(Revised)

Thanks to that review hitting the trending tab, everyone was online and caught the new post.

[?]

[What did the blogger even post? The image got flagged, I can't see it?!]

[I screenshotted it, DM me if you wanna see]

[Same, DMs open]

[The comments section looks like a snake pit — all hissing, nonstop...]

[One-sentence summary: screenshots of Huang Yunwen's fans' abuse, too filthy to post, got flagged by the platform. I'm dead lmao]

[Another marketing stunt?]

[New account owner's going big!]

[Speechless. This whole thing is one giant promo.]

[Feel so bad for Huang Yunwen, he's genuinely being set up — dirty industry sabotage...]

[First they pile on, then they use Golden Legend as a stepping stone to promo their own company, and next thing you know they're dropping a new drama, right?]

[Slick move. Domestic Entertainment has been figured out. Golden Legend is cooked — everyone in Domestic Entertainment is bracing for impact, but the film itself is actually fine!]

Most people had bought into the 'sold account' theory — because what kind of resurrected billionaire would go after one random movie? Obviously not a real one! Agreeing with the new owner's review was one thing; the account being sold was another. This latest 'I'll do it myself' post only confirmed what the fan circles had been saying — it was all a premeditated takedown from the start.

Sang Yu: What are y'all even on about? Who's bracing for what?

Y03 replied: [Don't overrate this. But I'll admit one thing — Golden Legend deserved to get stomped.]

Some people asked about the paid giveaway.

[How's the paid part work?]

Y03 replied: [I'll do a high-volume draw, split it evenly first. Once the name's locked in, I'll send a separate gift to whoever wins that one.]

[Using the original Y03's style to prove yourself? Fine by me — I'll back you as the new Y03!]

[How many winners?]

Y03 replied: [Not a standard giveaway — filed it with the platform, splitting it into over ten rounds. Total prize pool: one million.]

[?!]

[This account owner is unhinged. Going all out — one million just to name a company?!]

Sang Yu: [Got flamed. Not happy. So I'm getting back on the trending tab.]

[Hold on — your surname's Sang, right...]

Sang Yu: [It was Sang back then too.]

Everyone seemed to clock it at the same time. Full alert mode activated.

[Huang Yunwen is genuinely going to be done in by his own fans... he's so getting roasted again]

[If the account owner hasn't changed, every single DM is fair game for a lawsuit — if you can unsend, do it now, or just nuke your account!]

[What about Huaxing Entertainment?!]

[Chenguang Pictures]

[Qingshan Culture]

...

Y03-related content shot back up the trending charts!

·

Huang Yunwen's jaw was twitching with rage.

Furious at Y03. Furious at the fans.

Were the two sides actually working together?! What was the endgame here? One more move like this and he'd be nailed to the wall of shame for good!

His manager cut in: 'Cool it — your face looks terrible. You've got a livestream sponsorship in a bit, can't let it show.'

'So what if it shows? Everyone already knows — the bullet comments are going to be out of control!'

Rubbernechers who love drama always go straight for the jugular. He could already picture exactly what the bullet comments would say.

His manager frowned: 'The more they dunk on you outside, the more you feed the fans who love seeing you suffer — and the more you have to play up to them. Drop the funeral face.'

'Let the fans fight each other, let the industry laugh.'

Huang Yunwen had already been laughed at. The fan civil war was raging, and honestly he wished those troublemaking fans would just get roasted.

They'd deserve it.

A good lesson wouldn't hurt.

Besides, getting flamed wouldn't make them unstan — they'd just hate Y03 and the fans who started it even more, and end up sending Huang Yunwen more money.

No real loss on his end.

His manager kept coaxing: 'These goldfish-memory bystanders won't stick around — they'll forget in a week. All this does is keep the buzz going.'

'You've got that stormy-weather energy. Drama follows you like a magnet.'

Huang Yunwen's temper eased a little, but he was still puzzled: 'Jiang-ge, what's Y03's deal — why are they coming for me specifically?'

His manager didn't know either.

At first he'd assumed the account was sold too, but after the giveaway it felt less likely — whoever ran that account was really good at working the crowd.

Too good at the internet game.

'Tch. Sit tight for now. Once the new drama's filing goes public we'll know whose side this is — the whole thing's been handled way too messily.'

The real question was whether any actor would dare sign on.

This kind of ruthless, step-on-your-rivals-to-climb promo might buy early buzz, but could it hold the ratings long-term?

Flop and shut up.

Huang Yunwen's mind drifted...

He needed to push his next project along.

Golden Legend's numbers were brutal — single-week box office landed at just 120 million.

Opening day: 75.73 million. Day two: 26.15 million. Day three: 8.54 million. Then a tiny blip upward, followed by a steady daily decline.

That blip? Courtesy of Y03's high-ranking trending post, which dragged in a wave of rubberneckers and content creators for one last gasp.

The final flash of glory.

There's a rough rule in the film industry: a movie needs to gross at least three times its budget just to break even. Golden Legend wasn't even close. Not remotely.

Another casualty added to the 'box office disaster' hall of fame.

For a full week, Huang Yunwen wasn't just living in Bilibili's roast section — he was getting clowned on by rivals, and the general public was 'exposing' the top-tier bubble around him.

He desperately needed his next project to drop.

Not just to save face — it was a way to pass the blame.

Bad box office? Blame the script. Blame the director. Blame the money. As long as his 'dominance' on the drama side held, he'd be fine.

The film market was in a slump anyway — nobody could carry the box office right now.

Actors who could carry dramas were the ones capital wanted most — and the ones who'd last. Huang Yunwen had to lock that in.

·

Huang Yunwen wasn't scared. Just anxious.

Y03 was a different story.

·

The comments section was popping.

Mostly because of Y03's insanely generous giveaway. Partly because...

It had become the dumping ground for rival fans gloating and dunking on Huang Yunwen.

Some of his rivals' fans had followed the account — 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' really does apply everywhere.

But honestly, all that drama was just a tiny corner of Sang Yu's life lately. The good news: the company name was locked in.

Aurora Entertainment.

Clean and solid.

Name sorted. Next problem: what to actually produce.

Sang Yu had zero interest in short dramas — he'd listened to his mom's short dramas, and the plots were way too convoluted and dragged out, with a rotating cast of clowns.

One wrongly accused protagonist, one exoneration arc — stretched across twenty episodes.

It exhausted Sang Yu just listening. Not just exhausted — he genuinely didn't get it.

Long-form drama then?

More his speed.

Sang Yu decided to start with one project, get a feel for the process.

Thinking it over, he grabbed his other phone and looked up a familiar profile picture.

— He'd turned into an insufferable capitalist. No need to do everything himself anymore — he had a whole team of assistants at his disposal!

One of Sang Yu's chief assistants: Cao Siyi.

All-around capable, sharp, fully equipped — basically the head of the household.

Sure, Sang Yu didn't have any real business operations, but he still needed people to manage, maintain, and look after everything he'd bought.

Better than letting things collect dust around the world — having a professional handle it was smarter.

Sang Yu had cycled through a few assistants. Cao Siyi was the best and the most restrained — the ones he'd let go were mostly too greedy.

As an assistant, there were always channels to skim a little off the top within the rules.

Back when Sang Yu was a wage slave, he'd done the same — padding expense reports, squeezing a little extra out of transport reimbursements.

Now that he was the boss, he got it. So he didn't crack down too hard on that stuff.

But some assistants took it way too far...

Quietly renting out his properties behind his back was practically wholesome compared to the rest. The ones who threw wild parties, sex parties, and caused actual damage — those were the ones Sang Yu couldn't stomach.

Those photos.

His face scrunched up. Ugh.jpg.

Best not to revisit.

Cao Siyi was fast — the organized files arrived the next day.

The investment categories were clearly laid out, each backed by detailed data.

On top of that, projects were broken down by status: not yet in production versus already filming. Some sequels to hit titles were flagged separately.

Title, status, investment scale, risk rating — all at a glance.

Projects under companies Sang Yu had previously invested in were listed there too.

That's when Sang Yu realized — he already owned a stake in an entertainment company.

Last time he'd been in contact was around year-end. They'd hit with a drama — not a long-form one, a comic adaptation — and he'd gotten a dividend.

There was a stretch where Sang Yu had gone deep on investing, and every project looked interesting to him. AI, new energy, healthcare...

Then the excitement wore off and he forgot all about it.

Sang Yu had invested in a lot, but hit on very little — especially in entertainment.

They'd all been hyped to the moon upfront, and then a few years later if you searched the project —

It had quietly finished filming. Quietly released. Quietly flopped.

Sang Yu couldn't find a single trace of real marketing. It looked like money laundering.

But back then he was spending with his brain off, so he didn't care and didn't remember.

Now though...

Money!

Sang Yu scrolled through the files, weighing which one to back.

This world wasn't that different from the one he came from — just a few years ahead on tech development.

That showed up in production too.

A xianxia drama with heavy VFX that used to need three to six months of post-production? In this world, that timeline had shrunk by about 30%.

Urban dramas were even faster.

The rolling-release model that used to be popular in Taiwan and South Korea had taken off on the mainland too — if ratings missed expectations, they'd rewrite or cut episodes mid-run.

Goal: wrap it up faster.

In short: more assembly-line than ever.

As for everything else — AI was the dominant trend. AI comics, AI comic adaptations, AI music — all mainstream now.

Of course, there were still people pushing for original work.

But most audiences didn't have that awareness, and as long as it was watchable, they'd watch. So the market spoke: people were more willing to pay for AI content.

Capital leaned AI too, because as AI improved, costs dropped.

Add in short dramas dominating the lower-tier market, outgrossing the entire annual film box office.

The film and drama market took a hit. Directors and lead actors came out in support of original content, only to get flamed by netizens: 'Just let AI write the scripts.'

Bottom line: these days, only the spectacularly bad — the legendarily, thunderously terrible dramas and films — had any name recognition in Domestic Entertainment.

Case in point: Golden Legend.

Sang Yu stared at the recommended projects in the file and felt nothing. After going back and forth, he decided to revisit his own bookshelf.

Sang Yu's one rule for picking novels to read: it had to slap.

Back then, his hatred for his job could've powered a whole evil sword spirit — he was the kind of overworked drone who couldn't even be bothered to step outside on weekends.

The genres he read were all over the place, with wildly different vibes.

He liked no-romance and single-female-lead stories, but if an author was skilled enough, he'd grit his teeth and skim through the romance arcs to keep reading.

Looking back at those titles now —

'I Run a Psychiatric Hospital,' an urban fantasy where a protagonist with special abilities saves the world;

A Demolition Office Is Not Ordinary, where the protagonist accidentally joins the underworld's workforce handling grave-relocation cases, sparking a series of wrongful-death mysteries;

'I Went Viral Writing Fiction in the Interstellar Age,' a story about an Earthling who time-travels and becomes a plagiarist superstar across the galaxy — basic but satisfying;

'I Inherited a Zoo,' where the protagonist can talk to animals and runs what's basically the top-tier slice-of-life-meets-cute-animal story...

...

The more he looked, the better it all seemed.

He could pull an all-nighter and reread every single one!

If he had to pick one to adapt... Sang Yu leaned toward A Demolition Office Is Not Ordinary. The tension was just right.

The protagonist moves between the living and the dead — sharp, quick-witted — and every side character's wrongful death comes with its own eerie atmosphere and a full twist.

But could it even be produced?

Wait — the plagiarist story probably couldn't be adapted either, right? Even though the protagonist credited the real authors, readers all assumed it was a pen name.

'Psychiatric Hospital' and The Zoo were both harder to pull off — one needed heavy VFX, the other required wrangling actual animals on set.

Right, better check first.

Oh — supernatural genre dramas had been loosened up by regulators recently, but scripts still needed to go through the broadcasting authority first.

Domestic Entertainment actually adapted a plagiarist story?! The execution was so cringe it got absolutely roasted.

Urban supernatural dramas didn't have the market pull of historical romance — they flopped more often than not, so capital basically stayed away, and the IP rights were harder to sell.

All things considered...

Start with The Demolition Office?