, they were the most attractive?

But did he really “get” him? Not fully. They just did some things by hand… and now it wasn’t so exciting anymore?

Who would have thought, the underground tycoon Gu Yueze could actually fall into such self-doubt and melancholy.

One time, when Gu Yueze brought him milk, he happened to glance at his screen and more or less figured out what Shi Fei had been busy with lately. Even though he had no prior experience with screenwriting, it was clear Shi Fei was working on a script.

Did Shi Fei also moonlight as a screenwriter?

Just how many things was Shi Fei capable of that he still didn’t know?

What to do when your boyfriend was too outstanding and made you feel unnecessary?

…

Shi Fei spent more than half a month writing out the TV drama script for his first novel Deadly Me.

Since it was a suspense/mystery type novel, even with the book as reference, adapting it into a series definitely required some changes. Shi Fei hadn’t expected that aside from Huancheng Media (which had already agreed to his rather unreasonable conditions), another company—Jinxiu Entertainment—would also accept his terms.

They wanted to buy the rights to his novel. On top of paying the market price for the copyright, they agreed that Shi Fei himself had to be the one writing the script, and unless there were unavoidable circumstances, they would not interfere with his writing. Naturally, he’d also receive separate screenwriting fees.

To prevent producers or investors from forcing their people in just for exposure, Shi Fei made it clear: investors could insert their people, but only if their acting skills passed his standard and they could properly express the emotions of the characters. Otherwise—no deal.

Many investors who pushed actors into roles often demanded extra scenes, or worse, put unskilled newcomers into important supporting roles just to boost their exposure. Shi Fei’s requirements were extremely strict—by forbidding changes to the script and forbidding extra roles, he already blocked out 90% of the companies that might have wanted to buy the rights. Add to that his demand that the acting had to be up to par, and it was even tougher.

Keep in mind, Shi Fei’s Deadly Me was a high-level suspense detective story, so the acting requirements were especially high.

Three years later, this was only the second time—aside from Huancheng Media—that another company agreed to his strict conditions. Of course, Shi Fei wasn’t about to turn down money.

After more than half a month of sleepless nights, Shi Fei finally rushed out the script and handed it to the production side, so they could move forward with project approval.

Once that was finished, he still had a pile of other tasks to handle.

After three months of airing, the last episode of The Sims wrapped up this week. The show had brought Shi Fei a lot of attention.

On top of that, his new album 18 shot up on all kinds of charts, with many of its songs becoming viral hits on Douyin. On the streets and in neighborhoods, out of ten people, at least one or two had one of his songs set as their ringtone.

The tracks became widely sung and shared everywhere, and in the future, they might very well end up like Shen Qingran’s songs—classics remembered for years.

Other versions of his songs also topped the charts in several foreign countries, becoming part of the current global music trend.

Now no one could say that he had no representative works and was only relying on popularity—he had proven with his own strength that he was a capable and talented idol.

Many offers of invitations, endorsements, and collaborations came flooding in, but Shi Fei rejected most of them.

There were also a lot of scripts inviting Shi Fei to act, and most of them were for the male lead role. When he glanced at those lead-role scripts, they were almost all idol dramas, which didn’t interest him much.

He also checked out some supporting roles. Some scripts were decent, but most were unimpressive—the characters were one-dimensional and lacked highlights.

That day, Gu Yueze came home earlier than usual and saw Shi Fei leaning against the sofa reading scripts, with several other scripts left untouched on the coffee table.

When Shi Fei saw him come in, he tilted his neck and said:

“Mister Gu, you’re back?”

Hearing that word ‘Mister Gu’ Gu Yueze pressed his lips together, then asked:

“What are you looking at?”

Shi Fei sighed:

“Scripts.”

Gu Yueze asked:

“You want to act now?”

Shi Fei nodded:

“Mm. I think acting could be pretty fun—it’s like experiencing someone else’s life.”

Gu Yueze asked:

“Have you picked one yet?”

Shi Fei shook his head:

“Not yet. The ones over there are already eliminated, and there are still a few left I haven’t read.”

Gu Yueze turned his head and saw a pile of more than ten scripts tossed aside—they had obviously been rejected. On the other side, only three remained unread. He picked one up and flipped through it.

Shi Fei, stretching his legs into a more comfortable position, asked:

“So? Give me your opinion.”

After looking through the scripts, Gu Yueze took one out, glanced through the synopsis again, and said:

“I think this one’s pretty good.”

“What’s the title? Let me see.” Shi Fei reached over and took it.

The moment he saw the title—My Cell Phone Connects Three Realms—his face immediately twisted in disdain.

“What kind of show is this? Just from the name, it sounds ridiculous. Master Gu, is your taste even reliable?”

He opened it and skimmed the synopsis, swallowed, and said:

“This… style doesn’t suit me.”

Gu Yueze’s lips curved slightly with a hint of amusement:

“Doesn’t suit you—or are you scared?”

Shi Fei glared at him:

“Mister Gu, are you planning on staying single for the rest of your life?”

Gu Yueze walked over, intending to sit down:

“I wouldn’t dare. Then let me help you pick again.”

Shi Fei lifted his foot from the sofa and kicked at Gu Yueze’s backside as he was about to sit, forcing him to stand up again.

“No need. I’m hungry. Go cook.”

With his domineering, arrogant tone, he really looked like a spoiled little wife.

Gu Yueze asked:

“So what do you want for dinner?”

Shi Fei, still flipping through the script in his hands, replied:

“You can’t cook anything besides noodles anyway.”

Gu Yueze: “……”

That one hurt.

In the end, Shi Fei really did find one script among the remaining few that he liked.

It was called Infinite Death, a TV drama script with a very interesting premise.

The story was about the protagonist who, one day after work, was walking home when a flowerpot suddenly fell from above, hit him on the head, and killed him instantly.

Even the protagonist himself thought such a death was ridiculously unfair. He originally thought it was just an accident, but when the underworld was recounting the cause of his death, they said—he had been murdered.

This time, how could he possibly let it go? He absolutely had to find out how he died—but the underworld officials had no right to disclose it.

He thought he would just have to carry that resentment with him into his next life. Unexpectedly, the underworld’s system glitched and got infected with a virus—a once-in-a-century kind of accident, and he just happened to run into it. Although they quickly repaired and disinfected the system, the protagonist somehow ended up rewinding back to the morning of the day he was killed.

The opening scenes of this script sounded a bit over-the-top, but once the protagonist was reborn, the story became very interesting.

Since he already knew what would happen that day, it led to a series of hilarious and absurd situations.

The protagonist wanted to uncover who killed him, but every single day he still ended up being murdered—only to wake up again at the start of that same day.

It was the kind of TV series that really taxed the brain, but at the same time carried a lot of comedic elements. The plot was very engaging and even shared a similar style to his first novel Deadly Me—a mix of suspense, mind-bending twists, and dark humor.

The only thing that made Shi Fei hesitant was that the script also contained ghostly elements. Though it wasn’t too many, he still felt somewhat resistant to them.

Giving it up would be a real pity though, especially since the protagonist’s character was written with real depth. If done well, the drama could become a highlight of his career.

He was still frowning in conflict even after Gu Yueze finished cooking noodles.

“Mister Gu, what do you think of this script?” Shi Fei pushed it in front of him, hoping for some reassurance.

Gu Yueze flipped through it briefly and immediately understood what Shi Fei had been struggling with.

“You like the script, but you don’t dare to film those first few scenes, right?”

Shi Fei quickly shook his head after a tiny nod:

“Who says I don’t dare? I just think those opening scenes are too tacky, totally unnecessary. They could be done in a different way.”

Gu Yueze didn’t expose his little excuse, simply saying:

“You haven’t finished reading yet, have you? Maybe those opening scenes tie into the later parts.”

Shi Fei: “……”

If the later parts did tie back to the opening, then he would want to film it even less.

Seeing his tangled expression, Gu Yueze found him unbearably cute. He reached out and pinched his cheek.

“Go eat your noodles first. You can decide after.”

He placed the script back on the coffee table and tidied up the pile of discarded ones while he was at it.

That night, after finishing the noodles, Shi Fei stayed up reading the entire drama script. Perhaps because he was a little scared, he stayed leaned against Gu Yueze’s chest the whole time.

After finishing it, Shi Fei made his decision right then—he wanted to take this drama.

……

Ever since Shi Fei became popular, many production teams had included him on their casting wishlists from the very start.

These “wishlists” had become a common marketing tactic in the industry, mainly to attract attention early, boost visibility, and draw in investors more easily.

Anyone who had been around the fandom circle long enough knew what was going on.

When people saw one casting list after another with Shi Fei’s name on it, most stayed calm.

Even when curious onlookers commented, Shi Fei’s fans controlled the discussion with the stance: “If it’s not officially announced, we’re not buying it.”

Everyone assumed that since Shi Fei had made great achievements in music, he would keep riding that wave—continuing to develop in the music field, maybe join a few reality shows or variety programs related to music at most.

Who would have thought that instead of sticking to music, Shi Fei secretly went to audition for a drama crew?

 

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TN:

Onto the acting arcccc 🎉