Chapter 3: The Sea-Stabilizing Needle and the Stone Monkey

Many at Star Culture considered Su Xuan to be truly extraordinary.

In the publicity department, numerous employees stared disconsolately at Su Xuan’s image on their computer screens. This nefarious man was the sole reason hundreds of people across the company were now sleepless.

Indeed, it was highly probable they wouldn’t sleep well for the entire coming year.

Calling Shen Chao the ‘Sea-Stabilizing Needle’ of Star Culture was no exaggeration.

Su Xuan, much like Sun Wukong bursting forth from a stone, had been utterly unknown in the entertainment world. Yet, with a thunderous debut, he had audaciously “bent” and taken away Shen Chao, their steadfast pillar. This infuriated the ‘shrimp soldiers and crab generals’ of Star Culture to such an extent that they could barely stomach their food.

But eat they must.

Every bite counted, for with such an incident involving Shen Chao, Star Culture’s revenue would undoubtedly suffer. In the future, they might very well be reduced to ‘eating dirt.’

The Head of the Publicity Department sighed deeply. “‘Ah, tell Shen Chao’s manager that *The Courtyard* is premiering next Monday. Have them adjust his schedule to free up time for the industry preview screening on Saturday night. We’ve invited a lot of people, and we’ll formulate our promotional plan based on the public’s reaction.'”

“‘We’ll also give a heads-up to the fan clubs and other leaders, asking them not to be too exclusive,'” the publicity department mused, already fretting. “‘The cinema chains will definitely be promoting *The Courtyard* aggressively these next few days. We need to stabilize Shen Chao’s public image for the latter half of the year.'”

He sighed inwardly once more. ‘A top star playing a genuinely gay role, especially one with a mountain of rumored girlfriends and overzealous fans, would be incredibly difficult to manage now.’

‘Top stars shouldn’t play genuinely gay roles. It’s even more terrifying than secretly marrying and having children; it invites retribution,’ he thought, quoting Lu Xun.

Shen Chao’s manager, Wang Shou, was a tall, slender man with a pale face and sunken cheeks. He had a haunting presence, especially with his inwardly slanted eyebrows that, when furrowed, conveyed a profound sense of sorrow.

Wang Shou maintained this perpetually melancholic expression as he entered Shen Chao’s office, his first words being, “‘Shen Chao, it’s all over! This time, it’s truly over!'”

Shen Chao was adjusting his suit tie. Hearing Wang Shou’s words, his brow didn’t even twitch, and his expression remained cold. “‘Who?'”

‘Look at you, still completely oblivious to your own impending doom,’ Wang Shou thought.

Shen Chao skillfully adjusted his buttons. Whether he wore makeup was indiscernible, but his perfection remained impeccable. His bone structure was exceptionally fine, with a high nose bridge and deep-set eyes. He didn’t conform to the standard ‘three courts and five eyes’ aesthetic; his eyes were slightly narrower and longer, his cheekbones a little higher.

When he didn’t look directly at someone, it gave an impression of disdain. Yet, when he met their gaze head-on, there was a sense of lofty condescension, appearing both aggressive and invasive. His was not a gentle countenance but a cold, luxurious handsomeness.

He made a few adjustments, still dissatisfied. His expression remained indifferent. Shen Chao tilted his head, lifting his eyelids to look at Wang Shou at the doorway. “‘Speak.'”

Wang Shou’s expression immediately became complex. “‘It’s Liu Junya… she must have released the rumors about you. It’s fine to spread rumors to gain popularity, but… she’s an actress you’ve worked with, after all. Next time, be more considerate and don’t make people cry directly. It makes things difficult for me to explain.'”

Shen Chao’s expression was faint, betraying no emotion. “‘I didn’t do anything.'”

If being accidentally brushed by Liu Junya’s hand, only for Shen Chao to immediately spot a flashbulb, leap into a bush, drag out the paparazzi by their collar, and haul them before Liu Junya with a murderous expression, interrogating her about whether she hired them—if that counted as ‘doing nothing.’

Wang Shou was speechless. “‘Then next time, don’t do anything at all. Just wait for me to handle it, alright?'”

Shen Chao changed his tie, fastening it with one hand, then stood with his hands in his pockets, meticulously adjusting his look in the mirror. He didn’t look at Wang Shou. “‘Wasn’t it her doing?'”

This much was true. Wang Shou felt frustrated remembering it.

This young woman seemed so innocent, yet she was surprisingly calculating. After discussing it, she had promised not to post the photos, but she did anyway. Wang Shou had just gone to confront Liu Junya about this, and the girl was quite adept at acting, both on and off screen. She had cried and whimpered, claiming other paparazzi had taken and released the photos, and that she truly knew nothing.

‘What a pristine, white lotus in a prosperous age! So, the paparazzi were secretly in love with you, huh? They squatted there all night just to do you a good deed?’

Wang Shou was annoyed by the situation, but he genuinely couldn’t openly criticize her. Shen Chao had accumulated enough rumored girlfriends; each time, Shen Chao’s side had ignored them. If they were to step in now, it would only give Liu Junya more credibility, and she was probably hoping Shen Chao’s involvement would elevate her status.

Liu Junya was a university student, not yet signed with an agency. It was unclear how deep her background was to land the female lead role opposite Shen Chao in *From Now On*.

However, it could only be said that some people simply weren’t destined for widespread fame. While *From Now On* had exploded in popularity, the vast majority of the character’s success was reaped by Shen Chao. Liu Junya, despite starring as the female lead in a drama with over three percent viewership, only gained eight million fans—fewer than the two male actors in the BL storyline.

During the drama’s broadcast, most of Liu Junya’s popularity stemmed from Shen Chao. Shen Chao’s fans, being in an active promotional period, wouldn’t target her. She also had the aura of a newcomer, which made fans hesitant to criticize her, lest Shen Chao be accused of bullying.

But once the drama concluded, and Shen Chao was set to begin filming his next project the following month, with Star Culture already promoting his new work, the artificial popularity Liu Junya had gained from Shen Chao vanished overnight. Liu Junya must have grown desperate, willing to risk a scandal to latch onto some of Shen Chao’s fame, unafraid of being bashed by his tens of millions of fans.

In the entertainment industry, a vast dyeing vat, one shouldn’t fear being stained black and red, but rather fear being overlooked entirely.

This wasn’t the first time an actress had resorted to such tactics. Shen Chao’s fame shone too brightly, dazzling all eyes. Even married actresses, when collaborating with him, would symbolically stir up cheating rumors, lowering their own integrity.

Mainly, it was cost-effective. One scandal could keep them trending for half a year, a no-cost, high-profit venture. Most ridiculously, some pregnant actresses would go to great lengths to create a scandal with Shen Chao before quietly going into hiding for their pregnancy. They would leave as Shen Chao’s rumored girlfriend, and after giving birth, they would vaguely use their child to garner attention again, securing another half-year on the trending topics.

According to the baseless rumors about Shen Chao’s alleged girlfriends, half the actresses in the industry had supposedly aborted or given birth to his children, effectively making him an ‘underground emperor.’ The most outrageous instance involved three or four actresses consecutively clinging to him for hype. Shen Chao was rumored to have ‘entertained four women in one night, each seven times,’ earning him the industry nickname ‘Kidney King.’

Wang Shou had weathered many storms. This Liu Junya, however, was like a piece of rat droppings caught in a wave, splattering him in the face. While not fatal, it was utterly disgusting.

After much deliberation, Wang Shou decided to employ the usual method for dealing with such nuisances. “‘Shen Chao, you’re collaborating with Song Xiao again on your next drama, aren’t you? Why don’t you two make some public appearances?'”

Song Xiao was the female lead in Shen Chao’s second drama. A professionally trained actress, she won the Sunrise Drama Performance Award at twenty-one. After her win, she starred opposite an eighteen-year-old Shen Chao in *Swift Hooves*, a thirty-seven-episode historical drama.

In that series, Shen Chao played a young crown prince, while Song Xiao portrayed his father, the Emperor’s newly wedded foreign concubine, a princess offered as tribute. Shen Chao was captivated by her at first sight.

After his father’s death, Shen Chao ascended the throne. Song Xiao, meticulously vying for power, ruled from behind the curtain and favored her own ethnic group. Ultimately, she was shot dead by an arrow from Shen Chao, who was on horseback, amidst the pristine snow of a winter hunt.

This drama marked the beginning of Shen Chao’s meteoric rise, and Song Xiao’s as well. Her outstanding performance in *Swift Hooves* brought her within one award of a Grand Slam that year. Subsequently, she and Shen Chao collaborated several more times.

Both were stunningly handsome and beautiful, with exceptional acting skills, always exuding an indescribable chemistry. Shen Chao and Song Xiao also maintained a good personal friendship, so their CP fans were not secretive but openly and confidently championed their pairing. She was considered the ‘official queen’ among Shen Chao’s fanbase.

Back then, their popularity was equally matched, but Shen Chao’s momentum grew stronger by the day. Song Xiao, on the other hand, had significantly reduced her public appearances after winning Best Actress last year.

Whenever Shen Chao found himself entangled with an insistent actress, Wang Shou would trot out Song Xiao, the ‘official queen,’ to deflect. With Song Xiao’s illustrious presence, anyone trying to stir up a scandal with Shen Chao would inevitably be branded a ‘homewrecker.’

Especially with Shen Chao’s next drama being another collaboration with Song Xiao, Liu Junya had truly hit a wall, yet she foolishly tried to piggyback on his fame at this inopportune moment.

After stating his decision, Shen Chao didn’t even shift his gaze. “‘No, Song Xiao won’t do it. She’s getting married.'”

Wang Shou was startled. “‘Ah? Who is Sister Song Xiao marrying?!'”

Shen Chao cast a sidelong glance at Wang Shou. “‘Someone she’s been with for a long time. She’s going abroad to take wedding photos after we finish filming this drama.'”

Wang Shou swallowed. “‘She’s really marrying her non-celebrity boyfriend, huh? You two hyped up a relationship for so many years, I thought you two would… sigh, I thought you had some feelings for her. After all, you’ve never dated, I even thought you were waiting to take over…'”

Shen Chao’s face was devoid of expression. He gave Wang Shou a cold, warning look. “‘I have no other thoughts about her. She’s also pregnant.'”

“‘I’m the child’s godfather.'”

Wang Shou’s mood turned complex. ‘Well, if he wanted to take over now, he’d only be taking over the placenta.’

Shen Chao had been in the industry for so long, surrounded by countless beauties. After acting alongside Song Xiao, the public’s darling, for such an extended period, he had only managed to become a child’s godfather?!

For two attractive individuals of opposite genders to maintain a long-lasting, pure friendship, seemingly on the verge of developing into a pure godfather-godson relationship, either the man had physiological issues, or he had psychological ones.

Shen Chao didn’t seem to have physiological problems…

Moreover, at Shen Chao’s age, he was in the prime of his life, and the industry was a vibrant, tempting place. Few as famous as he was could remain so steady, never having been in a relationship.

No matter how deep they got into character during emotional scenes, some feelings were bound to spill over off-screen. Yet Shen Chao was like an enlightened Buddha, emotionless and unfeeling; the world’s loves and hates seemed to bypass him entirely. All the blossoming beauties before him might as well have been inanimate objects. He would act when he needed to, leave when he needed to, and no matter how well or passionately he performed, it never impeded him from moving on to the next project.

Wang Shou muttered, “‘Sigh, I thought you’d at least fall for Song Xiao because of your roles together…'”

After all, they had played lovers multiple times, often in intensely emotional and difficult-to-disengage-from roles.

Shen Chao glanced at Wang Shou again.

Wang Shou understood. Shen Chao disliked hearing such teasing about women he was familiar with, especially with Song Xiao about to get married. He wisely changed the subject. “‘Alright, forget about Liu Junya for now. Once filming starts, officially announce Song Xiao as the female lead; she’ll naturally be ridiculed, and her popularity will quickly fade. There’s one more thing: do you remember that movie you filmed? I sent you a message about it before, but you didn’t reply. *The Courtyard* is premiering, and there’s a preview screening on Saturday. Are you going?'”

While Star Culture’s reaction was quite extreme, Wang Shou had managed countless celebrities. In his heart, he didn’t really take this movie seriously.

Firstly, it was an art-house film, an old, niche subject that wouldn’t cause much of a stir.

Secondly, the movie was filmed four years ago, so even if it flopped, the blame wouldn’t fall on Shen Chao.

Thirdly, Shen Chao needed a cool-down period.

Wang Shou knew the director of this film. The quality of *The Courtyard* was certainly passable; otherwise, the director wouldn’t have dedicated four years to it. The film’s release would, at most, filter out some of Shen Chao’s more extreme fans. While this might impact Shen Chao’s short-term commercial value, it would actually be beneficial in the long run.

Shen Chao was too popular. Such peak fame rarely lasted long for one person; prosperity inevitably led to decline. Shen Chao had been popular long enough; any more popularity would attract too much envy.

He was young, wealthy, held shares, and lacked nothing in terms of capital, fans, looks, or acting skills—all top-tier. Wang Shou felt it was time for some tangible awards to adorn Shen Chao’s achievements.

Shen Chao’s hand, still buttoning, paused. “‘I saw it.'”

Wang Shou casually asked, “‘Then why didn’t you reply to my message?'”

Shen Chao’s face was cold. “‘I don’t like *The Courtyard*’s other lead actor, Su Xuan.'”

Meaning, he disliked the poster with that person on it, so he didn’t reply.

Wang Shou: “‘?????'”

‘Brother, you left your last role a month ago and don’t even remember Liu Junya’s face when you see her, but after four years, you still remember Su Xuan’s face??’

Indeed, hate lasts longer than love.

Shen Chao finished speaking and turned to leave the office. Wang Shou, halfway through his lament, suddenly felt something was off. He took out his phone, opened his email, and stared at *The Courtyard*’s poster, falling into deep thought. He mumbled to himself, “‘…This isn’t right. Where is Su Xuan on this poster? It’s all Shen Chao.'”

Wang Shou searched for a long time before finally finding Su Xuan’s face in a tiny corner of *The Courtyard*’s poster, mostly obscured by the actors in front, revealing only one eye. If not for the small line of text below, [‘Wang Family’s Third Young Master, played by Su Xuan’], Wang Shou wouldn’t have known whose eye it was.

Wang Shou: “‘…'”

‘What kind of madness was Shen Chao exhibiting now?’